#he’d make his arms longer so that he could reach taller shelves.

[sciderman]

if Wade wore a corset for like, a long time with no breaks would his body set that as the natural and heal his ribs and stuff to form to the corset so essentially he always has a snatched waist? or is that now how it works?

um. i don’t think that’s how it works, no.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Eric Draven

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I chose to retcon Shelley in this but I wouldn’t be against writing something that involves her character in the future. Hope you enjoy!)

- You first met Eric at a cassette shop some time before his death. By pure coincidence, you’d looked up and met his eye just as he entered the shop. He held your gaze for a moment before you quickly averted your eyes and busied yourself with searching the shelves for the artist you were looking for. 

- A minute or so later, you could feel a presence besides you. When you snuck a glance, you found that it was the same man from before prompting your heart to skip a beat. He was tall, dark, and beautifully alternative. The most perfect man you’d ever seen in real life. 

- Staying quiet, you focused on the task at hand; though it was a bit difficult with him beside you. After a bit of searching, you finally found the cassette you were looking for and pulled it off the shelf, examining it for a quick second.

“I love them.” the mans quiet voice rang out from beside you.

“Pardon?” you’d nearly squeaked, looking up at the mans face which was now glancing down at you.

“Sorry,” he apologized, smiling while shaking his head. “The Cure; I love them. They’re one of my favorites. Have you heard their latest song; ‘Burn’ I think it was. It’s been all over the radio; at least the channels that I listen to.”

- The two of you talked for a long time, hopping from one artist to the next and then from subject to subject. You continued to talk even as you were checking out and leaving the shop. Speaking with him just seemed so natural, so easy.

- The two of you stood outside the door of the shop, neither of you really wanting your conversation to end but knowing that it had to at some point.

- You were just about to say goodbye when he spoke, telling you that his band would be playing at the concert club down the street that night and that he’d be happy to see you there. Now, how could you say no to that?

- So that night, you got a bit dressed up and headed over to the club he told you about. It wasn’t exactly your usual scene but at the time, it seemed worth going to; if only just to see the man again.

- The instant you got there, you could practically feel the music reverberating off the walls as you tried to find an empty place to stand or sit. Glancing at the stage, your eyes immediately found the exact man you were looking for, shredding on his guitar in all his gothic glory.

- Every now and again, you could see his eyes sweep over the crowd before finally finding you, a small smile making its way onto his face. You stayed there until his band played their final song, nearly an hour and a half after you’d arrived.

- Once they left the stage, Eric came over and greeted you, asking you to wait just a minute as he went to put his guitar away. You obliged and soon enough the two of you were sitting together at one of the small tables in the club, trying to talk to each other over the noise.

- Finally, he leaned forward and spoke in your ear, asking if you wanted to go some place. You happily agreed and the two of you found yourselves seated at a small diner which wasn’t too far away from the club.

- The two of you sort of consider this your first date. You sat and talked for hours, sipping coffee and eating. He got delightfully bashful when you complimented his music, looking down at the table with a smile before quickly changing the subject back to you.

- You shared your first kiss in the rain a few nights later after another one of your dates. There was no way of escaping the downpour so you were sort of just forced to run through it until you could find a bit of shelter. By the time you were able to get under something, you were already freezing and soaked, but all you could do was laugh.

“We might as well just keep on walking, huh?” He’d joked and you agreed, stepping back out into the rain and beginning to walk again.

- You were a few steps away from him when you felt his hand on your arm, softly spinning you around so that you were facing him. You looked up at his face, watching the rain fall down from his cheeks and drip from his hair before he pulled you into him and pressed his lips to yours.

- You closed your eyes, kissing back as he wrapped his arms tight around you. It felt like the world around you disappeared, the only signs of it being the constant pitter patter of rain on your skin. Neither of you wanted the moment to end, even as you stood softly shivering.

- The two of you were dating for nearly a year when you got a late night call from the police. After the first few words, you could barely hear what they were saying, it was like the entire world came crashing down around you.

- You’d come to find out that it was a suspected robbery gone bad and that Eric had died. You were inconsolable for months and even a year later, you still felt as though there was a massive hole in your heart that would never be filled. That was when you were confronted with a face from your past.

- It was late one night and you were walking home from work, slightly paranoid as per usual. Apparently your paranoia was there for good reason as a man began to follow closely behind you while you walked. Unbeknownst to you; or him, he wasn’t the only one keeping a close eye on your figure.

- You began walking faster, hoping that it was just a misunderstanding. That hope was soon crushed as the man behind you began to speed up as well.

- Finally, you broke out into a sprint, praying that you could make it to some shop before the man reached you. You could hear him begin to give chase before suddenly, his footsteps just ...disappeared.

- You slowly came to a stop, glancing behind you and finding no one there. Confused, you searched the area, trying to spot the man but still finding nothing. Finally, someone emerged from a nearby alleyway ...but it wasn’t the man from before.

- He was taller with longer hair and odd paint covering his face. He looked vaguely familiar from afar but it was only after he got close enough for you to see his face that you finally recognized him.

“Eric?” You asked in disbelief as he stopped before you.

“I always told you that I didn’t like you walking home alone.” He said softly, a weak smile playing at his painted lips.

- Without another word, you closed the distance between you, your hands shakily reaching up to touch his face, prompting him to close his eyes. His arms wove around you and pulled you into a tight hug, a hug you returned with just as much vigor, