#did I see this coming? no!! but it makes sense if you’re consuming this story as a real story instead of screen time with blorbo hour

[o-wild-west-wind]

y’all out here saying Izzy’s death made no narrative sense because it’s a comedy show clearly haven’t seen the Shakespeare post…I’m sorry I really am but death immunity only applies to the romantic leads the genre has not changed babes

(I don’t mean this to be patronizing, but genuinely: critically analyzing and engaging with art is a skill, and an important one. it’s a tool that will help you in the real world, for real current events. use this as practice not to take everything at face value. sad art does not equal bad art!)

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 13

Cassian X Archeron Sister

Summary: Cassian won't leave Y/N alone in hopes she will at least talk to him, giving her the best gifts money could buy. Perhaps material things are not the way to earn her forgiveness...

Content Warnings: Low self worth

A/N: We're kicking off the 1000 Follower Celebration with a bang!! WOO HOO. I once again can't Thank you enough for your love and support!

Also, we are getting so close to a portion of the story that I have been plotting since day one and I'm so excited. Though I highly doubt you all will be when we get there.

Word Count: 4.3 K

Also thanks @prythianpages for giving me a new banner to use 😍😍

1000 Follower Celebration Masterlist

Unwavering Presence Masterlist

Chapter 12

I awoke to knocking on my door fully aware of who was on the other side. Not moving I tucked the blanket closer to my chin, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping he would leave. When I didn’t answer, the doorknob began to jostle, “Princess, can we talk please?” Cassian’s voice carried through the wood. “I want to make this right.” He continued to knock on the door.

I closed my eyes and sent my emotions down my tattoo; my direct link to Rhys. Hoping he and Feyre were on their way back from the Summer Court.

Cassian’s knocking finally ceased, and I could breathe easier. Inhale…Exhale…

Angel Rhys’ voice rang out in my head, What’s wrong?

Tears prickled my eyes as Cassian’s cold stare from the night before came to the forefront of my mind, “You can barely take care of yourself.” His words rang in my ears.

Can you or Az get me?   I sniffled.

Why? Did something happen to Cassian? Are you in Danger? Rhys’ voice sounded panicked.

Take a look I brought the memories from the night before for him to see.

Me or Az?  Was all he asked; his voice was a lethal calm.

Az, Please.

He is on his way, Angel. I want you to know no one thinks you’re helpless. We love you.

I cracked a smile. Thanks Rhys.”

Rhys left my mind, and I closed my eyes and let sleep consumed me once more.

The sound of shouting jolted me awake. It took me a moment to distinguish the yelling. It was Azriel’s voice that carried throughout the cabin. He. Was. Angry. I slid out of bed, grabbed my robe and opened my door just enough to peek through.

“You’re not taking her!” Cassian snarled his siphons blaring. His face held a mixture of emotions I didn’t care to decipher.

Azriel’s siphons flared in response. “She asked for me. This is Rhys direct order. I’m taking her home.”  Cassian swung at the Shadow Singer only for Azriel’s shadows to flair out and push him to a chair.

I stepped out of the room as shadows pinned Cassian to the chair. “Azriel.”

Both males looked over at me Cassian had a pained look on his face and opened his mouth to speak. Az’s shadows wrapped over his mouth as Azriel glared at him. “You don’t get to speak.” Cassian lunged at Azriel, and I jumped back gasping. Cassian slammed back in the trail trying to fight Azriel’s shadows and I moved closer to the Spy Master. His hand slipped through mine and Cassian glared as his hazel eyes, cold and unyielding as he watched our hands intertwine.

Always hoping someone will save you. Cassian’s words swirled in my head and when our gazes meet, I can tell that he knows what words are filtering through my head, as his gaze shifts from cold to guilty. I tried releasing Azriel’s hand, but he gripped tighter. “She is going to gather her things and we are going to leave.” Cassian dipped his head, “Rhys expects you home in three days’ time. Meaning that he does not want to see you until then. Nod if you understand, Cassian.”  Cassian gave a nod. “Good.” Azriel led me to my room, and he shut the door, and I closed my eyes my heartbeat racing. My thoughts began to overtake my senses.

Weak

Pathetic

Worthless

You don’t belong with him. You don’t belong with anyone.

You. Don’t. Belong.

I choked on a sob leaning against the bed post. Shadows swirling up to my cheeks, kissing away my tears.

“Come on,” I opened my eyes as Azriel’s hands gripped my shoulders, “Let’s get your things.”

Azriel helped me pack my things, I slipped out to the door and headed back to Cassian. Hearing the chair shift as I headed toward the door the Shadow Singer in tow, calling out my name, though muffled by the shadows. Azriel opened the door, letting the sun in and I turned to look at Cassian. His hazel eyes lined with silver, there was pleading there. Don’t go, please, they said.

“Goodbye, Cassian.” A sob escaped and his shoulders began to shake violently as tears streamed down his cheeks. Something felt heavy against my chest, and I had to battle the urge to go to him and wipe his tears. Azriel guided me outside and shut the door behind him, muting the sounds of the General of the Night Court’s Army’s cries.

Wrapping my arms around Az’s neck he grips my waist my bag in his other hand, and he shot us up to the sky. “You, okay?” He asked.

“I just want to go home.” I said, fighting off my own tears. Az shadows consume the two of us as he winnows us to the streets of Velaris. He put me down but gripped my hand as he led us to the town home. The sidra glistening against the morning sun. I instinctively leaned my head against his arm, trying not to focus on the male we left behind.

We walked in silence for a couple beats before nudged me with his shoulder. “You know for what its worth. I know he is remorseful.”

I rolled my eyes, “How could you possibly know that?”

Az smirked, “He could have easily broken away from my shadows. Had them skittering back to me without blinking an eye.” I lifted my head to meet his eyes. His hazel eyes held no hint of humor. “He is one of the most powerful Illyrian, Archeron.”

We reached the town home, and I gripped his elbow halting him in his tracks. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying he chose to stay in that chair.” Azriel’s shadows swirled around my wrist. “He didn’t want to frighten you.”

I crossed my arms, “That’s not good enough.”

Azriel lips pressed in a tight line for a moment. “I know. I would be disappointed in you, if it was enough for you.” He cupped my cheek and kissed my forehead, “Make him suffer, Archeron.”

I gave him a smile, “I’ll make him the Lord of Tears Shed.”

Azriel barked a laugh, “I’m stealing that.”

“Go for it.” I smiled as we headed into the house.

“Rhys, Feyre and Amren are almost back.” Az gracefully changed the subject.

“Were they successful?”

Az’s face turned grim, “Yes.”

“But?”

“But it came at a price.”

I sighed, “It always does. How bad?”

Azriel smiled, “Let’s just say Cassian isn’t the only one banned from the Summer Court anymore.”

Cassian’s POV

A fist collided with my cheek while I was at the training ring, Rhysand’s ring digging into my skin. Blood pooled in my mouth the metallic taste assaulting my taste buds. “You called her weak.” I lifted my head for Rhys to hit another blow on the opposite cheek. Blood spattered on the rock as it sprayed out of my mouth. “You called her worthless.”

I snarled, “I never called her that. I would never call her that!”

It was Azriel’s voice that spoke next, “That’s exactly how she felt though!  She opened up to you about her deepest insecurities, things she hadn’t even told Feyre about!  You used that insecurity and threw it back in her face.” Azriel’s flickered with anger, his shadows swirling around him clearly agitated.

“You know who also does that, Cassian?” Rhys’ voice is calm as my gaze meets him. At that moment, Rhysand was not the High Lord, or my friend. He was being a protective brother. “Nesta. She has spent most of her life with that kind of torment. I would believe that Xavier did it too.” He wound up his arm and felt the crunch of my nose. “Feyre told me that she kept to herself. That she doesn’t trust easily. She trusted you. For whatever reason, you made her feel safe.” I could hear one of my ribs cracking. “Why?”

I fell to my knees, “I was angry.” I hang my head low, blood dripping on the concrete. “Devlon got under my skin, and I was pissed.” My breathing was labored. I went straight to my room to prevent myself from lashing out, but she followed me.” The tears could fall before I could stop them. “She wanted to help.”

“And then you said she was barely able to help herself.” Rhys roared. “That she was always waiting for one of us to help her.” He knelt and gripped my face tightly. “Imagine how she feels, in a place where most fae hate her kind. Imagine how she felt when the first time she went back to the one place she should feel safe in, she was taken. She absolutely should expect us to be there for her. Because should any of our enemies get to her, she may not actually stand a chance.”

“I know.” I wheezed. “I want to make this right.”

“Go to Madja and get healed.” Rhys said, his violet eyes cold.  “I still need my general to breathe.” With that he took to the skies, likely checking in on Y/N. Leaving me alone with my best friend. His face cold, no playful glint in his eyes.

Azriel stalked over to me, his face was one I’ve seen before; one he used on his for the poor souls in his dungeons. I dipped my head, blood dripping past my lips. Az gripped my hair yanking my head back to meet his gaze. His shadows swirled as his lips turned into a snarl. “Fix. It.” He tugged my hair harshly once more. “And pray to the mother that she forgives you.” His knee collided with my chest, the underlying threat clear as I collapsed to the harsh gravel, trying to regain my breath. As Azriel left me in the training ring with my thoughts.

 I tried to take a deep breath the searing pain of my abdomen screamed in response. This was what I deserved. No pain would ever compare to seeing Y/N’s eyes look so broken at my words. I had a plan I just hoped she would hear me out.

Rhysand had other plans. “I’m not arguing with you about this.” My brother crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “You’re going.”

I clenched my fist. “How can I fix things if Y/N is here and I’m dealing with her insufferable sister.”

“She won’t even be in the same room as you for longer than five minutes. You can make your sad attempts at forgiveness when you return.”

I slammed my fist on his desk, “You’re a prick. You know that.”

“Watch it, brother. I could ban you from seeing her at all.” Rhys’ voice was even, his voice void of any emotion.

“You wouldn’t do that.” I whispered. “You know how much she means to me.”

Rhysand stood placing his palms on the desk in front of him eyes dark. “You want to wager on that?” I remained silent and his words softened, “As much as I want you to fix this. I need my General right now. I’m not saying this to hurt you, Brother, but she doesn’t need you right now.”

I pressed my lip in a tight line. “Fine.” I turned to walk away. I opened the door.

“Cass, she will come around you know?” I walked out the door leaving his question unanswered and took off to human lands. Though the hairs on the back of neck tingled, unease coiling in my belly, as I had the sense someone was staring at me. I wouldn’t turn to see Mor’s smug face.

I met Nesta’s cold stare with one of my own. She had let me in without so much as a glance only to lead me into the dining room. “Where’s Elain?”

“In her garden. I’m trying to limit her time with…your kind.” I may have towered over the eldest Archeron sister, but she had a gift of making people feel small with just the tilt of her head. On this day Nesta wore a beautiful blue gown, and her hair was braided in her usual style. Yet my mind kept drifting to her baby sister and how similar they look. The way they stand, the same scowl that scrunches up their nose.

“Has your brutish ways impacted your hearing as it has your brain?” My wings rustled as I returned my gaze to the eldest Archeron, “I asked how my sisters were.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re fine.”

Nesta quirked a brow, “Oh yeah, Y/N giving you a hard time?”

I stilled, “What makes you say that?”

Nesta smirked, “You have the same look most people have when she’s being difficult.”

“She’s not difficult.” I tried to focus on my breathing, remembering the vile things she said to her sister the first time we met. “If anything, I’m the one who made things difficult.”

Nesta lowered her arms and stared at me, her cold gray eyes searching my face. “You love her?” I snorted and to my surprise that took Nesta off guard. “What is loving a human such an outlandish thought to you?” her lips curled upward in a snarl.

I shook my wings and my body and eased my body and mind into something calm, thinking of Y/N’s hand in mine or who beautiful smile. “No, not outlandish for me at all. No what is outlandish to me is the fact you have spent years treating her so terribly and yet here you are asking if she’s okay and if I love her, when even if you did love her, you will never tell her as much.

I approached the woman her back pressing against the wall, “Tell me Nesta, do you know what happened that night you asked her to die?”

Nesta’s eyes widened, as if she too was recalling the memory. “You almost got your wish that day. She almost died. I found her strung up like an animal, her blood was everywhere. We barely made it in time. I could see Nesta paling as I continued. “Did you know the lover she took here got off on torturing her even assaulted her?”

“How dare you-“

“Did. You. Know.” I gritted my teeth my arms caging Nesta in so she couldn’t avoid this. “Did you know that this man had been using her as a doll for months using her job as leverage to get her to stay? Only for her to come home and want love and affection from her sisters only to find disdain and despair here.”

Nesta face looked pain only for a moment before her cool mask slipped back into place. “No, I didn’t and it’s not my place to know what type of lovers my sisters make. I’m sure if he was in high standing to help us get out of poverty, she would have made do.”

I stepped away from her. “Unbelievable. You would have subjected Y/N to a death sentence if you made her stay with him. You didn’t see the cuts on her back like I did. If you had it maybe you wouldn’t be so calm and serene about it.”

Nesta stepped away from the wall smoothing her skirts walking over to the desk in the living room. She opened the drawer to quickly shut it and turned back to me with an envelope in her hand. “They wish to meet in a weeks’ time.” Nesta eyes were glassy, but the fiery rage remained. “Be here in that time. Now. Get Out.”

I snatched the letter from her hand, “You are a disgrace. You failed in every way that counts, Nesta Archeron.” I walked past her heading for the door. I called over my shoulder, “And yet Y/N is the first person to come to your defense or speak of you as someone who needs healing. You never deserved her as your sister.” And with that I left, and I swore I heard a choked sob before I took to the skies.

Reader’s POV

Cassian had been home for a week. I had managed to avoid him by training with Azriel, studying with Rhysand and using his own brothers as shields if he got too close. Both Rhys and Az were happy to oblige in keeping me close and occupied. Then the gifts began appearing at my door.

Chocolates, Jewels, Shoes, by the end of the week the stack of Journals came to my hip. They all went unanswered. The boxes began to collect dust, the chocolates went stale, and the jewels suspiciously went missing after day two. Something tells me a short black-haired female was the culprit of that. Though nothing Cassian could buy with money would not be able to sway me to forgive him. Not after he hurt me in such a deep way.

Feyre walked into my room with a box in her hands at the start of the week, we had been able to spend more time together since the fiasco at the cabin, reading in the library, sharing meals together, walking through the streets of Velaris. It felt like the times before we lost our fortune when it was me and her against the world, I hadn’t realized how much I missed just being in her presence until we started spending more time together. “This was at your door.”  She said shaking the box. She plopped on my bed dropping the box onto my lap. “Open it!”

I sighed, putting my book down, I untied the ribbon and open the lid, with a note.

Princess,

Please accept this gift as my apology to you.

I miss you.

Cassian.

Handing Feyre, the note, I began unwrapping the paper to find a gorgeous red silk gown I picked it up out of the box. Feyre smiled and nudged me, “Try it on.” Facing her I opened my mouth to protest and was met with her pushing me off the bed. “Right now.”

A few moments and I emerged from the changing partition and Feyre gasped. “Y/N… you look so beautiful.” I walked over to the mirror and turned to get a full view. The bodice of the gown, being held up by thin straps, had glittered fabric covering just enough that the swells of my breast were on display. Rich Silk overlapped meeting the sheer fabric covering my abdomen, red boning standing out against the flesh tone. The red satin draped down ruching at my hips as it cascades down a revealing slit to reveal my newly toned and muscled leg. I had to agree with Feyre.

The dress was stunning, but I recalled the note left with it and I pursed my lips.

Are you that incompetent of taking care of yourself? His voice echoed in my mind.

 “He called me worthless. Did he believe that that him buying me this was going to make me fall to my knees and forgive him.” I rolled my eyes and went back to change out of the dress. “Didn’t even hand me this gift himself, had to leave it at my door like a coward.” I mumbled sliding the rich fabric off my body and back into my purple dress with light lavender tulle sleeves. I walked over to the bed to place the dress back into the box.

“What are you going to do with the dress?” Feyre questioned not seeming to have an answer for my earlier inquiries.

“Keeping it. The dress is gorgeous and fits me like a glove. The dress will not suffer because the male who gifted it, is incompetent.” I sighed and crawled into bed placing my head on my twin’s lap where she instinctively fingers through my hair. “This isn’t enough.”

Feyre hummed and we sat in silence for a moment. “What would it take for him to earn that forgiveness?” I glance up at her and her blue eyes meet mine, “Is what happened unforgivable to you?”

I thought about it. Cassian up to this point had been nothing by kind and attentive to me. What he said was said at a moment of anger and if I was honest, I pushed when I should have let him be. However, that did not give him a right to throw my past and my insecurities back in my face the way he did. “No. It’s not. Not for him anyway.This dress or the other gifts for that matter, doesn’t tell me that this won’t happen again.  That he won’t lash out and hurt me. I have given my heart to cruel people too many times. I can’t risk that again.”

Feyre hummed once more. “Rhysand and I are going to the human lands.” I sat up at that and gave her a questioning look. “Yes Nesta, sent word to Cassian two days ago.” Oh, so that’s why the gifts had stopped at that point. “We are to go back in a few days.”

“Great I’ll-“

“Rhys thinks it would be best if you stayed home. I can’t say I disagree, with everything that has gone on,” and everything that happened the last time I was in the human lands, though she doesn’t say it. “I must agree. I would feel better knowing you were here.

I lay back on the bed and groan, “You are lucky that I am in no mood to fight. I’ll stay but I’ll grumble about it the whole time.”

Feyre kissed my cheek, “Thank you. Now let’s go get breakfast, I’m starved.” I laughed and followed her out the room, though I can’t get the image of Cassian taking off that dress off me from my mind.

Cassian’s POV

I was almost ready to give up by the time Feyre and Rhys were getting ready for the meeting with the human queens. I stormed into Rhys’s office with the last gifts I provided. “What kind of person destroys a stuffed toy?” I hold up the stuffed bat I got her, whose wings are now ripped apart.

Azriel and Rhys both pressed their lips in a tight line, but it was Azriel who lost his composure first. I threw the bat at him, and he caught it with ease. “She’s brilliant. I love her.” He looked to Rhys, “Can we keep her?”

I groaned plopping on the couch as Feyre came in. “I just don’t know what else to do. I have tried everything. I even wrote her a letter. She looked me in the eye as she threw it in the fire.” Her words still haunted my memories:

“How would you feel if the one person you trusted with your heart took your deepest insecurities and threw them in your face. The one person you felt safe and protected with just takes everything you are so afraid to burden people with and tells you, you are exactly that. A burden.” Then she walked away.

“Cassian did you hear me?” Feyre’s voice pulled me out of my daze. Recognizing that she caught me she smiled and gripped my hand with her own. “She doesn’t want material things or pretty words Cass. She wants security that what happened at the cabin will never happened again.” With her free hand she pressed her palm against my chest. “She would much rather you give your heart in exchange for hers than any material object.”

An idea blossomed into my mind, and I smiled looking at my girl’s twin. “My heart”. I pressed my palm over the back of her hand on my chest. I kissed her cheek, “Have I told you how brilliant you are today?”

Feyre smiled, “No, but I can see your gears turning in that mind of yours, do you have a plan?”

I nod and look to Azriel, “I do, but I need your help, Az.”

Azriel smiled, “Tell me what I need to do.”

So, I did.

Rhysand and Feyre had left for the human realm that night and I set off to go find Y/N. I started in the library and to my surprise she was there. I smiled looking at her reading, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lip tucked between her teeth. Her hair was up in a cute little bun, and she wore those knee-high socks that made my cock strain in my leathers.

“I can see you, General.” She said not bothering to look up from her book. “Something you need?”

“Get dressed.” That caught her attention. Her eyes meet mine in a challenge. “I can’t keep doing this, Princess. I miss you.”

“You should have-“

“I’m well aware of what my actions have done,” I stepped deeper into the room approaching her. “I am asking you to give me a chance to show you, just how sorry I am.”

“I can’t leave-“

“I’m not arguing with you about this. I am asking for a chance. Please.”

I could see her expression turn into contemplation. Then with a sigh she closed her book, and I fought my heart from swelling as her eyes met mine, “What should I wear?” I smiled.

It felt good to have her in my arms once more as we landed in the mountains. She was shivering as we walked a few miles from the clearing I landed in. I tucked my wing around her to prevent the wind from whipping her skin raw. Her teeth chattering told me otherwise. “We’re almost there, Sweetheart.”

“Cassian, Where are we goin-“She paused mid-sentence as the Cabin came into view. A large cabin sat here the chimney already having plumes of smoke swirling out of the top. Her mouth was slightly agape that the cabin was about the size of the town home, and she looked around the area her gaze found the one thing I was hoping she would find. Walking closer to one of the larger trees that had wildflowers blooming she looked at the frame of the woman. The portrait had faded over time and not in the best condition due to weather here, but the woman shared my eyes and it was the only good quality photo I had of her. “Cass, what is this? Who is she?”

I knelt in front of the memorial and smiled my hand grazing the picture, “This is my home, Princess.” I looked to Y/N and gave another smile, “This is a portrait of my mother.”

Chapter 14 Part 1

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[physalian]

Plot Holes and How to Fill Them (Or, The Hidden Potential in Your Mistakes)

“But why didn’t they just do that earlier!”

“You can time travel – so time travel!”

“Doesn’t X have Y spell? Why aren’t they using it to escape?”

“You. Have. Telekinesis! How are you this stupid?”

Plot holes! The bane of every writer’s existence. You think you’ve polished your beautiful manuscript, you have it all sent out for the masses to consume and praise and shower with compliments and adoration… and then they start tugging at a thread that may or may not begin to unravel your entire story. You’ve read this thing top to bottom, forwards and backwards and upside down, so many times the letters are burned into your brain. You mumble your monologues in your sleep — how did you not see this? How do you fix this?

See this post about beginning the writing process that might help you avoid opening a plot hole entirely with a solid enough script and outline.

Types of Plot Holes

Your magic system’s established rules have just been broken for TeNSioN

Your Deus Ex Machina really did come out of nowhere and is quite out of character

Why doesn't Character just run away from a fight they can't win?

Characters forgetting they have superpowers, extreme intelligence, handy tools or weapons, survival skills, common sense, or crucial information to escape and/or solve a situation

Characters dying for the above mistakes when said death could have been avoided

The entire story could have been avoided had Character A just told Character B the truth

Character X should have known ___ all along given their profession/backstory/friend circle/education/personality

And variations of the above, I’m sure I’m missing a couple. Fixing plot holes generally come in two camps: Those you can fix by rewriting the existing manuscript that contains the hole, or those you have to work around from a previous manuscript that’s already been published.

Why Plot Holes Happen

Plot holes happen in reality. Expecting your first, second, or 15th draft to be completely foolproof is utter nonsense. Real people forget stuff they’re supposed to know all the time, tools that would be useful are left behind, GroupThink makes very bad decisions.

The difference is: You are writing fiction. Your goal is to be entertaining, not necessarily realistic. A character simply *forgetting* Macguffin X at the climax of the story does not make for an entertaining read, no matter how likely it might be to happen in the real world.

You’re making this entire world up as you go and that alone is an impressive feat millions of others can only dream about – cut yourself some slack, okay? Everything is fixable.

Plot holes also happen because we’re so engrossed in our own story that we forget it’s all made up. You’re 22 chapters into a 24 chapter novel and you’ve just realized your psychic hero would never have been caught unawares like this. “But that’s just how he is!”

No. Stop. That’s not just how he is. That’s just how you wrote him – and you can go back and un-write him. Any excuse you can dream up you can un-write, and unfortunately, you’ll likely have to do a fair bit of it if you still have the opportunity.

Plot holes generally open long after the inciting incident that causes them. If you’re going to fix it, duct-taping together a solution in that very same scene isn’t the way to do it. You have to figure out why it’s a hole at all, then go back and fix its foundations.

Finding Your Own Plot Holes

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to stumble upon them before it’s too late. A fair bit of the time, though, your audience has to tell you. Finding your own plot holes requires stepping back from your work and looking at it like you’re just a reader, not the author.

Read your plot out loud to yourself and keep asking questions like:

Does this make sense for the scene?

Does this only exist to look cool at the cost of logic?

Are these rules I wrote too easy to break or contradictory in any way?

Is there any other way for this character to escape this situation?

Is the only solution here too contrived?

That, and having an army of beta readers who should show you flaws you’ve overlooked. Even then, some things just aren’t obvious at all until someone too smart for their own good points out something no one else considered before.

It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.

Filling Plot Holes

Fix your broken magic system

A “magic system” broadly describes any type of powers/abilities/supernatural entities that function in your world. They can be in high fantasy, urban fantasy, sci-fi, or any genre really. The Force is a magic system, as much as is bending in Last Airbender even if no one calls it “magic”.

For example: Force users are telekinetic… and yet don’t simply repeatedly spam the “chuck my enemies into a wall/off a cliff/anywhere that is away from me” button. It’s what you’d call a “soft” magic system, it doesn’t have explicit rules on how and when it can and should be used. It just *is*.

Fixing holes in your magic system first demands examining why you wrote it the way you did, why you gave it these specific rules, or why you didn’t, and all the ways characters should otherwise be able to use it when your story demands they get creative.

For soft magic systems — never let the magic system win the day. It invites far too much scrutiny. Gandalf from Lord of the Rings is a Wizard. He can do an undefined number of spells and has an unclear number of abilities and limit to his reach. Gandalf’s magic is never the saving grace of the Fellowship. So asking “why didn’t Gandalf just do X” isn’t ever a question people have because success never depends on Gandalf doing X.

Everyone hates on the time turner in Harry Potter, as they should. Time travel is essential to the plot of Prisoner of Azkaban, without it the heroes fail. And yet, because it is time travel, why it never existed earlier and why they never use it again to solve more massive plot problems is a valid question. As goes with many spells and abilities in the series.

For hard magic systems — remember that you wrote the rules, you can go back and change them at any time before it’s published. Bending in Last Airbender is rarely the focus of any conflict. Yes, two benders will fight each other, but it’s not “who’s the stronger bender,” it’s “who’s smarter with their element”. Who better uses their environment? Which one is racing against a clock before reinforcements arrive and overwhelm them? Which one runs the risk of exposing themselves if they start bending? Whose mental state is crippling their bending today?

These are all character-driven explanations for why certain abilities do or don’t manifest in a given scene… until the finale when it really is just a clash of red and blue aura lasers.

There is never a scene where a character is trapped when they shouldn’t be. Never a “why didn’t you just X” moment, because it’s never about the bending, it’s about the bender.

Turn plot-reasons into character-reasons

This means taking a “why don’t they just do X” and making the reason because one of the protagonists is morally against doing it, not because the hand of the author demands it.

In Last Airbender, Aang is vocally against simply killing the Fire Lord. It would be easier, it would risk far less casualties and carnage, it’s fastest. And yet. Aang doesn’t do it simply because he’s not strong enough or he doesn’t have some magical super weapon, or the stars have aligned and now he’s lost a very convenient ability – Aang doesn’t want to take the easy road because that’s who he is as a person.

He’s been raised as a monk to value the preservation of life above all else (ignoring any accidental casualties over the course of the series). Him being desperate to not simply kill Ozai is central to his character and even when he has the chance in the climax of the fight, he still doesn’t take it.

Now “why didn’t you do that earlier” does, still, concern the “energy bending” established out of nowhere just for the finale so Aang doesn’t have to compromise his morals to win… but the show is so damn good and Ozai’s just desserts so damn sweet it doesn’t really matter.

Making these plot decisions character decisions, so long as they are in-character, gives some juicy potential for schisms within Team Protagonist as fan favorites clash over ideals and morals and whether or not the greater good is worth them sacrificing something so central to their being.

This also applies to characters not sharing crucial information with each other. Make them distrustful of the others, or let them attempt it anyway and have some other consequence for the effort. Anything is better than a character sitting on valuable info simply to maintain the mystery.

Avoid Deus Ex Machinas

The “surprise reinforcement cavalry charge” is one of my favorite deus ex machinas in fantasy. Everybody cheers, it looks amazing, the music is swelling, our heroes on the battlefield realize they haven’t been forsaken by their friends, etc. In Lord of the Rings, yes, Theoden could have arrived 30 minutes earlier and saved even more lives, but we already knew he was on his way moving as fast as he could without exhausting his horses. Theoden’s army also took care of the bulk of the battle so when Aragorn arrives with the second surprise reinforcements, it’s less a decisive blow that comes out of nowhere and more the victory lap.

In “Battle of the Bastards,” Game of Thrones has its third surprise cavalry charge of the series, only this one much more explicitly comes to save the day. The difference between this scene and Theoden’s charge is: Audiences had no idea Littlefinger was on his way, and neither did Jon Snow. Had Sansa told him she had a plan, Jon could have waited. He wasn’t backed against a wall and forced to fight right then and there, he could have stalled an extra hour by just not showing up to the battlefield to wait for his cavalry. With Sansa inexplicably not telling him, she risked his life and the lives of his entire army because the hand of the writers wanted to keep it a surprise. Worst of all, when the battle is over, he compliments her decision, despite all the blood on her hands.

Surprise reinforcements, saviors, powers, and abilities always run the risk of “why didn’t they do that earlier” and you should be asking yourself the same question. If you can’t come up with an explanation other than “because it’ll look cool” go back to the drawing board.

Or, have your very own characters pissed that the savior didn’t just do that earlier. Have your characters ask where this special power was, have it mean something to them and the story at large. Had Jon been angry with Sansa, given their incredibly pyrrhic victory and the potentially avoidable death of their youngest brother, it might’ve made for some interesting character drama.

Give your saving graces deadly costs

“Why didn’t they just do X earlier?”

“Because doing X would have killed Character D, dummy.”

Giving your super special magic, mutant, super, or supernatural powers costs, drawbacks, and limitations forces the characters who use them to not resort to them every single chance they get. Their magic drains their physical stamina, or the demon they made a deal with camping in their brain threatens to overtake their psyche, or the sword is cursed and every time the hero raises it in battle, they lose a little piece of themselves. Or, using this creepy power strains their relationship with their friends or community.

Without risk and consequences, you cannot avoid “why didn’t they do that earlier,” because the only answer you have to give is “because I, the author, said so.” The only time a character is allowed to have selective amnesia about their superpowers is if it’s been established beforehand as a potential problem. Then it’s not “this came out of nowhere.” Then your audience is dreading the entire time waiting for that chekhov’s gun to fire.

Don’t compromise your story for sensationalism

I can complain about ~subverting expectations~ in another post, but what I mean here is this: Are you writing this scene purely for shock value, for the sake of a twist, because a story this grim demands at least one character death, or because it’s going to look epic?

In this post about pacing and this post about how to write tone, I talked about making your scenes pull double duty. You can write a scene for shock and awe, but if it’s at the expense of a character’s integrity or intelligence, come up with another way to make it spectacular.

You want the villain to monologue to give the heroes time to save the world? Then write a villain with an ego and personality that would monologue. You want the hero to be a one-man-army? Then write their personality as the lone wolf type and have it be a flaw of theirs that they keep striking out alone, consequences be damned.

You absolutely need the hero to not take the easy road and fight the bad guy without using their most effective weapon? Give them a reason to stall this fight. Maybe they really do need to simply run out a clock, or they don’t actually want to kill/subdue their opponent, or in doing so, the villain’s death is what causes the Bad Thing to happen.

If I write a character that can kill with just a look, every time I put them in a dangerous situation I need to then justify why they don’t do that over and over again, unless it’s by their own stubborn integrity that they choose not to.

If I write a villainous plan so devious and well thought out, the only thing standing in the way is living protagonists? I need a reason the villain doesn’t just murder the heroes every chance they get. Maybe they’re internally struggling over actually going through with it, or their ego demands the hero doesn’t get a quick or honorless death, or they do actually need a living hero for the plan to work.

Fixing Plot Holes in Sequels

All of the above is advice for issues within the same manuscript. What happens if you’ve already published and have the chance to address a known plot hole in the sequel?

About the worst thing you can do is slap in a throwaway line or hasty explanation to cover your ass. Everyone reading and watching will notice. Saying nothing is better than saying that.

See the duct-tape in Rise of Skywalker when the heroes explained that they couldn't just hypersspace-jump another ship into the enemy fleet because it worked so horribly effectively last time. Doesn't matter that they could have put it on autopilot or sacrificed a droid, or that, at any point in the history of Star Wars, someone else could have and should have done this desperate maneuver. For the sake of "looking cool" it opened an entire sinkhole.

Less a “hole” and more an inconsistency — the pegasus Blackjack in Percy Jackson is explicitly a mare, a female horse, in one book, and then inexplicably male in later books. Why? Well the author made a mistake, simple as that. He did *not* attempt to explain this error away or dig the hole deeper. It just is. Though I’m not sure why Blackjack couldn’t just stay a mare and how he didn’t reference the previous book when writing the sequel is a bit baffling.

If your heroes can no longer use the Deus Ex Machina they used before – have them attempt to use it, and then come up with a solid reason why it’s not possible. Maybe it was one-time use, or the savior simply doesn’t want to, or the cost/risk is too high to attempt it again, or it simply can’t be found and it’s very frustrating.

Have the heroes be morally opposed to doing what they did before, or overconfident, or skeptical that it will even work again only for that choice to bite them in the ass later. Have the magic item all used up, the recipe to recreate it lost to history. There’s a hundred better excuses than the hand of the author simply saying so.

—

If you aren’t going to write a sequel and you accept living with the plot hole unfilled… chances are people are going to love the story despite its flaws. Harry Potter is the poster child of “why didn’t they use X spell to solve the problem” or “they have a spell for X, yet they don’t have a spell for Y?” and how many people love that story?

In the end, a plot hole can be tiny or massive and chances are the story you told is entertaining enough to make up for it. It’s just a story, it’s just fiction. Learn from your mistakes so the next piece you create is even better.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the sun

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨

It’s been a hot minute so idk if any of you are still here with me🫣 we do have an Azriel pov here.

warning: nothing major, past trauma.

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Zofie’s pov:

She sat at the top of the steps for hours. Long given up on running towards the door with every scratch or creek that she heard. With her head resting against the railing, Zofie couldn’t help but let her mind consume her. Nit-picking at all of her choices. She had done the opposite of being a good daughter. And she too had promised to love Azriel forever, so what was shifting?

Her thoughts slithered towards Nyx, who had been claiming most of her mind now. She could see why Azriel wouldn’t want her with him. And maybe it wasn’t even him trying to protect her; maybe it was him trying to keep the high-fea bloodline clean. What did she have to do with the high lords? Nothing. She saw the high lord and lady from time to time, but she was way closer to Uncle Cassian.

Then her thoughts drifted to the fact that she didn’t know all that much about Nyx either. Zofie didn’t even know his other friends. How many were they? What if all he was doing was just being friendly? He could very well have a lover. A mate. Preppy parents in desperate need to marry off their children to form bonds between courts, Nyx’s voice ran in her ears. Of course, Rhys was no doubt looking for a match for his son. And what was she thinking? Letting herself dream that maybe one day…

The sound of the door clicking open made Zofie shoot up. Just with her lack of focus, the girl ended up hitting her head against the side of the railing. Whining in pain, Zofie quickly reached to press her palms against the aching spot, only to lose her footing as her ankle buckled and the center of gravity shifted. She managed to let out a yelp, but the hard fall never came. Instead, the endlessly soothing smell of night filled her senses.

"Zofie," her father’s worried voice made her look up quickly. “Look at me, hey, did you hit your head hard?" Azriel’s worried golden eyes tore through the last bits of her self-control. Without a second thought, Zofie scrambled to get closer. Hands messily tangling with Azriel’s leathers as she wrapped herself around him. “I’m so sorry," she whimpered, “So sorry." Azriel’s arms wrapped around Zofie’s frame with ease in an instant. “Breathe for me, Zofie; you will make yourself faint, baby girl." The calmness of his voice strangely unsettled her. He was supposed to be mad. Was supposed to be frustrated with her. Angry. “Why aren’t you upset? You should yell," Zofie muttered, pulling back, her black eyes filling up with tears. Azriel frowned for the first time since he walked through the door. “Have I ever raised my voice at you?" the spymaster questioned before sighing, “Well, besides earlier today, it wasn’t even at you. I wasn’t angry with you." He softly wiped the tears from beneath Zofie’s eyes. “I will never do it again. I will never see him, I promise”, she said, feeling her own body start to swirl with emotions flooding from all over the house. Fruition, confusion, pain, sadness, and dread. Gasping for air, Zofie looked back at Azriel, whose shadows quickly drowned out any distractions. Closing the two of them in the safety of cool darkness. “Breathe, little star," Azriel muttered against Zofie’s hair, “Remember how we do it?" His firm gaze met her frantically blinking eyes. One of the shadows settled at the back of her neck; the other two wrapped around her hands, cooling the main point of her anxious spell.

“You’re safe." Azriel slowly ran his hand up and down her back, trying to comfort her the best he could. “I can't," her pained breaths ripped at Azriel, but he knew that now any excess emotions had to be suppressed, “We’re in your safe bubble." With a fluster of his wings, Azriel wrapped them around the two of them. “Press your palms against me; let it out," and she would have, but suddenly it made her stomach twist. Because this man. Man who didn’t have to take her in. Would know that she had all of these thoughts. From hate. To frustration. All directed at him. All because she was being naive. “I can't," she said, pulling back and hitting her father’s leathery wings. “Of course you can; you’ll burn out otherwise," Azriel urged her, “Come on, baby." She knew that he was desperate for a reason. Zofie had sent herself into overdrive once, and it wasn’t pretty. She could barely stand for weeks. No speech. She could barely get food down. That had been the first time she had seen Azriel with a full stubble. He had refused to leave her, even for a minute. He had been there. Always been there looking out for her. Another painful cry slipped past her lips, and everything went black.

Azriel pov:

Azriel’s eyes lingered on Zofie’s limp body lying in bed. He had been fixing the throw covering Zofie for the past hour. One moment it seemed too high up, and so she no doubt had to be too warm, but then the other he feared that she wasn’t warm enough. Azriel knew there was no way to measure the impact of the outburst until morning. Till Zifie opened her eyes. And she would open her eyes because...

“You should get some sleep”, your soft voice made Azriel turn from the bed. Some of the tension eased. It always did when you were around. His beautiful mate. Mother of his children. “I’m not tired," he muttered, fingers lazily running up and down Zofie’s arm. "Azriel, you can’t fool me." The moment your hands touched Azriel’s shoulders, he instantly felt warmth seeping through his aching bones. “How are you doing?", Azriel knew what that question implied because he had a feeling that you were aware of where the roots of all of this were.

“How can she think that I don’t love her?", Azriel shook his head, “Had I seriously been so... shortsighted?” You cupped his face tenderly. “She knows, she’s simply confused. Emotions are running high…”, “That was days of amped-up frustration that I’ve caused, YN”, his tone was much higher, and the moment that hit Azriel, his hand instantly came to clasp his mouth.

“It’s okay. You’re okay," you gently reached for both of his hands, giving them a little squeeze. “She’s growing up, Azriel. Things are strange and new”, leaning in, pressing your forehead against his, “She was scared that your yellow was fading," you admitted. “My love for her hasn’t changed," Azriel muttered. “I know, love, but your heart is now making room for Novie, and I think insecurities are running high." Azriel glanced back at Zofie. He never looked at her differently. Never treated her like a dainty porcelain doll. Yes, he protected her. Was ready to go to war for her. Because he had always seen her as his. He understood what having inner demons meant. To this day, Azriel had days when battling them got way too much. Hence, he had always craved to protect them so much. That desire to chase any doubt away fueled him because they deserved better. They deserve to know life in vibrant colors, not dim grays and blacks.

Azriel’s eyes fell on Zofie again. The girl had shifted slightly, curling deeper into herself. “Will you be good up there alone tonight?" Azriel gazed up at his mate. The raw instinct beat at him to go up to his bedroom and guard the new mother of his child, to be devoted to tending to them only. But it wasn’t Zofie’s nor Axel’s fault that the same blood didn’t bond them all. And Azriel had promised to protect them like his own, so as hard as it was, now he knew that he had to step down on the primal instinct and put his first children into the equation too. You smiled lovingly up at him and said, “I won’t be alone. Your mother is here, and Axel should be coming home soon." Stepping forward, you let yourself snuggle into Azriel’s chest for a heartbeat. Pouring as much love and reassurance into the embrace as you could. Azriel’s lips lingered on your forehead. “If you need me..." he muttered, but you instantly shook your head. “Stay with her, Azriel. She needs you," and that was all it took for Azriel to nod. His shadows carefully blew out a handful of candles lighting up the room. Leaving a bare minimum of light that wouldn’t bother anyone’s slumber, and if by any chance Zofie was to wake up during the night, he didn’t want her to open her eyes to darkness. As carefully as he possibly could, Azriel scooped Zofie’s tiny frame into his arms before climbing into her bed. Out of shared instinct, the spymaster started to hum the melody he used to hum to the two kids when they were younger, and nights of settling down were harder. His scared fingers carefully brushed her ink-black hair away from her face. Lips turning upwards as he let her way more mature features sink in. Never had he thought that he would be wishing the time would go slower. But it also filled him with endless pride that he too had played a role in making sure this tiny girl would slowly grow into a strong-minded young woman. With a deep sigh, Azriel pressed a loving kiss onto Zofie’s forehead, making the girl snuggle deeper into her father’s chest. “I’ll always love you, little star. As overbearing as I can be, I will always love you the most because you taught me what it was like to be a father”, he muttered, settling in to watch over her for the night.

Nyx’s pov:

Nyx had been looking through the window of his mother’s gallery for the past couple of hours. He rubbed his chest at times when the feeling of anxiety threatened to choke him out. His mind was running so fast that there were moments when he lost hold of it. Thought after thought, angrily beating at his consciousness.

“Are you antsy about going back?", Feyre’s voice made him grip the window sill tighter. He had forgotten that his mother had even been here with him for a moment. "No," he said bluntly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling if he was being honest. He haven't been able to keep up with any of the emotions for some time now. They all seemed so tangled up that he didn’t know where one started and the other ended. Or it was so chaotic that he was sure that he felt all of it at once, and the feeling sure wasn’t pretty. It was different with Zofie, though. For some reason, his inner chaos always subsided when she was close. It felt calmer. It was as if she was there, sorting through his mess for him.

“Really?", Feyre’s amused voice filled the room. Nyx loved his mother. She was an example of hope to him. Every time he lost faith in the future, he would look for her memory books, ones she had sat down with Rhys to write while she had been pregnant with him. Nyx just wished they would understand that now he wasn’t sure if his own story linked with his parents.

“It’s what we do as soldiers; we need to earn our rank," he answered sharply with an exhale. He didn’t want to fight with his mother. Nor did he want to make her upset. He just didn’t want to talk about anything regarding this court. “And if you didn’t give me a textbook answer?" Feyre dunked her brushes into the water, turning to face her sun. Nyx knew that while he could hide his inner battles from his father with anger. His mother was way harder to fool. Nyx simply shrugged, not knowing what exactly she was trying to get out of him.

“It’s okay to have things that you miss back home," her delicate hands inked with marriage vows cupped Nyx’s face as she gazed up at him. “You treat her well?" At those words, Nyx had gone ridged. “What?", he muttered, stepping away. “Do you treat Zofie well?", Feyre smiled at him. Nyx wasn’t surprised that she knew about their little adventure last night, but this seemed like a lot more of an intentional question. One that implied way more.

“Of course, I treat her well," Nyx grumbled with a frown. “What kind of question is that?" he asked, shaking his head in frustration. Why was everyone constantly assuming that he was out there, like some old creep following her around? It wasn’t intentional that their paths crossed so often. They just did...

“Do you love her?", That question had sent all the oxygen out of Nyx’s lungs. Making him gape at his mother as if she had grown a third eye on her forehead. “No, Mom, what even… We grew up together!", Nyx threw his arms up in the air in frustration, which suddenly washed over him. “And that’s supposed to be an issue?", Feyre simply smiled up at him. That kind of smile implied that she was up for a chance to change his mind. Nyx turned away, moving to glance out of the window once more. “Whatever. I’m not even going to entertain this conversation." His mother let out a knowing laugh, returning to her painting once more.

Nyx gazed out into the night. His eyes narrowed out on a figure that slipped out of the library’s back door. Leaning forward, he tried to identify the figure. He knew that whoever it was had to have a pass from his parents. “Is that…?", Nyx trilled off. It couldn’t be because they had separated and... “Axel? Yes”, Nyx gazed back at his mother, who hadn’t even lifted her eyes to look out the window. That fucking lying bastard. I’ll be heading home my ass. “Have you hired him to work in the library?", Nyx had frowned in confusion. But Feyre shook her head. “Gwyn is helping new girls settle into quarters. Axel kindly offered to carry boxes”, the high lady said as if there wasn’t anything else.

“Carry boxes, mhm." Nyx watched as Axel stopped in his tracks before waving up at someone. The princeling’s eyes followed the gesture, finding another figure, barely visible in the sixth-floor window, waving right back. Why was he always on the sidelines with everyone? Why hadn’t Axel said anything about this to him yet?

“He’s a sweetheart," his mother hummed in approval. “There was a girl who hadn’t left her room in over a week. Axel managed to coax her out in a day," no doubt a girl Nyx had seen slipping back into the library when he had bumped into Axel earlier on. “A charming young man," Feyre hummed, making Nyx shake his head. “I’ll give him your praise”, after a proper interrogation, of course.

Unfortunately, Axel’s adventures brought him little satisfaction. And quite honestly, Nyx had given up on trying to snoop around his best friend’s business. Because he knew Axel and knew that the deepest and most heartfelt conversation always struck out when they were up in camps. Nyx had been restless for the days to come. Hanging around all the places he and Zofie usually went to. He was waiting for an inkling of any deeper emotions that would drag him towards her.

They had gotten the call that tomorrow morning they would be going back. And he knew one thing—he couldn’t go back without seeing her one more time. The image of her teared up face had haunted Nyx ever since. He hated it when she cried. He hated it when she was upset. But it seemed as if she had just disappeared into thin air. Nyx had hoped to see her at dinner in the lake house last night, but Y/N had simply said that Zofie wasn’t feeling well. Had something happened afterward? Had her magic flared up once more? But twice in two days. That would be way too much. Or maybe she was just avoiding him?

Stomping through the high grass, Nyx let his mind consume him once more. He knew that Rhys had called a meeting that afternoon. Meaning that Azriel and Cassian were both in the office now. If he was lucky, the females would also be there, meaning that only Zofie’s grandma would be at the house. Nyx rounded the back of the house. He hadn’t made any plans. Hadn't thought of what he was going to say. He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous to see her. They knew each other like the backs of their heads. Nyx’s movements halted when he reached the back garden, and his ears picked up on a light rustling.

But it took him a peek from behind the hedges to glimpse at the only source of light that he had for as long as he could remember. Zofie was humming quietly as she hung the wet clothes on the lining. Gently smoothing down the fabric. Hair messily done up. He frowned at the lack of warmer clothes on her body. The sun was way warmer today, but the yellow dress with a thick knit sweater still felt too little to keep her delicate frame warm.

She was hanging the last piece of baby clothes when Nyx stepped right behind her, making Zofie’s hands freeze in the air. Shoulders stiffening. "Zo...", Nyx didn’t even have enough time to finish calling out to her when she finally turned to face him. “What are you doing here?" A slight frown creased her brows. “I wanted to... We go back tomorrow”, he muttered under his breath, her slightly dismissive tone hurting him way more than he thought it would.

"Okay," Zofie muttered, turning to pick up the basket. “Okay? That’s all?", Nyx reached for her hand, but Zofie pulled it back instantly. "What…", Nyx breathed out, his heart racing in his chest. Making his throat feel tight. “Look me in the eyes," he demanded, way harsher than he intended, but this wasn’t them. She wasn’t cold with him. She…

"Go," Zofie said simply. “No, not until you tell me what’s going on," Nyx pushed. “It’s best if we don’t meet up for a bit," Zofie said, wrapping her arms around herself as the colder breeze picked up. Clouds covered up the rays of sun peaking out moments ago. Nyx instantly felt the urge to pull her closer and shield her from the icy wind. “Is Azriel...", “Don’t drag my father into this. You have no right to drag him into this and to speak for me," she said, pointing a warning finger at him. He knew that he had stepped on the line with his last interaction with his uncle, but... "Go, Nyx, have a safe trip," Zofie said, pushing the loose strands of her hair beneath her ears.

"Sunny," his words were barely a whisper, but she simply shook her head and said, “We are no longer children. It’s time we grow up." Zofie rested the basket on her hip. “My world and your world... they’re different," Zofie muttered, and Nyx swore he saw the way her lower lip quivered. “You fit perfectly in my world... You’re my best friend," Nyx called out to her as she turned to walk away, his feet carrying him straight to her without hesitation. His palms reached out to her, cupping her face, and a slight shiver ran through her at his touch. They were inches away. She was a breath away. Nyx’s purple eyes desperately searching for any clues as to why she was shutting him out. Zofie’s free hand pushed against Nyx’s chest as she pulled free of his embrace. “Have a safe trip," she muttered, her hesitant fingers reaching up to touch Nyx’s cheeks, but the moment he leaned into the touch, Zofie turned back, rushing towards the patio stairs. "Sunny," Nyx called out, but she was already at the door. So he stood there. He stood there until the sky started weeping alongside him. Taking to the skies with an angry cry.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay @lees-chaotic-brain

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | The Interlude | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6.3 K Warnings: None Prompt: New Friends, new adventures to come and one Halloween Party to prepare. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Chapter 16: Boogie Wonderland

The next day, you charmed your restricted section book cover, just like you had done with the spicy one, making it look like another casual spell book. You then spend most of your classes devouring its content, it was way more than the two pages you’d found on the 5th-year DADA book, although a good deal of them focused solely on how to defeat a werewolf. 

Tips on how to kill werewolves, spells against werewolves, weapons against werewolves, a particular line irked you so much –if you see a werewolf hex to kill, don’t bother incapacitating– that you were about to throw the book on the ground and cast incendio on it. But it wasn’t until about the second half of the book that it finally started to talk about its qualities. Especially with the section titled “How to spot werewolves in your daily life”. Of course, while most of the things in the book were about spotting and hurting them, you were more focused on learning which things you should never do. 

On a small piece of parchment, you started documenting everything that you had learned so far. You’d even use a codeword to refer to Remus, in case your note was misplaced or lost. 

My Knowledge on WW:

Silver burns them (throw away or alter the ring mom gave me once Puppy returns it).

Silver and Dittany could save someone after being lethally bitten by a werewolf, turning them into one regardless. 

Bites are contagious only if the werewolf bites someone in werewolf form, not outside of it (Luna could bite whoever he wants without turning them, as long as they’re in human form, maybe they’d get a bit of a raw meat affection for a couple of days, but nothing more). Why is this relevant to me?

Werewolves do not remember who they are once transformed. They can be very aggressive, and they have killed friends and loved ones in wolf form; they will remember what they did once they’re back in human form. If Luna turns into werewolf form and you’re around, turn the fuck away.

Any bite or scratch obtained from a werewolf, whether in human or animal form, would leave a permanent scar. (Luna probably has a bite mark somewhere. I wonder where?) 

Werewolves rarely have children. If a werewolf has a child with another werewolf while in wolf form, they’d have a normal wolf, except they’d be beautiful and nearly as smart as a human. 

Werewolves don’t really attack animals, they seem to target exclusively Humans. 

There’s little to no medicine developed to help treat werewolves. -> Racist wizards going at it again.

They can be a little aggressive, touchy or moody as the full moon approaches. 

They have a crazy good sense of smell (even in human form apparently; maybe I’ll get to ask Luna about it someday)

THEY AREN’T ALL EVIL. 

You read through your list a couple of times, wondering if you’d missed anything from the book. But you were certain you had narrowed down the most important clues the book had. There was a section of the book that had a couple of spells to defend yourself from werewolves, but they were all incredibly aggressive attack spells, most of them to severely damage or kill the werewolf, when you finished reading you ripped the page from the book, threw it on the floor and whispered “incendio,” contemplating how the fire slowly consumed the old piece of paper. You might have not been able to burn down the entire book, but that was pleasing enough. And you had to get rid of it before anyone read through it and tried to use it on Remus, or any other good werewolves. Because no matter how many times the book tried to frame Werewolves as being inhumane, and immoral beasts, incapable of feeling remorse, you knew it was all bullshit. 

Remus was kind, gentle, and incredibly caring, he’d been the first one to approach you when you were feeling off after divinations, he’d shared chocolate with you when you were injured, he’d held you when a quaffle had been thrown your way, and he’d even taken you to his quiet spot when he thought it might help you feel better. Remus had, even in the short time you’d met him, always been there for you, and you wanted to be at least half as good of a friend as he’d been. Remus was nothing like the harrowing picture the book painted of werewolves. And while you were sure actual evil werewolves existed, you’d heard of them in the news, with wolves like Fenrir Greyback and its followers, you also knew there were evil and good wizards. It wasn’t a matter of what you were, but a matter of who you were. You’d know, your mom had told you about the hard times her mother had had with her being half fairy, the Wizarding Community just wasn’t very accepting of diversity. 

As you walked back from the courtyard where you were reading, book back in your backpack and parchment gently tucked in the book you had in your hands, you accidentally bumped into someone, and whoever you bumped into had been walking with so much force, the books you were holding fell to the ground. The boy –a Ravenclaw you hadn’t met– leaned down and helped you pick your stuff. But the page on your book had slipped and fell a little further from your grasp, he walked towards it before you even had the chance to react, and he eyed it as you gulped. Thank Merlin you’d used codenames.

“You’re into werewolves too?” He asked. 

You frowned, thinking of a quick excuse, say it was an assignment, say it’s homework, a part of you said. On 6th year? about werewolves? who would ever believe it?, responded the other. But there was something about the question that caught your attention then, “What did you say, sorry?” 

The boy turned to you, “Oh- um… I asked if you were also into werewolves…” he said, as he handed the parchment over to you. There it was: also into them. 

“Uh… yeah, I’ve been doing some research.” 

He nodded, and motioned to the paper, still in your hands “Who’s Luna?” 

You were caught off guard again “It’s a… character, from a story.” You said, making it up on the spot “I’m writing it, the story… I’m writing the story.” How on earth did I become such a shitty liar?

“Oh, that’s amazing! I’m actually really interested in them as well.” 

“You are?” 

He nodded “Yeah, I’ve been working with Professor Slughorn to develop a potion.” 

“To make them human again?” You asked with a frown. 

He shook his head “It’s… That’s impossible… But Slughorn and I think It’s possible to create one that will allow them to remember who they are while in wolf form, to reduce the risk of attacking humans.” 

“What really? That’s brilliant! I’d love to help you!” You said, almost a little too excitedly, so you cleared your throat  “I mean, it would be a really good way of getting knowledge for my story…” 

“Really?” He asked, with a smile “You’re (Y/N), right? New transfer student? Gryffindor’s new keeper?” 

You nodded “I’m afraid I don’t know your name…” 

He extended his hand, and you shook it “Damocles Belby, most people just call me Kless, I’m from 7th…” he seemed to think about the next thing before deciding to ask “Are you really as brave as they say?” 

“They say I’m brave?!” You asked, in disbelief. 

He nodded “You stood up against some nasty Slytherins in class, and they say you fly like a daredevil, or so I’ve heard…” 

“Well, I –gossip sure travels fast here– Why?” 

“I’m more of a books and potions kind of person, you see…” he started, moving one of his arms up to the back of his head, to scratch it, it looked like Kless wasn’t too eager to ask for this particular favour  “…but I really want to test out the effect of Moonflower on the potion, see if it helps. The issue is, and you might not know this but Moonflower–“ 

“–only blooms in full moon.” You finished. 

He exhaled, “Yeah, and I’ve been told that there is a chance to find them in the forbidden forest.” 

“You want me to get it for you, don’t you?” 

He nodded, “Only if it wasn’t too much trouble. And if you helped with it, I could finish the first draft of the potion in a couple of weeks and we could probably test it together, and if the position works, I could get a brilliant recommendation letter from Slughorn to study at Cauldronwell, the School of Advanced Potionry. Maybe we could even get one for you.” 

You took a deep breath, considering the situation, the forbidden forest must be forbidden for a reason, and the boys had warned you about it too. Eventually, you spoke again “If I do this, will you let me have some of the potion?” 

He looked at you, as if thinking about it, probably wondering if he should ask why you’d need the potion, but in the end, he only nodded “Deal.” 

You smiled at that, pleased with the answer he’d given you, “Pleasure to meet you Kless, I’ll see you around.” You said before waving at him and resuming your way to the common room since you’d be helping Remus and Sirius finish up the decorations for the party. But just before turning on the corner you turned your head towards him again “I’ll find you when I get it.” 

He nodded, “I’ll send you a copy of my research through owl mail.” He responded. 

Sirius and Remus were already in the common room when you arrived, you smiled and took the book with the parchment, grabbing the piece of paper and hiding it deep within one of the pockets of your backpack. While you were busy, still packing stuff inside your bag, you felt Sirius’s arms wrap around you as he hugged you from behind. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek before pulling away again, grabbing a piece of candy from the bowl next to your bag on the table and popping it into his mouth. “What were you up to?” He asked, noting you were late. 

“Sorry, got really caught up in this book.” You told him with an apologetic smile as if Sirius could actually be angry at you. You then looked around, the boys had already gotten a head start. James, who was supposed to help, was still locked up in his room, adding some final details to his Hamlet costume while Peter was in the kitchens, making sure the treats were ready for the party. 

“Marlene’s gone to get a fog potion,” Remus said, as he grabbed onto a piece of cloth neatly folded on the table, “Beth and Tom went to Hogsmeade to buy some last-minute treats.” 

You paid close attention as he started to unfold the cloth “Is that the banner Lily made?” You asked, walking closer to him, Sirius was looking at you with a smile as you moved towards his friend. 

Remus nodded and said a quick “Yeah.” Handing a corner of the cloth over, so you could help him, the two of you extended the banner together, finally opening it up. The Banner was long and, it was black with orange letters over it, and it had two Jack-o-lanterns on each side that screamed “Happy Halloween” when you looked directly at them. 

“It’s brilliant!” You said with a smile, as you helped Remus levitate it closer to the ceiling near the entrance. Sirius was busy placing the jack-o-lanterns you had carved during the week all over the common room. Once the banner was hung, you walked towards the table and pulled out a bag you’d left there a couple of classes ago. 

“What’s that?” Sirius asked, walking closer to you again, shoulders brushing against yours. You smirked, and took a skull from the inside, throwing it towards Sirius, he easily caught it and looked at it, before turning back to you. 

“You thought it would scar–“ he started, but then, out of nowhere, the skull started laughing maniacally, Sirius jumped and let it fall on the floor.

The skull said “Auch,” while you and Remus started laughing. 

“Did you see his face?” You asked him. 

“Absolutely priceless, wish I’d gotten a picture of it!” Agreed Remus. 

Sirius just looked at you both with a pout as he picked the skull back from the floor and gently placed it on the table. The skull started to laugh again and Remus silenced it with his wand “You planned this, didn’t you?” 

Remus shook his head, and you answered “We just took advantage of the opportunity to test them. Rem and I’ve been working on them for a while.” 

“Them?” He looked at the bag wearily “How many did you make?” 

“About a dozen,” Remus answered casually. You opened the bag again, and you carefully took the skulls out. You then handed them to the boys, who started to place them all over the common room, one near the sofa, one close to the fireplace, some over at the stairs, and in general, just spread out in rather inconvenient places, the kind of places that would have people jumping from their skin when they started screaming at them. Sirius decided it would be a good idea to have one floating over the fruit punch, and he placed it in the bowl before adding the fruit juice. You saw him take a bottle of rum out too, and pour about a quarter of it onto the drink.

You shook your head, a little smile playing on your lips as he did “Why not add a bit more?” you teased. 

“Sirius!” Remus admonished him. “What did we say about adding alcohol to the main beverage? Last year it was chaos!” 

“It was only a little bit,” he retorted, and then turned to you “Barely a trickle, right Statshine?” 

You nodded “Not even a quarter of a bottle.” Remus shook his head, looking at both of you disapprovingly. “Come on Rem,” you said persuasively “let’s leave it like that, you don’t want to throw out such a good punch do you.” 

“She’s right, Moons, come on,” Sirius said, now he was standing next to you, both looking at the taller boy with puppy eyes. 

Remus looked at the two, both so pretty trying to convince him to do something, he almost couldn’t think of anything else. In fact, he wasn’t sure there was anything in the world you’d ask of him that he would deny, not with that expression on your faces. He took a deep breath, trying not to focus on the fact that he had somehow developed a crush not only on his best friend (which he had been pretty aware of already) but on his girlfriend as well, “Just so you know, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

Both you and Sirius smiled broadly, looking at each other and throwing a high-five between yourselves. “You’re the best Rem!” You told with a dashing smile and then you walked back, pulling the bag up. 

“There’s more?” Sirius asked Remus, he shrugged in response, he didn’t know. 

Slowly, you pulled out a whole skeleton from it. “What the hell?!?” Asked Remus surprised, “You didn’t tell me you also had one of those…” 

“I didn’t have it, I found it.” You told him “It was in one of the old classrooms on the 3rd floor.” 

“Is it… real?” Remus asked cautiously. 

“Didn’t ask him,” you responded with a shrug while looking at the skeleton. Remus raised his eyebrows, amused at your answer. 

And a diverted smile appeared on Sirius' lips before he asked. “Did you charm it as well?”

You ginned “‘Course I did! Who do you take me for? I’ve got a whole plan for it.” 

“And where are you going to place it?” Remus asked, from next to you now as he curiously looked at the skeleton. 

You turned your body a little, shifting the weight of the skeleton onto one of your arms, and pointed at a wardrobe in the far side of the room. 

“In the closet?” The taller boy asked in disbelief “You’re going to put the skeleton in the closet?” 

“It’s a joke in and of itself,” you said with a smile “every now and then the skeleton will drop smoke or random sounds, that way guests are inclined to investigate. And then boom, the skeleton in the closet will jump out and scare the shit out of them.” 

“That’s wicked…” Said Sirius, a smirk playing on his lips “See Moony? I told you she was like us!”

“I was certain when you told me about the day of the library,” Remus said simply. 

You looked at Sirius, eyes wide in shock “You told Remus about the library?” 

“Of course I did, your Howler was genius!” Sirius responded matter-of-factly.

“Certainly,” Remus agreed. 

Right, the Howler, he told them about the Howler, not about the snoging. “It was just, a spur-of-the-moment idea?” You said, tugging in a hair behind your ear shyly as you walked towards the wardrobe with the skeleton –Steve– as you’d named him. You knew how seriously the boys took their jokes and escapades, if Sirius and Remus were complimenting you on something, they weren’t just sweet-talking you. You slowly but surely accommodated Steve inside the wardrobe and closed the doors. 

“What are we missing?” Asked Remus as he looked around the common room, trying to get a look at the big picture. 

“Marlene’s still coming with her smoke potions, right? Spooky music? Maybe…”

“Got that taken care of,” Sirius said, and waved his wand, on the corner, a small violin, a flute and what looked like a piano started playing music. 

You were surprised “where did you get those?”  

“Stole them from the music room last year,” Sirius explained “It was a dare to prove to James that Remus was way stealthier than him, even if he’s taller.” 

You nodded, a little impressed, you then heard the portrait open, Beth and Tom walked inside with bags filled with candy; from slug worms to dancing skeletons, all the Halloween theme candies from Honeydukes were there. Tom walked all the way to the table with the punch and emptied his backpack there. Beth, on the other hand, started to neatly arrange the candies she’d gotten into different vases and floating trays, she ended up also taking the stuff Tom had dumped and finished decorating the sweet’s table, as she’d prompted everyone to call it that from then on.

“You guys did a brilliant job,” Tom said as he looked around in awe, there were spider webs coming from the ceiling, shiny black and orange streamers swirling in the air, black flamed candles levitating all over the ceiling, cauldrons filled with candies. The skulls you and Remus had charmed together still lurking on certain spots, a table filled with potions, “for potion pong,”  as Beth had told you, and overall, an eerie but fun atmosphere. You had even told Moaning Myrtle and Richard Jackdaw to come over as special guests, even if you warned them not to tell any other ghosts about the party, especially Peeves, who would definitely attempt to make some kind of prank, or tell the teachers about your shenanigans. Suddenly he tilted his head. “Do hear that?” He asked. 

Beth frowned “Hear what?” 

“It’s uh… coming from…” Tom started walking towards the wardrobe. You threw a look at the boys, Sirius held your stare with his icy grey eyes, the hint of a smirk drawing on his lips. When you turned to Remus, he was also looking at you attentively, eyebrows raised, clearly looking amused. 

As you exchanged glances with the boys Tom approached the wardrobe “None of you hear it?” 

You shook your head, it wasn’t a lie, the spell only worked for one person at a time, so really, not even Beth would hear the same thing Tom did. Tom was now right in front of the closet, and he hesitantly placed his hands on the handle, like he was considering whether he should open it or leave it alone. But Tom was curious, almost too curious for his own good and in a fast pull, he opened the door. 

The skull jumped out and clang onto Tom, eyes glowing a shade of green and screaming so loud even you winced, perhaps I overdid it, you thought. Tom screeched, jumped back and ended up on the floor, fighting to get the skeleton to unwrap its bony arms off his shoulders. When he finally did it, he threw it to the side and crawled away from it while looking at it with dread. He stayed there, panting as Steve finally shut its bony jaw, the screams and shrieks slowly dying out.

Everyone started to laugh, including Beth, who had been just a little scared at the beginning. Still with his eyes open wide, Tom turned back, a slight frown on his face as he turned to Sirius “What the fuck mate?! That was bIoody horrifying, what did I ever do to you?”

Sirius raised his hands and shrugged, “That wasn’t my prank.” 

Tom’s frown deepened and he turned to Remus “It was you?” He asked again, still trying to gain his breath. Remus shook his head as a reply, there was no way it’d been James or Peter, Tom knew they’d be pretty busy today so he slowly turned his head to you, almost unsure “(Y/N)?” 

You took a deep breath, raising your shoulders, lips tightened in a line before, letting a bit of a smile appear. Guilty, you looked guilty. “I see you’ve met Steve.” 

“You gave that horrid thing a name?” You shrugged, nodding your head as an answer. He sighed “Why me?” 

“Oh, that’s on Steve, he chooses the person he calls, not me.” 

“You put a randomizer spell on it?” Remus asked then, surprised. You nodded “How? I’ve been trying to master those for a while…” he said, walking closer to the skeleton. 

“I found it on The Refined Art of Mild Hexes, it’s somewhere on the first couple of pages,” you told him, and then started waking towards Tom and helped him up “Sorry bout that,” you said, giving the curly haired boy a light pat on the back, he just stared at you, squinting his eyes in distrust, he then scoffed, shaking his head as he looked at the skeleton on the ground. 

“Looks bIoody realistic,” he said, the edges of his lips finally curling into a little smile. 

“Yeah, Remus thought the same, and asked me if it was real.”

He turned back to you, a slightly concerned expression on his face “Well… Is it?” 

“She’d got no clue,” Sirius answered for you. 

You nodded in agreement “Found it lying around in an abandoned classroom.” 

 “And you just took it? What it if was a ghost’s or something?” 

You shook your head “I asked Richie Jackdow, and he said it didn’t belong to any of the ghosts in the castle.” 

“You really have gotten accustomed to Hogwarts, haven’t you?” 

You smiled “I guess you could say I have.”

The portrait opened itself again, and Mary and Marlene came inside. Marlene carrying a tray with potions and Mary with some more treats, this time saltier stuff from the kitchen. “I brought the fruit for the punch,” she said as she walked towards the sweet’s table. 

“Great, you guys prepare that, Sly sprite,” he said turning to you “You’re helping me with this,” he said pointing to his canines, he’d asked you to turn them into fangs earlier that week, when the party was being planned, you’d both found a spell that would be useful, and had decided it’d be the one you’d use. 

“I think I left the book in my backpack,” you said as the two of you walked towards a further away table. 

“Sly sprite,” Sirius scoffed, he was standing next to Remus. 

The taller boy raises his eyebrow “You jealous?” he teased. 

“Of Tom?! No way!” 

“Why not?” Remus asked and turned to you and Tom at the table where you’d left your backpack, you had one hand on the book and the other on your wand, Tom was staring at you attentively “Tom’s handsome, maybe just as handsome as you.” 

Sirius frowned, “You’re not helping,” he added flatly. 

Remus knew very damn well you had no interest in Tom, but he was enjoying himself while looking at a jealous Sirius, thinking back of all the times he’d been jealous himself. “I’m just saying… he’s charming, comes from a wealthy family, and his curls are really nice.” 

“Remus!” Sirius whined, turning his back to look at the hazel-eyed boy instead of at you since you already had both of your hands on Tom’s face as you pulled it back to check on his canines.

“Do you know what this is for?” Asked Mary, taking a potion bottle with a golden cap. Remus shrugged.

“Must be the sugar syrup for the punch,” Beth said “I asked Peter to bring it over in the morning.” 

Mary looked at it, swirled the liquid around inside the bottle, and uncapped it. She gave it a whiff and shrugged, it certainly smelled sweet enough. She didn’t think it twice, and dumped the entirety of the contents inside the punch, then grabbed the bottle and placed it on the potions table, since it fit the aesthetic. 

Meanwhile, you and Tom were still working on his fangs, “Stop moving for fucks sake,” you complained, as Tom looked at himself in the hand mirror he took from your bag. 

“But make them longer, yeah luv?” He answered, his voice already had a little lisp from the fangs. 

“They’ve got a great length Tom, you won’t be able to eat!” 

“Food doesn’t matter, aesthetics do!” 

You sighed, “Don’t dare come whine with me if you cannot eat.” 

“I swear I won’t Sly Sprite,” he said while placing his right hand over his heart. It made you wonder: If both Sirius and Tom entered a drama contest, would they tie? Eventually, you nodded and performed the spell again, grabbing the mirror and placing it in front of Tom’s face. He smiled, checking himself out as he slid his tongue under the fangs and winched at how sharp they were. You gave him an “I told you so” look, but he just shook his head. “Aesthetics (Y/N), aesthetics!”  

You just rolled your eyes and started to stand up but he stopped you by grabbing your arm “Hold up! Man liner!”

“Man liner?” You asked with a frown. 

“Yes! Eyeliner for men, like rock stars! Would you mind doing it for me?” He then looked through the pockets and pulled out an eyeliner pencil. 

You shrugged and nodded, taking the pencil from his hand, and leaning closer to Tom’s face, “Don’t move, all right?” He nodded and you started to line his water line. Softly gliding the pencil. When you were about to finish the first eye you felt someone looming behind you. When you turned you realised it was just Sirius, and you gave him a quick smile before going to line Tom’s second eye. 

Sirius was attentively looking at you as you lined Tom’s eye, both curious at the way you did it and also pretty jealous of how close you were to the other boy. Which prompted him to walk even closer. Once you were done you smiled and pulled away from Tom “There you go Mr. Vampire.” 

“Brilliant!” He said, placing both hands on your shoulder “Thank you Sly Sprite!” 

Sirius cleared his throat from behind “Mind if I borrow my girlfriend away for a minute.” 

Tom, being as oblivious and carefree as he was, nodded with a smile “I’m actually going to go change.” 

Once Tom was gone, you turned to Sirius with a quizzical expression “What was that about?” 

Sirius, who had spoken without thinking, was taken aback by your question “I… uh— Can you line my eyes too?” He improvised.

You frowned, “What are you dressing as?” 

He was about to open his mouth, but shut it before he could speak. “What are you going to dress up as?” 

“Oh… that’s right. You haven’t guessed. You get 3 more tries,” you told him playfully, as you placed your hand on his shoulder, guiding him to sit on the same chair Tom had been in.

He sat there and looked up at you, your breath got stuck in your throat, how was it possible for a boy to be this pretty? You leaned in closer, a lot closer than you had been to Tom, which made Sirius feel a lot better already. “Look up at me, All right?” You told him softly. He did, and you swore you felt your legs wobble, but you took a deep breath and while holding his chin with one hand, you gently placed your other hand on his cheek, to stabilise it while you lined his eyes. You were a lot more careful than you’d been with Tom. Softer, taking a lot longer to drag the eye pencil under his lower lashes. You honestly enjoyed being close to Sirius, more than you’d ever dare to admit to his face, especially since it’d go straight to his head, feeding his already pretty big ego.

“Are you gonna be a mermaid?” 

“No, I’m not.” You replied and continued with your task. 

“What about a princess? You certainly fit the look.” 

“Puppy stop moving!” You reprimanded, as a blush threatened to spread on your cheeks, “And no, I’m not going to be a princess, that’s two tries out of three.” He huffed, he really wanted to win the bet “What about you? Are you gonna be a rockstar?” 

“Nope.” He responded, “3 tries for you too.” 

You leaned in a little closer, narrowing your eyes as you tried to be as accurate as possible, “Will you come as a prince? It’s also something that would suit you.” 

He shook his head “I’m letting James take the spotlight with the mediaeval clothes… You think I look like a prince?” He asked, a little smirk playing on his lips. 

You rolled your eyes, “Everyone thinks you look like a prince, Sirius.” 

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you just said you think I look like a prince.” 

You playfully hit his shoulder before going to the other eye. Almost losing yourself in the frosty blue of them before focusing on your task again. Sirius was still looking at you attentively as you continued to paint his waterline. “Aren’t you gonna try and guess again?” 

“I’ve only got one try left.” 

“And you’re not planning to use it?” 

“I am… just– I want to… think it thoroughly.” 

“You know, you could just tell me whatever your wish is.” 

“It wouldn’t be the same thing,” he retorted. “You should also do Remus’ man liner since he’s going to be a pirate.” 

“I’m not sure he’d like it…” you said, a little insecure about it. 

“I think he would, we should tell him,” he said, very sure of himself. “Hey, Remus!” 

“Mmmm?” the mentioned boy asked from the sofa, where he was arranging some more cauldrons filled with treats. 

“Come over! Will ya?” 

Remus turned to the boy, gave him a look like he did not want to move, but stood up and walked up to the two of you. 

“You’re up next,” Sirius informed him.

“For what?” 

“(Y/N) is doing your manliner.” 

“If you want to…” you added. Finally separating from Sirius since you had finished, smiling at how handsome your boyfriend looked. 

“It’s for your costume.” Sirius said, “It won’t be finished without it.” He then stood up and placed Remus right on the chair in front of yours.

Remus just took a deep breath as he stared at his friend, before turning to look at you, expectantly. 

“You sure you’re ok with it?” You asked, with a little frown. There it was again, the concern and care you always seemed to show Remus, the same concern and care that had his heart fluttering from how close you were standing to him. From how close both Sirius and you were to him, in fact. 

He cleared his throat and nodded, and you leaned closer to him, grabbing his face just as carefully as you had grabbed Sirius’. His skin was a lot softer than you’d imagined, you unintentionally brushed your fingers over one of his scars, but Remus didn’t flinch, which surprised him, since he usually detested when people did it. In fact, he remembered a particular time when he was making out with a boy and he snapped at him for touching his face. 

“Look up at me Rem,” you told him softly, he complied, looking at you through his lashes, Sirius was right next to you, Remus could see his satisfied expression from the corner of his eyes. You finally leaned in, and started to glide the pencil over his lower lashes. You somehow ended up focusing on his eyes, how they had these little specks of amber tones in them, they were bigger, and somewhat softer than Sirius’, very doe-like, in fact. “Tell me if it hurts,” you added later. Remus was nothing like Sirius, the latter would make a fuzz if you pricked him on the eye accidentally. Remus, on the other hand, he’d probably endure it without even wincing. He nodded, and you had to quickly pull the eye pencil away from his face. “But don’t move!” you admonished, grabbing his face a little more sternly now. 

“M’sorry,” he mumbled. 

“What do you think (Y/N)’s costume’s gonna be?” Sirius, who was still very close to the two of you, attentively watching the way you lined Remus’ waterline, asked. He seemed pretty content, falling to notice you were standing so much closer to Remus than you had been to Tom.

“You haven’t guessed yet?” Remus asked, a diverted smile playing on his lips “That’s unfortunate for you.” 

“MOONY!” He whined, “I asked you to help me choose, not to make fun of me.” Remus shrugged. “She said she’s not gonna be a princess, or a mermaid, also not an alien, or an astronaut, from what I asked yesterday. Mmmm.. and she also said she wasn’t dressing as a superhero, though I’m sure she’d look great as Wonder Woman.” 

“Who would’ve thought Sirius would be into costumes…” you teased. Remus instantly chuckled, but it took a little longer for Sirius to understand the joke. 

“Hey! I’m not– I– I just want my prize!” 

“Well then guess by yourself, If Remus guesses for you, he gets your prize.” 

Sirius gasped “You wouldn’t.” 

“I so would,” you teased again. Then pulled back from Remus “There we go,” you smiled at your work, slowly letting your fingers glide over his skin as you pulled them away from his face, Remus really did work that man liner out.

“Damn, mate!” Sirius said as Remus stood, looking up at him “You look absolutely dashing, and you don’t even have the rest of your costume on.” 

“He’s right,” you nodded “Remus’ getting bitches tonight.” 

Remus gave you a reproachful look, but nodded, “I think everything’s pretty much handled already.” 

You saw Tom walk down from the stairs in a puffy shirt and a dark green vest. He’d brushed his curls back, only one gently falling on his forehead, he was definitely working that vampire costume. 

You approached him quickly “Tom! It’s brilliant you’re ready. Deal with everything while we go change, yeah?” 

He nodded, and then smiled mischievously. “I’ll go find the potion, I probably left it somewhere when I dropped all the candies on Beth’s Sweets Table.” 

You raised your eyebrows “Just don’t down it all in one go. Save some for the rest of us.” He winked as an answer. “Tom’s taking care of this, we can go change,” You said, turning to Remus and Sirius, who were just a couple steps behind you. 

Sirius approached Tom first, and handed the eyeliner over “Your eyeliner.” He said icily. 

“Thanks for borrowing it,” Remus added politely afterwards, feeling like he wanted to punch Sirius for being such an idiot to Tom. You clearly weren’t interested in the boy, in fact, anyone would tell him how head over heels you were for him, but he had such a thick head he dared to be jealous. Maybe it was from how much hair he had.

Tom, being Tom, just smiled, almost mischievously. “No problem, you both look smashing, by the way…” He then eyed the taller boy up and down “Remus,” he said with a nod, before walking away to the centre of the room.

You frowned slightly at the exchange, remembering Tom’s words: “You’d be surprised, most of them hide it quite well though, you wouldn’t expect it.” Would it be possible that Remus was also-

You felt a hand press to the small of your back, “let’s go, love,” Sirius said, as he pushed you up the stairs.

“Uh.. yeah sure,” you said, allowing Sirius to guide you, turning your head back towards the front. 

 “Are you gonna be a lady knight?” He asked as you walked up the spiral staircase, Remus trailing behind just a little.

You shook your head “But that would’ve been a brilliant idea!” 

“Well, you’d certainly look great in silver armour,” He replied with a little smirk. You playfully shoved him off as you rolled your eyes. 

“Will you be… a prisoner from Azkaban?” 

“I would look great in those white and blue stripes, wouldn’t I?” He teased confidently “But no… I’m not gonna be that!” 

You sighed “We both lose then. What was your wish?” 

“I’ll tell you later,” he said with a wink. Eventually, you parted ways, waving a hand as the boys walked toward their rooms while you walked to yours.  

Series Masterlist | The Interlude | Next Chapter

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[winchesterwild78]

Whiskey Kisses and Broken Promises

Story Warnings: mention of masturbation, drinking, cheating, unprotected sexual contact (cover it up guys), oral sex (female receiving), fluff

Minors DNI 18+

A/N: this story came to me when I was listening to Lips of an Angel by Hinder. I do not mean any disrespect to Jensen or his wife. This is a work of fiction and in NO WAY depicts real events. I adore Jensen and respect him. That being said please enjoy my latest story. Not sure if this is just a quick story or if I’m making this into a series.

All work is my own, please don’t take it or copy it. This was written and edited fast. Please over look any errors.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

You sat at the bar sipping a fruity drink. You didn’t want to get drunk you just needed something to take the edge off. Your husband and you were drifting apart and no matter what you did nothing helped. You were heartbroken and frustrated. It had been months if not longer since he called you beautiful or made love to you. You were constantly building up his confidence while yours fell. Anytime you tried to initiate sex he shot you down.

Tonight when you brought it up he told you that you were mistaken. He knew he had complimented you last week when you made a delicious dinner. “I told you thank you and dinner was delicious. How is that not a compliment” he asked. You looked at him with tears in your eyes. “Complimenting my cooking is not the same thing as complimenting me.” You said softly. “What about sex. You haven’t touched me in months.” You said crying. “Well I can’t help I’m not as young as I used to be. Besides some times it’s just easier to masturbate than to have sex.” He said. You let out an audible sob. You grabbed your jacket and purse and headed for the door. “I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back later. I need to clear my head” you said as you walked out the door.

You got to your car and just cried. A few minutes later you composed yourself and drove to a local hotel. You parked and went inside. You headed straight for the bar. You and your friends frequently went to this bar because you knew the bartender and it was a better atmosphere than some club. You walked in and Philip the bartender saw you. He motioned you over and you sat at the end of the bar.

“Hey y/n, you okay” he asked placing a napkin in front of you. “No. We are drifting apart and I don’t know how much fight I have left in me” you said as a tear slipped out. He grabbed your hand and rubbed it. “I’m sorry. I wish I could shake him to wake him up.” Philip said. “Let me get your drink” he said.

So here you were. Sitting at the bar sipping your drink and thinking about your marriage falling apart. You were too busy in your head to see anyone else in the bar. Philip would come over checking on you every few minutes but mostly he left you alone. The bar seemed pretty busy for a weeknight.

You were lost in thought when you heard a deep voice next to you. “This seat taken” the gruff voiced asked. Without looking up you shook your head no. You were still consumed with your thoughts you didn’t pay attention to the man beside you. Philip walked up and said “what can I get you” asking the stranger. “Just a whiskey thank you” he said. His voice sounded familiar so you looked up. There sitting next to you was Jensen Ackles. Your heart stopped beating and a lump formed in your throat. You had been a fan for years and wow he was even more gorgeous in person. He made eye contact and you quickly looked away.

Philip walked back over with his whiskey and looked at you. “Hey y/n, you want another drink” he asked. “Yes please, thank you Philip.” You said meeting his gaze. He took your hand and said “you’re welcome sweetheart. It’ll all work out. He’s a fool” then he walked away.

You sat in silence playing with your glass. You felt the heat coming from Jensen’s body. You smelled his cologne mixed with the whiskey on his breath and it was driving your senses wild. You took a chance and looked at him. He met your eyes and smiled. He tipped his head toward you. You gave him a soft smile. You wanted to look away but his eyes were so mesmerizing you couldn’t. You didn’t notice Philip sit your drink down.

Jensen smiled and extended his hand. “Hello. I’m Jensen and you are” he said. “Oh um, I know who you are. I’ve been a fan for years. Oh I’m y/n. Nice to meet you” you said almost fainting as you touched him.

“So what brings you here tonight drinking alone” he asked you taking his glass in his hand. You watched him as the glass went to his lips. His mouth parted and his tongue teased the side of the glass. Whiskey slowly poured into his mouth and you couldn’t help but swallow hard.

God why does he have to look so sexy. What I wouldn’t give to be that glass. Just one second on his lips. Feeling his breath on mine, his lips, tongue and those hands on my body. Snap out of it. You’re married and so is he.

“Um, excuse me” you said getting up and heading to the bathroom. You went into the stall and tried to steady your breath. You’re just craving connection and he’s been a crush for decades. You’re just projecting your desire for intimacy on him. Stop it! You yelled at yourself. You walked out of the stall, washed your face and walked back to the bar.

“Everything okay, darling” he asked when you sat down. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just going through some things” you said looking at him. He offered you that killer smile and he said “me too”. “So what brings you here” you asked him. “Oh just had to get away for a bit. I got in my car and just drove. I pulled over here to get some rest and a drink.” He said lifting his empty glass. Philip walked over and asked if he wanted another. Jensen said yes and Philip came back with another glass of whiskey. He was watching the two of you interact and smiled.

Jensen’s phone buzzed. He rolled his eyes but answered it. You tried not to listen but you couldn’t help it. “No, I needed to get away Dee. I told you I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of banging my head on the ceiling and anytime I bring up things bothering me you throw in my face how I’m gone all the time. You knew I was going to be gone filming a lot. I’ve tried to stay home as much as I can. But when I’m there you disappear and when I try to initiate sex you blow me off. I love you, Dee. I just don’t think I’m in love with you anymore.” He said before hanging up the phone.

Tears pricked your eyes. His world was falling apart too and all you wanted to do was to help him. You thought they had a solid marriage. Your heart broke for him. A few minutes of silence passed between the two of you before he apologized for the phone call. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you’re having a hard time too. I hope everything works out for you and her.” You said offering him a smile.

He touched your hand and said “thank you, but I know it’s over. You know in your heart when you’ve reached the end of a relationship.” He looked at you with hurt in his eyes. “I know. I’m there too. It’s heart breaking and scary. My marriage is over but I’ve fought so hard to save it. He has no interest in saving it” you said as tears fell “well, he’s a fool for not wanting to stay with you” Jensen said wiping a tear from your cheek. Without thinking you leaned into his touch.

Philip walked over and you paid your tab. You felt your body responding to Jensen’s touch and you needed to get away. You knew it was wrong. Even though he said his marriage was over and yours was too, you were both married. Jensen downed his whiskey and paid his tab too. As he stood so did you. You both walked towards the lobby. “It was nice meeting you Y/N, I hope to see you around sometime.” Jensen said. “You too, Jensen. I wish you nothing but the best.” You both stood there for a minute before he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. His lips were soft and his hot breath sent a chill through your body. You pulled away touching your lips. They were on fire.

Before either of you could truly comprehend what was happening, Jensen pulled you by the hand into the elevator. Once the door closed he pressed you against the wall pinning your hands above your head and his lips captured yours in a deep needy kiss. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue swept across your lips asking for entrance. You parted your lips and he deepened the kiss. Your tongues fighting for dominance. His kiss tasted like whiskey and mint. It was intoxicating and made you weak.

Once the elevator door opened he had you by the hand leading you to his room. He opened the door and led you in. As he pushed you into the door he pushed the door shut. His hands were roaming your body and you both were panting. His lips were trailing down your jaw and onto your neck. He nibbled and you moaned loudly. God this man felt amazing. Jensen pulled you off the door and spun you around to the bed. He laid you down and pulled his shirt off over his head. Revealing his toned chest. You sat up and pulled your shirt off revealing your bra covered breasts. Jensen bit his lip and started to unbutton his pants.

You were watching every move he made and you felt your body respond to him. He slid his pants down and he stood in front of you in his boxers. You could see the outline of his slightly hard cock and you bit your lip. From what you could see he was big. The anticipation made you wet. He helped take your pants off and left you in your bra and panties. “You’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart” he said looking over your body. You blushed and gave him a gentle smile.

You leaned up on your elbows and he unhooked your bra freeing your large supple breasts to him. He groaned as he took his hands and grabbed your bare breasts. He took your lips in his and kissed you down to your breasts. As he took one nipple in his mouth he pinched the other causing a moan from your mouth. He kissed down your body to your panty line. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and looked at you. You shook your head yes giving him permission to remove them.

He stood and removed his boxers and you finally saw his length. God he was huge. You bit your lip and felt your body tingle with anticipation. Jensen positioned himself between your legs and kissed up your thighs. He took his fingers and parted your folds feeling how wet you were for him. He placed a soft kiss on your clit. You squirmed under his touch. His hot breath rushing over your wet folds. He inserted two fingers hooking them up as he attacked your clit. You moved into his touch. Running your fingers in his hair pushing him into you. God he knew what he was doing. You felt your orgasm coming.

“Jensen I’m going to cum” you said breathlessly. He lifted his head “cum for me y/n. Cum on my tongue.” That’s all it took. You came hard and as you came Jensen lapped up your juices like a starved man. He helped you ride out your orgasm before he got up. He positioned himself in between your legs and pumped his length a few times before lining it up with your entrance. He waited until you were ready. You nodded and moved your hips.

He slowly pushed in your dripping wet pussy. His length and girth was so big. You’d never had someone so big. He pushed in waiting to allow you time to adjust to his size. The way you felt was a mixture of pain and pleasure. He was halfway in and you moved your hips. “Move Jensen. I want to feel all of you” you said. Jensen pushed in all the way bottoming out. You both gasped and he leaned his forehead against yours. He stayed still for a minute then he started to move his hips.

You wrapped your legs around him and pushed into him. He set a steady pace pushing in and out of you. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh and moans filled the room. Jensen was getting close. You could feel his thrusts getting faster as he chased his release. As he came he leaned down and captured your lips. Kissing you passionately and deeply. You felt his seed coat your walls. He kissed you again before he got up to grab a washcloth to clean you both up. Once you were both clean he threw the washcloth in the floor and crawled back in bed with you.

You laid in each other’s arms knowing what you both did was wrong, but you both wanted, no needed it. Jensen was rubbing his fingers up and down your arm. You had your head and hand on his chest. Hearing his heartbeat and its steady rhythm made you yearn for him. “Jensen, I want you to know I don’t regret this. You were amazing and I feel peaceful and incredibly happy.” You said rubbing his chest. “I don’t regret this either y/n, you made me feel wanted and needed. I haven’t felt that in a very long time.” Jensen tilted your head up and kissed you again. His lips were soft and needy. He deepened the kiss and you moaned in his mouth.

As the two of you laid there drifting off to sleep you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. Is this just a one night fling or something more? That of course was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight you were in the arms of an incredible man who helped make you feel alive again.

Forever tags: @nescaveckdaily @nescaveckwriter @kr804573 @jensengirl83 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373

[nervoushottee]

Kill the Lights | Lucien Flores x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (Explicit MINORS DNI!) Minor smut, cowgirl sex position (we riding this man queens), age gap (not specified) , unhealthy almost toxic relationship

Summary: Lucien Flores is your older brother’s bestfriend and to you he was always off limits and vice versa. Until one night that changes…(one-shot about how you and Lucien became a “couple”)

Note: hey hottees…so this happened. I kept seeing this picture everywhere on Tumblr that this story just came to me. I have no idea how this character actually is and I’ve tried to look but there’s not really much about this movie from what I can find.

So this is just based on the vibes I was getting from this beautiful image above and I was listening to the song De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier on REPEAT while frantically typing this out on my phone.

Enjoy!! (Not edited)

———————

Lucien Flores was forbidden for you and you were forbidden for him.

But that didn’t stop either of you from falling in love.

Your love was passionate and painful all at the same time. Full of chaos and pleasure, comfort and anger. It was always vibrant, in both the best and worst ways.

But to you? It was beautiful. A love you would never forget, a desire that could never be quenched by anyone but him. You were the only one for him, he said it to you a billion times.

In bed when you both reached your highs. In the shower when he held you close against the running water. In the front seats of his car before dropping you back at your apartment.

But that didn’t mean you had to believe it…

Lucien Flores was many things but he wasn’t healthy for you.

The two of you weren’t healthy for eachother.

The level of want and need between you both consumes your sense of thought or communication. The obsession of one another outweighs the negative traits in your relationship and it always leads to you breaking up and making up more times than you could count.

Your roommate told you countless times that he wasn’t healthy for you. That you weren’t healthy for each other, but that didn’t stop you from calling him in the middle of the night to pick you up or him asking if he could come home to you.

Every touch of his skin on yours felt like fire igniting. You never knew love could feel like this until you got with him. Until you crossed that boundary and broke the little rule your older brother always thrown at Lucien.

“Luc, she’s off limits.”

And Lucien tried to listen, fuck, he really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered in the end. The two of you were meant for eachother. The minute he met you, he knew that there was something there. Something more, but he ignored it and did his best to look at you as his best friend’s younger sister. He kept up at being the older brother's best friend and didn’t push it much further.

It wasn’t until one night you called him. Cried and stressed out saying your date had left you stranded and you didn’t want to call your brother. Knowing he’d be asleep.

Lucien didn’t hesitate to get in his car and drive to where you are before you could even ask him.

That night changed everything. He gave you his jacket when he arrived at the rundown diner where your date left you, wiping the runny mascara from against your cheeks. He asked if you were okay, giving you a once-over before he hugged you.

You were engulfed in the warmth that was him. The smell of his cologne, the cool feel of his gold chain he wore frequently against your temple.

He brought you the comfort you needed.

He held your hand when he drove, your interlocked fingers in your lap. He stopped the car immediately when you asked him to pull over, rubbing your shoulders in comfort as you cried from embarrassment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” You sniffle

“Shh stop, stop.” Lucien says to you softly, trying to quiet your cries, using his hand to guide you to look at him. With your eyes on him, he cups your cheeks.

“You’re not. You never could be, ever. Fuck that guy, he’s missing out on someone as beautiful as you.” Lucien tells you with an amount of seriousness in his voice you haven’t really heard before.

You don’t know why you did it. Maybe it was his comforting voice, the look in his eyes, or maybe how his thumb kept rubbing softly against your bottom lip. But you kissed him.

And he didn’t stop you.

When you backed away from him to apologize, the words couldn’t come out of your mouth. Because you felt- you knew that you didn’t need to apologize for anything. You knew that the both of you felt something for each other.

There was always this subtle game of cat and mouse you two played. Flirting ever so subtly so your brother couldn’t tell. Hands lingering after embraces at family get-togethers. Eyes always flickering back to the other after a conversation was finished.

You knew he wanted you.

Lucien was the one to bring you back in for another kiss that was a lot more demanding than the first. It was hard, like he had been dying to kiss you for a long time.

You fucked in the front seat of his car that night. the end of your dress hiked up to your stomach. Your underwear ripped and tossed at the floor of the passenger seat. That roads dark, with no car to pass by to see the two lovers finally admit their feelings.

The sounds that came from the both of you. The feeling of his hands gripping against your ass, as he guided you when you rode him. The way he spoke to you constantly, his words alone nearly getting you there.

“Fuck that’s it baby- you got it, you got it. Look at you, holy shit.” he says, moving his attention back and forth from your face and looking down at where the two of you meet in disbelief.

“I’ve wanted you for so long-, wanted this for so long.” He groans at the feeling of you clenching against him.

“You’re the only one for me. The only one I want.”

After that night the two of you loved each other in secret. Only your roommate knowing and having to pick up the pieces that was you after a fight with Lucien that would happen time and time again,

Loving Lucien probably wasn’t stable or healthy for you or him. But you don’t know if you’d ever want anyone else as much as you wanted him.

Dividers by @saradika

[venus-haze]

Dawn Patrol (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: You never thought you’d see him again. Your soulmate, your other half, your partner in crime-fighting, the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with. It seems like the universe is giving you a second chance when you end up in this place with Homelander. Except, this one isn't quite like the man you remember, but he's not letting that stop him.

Note: Gender-neutral reader, and no descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also a different take on the “love of your life died and came back but something's wrong” horror trope. Title comes from the Megadeth song (which is about living in a dystopia). Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Extremely unhealthy relationship. Intense feelings of loss, confusion, and self-doubt on the reader’s part. Some elements of unreality? Homelander is extremely manipulative, possessive, and gaslights the hell out of the reader in this, but no physical harm is done. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

The man standing in front of you wasn’t John, not your John, at least. He acted strange whenever you called him that. Homelander felt so impersonal, though, a title and persona rather than the man you loved your whole life. You silently scolded yourself. You shouldn’t complain so much, not when he believed you, against all reason, despite never having met you before in this version of reality. If it were even real. 

You had crumbled the first time you saw him. Weeks of being locked in a lab, poked and prodded and tested before he entered with an unfamiliar coldness. It had to have been a cruel trick, these people using your greatest vulnerability against you. John had been presumed dead for years. The ache that consumed you at his loss made it hard to even breathe sometimes, and you’d spent countless nights alone in your formerly shared bed, wracked by guilt for not doing more as you silently implored the universe to give you one more chance. You should have known it’d come with plenty of strings attached.

His name echoed through the room in a desperate howl. You strained against the titanium cuff you were chained to, and he froze upon hearing one of the links break. Rabid, desperate, tears streamed down your face in your delirium. You needed to touch him, to feel for yourself that it wasn’t your brain tricking you again. It has to be real this time.

His breath hitched as he approached you, the way animal control does a feral dog–cautious and gentle, but still regarding you with a level of distrust. Your struggle subsided with each step he took, until he was finally in arms’ reach. Looking into his blue eyes for the first time in years, your hand trembled as you lifted it to caress his cheek. Soft and warm like you’d remembered. 

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m your–Gemini,” you said. “‘Cause I can–”

“Make duplicates of yourself, they told me. Who are you?”

“Not here, but somewhere else, I'm your partner in, well, everything. We grew up across the street from each other,” you told him. “Your powers showed up sooner than mine, but your mom always said we were a package deal, so when we started fighting crime together, it just made sense that we’d fall in love too.”

“My mom?” he whispered.

“She was the one who came up with the name Gemini for me.”

His gaze softened, his eyes turning cloudy. You recognized that look. Deep in thought, a million miles away, the only place John wouldn’t take you. This one didn’t seem eager to do so either. Did he and his mom not get along here? Was she dead, even? 

He cleared his throat. “Go on.”

“We called ourselves Dawn Patrol because we’d get up before school to do our superhero stuff, and it stuck.”

“How did you end up here, then?”

“I already told them–”

“I want to hear it from you.”

You recoiled a bit. Your story began at the end, and while you managed to tell it to a group of seemingly indifferent white coats, recounting it to the man himself, or some version of him, was almost too much to bear. Still, you pushed through.

Phantom, that’s what he called himself, selfish and conniving with the ability to teleport in the shadows and seemingly shift reality itself. He was a particular menace that you and Homelander could never quite get the upper hand on, the situation imploding when Homelander, your Homelander, tackled the supervillain mid-teleport. The last thing you saw of him was his back as he disappeared with Phantom. 

No one had seen him since. Despite Phantom’s insistence that he didn’t know what happened to Homelander, you kept an irrational, unrelenting grudge against him for taking the love of your life away from you. Guilt and rage fueled you, and in your most recent, and presumably last encounter with your arch-nemesis, you made the same mistake Homelander did, and ended up wherever the hell you were.

“Either you’re telling the truth, or you’re an unprecedented liar,” he hissed through his teeth, grabbing your wrists, “but I believe you.”

A beastial imitation of your first and only love transformed before your eyes over the following weeks. In his absence, your yearning had grown teeth, long and sharp, hungry to tear through flesh and for your flesh to be torn. This new man’s rib cage cracked open to offer part of himself to recreate you. You looked into the crimson void and saw his beating heart, a long-suffering shrine to you as yours was to his, or at least some memory of him. A loneliness you were all too familiar with was already settled deep within him. Why needlessly suffer though a monastic existence any longer?

You, in turn, indulged in him. Allowed your hunger to overtake you and break your involuntary fast as you devoured him. Insatiable, your lips pressed against the skin of this stranger that nevertheless you knew by heart. In your grief, in your anger, you’d pulled him out from the ether. You wondered if you could put him back together as the man you knew he could be, bloody your hands raw clawing back the damage that had been done to him by whoever came before you. 

The first few days, you tried as much, the two of you hardly letting up from your entanglement in his bed. You stared at the mirror on the ceiling, taking him in with the attentiveness of the crowds that gathered around the tragically small Mona Lisa in the Louvre. Then, in the quiet moments, in tones hardly above hushed whispered, he’d ask you questions about this other life and upbringing he never got to experience, pensive at your answers, almost bothered at times. 

Most of his questions seemed to be about his parents, especially his mother. Though your phone had been returned to you, it had no signal, but you were able to show him photos. Some of the last ones of you and John together was at a Fourth of July party in his parents’ backyard. One of his aunts had taken a candid photo of you, John and his parents sitting together at one of the patio tables, smiling and laughing. You had everything documented, from weddings to birthday parties to school days. John always poked fun at you for taking the phrase “take a picture, it’ll last longer” so seriously. 

Now, reflecting on these times with his other, you clung to him as you watched him swipe through this other version of himself’s life. Studying it, silently reflecting on your stories and anecdotes as if to memorize them, be able to recite them by heart.

Despite the distorted period of reunited bliss, you could tell something was off about Homelander. He talked his way around your questions about his own upbringing, never quite giving you a straight answer and occasionally snapping at you when you pressed for more details. Your eyes widened the first time he did so, heart skipping a beat or two, you couldn’t recall John raising his voice at you like that before. Homelander noticed your reaction right away, soothing you with reassurances that he wasn’t mad at you, he could never be.

It seemed like he was mad at a lot of other people, though. He’d go on long rants about people at Vought, this corporation that didn’t exist where you were from but somehow controlled so much of his life and that of every other superhero. Walking around the tower with him, you noticed the way people’s demeanors shifted when he was there, a nervous submission he seemed to bask in but made your stomach feel sour. 

His attempts not to scare you, to put you at ease with the prospect of spending the rest of your life with him were never quite as successful as he hoped. The warning voice in your brain knew something was off about him. You ignored it as best you could, figuring you could manage a way to handle him and chalking it up to the loneliness he was entrenched in before you came along. One night, a rarity wherein you were alone in his suite and finally had a chance to think the situation through, you panicked, hatching a messy escape plan.

Leaving a duplicate of yourself behind in the living room, you slipped out of the suite, walking down the long hallway to the elevator. The tower was so tall that it required switching elevators to get from the top floor to the lobby, and so you made the initial descent to the 50th floor.

The ride down was excruciatingly long, and every time the elevator stopped to let someone in, you felt yourself freeze up. No one acknowledged you at any point during the descent, filtering in and out, minding their own business. 

When you switched elevators, you knew you were in the home stretch. Your heart raced as you pressed the ‘L’ for the lobby, the star next to the button assuring you that the ground floor would be your ticket out of there. By the time you were on the single-digit floors, you were alone again.

At least, you were until you reached the lobby. The doors opened, revealing Homelander waiting for you behind them. You backed into the wall on the opposite side of the steel box, as if that’d do anything to protect you.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And where do you think you’re going?”

He entered the elevator, reaching over to press the button back up to the 50th floor. Silence for nearly twenty floors, though you were sure the sound of your rapidly beating heart was deafening to him.

Finally, you spoke. “How did you know?”

“Your duplicate’s pretty convincing, but they don’t have a heartbeat,” he said. 

John had never told you that. Your duplicates were perfect copies of you, your abnormal physical strength sapped to create each one so that they could take damage from attacks in your place. It never occurred to you that they were so blatantly lifeless.

The doors opened on the 50th floor, and instead of going in the next one over to continue the ascent, Homelander pulled you into an empty office. He closed the door, darkness engulfing the room. When you reached for a light switch, he caught your wrist in his hand instead.

“If you have a problem, you talk to me about it. You do not try to fake me out and run,” he hissed. “Do you really think the fucking white coats I saved you from would just let you walk out of here? You’d end up right back in that room. All of those things that he had, the loving parents, the pretty suburban life with your childhood sweetheart that's straight out of a fucking romcom? I didn't get that because of them."

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "You didn't deserve that."

"No," he said, almost shocked at your acknowledgement of how horrific his upbringing was. "I didn't. You're here, now, though, so we're both getting what we want."

Not like this. Not you.

Yet, you were stuck with the hand you had been dealt. This corrupted imitation of the man you loved, who nevertheless was so desperate for the intense emotions you felt for him otherwise that he was willing to believe you despite all logic telling him otherwise. 

The way he spoke about the people back in the lab you’d been held in, as if he knew, experienced what you did and even worse. Saved you from it. Maybe you could try. Maybe that could get you somewhere.

You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. Being around him rendered you emotionally vulnerable. He looked just like him, and at times acted almost exactly the same. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could convince yourself it was him. How long could you go on doing that before you walked around blindly?

“Babe, did you hear a word I just said?” Homelander asked.

You looked up at him. “Got distracted, sorry.”

He rolled his eyes, the slightest smile on his face. “I’ll chalk it up to my good looks. I know you’ve been cooped up for a while, so I want you to do a team-up with me tomorrow night. It’ll be Dawn Patrol, just like old times.”

Old times? There were no old times. Not with him. 

Nevertheless, you agreed. “Yeah, it’d be nice to get back out there. Haven’t done it in a while.”

“Once you’re back at it, you won’t even have to think about it, like riding a bike,” he paused for a moment, “I guess.”

His excitement the following day was infectious. You hadn’t done any crime-fighting in a long time, and doing so with him would surely help you ease into it again. He was always the best of the best, but it seemed like here, not only was he deified, but he reveled in it.

When he brought you to his superhero team’s private gym to train, he was almost shocked at how well your powers and fighting style seemed to compliment him. Elation filled your chest. Maybe you’d jumped to conclusions too soon about him. You just had to be more flexible, willing to compromise to make it work. 

You were thrown off upon being presented with a crime-fighting schedule that night. A self-professed crime analytics team explained their methodology to you. When you looked to Homelander in disbelief, he seemed unfazed by the information. Being able to predict crime down to the minute just to bolster careers and social media followings seemed far from ethical, but from what little you’d learned of Vought in the weeks you’d been there, that wasn’t a concern of theirs.

Flying with him again was almost too overwhelming, bringing back memories of you and John in your teenage years. Instead of partying with your peers, the two of you would pick up fast food late on Saturday nights, sitting on suburban rooftops with your police scanner, eating burgers and listening for trouble. He’d grab you by the waist, flying off with you to stop some bad guys. Of course, people complained to your parents that you’d leave chicken nugget boxes and ketchup packets on their roofs in your haste. 

By the time Homelander landed in an alley just a block away from where the crime would supposedly take place, you were crying. 

“You okay? I thought you’d be used to it.”

“I am. It’s just been a while. Brought back a lot of memories.”

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “You won’t have to go so long without flying with me again. I promise, babe.”

You sniffled, giving him a weak smile. “Let’s go get some bad guys.”

“That’s the spirit!”

The next few minutes were silent as Homelander listened for the sound of a bank alarm. Late-night robbery, the crime analytics team had told you, it couldn’t be easier. You weren’t sure what time it was when Homelander grabbed you, the familiar gesture of his arm around your waist making you feel overwhelmed again. 

When he landed, you could see the glass doors leading into the bank had been smashed, leaving shards of glass scattered on the sidewalk that crunched beneath your boots. There’d be three bank robbers, one lookout while the other two took what they could from the vault. You and Homelander already agreed that you’d take on the lookout and then join him in subduing the others.

You hesitated for a moment when you and Homelander split up, but you didn’t let it distract you too much. The lookout froze upon seeing you duplicate, his hand shaking as he pointed the gun between you and your temporary clone. Whichever one he shot, you’d heal fast enough, though you’d get less damage if he shot the duplicate rather than you.

His impulsiveness proved to be his downfall, as your duplicate began to walk toward him, and he pulled the trigger, nearly passing out when the clone de-materialized before him. 

In his moment of distraction, you knocked the gun from his hand, grabbing a nearby desk phone and hitting him in the temple with it. You kicked the gun to the other side of the room before he could reach for it and hit him in the head again. He dropped to the ground, unmoving on the floor.

You set off to find Homelander. The vault was empty when you got there, a mess of valuable and still smoldering scorch marks in the wall where either the thieves had used explosives to break their way in, or Homelander had lasered them into oblivion. Regardless, there was no sign of anyone.

“Homelander?” you called out. 

No response. You looked around frantically for any sign of him.

You couldn’t lose him again, not even this terrifying version of him. “Homelander, where did you go?”

Silence again. Your pounding heart rang in your ears as you turned around, setting off for another part of the building in hopes of finding him. There wasn’t anyone else you could count on here, and for all his faults, he was the only person you trusted. 

Just when it felt hopeless and your brain was about to implode on itself at the sinking notion that maybe he was gone, a loud bang came from the other side of the bank where the vault was. You rushed over without a second thought for your own safety. Besides, the injury your duplicate had taken on your behalf was already healing. You'd do it a thousand times over if it meant keeping him safe.

Homelander stood in the middle of the previously empty vault, the two thieves knocked out, or maybe they were dead. It didn’t matter, because he clearly wasn’t.

“Where were you?” you asked, your voice cracking.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

“No you haven’t. I came over here and there was no one. I called out for you and—“

“And what?”

“I wanna go home,” you cried, clinging to him. “Please, let’s just go home.”

He nodded, his superhuman strength allowing him to scoop you up in his arms with ease. You always felt safe in them, and you pressed your head to his chest, trying to focus on the sound of his heartbeat as he flew back to his suite at the tower.

His heart always beat faster than anyone else’s, having to maintain the life of the most powerful superhero to ever live. It was a heavy burden, though you tried your best to offset it, you sometimes felt too reliant on him. He never made you feel bad for it, neither version of him did.

You were still a bit dazed when he landed, shuffling into his living room and leaning against the back of the couch. He said he had been in the vault, but you knew it had been empty when you walked over to it. You knew what you saw.

“You did great with the lookout. I can help you train more, and we’ll try again in a few days,” he said. “I’ll get the crime analytics team to find us another softball one.”

“Homelander,” you began tentatively, “back there did you–did you do that on purpose? Disappear on me?”

“Of course not, darling, why would I do something like that after everything you've been through?” he asked, his voice soft enough that if you let yourself, you could pretend for a few moments he was your Homelander. “I told you, I was in the vault the whole time.”

“I can’t lose you again,” you said, your voice cracking. “I can’t—“

“You won’t. I’ve always been here. I love you.”

He’s lying, the voice in your head screamed, he’s not your John. There’s something wrong. 

You ignored it, choosing instead to kiss him, to drown out the rational with the feeling of your lover’s lips again. You would take this Homelander over none at all. “I love you too.”

[o-wild-west-wind]

okay, here’s my actual thoughtful post: I get why people are upset about the finale…I really do. but I want to mention that there’s a bigger picture to this story that’s missing if you’re zooming too close onto Izzy as a character, and I’m honestly so grateful that the show stuck to the thematic arc it introduced in season 1 because, as per usual, it’s about the themes 🤌 and this show never skimps on the symbolism!!

so here’s the thing: the primary themes are toxic masculinity (& it’s opposite, queer joy); trauma; love as a healing force for the above; and, title alert—DEATH. because it’s so much more than a cool title!

now, Izzy has always represented something metaphorical about all of these points; most directly, he’s always represented masculinity, and s2 has been an arc of toxicity deconstruction. but crucially, he’s also represented all that for Ed, who is the deuteragonist of this show. because—don’t forget—Stede and Ed are the show.

I’ve always doubted myself for feeling this after seeing how fandom saw Izzy as a third romantic figure (which like by all means have a blast in your fanfics I don’t care it’s about joy at the end of the day and pursue that as you want to), but after hearing something about djenks referring to Izzy as a father figure, it confirms a major point for me—Izzy is also in a lot of ways a parallel to Ed’s dad, and a representation of the trauma and guilt Ed felt from that formative killing. for so long, Izzy was an aggressive shadow in Ed’s life, and a tangible reminder of those daddy issues—someone telling him what to do, keeping him Blackbeard—and the beautiful thing is how that changed this season, how Izzy became a version of masculinity that could love and be beautiful and make good from the hurt, the literal poison into positivity. someone antithetical to his own paternalistic force, healing our daddy issues one drag show at a time. BUT, Izzy is still thematically representative within Ed’s arc—and by also representing the trauma that made Ed “Blackbeard,” it does make smart writing sense as to why Izzy died (NOT saying you can’t be sad about it—stick with me for a moment).

because here’s the thing—as aforementioned, this show is also about DEATH. killing is the root of everyone’s trauma, and reconciling a relationship with death is the ultimate arc Ed and Stede are both on, with the ultimate path of learning to live despite its inevitability. there’s a reason it was such a huge thing that Ed couldn’t personally kill, and then in this episode killed so many people with his bare hands in the name of love—and there’s a reason that was framed as a good thing. and there’s also Ed’s (and arguably Stede’s) active suicidality, which has been a huge force driving this season. these are characters who see death as this all-consuming thing, and they see their own deaths as the only solution. death is the traumatic force driving almost everything about their being for so long—and its reconciliation is everything for them, the greatest sign of growth. so Izzy’s death, and everyone beginning again with love—healing each other with love—is a cap to it all. it’s death as a positive force, for once. it’s death as love, not trauma. it’s death as something that will always happen, but this time not forced by your own hand. it’s a death to everything toxic, to what “Blackbeard” represented, and all the while a sort of rebirth. it’s kind of a death to…death? it’s functionally like the real physical moon replacing the giant romantic imaginary orb: it’s taking the thing that’s been artificially morphed in Stede and Ed’s heads and making it real this time, with all the bittersweet emotions that come with tangible reality.

and honestly, I’m glad that it was tragic and emotional. I didn’t think I’d be so devastated to see Izzy die, but it really did get to me, especially because of everything he said to Ricky and then to Ed. but think of it this way: Izzy and Ed might be romantically compelling because they were toxic and charged (and I hope people still enjoy everything they get from that dynamic in fan work), but imagine if the show had actually gone in that direction—where would it take us thematically? it would kill the thesis; it would be love as chaos and entertainment, but not healing. instead, this show gave us something so much more powerful: a legitimate, fully-fleshed trauma arc.

trauma hurts. Izzy’s death hurts. but that’s okay. that’s great, actually! it means the storytelling was effective—that Izzy’s arc made you feel something. and i know this won’t be every viewer’s experience, but honestly? I’m glad I can have this grieving process in such a beautifully framed light in the safe space ship of this show, because let’s be real—death, real life death, fucks you up. and let me tell you, I could’ve used this show during so many episodes of grief in my life. but here it is now, reminding us that our grief and trauma doesn’t define us—and WHAT a powerful thing for queer love, especially, to be presented as the thing that heals us all. ESPECIALLY when so much grief and death in this community is woven so deeply with the trauma of our identity.

so grieve as you need to, but don’t forget to turn the poison into positivity 💛 because that’s what the show is telling us—choose live, despite!

[ellawrites-if]

SHARED DESIRES

This short (spicy-ish in a very vague, very gender-neutral (i hope) way) story was inspired by Newmann fanart I saw of Hermann and Newt sharing a dream of them kissing. The artist is @/dad-dumpster.

As always this is unedited and vaguely proofread, so any mistakes are my own. I’m pretty sure the tense changes like 8x but whatever.

Your lips crash against theirs, knocking the breath from their lungs.

That’s not unusual, although it’s usually because of your mere presence rather than your lips.

They kiss you back with a fierce hunger, with a need to wreck you, to consume you, to make you crave them as much as they crave you.

Your hands slide up their stomach and push, and they’re powerless to do anything but fall.

They hit their bed and you’re on them. Your teeth nipping at the skin of their neck and soothing the sting with your tongue. All they can do is pant and tip their head back for you. Their hands latch onto your hips and dig in. They’ll probably leave bruises, and that thought thrills them even more.

Your lips have reached their jaw, but it’s too much and not enough all at once, and they delight in your surprised yelp as they flip you onto your back.

They immediately latch onto your neck, paying you back with a love bite that you’ll struggle to cover up.

Your hands fumble with their trousers, pushing them down just enough to gain access to what you want. Your fingers explore and they moan, their voice echoing across the space.

You laugh, triumphantly, even as your pupils swallow the colour of your pretty eyes. It drives them crazy to see how affected you are by them.

They decide to return the favour, pulling your hands away from them, so they can tug your own trousers down and lay between your thighs. The only thought in their head is that they’d die here quite happily.

Their mouth descends onto you, and your hips jerk as your snarky words are cut off by a choked out moan. A bit of information to file away for later.

They want to make you feel good. Want to taste your desire on their tongue. Want to be the one you pleasure yourself to thoughts of. Want to be the only one you turn to when the need gets too much.

They’ll ingrain themselves on your soul if they have to.

You scream, your thighs tightening around their head and your hands yanking at their hair.

They’re in heaven.

It’s the only explanation.

-

Ciaran jolts awake, their heart thundering in their chest and their breathes coming out in harsh pants.

They wipe the sweat from their brow.

A dream.

The only explanation that actually makes sense.

They take a few gulps of their water from the glass they had left on night stand, and attempt to do what they always do when it comes to you.

They shove their feelings down into an abyss and pray that they never come crawling out.

Once they calm down enough to get back to sleep, they place their water back on their night stand, and flop onto their mattress. They hit their pillow a few times and force their eyes to close.

Ciaran is a master of burying their head in the sand by now. This is no different.

At least, it isn’t until the next morning when they spot you and you can’t look them in the eyes.

Ciaran raises an eyebrow at your behaviour as they sit opposite you.

“What’s up with you?” They ask, curious. “You dream about me or something?”

They don’t know why they asked you that, but your reaction makes them freeze up.

Did they send you their dream through the connection between your minds? Did you send them yours?

Or…did you share the dream? Your subconscious coming together with theirs in a mess of both of your desires.

They shake the thought away.

Breakfast, surrounded by some of the sharpest minds in the world, was not the place to be thinking about such things.

“Idiot, just eat your breakfast and stop being weird.”

That snaps you out of it.

Good.

Your nonsense should hopefully be able to stop them from launching over the table and kissing you senseless in front of everyone.

[a-pastel-edgelord]

The First Dream

fuck it! I'm writing it and I don't care. May god strike me down for my hubris or something idk

cw: vomiting

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

A small campfire is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. It's blazing and bright. The world around him is pitch blackness, as if he sits in a vacuum of space. He can hear the sounds of insects chirping nearby, the sounds of rustling grass and undergrowth. The flickering flames eagerly run up and down through a modest pile of sticks and logs. There's a small cast iron pot bubbling above, suspended by a sturdy but hasty-looking structure of rope and bamboo. 

His stomach heaves as he tries to sit up and the world tilts on its axis. He turns on his side, away from the flames and vomits up pond water. He hacks, sputters and coughs until his throat is raw and the taste of stale sea water in his mouth is replaced by bile.

"Oh, good! I didn' think ya'd wake up!"

He looks up, someone in a worn kosode kneels a few feet away. The shifting light of the fire makes their features hard to make out; most of their silhouette is cast into shadow. How had he not sensed them?

"Who are you?" He grounds out, his voice sore from the expulsion of water from his stomach. "Where am I? What happened to the curse?"

"Oh, I took care of it, don't go worryin' 'bout it." They shrug good naturedly.

He scoffs. "You claim to be the one who exorcized a first-grade vengeful cursed spirit?" A likely story, only a skilled sorcerer would have been able to manage it.

"'Twas a special grade, actually, sir. S'how it did that strange drownin' from a distance technique. Gave me quite a fright too. It sure ain't the nicest thing to experience, I tell ye that." The easy-going rambling nature of the words, makes his jaw drop and a vein throb in his face all at the same time.

"You’re not one of those damnable clan whelps—from whence have you come here?”

“I’m no one of importance sir, just a wanderin’ sorcerer. Not  like yerself I dare say, you seem to be one of them proper ones—I could tell from yer clothes.” They nod emphatically to themselves. “‘Twas only right I stepped in to help. ‘S’not right to leave a comrade to die.”

His savior pokes a stick into the fire, it flashes bright for a moment and their face is thrown into sharp relief. This is a dream, he realizes. His breath hitches—it’s you. How long has it been since he’s seen your face? Heard your voice? The person from a lifetime he thought he’d long cast off like a snake shedding its skin, when he was a mere man. Just a mortal man. Before he ascended into a curse so powerful that it heralded in a new age of sorcery. His hands itch to touch you, to bury his face into your neck and never let go. To beg for… Absolution? No, he doesn’t desire your forgiveness, he never has. This strange desire for something hollows his gut and makes his mouth dry—it consumes him. 

A name long discarded trips off his tongue and the campfire before him is snuffed to nothing, the ambient noise of the night dies with it. The void swallows him, and he closes his eyes as it presses in around him. But wait he isn't alone. Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, the Disgraced One looks over his shoulder at a teenage boy. He's hovering in space with a stricken expression.

Get out of here, boy.

.

.

.

"Uh... Gojo-sensei?"

"What's up, kid?"

"You know how you said I should tell you if I like... remember something that's definitely not mine?"

"Yeah. Why? It happened?"

"Uh, yeah I think so."

"How lucky~ Well, Yuuji. Tell me everything.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, medical procedures including dialysis and chronic illness, dry humping, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Pete Brenner, short!reader

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

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

Your night is streaked in turmoil. You don’t dare move as the man’s weight keeps you done. His shoulder presses on yours as you remain face down. He dozes beside you, snoring with his arm stretched across you. You can smell his sweat in each breath you take.

You’re disgusted. With him, with yourself. Why haven’t you screamed? Why haven’t you run away? Your fear has you paralysed as you stare at the window, the night breeze stirring the curtains and groaning in the fire escape.

The hours sift through you like sand in a glass. Every time the man twitches or shift, you whimper and brace for more. You know he can do much more than he’s already done. You cling to that as an excuse for your futility.

He startles you as he nuzzles your hair, his voice rocky as it rises in his throat. The morning is just outside, watching you, rising as if nothing’s changed. “Morning, sweetheart,” he squeezes you, bringing himself even closer, “mmm, you smell nice.”

You don’t make a noise. You are weak and entirely prone to his whim. His hand crawls up and down your back, finally tapping your ass before he pushes himself away. There’s something in the way he acts like this is usual that frightens you. As if you’re two people waking from a romantic night together. It was anything but.

The bed jolts as the springs recoil and you listen to his footfalls around the room. You remain unmoved as you hear him shuffle around and finally leave. You hold your breath as you lose track of him. You bring a hand up to wipe the salty tears from your cheeks. Those come and go without your permission.

You shakily put your hand to the mattress and push yourself up. Your body is ragged and sore. It’s as if he’s still on top of you. Every action is bogged down by the tension wound into your muscles. You cross your arms across your chest and look around. Nothing is out of place.

You go down the hall. Is he still there? Did he let himself out? You enter the kitchen and see his jacket slung on the back of a chair at the table. The muffled whine of the shower is your answer. He lingers.

You spin and search the place and your mind for what to do. You scramble back to the bedroom. This is your chance. You swipe up your phone and catch your breath. The police!

You put the phone to your ear and an operator picks up.

“H-hello,” you sputter, “there’s a man in my apartment. He broke in last night–”

You can barely understand yourself. The operator calms you down and gets the story out of you, along with your address. You answer a few more questions before they assure you help is on the way.

You head back to the kitchen but find yourself flattened to the wall in the hallway as the bathroom door opens. You face that man, Pete, as he steps out, wrapped only in a small pink towel. You bat your lashes, looking at his face to avoid peeking anywhere else. He’s walking around in your apartment, naked and nonchalant, after last night. It’s absurd. Utterly terrifying.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he steps closer as you wilt and puts his hand on your side and he bends to kiss the top of your head, “why don’t you get the coffee going? We got a long day, don’t we?”

You’re stunned. What is he talking about? He definitely has a long day. The police are going to come and arrest his ass. All you have to do is keep him there until they arrive and it seems like he doesn't plan on going anywhere.

“Okay,” you eke out and slide along the wall.

He hums but says nothing as he lets you go. Your skin crawls where he touched you. You focus on making coffee, it’s an easier task than facing your intruder. You fumble with the machine and the tin of grounds. When you finally flick it on, the legs of a chair scrape behind you.

“So, you got an appointment today,” Pete states, not asking.

You turn to face him, confusion rippled in your forehead. You can only nod. He’s insane. Why is he still here?

“I can drive you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be running all around.” You blink. He smirks and points to the fridge, “saw it on the calendar.” He pushes his shoulders out, still in little more than the towel, a trickle of water on his thick neck as his wet hair is pushed back from his face. “I’ve been reading up, that’s some hard shit you’re dealing with, but just means you’re strong. I like me a strong woman.”

You don’t know what to say. It would almost be endearing if he wasn’t a psycho. You lean on the counter, gripping the edge as you just stare.

“You shouldn’t do this alone–”

A pounding comes at the door and he tilts his head as you jump. You wring your hands and face the door. Your heart is fluttering; you’re saved. The knocking comes again.

“PD, open up,” a man’s voice booms from the other side.

Pete laughs, a sardonic snicker, and he sighs, “oh, sweetheart, tell me you didn’t.”

[undeadcortez]

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE

kit walker x fem! reader | 3.6K words

!! SMUT BELOW THE CUT !! please do not read unless you are eighteen or older | mentions of oral sex (both m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, and not much else, just mainly fluffy-ish smut

happy holidays, y’all!! i finally got this one finished for you guys and wanted to say i’m so excited to be stepping back into the american horror story fandom and writing once again. i hope to see you very soon in the new year with some new headcanons and a fully updated archive list of all my old works. i love you all!!

“And…,” you paused, tongue peaking between red-stained lips as you delicately hung the final ornament on the tree, “done!”

Hands fell to your hips in fists as you stepped back in utter awe of the tree before you. It was beautiful, decked out with silver tinsel and red globes that sparkled under the white lights wrapped around the branches. You were proud, but not all the credit was yours for the taking.

“It’s gorgeous, sweetheart,” that familiar, thick Boston accent sounded as he snuck back into the living room, “we make a good pair when it comes to decoratin’.”

“Is that the only thing we’re ‘good’ at as a pair?” you immediately quipped, finally diverting your gaze from the tree to your boyfriend.

He held a crumbly chocolate chip cookie, half finished already, and a few crumbs decorating his lips as he smiled. “I could think of a few more things,” he said, leaning in to land a peck on your lips. He smelt like cinnamon and tasted of those cookies, chocolatey and sickeningly sweet.

It was your first Christmas together, you and Kit. And though it had been everything the two of you talked about for months, you were just getting around to putting up decorations… on December Twenty-Fourth. Listen, money was tight. With Kit earning about a dollar an hour, and the diner scheduling you fewer shifts, the both of you decided gifts came first and decorations would come later. However, as Christmas came closer and closer, the bills got higher and higher, and you’re not sure whose idea it was at first, but gifts were decidedly put on the back burner.

It made sense to get a Christmas tree. Sure, one might think ‘what’s a tree without any gifts?’, but this tree was your gift. You’d rather spend the day in, curled up against Kit’s chest beneath a layer of blankets, and be able to admire a tree. And in all honesty, it wasn’t actually beautiful. To you, of course it was, but to anyone else? They would see the several bare spots and limited decoration to cover them. They would see the flicker of years old lights and the cracks on the globes that are struggling not to just shatter. However, you were proud of it. Not to mention, this was yours and Kit’s savings combined over the last month.

Kit’s free arm soon wrapped around your waist, and you watched as he took another bite of the cookie before your attention was back on the tree. The warmth of your lover had you practically melting against his chest whilst the tree did the same, warming up the room and it was simply perfect. You could stay here forever. No job to exhaust you, no bills to pay, no worries ever again. Just you and Kit and this tree.

“Suga’, I—,” he started, drawing you out of your thoughts and focusing back on his crumb-covered, stubble-riddled lips, “I uh, I got ya somethin’, and please don’t be upset, sweetheart.” You opened your mouth to object, but he continued, “I know we agreed on no gifts, but I’ve had this one saved since August.”

A frown took over your lips as the warmth disappeared into the bedroom down the hall, leaving you all alone with the tree. You knew something like this would happen. There was no world where your boyfriend, Kit fucking Walker, would allow you to go giftless on Christmas. You stepped back, finally allowing yourself to sit down on Kit’s tattered couch, and waited while thoughts of guilt consumed you.

You tried to scrounge up enough for a gift for Kit. You meant to set aside money a few months back for it, but something always came up. Bills, or food, or gas, it was always just something. And your Christmas fund took the brunt of it. You were hoping the holidays would bring in a few more tips, but with your limited shifts, all the tips you got went to necessities. You couldn’t even afford a candy bar let alone a nice gift for the one person you ached to give one to.

His grin sparkled in the lights of the tree as he returned to the living room, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was impossible to be upset about the gift, or the lack of yours to give. Not because of the tree, or the holiday spirit that hung in the air, but that smile — Kit’s contagious, beautiful smile.

He was pretty like this. Truly, any version of him is utterly breathtaking, but the way his eyes twinkled beneath the white lights, the love that he held within them. And his freckles, each one prominently kissing along the ridge of his nose. His hair rested perfectly atop his head despite the full day of work he just had, and your eyes just can’t stray away from that infamous smile.

With one hand behind his back, the couch sunk in a tad as he sat beside you, gathering your hand in his free one, still a bit sticky from the treat he had moments ago — it’s safe to assume he scarfed it down the second he disappeared to the bedroom. You couldn’t help, but chuckle to yourself at the thought. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, the rough pad of his thumb brushing along your knuckles in familiarity. You did as you were told.

There was a moment of silence, of stillness, before some shuffling in front of you, and suddenly, a velvety box was placed in your lap. It wasn’t a ring or earrings, you immediately ruled that out by its size alone. And before your mind could go racing on what it might be in a box this size, Kit’s soft lips were on the corner of your mouth. Only there for a moment as he lingered and mumbled, “open, sweetheart.”

It took a moment for your eyes to focus with the dim lighting of the room, but soon, you were staring down at a green, you guessed right, velvet box. It adorned a small, darker green bow wrapped around its entirety, and just by the look of the box alone you could tell it was expensive.

“Kit, baby, I—,” you started.

“Just open it, babe,” he cut you off, insisting. It wasn’t often he would speak over you, but you knew the both of you would be going back and forth for hours if he hadn’t. You sighed and pulled the edge of the bow. Once the bow was nothing, but a mere piece of ribbon, undone and limp on your lap, you lifted the lid.

“Oh… my,” whatever words were on your tongue were swallowed up by the sparkly silver before you. It was a necklace with an opal-esque pendant, embellished in silver and what appeared to be diamonds. The necklace was nothing short of stunning, and you reflected Kit’s grin as you took it out of its cushioned box.

The chain was dainty despite the chunky centerpiece, but that thought didn’t cross your mind as it held it up in front of you. Watching as the diamonds shimmered in the lights, much like Kit’s caramel eyes — a connection you would make forever more.

“Do ya like it?” he questioned, and you couldn’t even take your eyes off of the necklace as you answered:

“Kit, like it? I love it!”

And before your thoughts could become all-consuming, before guilt could rush through your veins at just how expensive this must have been with nothing to give in return, before any tears could well up in your eyes, Kit’s lips were on your own, and you were immediately putty between the plumpness.

Stubble tickled the tips of your fingers as you brought your free hand to his cheek, setting the one adorning the necklace in your lap. Inhaling cinnamon between short breaths as Kit eased it further and further into something more than just a loving peck. You swear he made your head spin with just his kiss, and the spices dancing on your lips and twirling in your nostrils only made it all worse.

A whimper escaped your throat as he pulled away, and you ached to chase after the lips. It was almost embarrassing how a simple kiss could make you so desperate, but who really could blame you? Kit spoiled you, and not just in the sense of gifts and goodies. Kit Walker fucked you unlike anyone else could.

And maybe it was greedy. Greedy to be given such a gorgeous gift and now aching for something more. Kit was a God at all things pleasure, you really couldn’t help it when the filthiest thoughts would come rushing in each time he kissed you like that. Thoughts of him spreading you open on this couch, necklace simply dangling from your fingertips while the other dug into the scarred skin of his back. Or maybe coming undone on his tongue as he kitten licked between your thighs, sopping the whole couch cushion below you. Or maybe—

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, and you certainly weren’t expecting that, though you probably should’ve. Spoiled, remember? You’re spoiled, nothing short of it, and all because Kit ached for you just as much as you did for him. He enjoyed when his fingers would disappear into your pink, weeping pussy, he loved it even more when his tongue was making quick laps at it, and don’t even get him started on how good you felt enveloping his leaking cock. The ache was most definitely always mutual. And what made Kit unlike any other man you’d been with before, he didn’t care that he’d just given you a gift so generous, so thoughtful, he would find just as much pleasure in eating you out right that second as he did watching you open it.

It was a whirlwind of senses, that moment. As your minty breath tangled with his own spiced smell, and the sight of his eyes, riddled with lust, caramel and twinkling. It was a simple kiss, that’s really all it was, but fuck, did it have you both craving more.

“I really do love the necklace,” you tried, almost desperately, to forget about that ever-growing hunger between your legs, about the overwhelming emptiness, about the subtle drip tickling your folds, “It’s beautiful, baby.”

His eyes flickered between the both of yours, and he really hadn’t drifted much further back. Your hand still rested on his cheek, and his breath remained hitting your swollen lips. “I’m glad you like it,” he whispered, and it’s almost like he knew how sudden the lust overcame the room as well, but his next words would prove to you that he didn’t care, “please kiss me again, suga’.”

The second kiss was far more intense. Your lips met his own and you were confident now that you knew he needed this all the same. Eyes fluttered closed as you rushed to cup his cheeks with both hands, dropping the necklace back into its box and pushing it aside to be talked about later. Right now, all that was on your mind was Kit, and how his tongue prodded at your lips. Once you parted them, it dipped in, roaming the space as if Kit owned it. He did.

The soft thunk of the velvet box hitting the floor couldn’t pull you away. Not as Kit expertly slotted his lips along yours, tongue coming and going with a new route each time. Brushing along the back of your teeth, tangling for fleeting moments with your own tongue, or coaxing your plump lip between his. This kept going for a while, purely making out on the couch with his hands wandering all along your hips and bum, until he suddenly craved elsewhere.

His spit-coated lips dragged along your jawline, and you tilted your head back with a moan. And as you trailed your fingers along his cheeks, into his hair, he swore you felt him smirk against your skin.

Kit’s own hands finally found refuge on the globes of your ass, pulling you into his lap as his back rested against the armrest of the couch. Another moan bounced off the living room walls as he squooze, and his smirk grew as he kissed along your neck and down to your collarbones.

There were many nights when the sex was slow. Kit would take his time undressing you, and the foreplay could last for hours. He would kiss you until your whole body was numb and buzzing, and he’d make you climax several times over before even thinking about his own needs. Tonight, however, was a one that came by rarely, and Kit was hastily fiddling with your shirt. And though those nights where the sex took place into my the sun came up were nothing short of amazing, nights like this were your favorite.

There was just something so angelic about a pussy-hungry Kit Walker. Doe eyes glazed over with lust, cheeks flushed as fingers tremble along your skin, and the pure heat that radiates off of his body. It was all present tonight, and his infamous, starving moans came into play as he finally pulled your blouse over your head, letting it meet its fate on the floor alongside green velvet.

“God, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking in the lacy, white bra you adorned, his hands burning your skin as it trailed up your side and cupped your left tit, kneading it between his calloused fingers, “you’re the only thing I want for Christmas — truly the best gift any man could ask for.”

His words alone made your heart flutter, a shiver sent up your spine as your cunt clenched around nothing while it weeped against your cotton panties. Melting between his fingertips, you moaned and finally looked back down to meet up with Kit’s gaze. One hand tightened on his brunette locks as you spoke, the other traveled down to ground yourself on his sweater clad chest, “then play with your gift, baby. Please, don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. In what felt like a matter of seconds, you were naked besides your underwear with your back now against the worn cushions of the couch. Kit hovered above you, still clothed. You felt as if he was devouring you with his eyes, and he was, taking in every inch of your glowing skin beneath the Christmas tree lights.

A hand met your cheek, hot to the touch just as anticipated. The other was on your hip, fingertips dipping beneath your panties, and you whimpered. Kit’s own noises filled the air, bouncing off of every branch of the tree, and dancing in your ears. Your own hands were playing with the bottom hem of his shirt, having fallen from their positions when you were guided down on your back.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered, a slight pout on your lips as Kit’s thumb caught the plumpness of it, running the rough pad around your mouth, “I’m naked, why aren’t you?”

He chuckled, watching the way you parted your lips with ease as he applied pressure to your bottom one and pulled. You moaned, squirming a bit beneath him to find any friction on your achy cunt to no avail. “Just admirin’ my gift, baby doll,” he murmured before letting go of your lip and gently pushing your hands away to lift up his shirt.

You couldn’t help the sound that crept its way up your throat at the sight of Kit’s bare torso. You’ve seen time and time again, but it never failed to completely knock the breath out of you. Chest sprinkled with just the tiniest amounts of hair and freckles, and tense abs that only tightened as you reached out to touch them. Your fingers slotted between the ridges, the touch lingered before drifting and working on the button of his pants. You couldn’t take the emptiness much longer.

He assisted you, and soon enough, you were both just in your underwear, nearly breathless and giggly. You shared a smile, one that Kit reflected before his lips crashed down onto yours in only the third kiss of the night, and his fingers pushed off your panties.

It took all your might not to follow after his lips as he pulled away, but you’re almost glad you didn’t, or else you wouldn’t be able to admire his next moves. Brows knit together, and his lips parted to release a moan, while his eyes were locked in on your cunt. “You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he murmured, and yeah, it was glistening with your slick in the twinkling light, and though he knew the answer, he asked, “is this all for me?”

Any words you want to say got stuck in your throat, only nodding as his fingers reached down and parted your folds. The filthy, wet noises of your cunt mixed with Kit’s heavenly moans while he admired what was waiting for him was almost too much in itself, your free hand gripping the plush throw pillow beside your head.

“Use your words, baby,” he insisted, and his touch left nearly as soon as it came, “is this all for me?”

“Yes!” you nearly croaked, voice raw as if you’ve been teased for hours, as you’ve already been fucked out, and it’s exactly what Kit had been waiting for, “it’s all for you, Kit Walker.”

He groaned at the use of his full name, and he pulled down his white briefs. Much like his chest, you’ve seen his cock time and time again, but it never failed to utterly amaze you. It’s a pretty cock with a flushed pink mushroom tip, a normal girth, but a length just tad longer than average. It takes all your strength to allow Kit to do whatever he wished in this moment rather than just wrap your lips around the swollen head. And you're glad you didn’t despite your near drooling, because Kit immediately gripped the base and brushed the tip along your folds.

Arching your back just a bit, you closed your eyes and moaned out his name, “Kit.” His precum mixed with your slick, and he admired just the moment of it all before dipping his tip inside, and you both let out a deep, nearly animalistic moan.

As he pushed in further, your hand slipped from the cushions to hold onto his shoulder, leaving little marks in the shapes of crescents against his skin. He stretched you perfectly, much like any other time, and you whimpered as he bottomed out, clenching around the thickness.

“I love you,” you whispered before he began to move, fluttering your eyes open, and taking in all of his beauty, “Merry Christmas, Kit.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered back, and pulled back before pushing his way back in and moaning.

The gentle moment only lasted that, a moment, before Kit’s actions found themselves hasty once again, and he was finding a rhythm on your cunt. It was loving, but it was quick, and you knew your crescents would be little bruises in the morning with how tight you were gripping him.

There was a hand beside your face, holding onto the cushion while his other left your cheek. It dragged down your body, between the valley of your breast, over your stomach, and halted just above your cunt. His thumb dipped down, messily rubbing small circles on your clit in time with his thrusts, and you gasped, breaking the only sounds of moans and skin slapping together.

Kit groaned at the way your cunt fluttered around his cock — and if it was anyone, but him, they would’ve made fun of you for already being so close. You couldn’t help it, though. Kit simply just knew how to please you. He did stop the circling on that sensitive bundle of nerves, however, and it had you whining. He wanted this to last, at least for a few more moments.

His hips sped up a bit, and the noises he was making were the furthest things from God, filthy, but somehow still pure heaven to your ears. His breath was staggered, and maybe it was the pent up excitement, the heat of the moment, but Kit’s balls were tightening as they slapped against your bum, and he could tell his orgasm was just around the corner, too, despite how little time he was buried in your warmth.

You couldn’t complain, though, as Kit’s thumb messily toyed with your clit once again, so deep that you swear you felt him in your tummy. He was hitting the gushy, sensitive part inside of you with each thrust and you tightened around him, all, but screaming as your orgasm reigned closer and closer.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he insisted, and your eyes fluttered open as the pleasure took over, eyebrows knit as you stared up at your lover and came around his cock.

It truly hit you like a truck, the heat in the ears and twitch in your thighs increasing tenfold as your climax dragged out. Kit nursed you through it, slowing for just a moment when you noticeably grew closer to overstimulation. “Thank you,” you whispered after a moment of catching your breath, and only then did he speed back up to chase his own.

“Oh,” he moaned, and truly it was a sight to see, with his eyebrows knitted, eyes shut tight, lips parted. “Oh, shit, ‘m close, ‘m—!” his words were cut off by his orgasm, taking his words straight from his tongue as he came inside, coating your walls in thick, warm white.

Cheats heaved as you both attempted to catch your breath, and with a smile plastered in his lips, Kit lowered himself fully onto your chest. He was still deep inside, though now flaccid, and the closeness was a loving intoxication. Sweaty bodies, skin-to-skin, but it felt nice with him, and your fingers found their way back into his hair, tangled up in the sweaty brunette waves. “I really do love you, Kit Walker,” you broke the string of panting breaths and breathy giggles, and Kit looked up at you with a smirk.

“I love y’more, suga’,” he leaned up and pushed a sweet kiss to your lips and you squirmed as his cum began to drip from your cunt onto the cushions. He pulled away with a small chuckle, and you whined as he attempted to slip out from you. “What? You’re hopin’ for round two, hm, sweetheart?”

You nodded. And he smiled, pushing yet another kiss against your lips, hardening slowly within you, you tilted your head back to look at the lights and moaned. Merry Christmas to you.

liked the fic? let me know! comments, reblogs, and asks are encouraged and appreciated

[amberlynnmurdock]

Aim For My Heart (Part 2)

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Summary: Dex contemplates opening up to her.

Genres: FLUFF, with angst at the end

A/N: No idea what I'm doing with this story but here's an update LOL. Enjoy!

Tags: @danzer8705 @pcrushinnerd

Your moral compass isn’t broken, Dex. It just works better when you have a North Star to guide you.

Routine was important for Dex’s way of living. Routine helped him keep on the straight and narrow path. It was important nothing disrupt his routine or else things could turn upside down for him. Every morning he woke up at six o’clock on the dot. He brewed a fresh cup of coffee. He made his bed. He got ready for work. He tidied up the dishes. Doing these things gave him a sense of control. Doing these things made him feel normal. 

Pretending to be normal didn’t come easy to Dex. Pretending to feel remorse after he’s pulled the trigger on someone didn’t come easy to him. Pretending to care about someone’s feelings was foreign. His heart has felt like a frozen block of ice for almost his entire life. 

Until her.

Doing things for her—nice things—did come easy. Not for the sake of being nice, but for the reaction that it emitted from her each time. Whether it was bringing her coffee every day before work or sending her a goodnight text, he enjoyed the emotion it evoked in her. He enjoyed doing it because he knew she enjoyed it. 

Slowly, and then all at once, she was becoming part of his routine. Eventually, his entire routine. 

There was a purpose now behind the mundane things he did every day. He made his bed so it looked nice for her. He tidied up the dishes so nothing was dirty when she came over. He got ready for work with ease because she was also getting ready for work. In a way, Dex felt connected to her knowing they were both at their day jobs at the same time. The only thing that got hard for him was trying to focus on anything else in his life. His thoughts were consumed by her. Everything he did, she was always at the front of his mind. Guiding him to get through each day he didn’t get to see her. 

Well… at least each day he didn’t get to be with her. 

He still saw her. 

Every day. 

Even if she didn’t know it. 

When five o’clock finally struck, Dex whipped out his phone and immediately sent her a text:

DEX: I hope you had a great day. I can’t wait to see you on Friday. 

She’s never been with a guy who gave her this much attention. As she slid her trench coat on at the office, she was delighted to see her phone light up with Dex’s name. 

“Who’s got you smiling like that lately?!” Emma, her co-worker, teased her. Emma had reddish hair and a bright smile. She couldn’t help but blush being called out by her. 

“This guy I've been seeing,” she answered quietly. “He’s an FBI agent.” 

“Good Lord, __,” Emma placed a hand on her chest. “You’re messing with an FBI agent?! That’s hot.”

“He is hot,” she bit her lip and stared at Dex’s text, anxious to reply. Never has a guy ever texted her as much as Dex has. Never has a guy ever paid so much attention to her. And it’s only been two weeks of seeing him. “And if you’re implying what I think you’re implying—no. We haven’t messed around like that. Yet.”

“And there’s the keyword,” Emma laughed. “Well, when are you seeing him next?”

“Friday,” she said, “he’s taking me out to dinner again.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it on Monday.”

When Emma clocked out and left, she immediately opened her phone again and saw another text from Dex. 

DEX: Get home safely. It’s cold out here.

Dex parked his car right around her building and waited at the end of the block to watch her come home. He looked around the streets of people and sighed. No sign of her yet. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Of course, it was her.

I can’t wait to see you either. About to be home now. Did you make it home okay?

Dex smiled. She cares. 

DEX: Yes, I did. :) 

Dex looks up from behind his steering wheel and fiddles with his binoculars. He watches as the rush hour crowd crosses the street, people going their separate ways. Some went into the corner bodega, others crossed the street or entered cabs. After a few minutes of people-watching, Dex finally catches a glimpse of her walking down the street. 

She was so mesmerizing to look at. So effortlessly beautiful. How did it come so easy to her to smile at strangers? Dex watches her through his binoculars and smiles to himself. He watches as she dodges a crowd and enters her apartment building. He waits again until he sees her apartment light up. When it does, he leans forward for a better angle. 

“Welcome home,” Dex whispers to himself. He imagines being in her living room, waiting for her. Maybe with a fresh plate of dinner. What would he make her for dinner? Penne vodka? Roasted chicken? Anything she wanted. 

She throws her bag on her chair and leans over her countertop, scrolling through her phone. After a few minutes, she puts her phone down and runs her fingers through her hair. Dex could almost feel her now. He sighs in content as he watches her prepare dinner for herself. Something she takes out of the fridge and heats up in the microwave. 

When she goes to her bedroom, Dex waits patiently for her to come out. He’s not at an angle where he can see her room—he doesn’t want to be. It didn’t feel right to see her intimate like that. While she’s out of view, Dex closes his eyes and rests his head on the car seat. 

He understands that what he’s doing may not seem normal to most people. But Dex wasn’t like most people. When he’s alone, everything feels cold around him. Everything he touches turns to gray. He doesn’t feel like he can radiate warmth from inside. The only way he can bring life back into things is to surround himself with people who can do that. And even then, it was hard to find people like that. 

Watching her makes him feel that warmth. It makes him feel closer to understanding something like it. It gives him hope that maybe one day he can even have a fraction of it. 

She doesn’t come out after a while. And when she does, she turns off the lights in her apartment and retreats to her bedroom. Dex sighs in content. He pulls out his phone. 

DEX: About to hit the hay. Goodnight. :) 

He starts up his car. His phone buzzes. 

Me too. Goodnight, Dex :) 

“Goodnight,” he whispers out loud. 

***

Dex stared at himself in his bathroom mirror for a long time. He was in a suit jacket and white button-down with no tie. Friday finally came, and doubt was filling his mind again. He could never let himself be completely happy, even if nothing had gone wrong. What if this ended up being their last date? What if he somehow scares her off and she leaves him? He knows he would find it really hard to let go. 

His phone buzzes. It’s her.

Ready when you are :)

After picking her up and making it to the restaurant, a different one from the last date, Dex sat across from her and watched her over his menu. She looked at the menu calmly and she looked as angelic as ever. He didn’t want to be at this restaurant, surrounded by all these people. He just wanted to be with her. He looked at her more to drown out the noise of the restaurant. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder navy blue top and black jeans. Her hair was curled at the ends, but her hair was pushed behind her shoulders. He could never tire of looking at her—watching her. 

She closes her menu. It startles Dex. Preparing for the worst, Dex feels his heart plummet in his chest. He feels his anxiety course through his veins. He braces himself for her rejection. And then—

“Do you want to ditch this place and get ice cream instead?”

Dex flinches at the question.

“Uh—what?”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re serious?” His mouth is half open as he looks at her in disbelief. 

“Yes,” she laughed, resting her chin on her knuckle. “I don’t like this menu. I feel overwhelmed. And I've been craving chocolate ice cream since eight this morning.”

Dex raised his brows in amusement and surprise, unable to hide his smile. “I mean, if that’s what you want—then yeah. Let’s go.”

Dex left cash on the table for what drinks they already ordered and she apologized to the waiter. She met Dex at the door and shrugged her coat on. Dex put his arm around her shoulders.

“Do you know where to go?” Dex asks, letting her lead the way down the block.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Just a few blocks up.”

He unwraps his arm around her shoulders and instead finds her hand to hold. She intertwines her fingers with his and squeezes his hand. He suddenly feels that weight he felt before being lifted off his chest. He mirrored her spontaneous nature and couldn’t stop smiling all the way to the ice cream shop. 

When they arrived at the shop, Dex looked at the giant LED ice cream sign in the window. Luckily, there wasn’t a long line. There weren’t a lot of people. He sighed in relief. 

The bells jingled at the door, and a young girl at the counter greeted them. 

While Dex looked around the shop, scanning for threats, her eyes were glued to the menu.

“I definitely want chocolate, but what toppings? Cookie dough? Fudge? Definitely fudge,” she thought aloud. “What are you getting, Dex?”

“Oh, I think just vanilla,” Dex shrugged. 

“Just vanilla?!” She asked incredulously. Dex laughed at her reaction. “No cherry? Sprinkles?”

“I don’t know. Should I?” Dex asked. If she wanted him to get toppings, he would. 

“Absolutely.” 

She orders their ice cream for them and Dex sits at a table, wiping it first with a napkin and making sure it’s clean. For him. Mostly, for her. 

He feels that warmth radiating off her when she sits down next to him at the table. She moved the chair so she could be closer to him. Dex adjusted himself in his seat so he faced her. She handed him his cup of vanilla, with sprinkles and whipped cream. She had her own cup of chocolate with oreo crumbs and fudge. 

“Cheers,” she tapped her cup with his. Dex smiled. And then it dawned on him like a gray cloud over his head. Like it always has. 

“What is it?” She asked, a spoonful of chocolate in her mouth. “Do you not like the toppings?”

Dex blinks hard at the cup as the memories fill his mind instantly. Painful memories. Well, the memories itself wasn’t painful. It was the reminder of this cup of ice cream that brought him back to a time when he didn’t know what painful memories yet were. 

“I just…” Dex trails off, furrowing his eyebrows. “I haven’t had ice cream since before I was sent to an orphanage. Yeah,” he remembers now, and he meets her eyes, “that was the last time I had ice cream.”

She sits for a moment, taking in what he just said—he’s said an awful lot in just a few sentences. He’s revealed an awful lot that she didn’t know before. Dex is an orphan. His parents aren’t here. He hadn’t tasted ice cream since he was a kid; it was practically a taste of his childhood. She’s not a doctor, but she knows how to handle people when they reveal something so deeply personal. She’ll listen. And she’ll turn it into something positive. 

“Well,” she says softly, “it’s been too damn long since you’ve tasted something so sweet.”

Dex looks at her when she says this. He smiles. But he disagrees with her. Because he remembers kissing her just last week. He takes a small spoonful of the ice cream and lets the creamy goodness soak in his tastebuds. He sighs in relief. 

“How does it taste?” She asks. 

“Good,” he nods. “Really good.” 

His heart breaks at the same time. But looking at her mends it back together. 

“Do you want to try mine?” She asks with a small smile. She scoops some for him and feeds it flirtatiously to Dex. Dex groans.

“Aw, come on. Yours is way better,” Dex shakes his head. 

“Let’s switch,” she urges, handing him her ice cream. “Seriously. I want yours.”

Dex looks at her in amusement and trades cups with her. She couldn’t be any more perfect. Caring. Kind. 

“How are you so naturally… kind?” Dex finds himself asking between bites.

“I’m really not,” she says sheepishly, “you’d be surprised. Most of the time, I really hate people.”

Dex laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe you. You? Come on.”

“It’s true. People are fake—they’re selfish and judgmental. It’s just easier to choose peace and kindness than to fight back.”

“Is it?” Dex questions.

“It’s easier to sit with your choices in the end. You feel better knowing you chose peace. At least, I do.”

He wants to say he does too, but he can’t. Because it’s not true. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

“Is it tough as an FBI agent? It must be hard to choose peace in a setting like that. Retaining bad guys and whatnot.” 

“It’s hard,” Dex nods, echoing what he’s learned to say years ago. “It’s really hard. Tensions are always high. You have to have a hard exterior. It’s a lot to be like that all the time.”

“You don’t have to be like that with me,” she says. 

“I know,” Dex affirms. “That’s why I like spending time with you. I don’t have to be a certain way.” 

She smiles and takes a bite of vanilla ice cream. 

“I am so glad I added toppings to this.”

***

On a rare winter night that it’s not freezing outside, Dex and she opted to walk back to her apartment. Hand in hand, Dex holds her tight and close. She rests her head on his shoulder, and that makes him feel important. 

“I had a good time tonight, Dex. You’re nice to me.”

Dex smiles. “You’re nice to me.”

“You can’t copy what I say,” she laughs.

“It’s true,” Dex slows down his pace, knowing they’re approaching her apartment soon. He doesn’t want this night to end. 

She stops him from walking and faces him. She places her hand on his cheek and caresses his cheekbone under the dim light of the street. He takes the initiative and wraps his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. He brushes the hair out of her face and looks deeply into her eyes. He pauses, carefully watching her like a beautiful piece of art that’s only meant to be looked at, not touched. Or at least not touched by someone like him—someone unworthy of being allowed to be this close to her. If she knew about his childhood, what would she think? Would she think him a monster? 

Would she understand him? 

Would she leave? 

His confusion must be etched on his face.

“What is it?” She whispers.  

Dex shakes his head in response. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says in a regretful tone. She squints her eyes, cocks her head. 

“It’s only our second date,” she laughs lightly but quiets down when she sees the serious look on his face. It’s all in his hazel brown eyes, that he means what he says. She doesn’t know a lot about him other than that he was an orphan. That he was in the army; he had a therapist. He must have done some things he’s not proud of—but she can’t see herself ever thinking differently of him. Not when he’s been sweet to her. 

He looks away from her like he’s trying to figure out something in his head. She noticed he often had that puzzled look on his face. 

“Dex,” she calls his name before leaning in and kissing him. The kiss is slow…tantalizing. If she were a black hole, he’d surely be sucked in. Whatever worries he had in his head seemed to be gone by the look on his face. His hardened features became soft. There wasn’t a darkness in his eyes anymore—even though she would gladly get lost in it if he let her. 

“I get lost in my head a lot,” Dex struggles to say. “I need someone—I need an anchor when that happens.”

“Is it your job?” She assumes he means about his line of work. She can’t imagine it being the easiest job in the world. Being surrounded by so much violence and danger. 

“Sometimes,” Dex says, “but other things too.”

“Like what?” 

Dex swallows—and looks away again. He wants to open up to her so badly, but he doesn’t want to scare her off. Not when he’s got her exactly where he wants her. 

“You don’t have to tell me about it now,” she continues. “Another night.”

“Another night,” he repeats. He leans down and kisses her again, pressing his lips on hers for a long time. 

Soon, they reach the door to her apartment building. Dex already feels that familiar weight fall on his chest, the moment he knows he’ll be alone again. Away from her, away from the reality he wants. 

He won’t know what to do with himself when he’s home again. 

“I had another great night with you, Dex,” she says, pulling away from his hand but letting her fingers linger. 

“Me too,” he sighs in disappointment. A tone she doesn’t pick up on.  

“You know, if you ever need to talk, you can always call me,” she offers. “I know what it feels like to be alone.”

Dex was hopeful to hear her words but wasn’t sure if she was ready for his kind of loneliness. He sincerely hoped that when he did open up to her, she wouldn’t see him differently. 

“That’s good to know,” he tells her. “Goodnight, __.” 

“Night, Dex,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

When she entered her building, Dex waited outside for a few more minutes until he saw she reached her apartment. She’s safe. He contemplated staying, watching from afar. But truthfully, he was exhausted. It took a lot for him to do what he did tonight—almost open up to her. For once, he felt satisfied with the interaction he had with her, down to the way he kissed her. He was happy she offered to call her anytime he needed it. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t need it now. He always needed it. His mind was always racing. 

And it always got louder the closer he got to his apartment. The closer he got to being alone. His hands twitched as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor. When it did, it was like his feet turned into cement blocks as he walked to his door, to enter his quiet and cold apartment. Away from the world, away from her. Doubt filled his mind again, as it always did. Worried that this ounce of happiness he’d been given would be taken from him as quickly as it arrived. 

He hangs his coat in his closet. He pushes the rack of clothes to reveal the safe tucked in the back. Opening it, he grabs the first tape he can find and plays it on his cassette. 

He falls back in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It stares back at him. 

[daisynik7]

Cute as a Button

Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~3.2k

cw: switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person), explicit language, a confession, FLUFF

Summary: Mitsuya skips a session of sewing lessons, attempting to keep his distance after realizing his growing feelings for you. You’re left wondering where you stand with him, confused by his behavior the last time you saw him. Soon enough, you both realize that these feelings are too intense to ignore.

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience with this! I really love writing this story, so I’m doing my best trying to work on this while I continue my y2k karaoke party event. I know this doesn’t get that much traction, but I really do appreciate every single one of you who have read this so far. I’m excited to show you all how everything will play out! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! I would love to know what you think and maybe some predictions on what will happen in the future chapters. Thanks so much! 

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It’s already past three in the morning and Mitsuya can’t sleep. 

He reaches his hand up towards the ceiling, grabbing at nothing, staring at his fingers, the same ones that gripped Shimizu’s wrist a few hours ago, held on to her so delicately that he’s left to wonder how it would feel to touch her again. Would his body ignite the same way it did? A spark electrifying from the tips of fingers all the way into his chest, heart pumping in overdrive with exhilaration. Touching her reminded him of when he first rode his motorbike at thirteen, adrenaline coursing through his veins, excited to indulge in something new. It’s different though; this time, it’s even scarier. 

He’s not sure what he wanted to say to her in that moment. Something overcame him that he can’t explain to himself. It was a rush of emotions that caused him to reach for her, to almost confess to her that maybe the odd feelings he’s been having lately are deeper than friendship. And it took that bastard Hanma to get him to finally realize it.

The asshole’s subtle threat made his blood boil. The sound of her name coming out of his mouth disgusted him enough to put an ache in his stomach. Draken had to console him when he became visibly upset, pacing the pavement, freaking out about what they should do now to keep her safe. His friend, as usual, managed to calm him until he was relaxed enough to drive back home. He said that everything would be fine, and that Hanma is full of shit. That there’s no way he would take any interest in Shimizu, and he’s only using her name to get a rise out of him. Draken’s explanation makes sense; he’s always the voice of reason. 

So why is Mitsuya still so concerned? He’s never felt this way before, this sense of dread consuming him to a point of keeping him awake in the dead of night. It would be reckless for him to bring her into his world. Someone as sweet and pure as her shouldn’t be tainted with the filth involved in being in a gang. Then again, Draken has Emma and Takemitchy has Hina. Both couples are as happy as can be. Can he have this too? With Shimizu?

He continues to toss and turn, sheets twisted between his legs, hand still tingling from touching her velvet soft skin. He needs more time to think this through. For now, he’ll keep his distance until he’s certain about what he’s feeling. 

During class, he stays in his corner of the classroom, keeping himself distracted as usual with his headphones on, nose buried in either his notebook or phone. Recently, after getting better acquainted, he’s been greeting Shimizu whenever he sees her. She usually takes her spot at the front of the class, besides her two friends. He manages to avoid her gaze throughout the week, making himself look busy as he secretly watches her from his peripheral. He’ll stare at the back of her head, not at all paying attention to the teacher’s lecture, instead focusing his attention on the way she tilts her head at a particularly intriguing bit of information. Or how she rests her elbow on the desk, leaning her face into her palm. Sometimes, she’ll whisper something to her buddies, giggling quietly at the funny comment she makes. And before he knows it, class is done, and the only thing he’s learned is how cute she is. 

Friday afternoon, he arrives in the home economics room, pacing the floor for a bit before he finally sits down, his back facing the door. He takes one of his projects out, one of Luna’s torn t-shirts he has to mend, but doesn’t pay any attention to it, carefully listening for any sounds coming from the hallway. Eventually, he recognizes her familiar footsteps approaching, and his chest constricts, throat tightening up with nerves. He doesn’t turn around to look at her as she walks in, greeting him politely, as she usually does. “Hey Mitsuya.” 

Without facing her, he mutters a rough, “Hey.” He clears his throat before continuing. “I’m canceling today’s lesson. Something came up.”

A beat of silence passes, then she asks, “Is everything okay?” The concern in her voice is endearing, as if she’s genuinely worried about him. 

Resisting the urge to look at her, he says, “Yeah. I forgot that I have something else to do right now.”

“Do you still need a sitter for the girls?” He can hear her step towards him, so close that if he just turned around, maybe he can touch her again…

He clenches his fists at his sides, closing his eyes shut. “No. Just go home.” The last part comes out curtly, completely unlike him. 

She doesn’t respond, waiting for any further explanation. When none comes, he hears her breath hitch, mumbling, “Okay. Have a good weekend, then.”

His listens to her footsteps disappear gradually in the distance, leaving him alone with a sinking feeling in his chest, longing for her presence. 

~~~

“Why isn’t Ms. Hana coming today?” Luna asks, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

Mana chimes in. “Yeah, where is Ms. Hana?”

Mitsuya ignores his sisters as he packs their bags with a few of their favorite toys and their jackets, in case they get cold. They continue to pester him. 

“Did the two of you get into a fight?” 

“Is Ms. Hana angry with us?”

“What did you do Taka?!”

The accusation causes him to snap. He whips around, glaring at them. “Oi! Just put your shoes on, okay? We’re eating dinner with Uncle Ken tonight.”

The little monsters frown at him, crossing them arms over their chests, defiant.

He rolls his eyes, adding, “Auntie Em is going to be there too.” 

At that, the girls relax, putting their shoes on without another word about Ms. Hana. One twenty-minute taxi ride later, the three of them stand outside Draken’s apartment complex, waiting to be buzzed in. As soon as they head up to his floor, they are welcomed happily by the couple, waving enthusiastically at the girls. 

“Hello princesses!” Draken beams, ruffling Luna and Mana’s hair as they hug him around the waist.

“Hi Uncle Ken!” they exclaim, immediately making their way towards Emma. “Hi Auntie Em!” They snuggle her belly gently with their faces, crooning, “Hi baby!” Mitsuya told his family about Emma’s pregnancy during breakfast the same week he found out. His sisters have been excited since. 

Emma giggles at the girls, petting their hair softly. “Do you want to see the picture?” She leads them into the living room, letting the two men handle the kitchen. Draken is making homemade pizzas tonight and tasks Mitsuya to cut some of the toppings while he preps an all-meat pie to go into the oven first. 

“Thanks for letting us come over last minute,” he says quietly, slicing a button mushroom on the cutting board. 

“No problem, man. You know how much we love the girls.” Draken pours a large ladle of tomato sauce over the dough, spreading it evenly. “What happened? Did your friend bail on you or something?”

He sighs. “More like I bailed on her.”

Draken hums, drizzling a layer of mozzarella cheese, covering the red. “Why’d you do that?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m kind of freaking out.”

He laughs, scattering crumbed sausage and pepperoni. “Calm and cool Takashi freaking out? You’re kidding.”

“I’m totally serious, man. It’s crazy.” He lets go of the knife, laying it flat on the counter, scooping the sliced mushrooms into a bowl, wiping his hands clean on a dish towel. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

His friend slides the pizza into the hot oven, setting the timer accordingly. Mitsuya leans against the counter, watching him wash his hands at the sink, patting them dry with a clean paper towel. He places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly with a smirk on his face. “That, my dude, means you like her. And not just as a friend, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he mutters, swatting his hand away, handing him the bowl of mushrooms. “Is this…okay though?”

Draken cooks the veggies on a hot skillet, seasoning them with salt and pepper, asking, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I don’t want to bring her into this life. Isn’t it dangerous for her to be involved with a delinquent like me?”

He scoffs, turning off the heat once everything is cooked down, setting it aside. “You’re the one that told me you’d be a different type of delinquent, remember? One that cares for his family. And besides, you hatefighting. Out of all the fucking numbskulls in Toman, you’re the least dangerous.”

He contemplates this for a good minute, observing Draken assemble the vegetarian pizza with the remaining ingredients. Sighing, he says, “I don’t know if she’d even go for me.”

The second pie is placed in the rack below the first, another timer set. Draken wipes his hands, untying his apron from the back, giving his fellow twin dragon his full attention. “You won’t know unless you try, right? I don’t think she’d be spending her Friday nights with those little monsters if she didn’t like you.”

“She’s just a really nice person. She probably only sees me as a friend.”

“Show her your romantic side, then. How do you think I got Emma?” he teases, pointing his thumb at her. “I’m not as suave as I seem, despite what everyone thinks of me.”

Mitsuya grins, punching his friend in the arm playfully. “C’mon, she was already obsessed with you from the start. You had it easy.”

“No way! I worked hard to get with her! She wanted to be wooed, so I wooed her! And if I can do it, so can you. You’re a better man than me, and that’s really saying something.” 

He smiles at him, feeling better than he did earlier today. “So you think I should confess to her?”

“Yeah, I do. You deserve to be happy. You’re always the one taking care of others, it’s about time someone takes care of you. And maybe Shimizu can do that for you.”

The timer beeps for the first pizza, interrupting their conversation. The girls in the other room hear the ding, cheering for the food being ready. They gather around the dining table, watching in awe as the cook cuts his creation with a pizza cutter, passing them each a slice. Emma fans their food with a paper plate, making sure it’s cool enough especially for the little ones to eat. Mitsuya sits silently in one of the chairs, Draken’s advice playing in his mind on a continuous loop, finally understanding what he needs to do. He’s already guilty for giving her the cold shoulder this afternoon; he won’t put this off any longer. Thankfully, there’s no Toman meeting tonight, so as soon as they’re home, he’ll call her to explain everything.

~~~

It's the first Friday you’ve had free in a month, and you spend it moping in your room, feeling sorry for yourself. 

You miss the sewing lessons, staring at all the new patches you bought, not knowing how stitch them on your jean jacket. You miss the girls, who always make you feel radiant when they look up at you with the biggest smiles on their faces. Most of all, and you’re scared to admit it, you miss Mitsuya. 

This isn’t just admiration anymore. It’s clear to you now what this is: You like him, you yearn for him. The kind twinkle in his eyes, his soothing voice guiding you, that gentle touch of your skin. You want more.

That’s why you’re particularly pitiful tonight. It could be your imagination, or your insecurities getting the best of you, but today, he was cold, completely opposite to how he’s been with you this entire time. He didn’t even look at you, not a single glance in your direction. His words came out harsh and emotionless, lacking any of the benevolence he usually conveys. Could it be that he discovered your secret crush on him? How could he when you didn’t realize it until now? Maybe he suspects it based on how you react to him. Have you really been that obvious? Worst of all, is he that disgusted by it that he no longer wants to spend time with you? So many questions race through your mind, all of them leading you to spiral, wondering what you did wrong. 

Your parents notice your quiet demeanor during dinner. “Hana, are you alright?”

You lie, forcing a grin as you answer your mother. “I’m fine.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been home on a Friday,” your dad comments, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Aren’t you happy to have today off from babysitting?” 

“Sure,” you reply, scooping a spoonful of rice into your mouth, wanting this conversation to end.

“What’s that family’s name again? The Mitsuyas? I hope they’re treating you well.”

“They do, dad. Really well.”

“All that just for some sewing lessons. Really Hana, it doesn’t seem like a very fair trade – ”

“Okay, honey, that’s enough,” your mom interrupts, shooting him a look. “Hana seems to be enjoying it, that’s all that matters.”

He grumbles something under his breath, not speaking further about the subject. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t bring it up again the rest of the night. After dessert, you bid them goodnight, retreating back into your room to snuggle under a blanket, idly watching a TV show, trying not to think about Mitsuya. You’re probably overthinking this; he really must be busy with something else. 

By midnight, you get ready for bed, shutting off the lights to watch one more episode before you knock out. Halfway through, your eyes flutter closed on the verge of a sleep when your phone suddenly rings, startling you awake. You check it, confused as to who it could be at this time. When you see his name flash on the screen, your stomach turns, worried about why he would be calling you. Immediately, you answer, “Hello?”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” His voice sounds mostly back to normal now, except for the hint of hesitance in his tone. 

“No, you didn’t. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great, actually. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Thinking it’ll be through the phone, you respond quickly. “Sure.”

There’s shuffling in the background, keys jingling and a door shutting. “Can I come over? My sisters are asleep, and I won’t be long.”

You’re surprised at his suggestion, unsure what he could possibly want to discuss with you that has to be done in person. All too curious now, you agree, quickly changing into a sweater as he makes the short trip to your house. You wait for him outside, hugging yourself with your arms wrapped tightly around you, nervous for whatever he’s got to say. Soon, the headlights of his Impulse illuminate in the distance, shining brighter and brighter as he approaches you, slowing down to a stop in front of your driveway. He pops his helmet off, hanging it on one of the handles, a grin on his face as he greets you. “Hi.”

Warmth instantly surrounds your chest, heart beating a little faster in his presence. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late. I just…I had to see you tonight.”

You swallow, saliva thick in your throat, anticipating. He continues. “I want to apologize for how I behaved earlier. I was freaking out and I wasn’t acting like myself. Still, that’s no excuse for how I treated you and I’m sorry.” 

So it wasn’t just your imagination. Even so, he didn’t treat you poorly. Sure, he was short with you, but it doesn’t warrant a grand apology like this. “Mitsuya, it’s really okay. You didn’t need to come all the way out here to apolo– ”

“That’s not all,” he interjects, taking a step forward, a step closer. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” He takes a few deep breaths while you wait patiently for him, body jittering with fret. Finally, he says, “I like you, Shimizu. I have feelings for you.”

You gulp again, probably louder this time, shocked by his admission. In utter disbelief, you blurt out, “As a friend?” You’ve seen too many dramas and romance movies to know that misunderstandings exist, so you ask it to make sure. After all, you’ve never been confessed to before. You’re almost convinced this is a dream until he holds your hand tenderly in his, thumb brushing your knuckles delicately. Is this really happening? And with him of all people, the person you actually like back?

He gazes at you, eyes soft with kindness, smiling. “As a friend, and more than that. Do you understand?”

You nod slowly, trying to process it.

His smile widens. “Good. That’s all I wanted to say tonight. Thank you for listening to me.” He squeezes your hand gently, pulling away to break apart. 

Before he can, you clench him firmly, keeping him in place. “I like you too, Mitsuya. As a friend, and more than that.”

He looks down at his feet, shaking his head. “You don’t have to say that – ”

It’s your turn to interrupt him this time, tugging him earnestly towards you. “I mean it! I’ve always liked you.”

He meets your gaze again. “Really?”

You shift your hand in his, interlocking his fingers with yours. “Yes.”

A goofy giggle escapes his mouth, and you can’t help but laugh with him, leaning closer to rest your forehead to his, noses barely brushing, lips nearly touching.

“Hana? What’s going on?” Your father’s concerned voice from the front door causes you to stagger backwards, separating quickly.  

You turn around to face him, waving him off. “Nothing!” you squeak, heat rushing into your cheeks, embarrassed about almost getting caught.

“Who is this boy?” He steps out in his fuzzy slippers, brows furrowed, inspecting Mitsuya carefully. Your mom, wrapped in her cozy robe, stands beside him, doing the same. 

“Takashi Mitsuya, sir. I’m sorry to bother you so late in the night. I just wanted to apologize to Shimizu for canceling our sewing lesson today. I’ll be going now.” He bows politely to your parents, sneaking a wink at you. “I’ll see you Monday?”

You nod at him, watching him swing one leg over his bike, snapping his helmet back on his head. He starts the engine, revving it while he cruises off into the direction he came in, returning to his own home. Once he’s gone, it’s dead silent except for the scattered chirping of crickets hidden in the grass. Both your parents have their arms crossed tight against their chests, stern expressions on their faces, waiting for you to explain. Instead, you feign a yawn, walking past them to head up the stairs. “Well, goodnight,” you mumble, rushing into your bedroom, locking it shut, snuggling into your pillow with the biggest smile on your face.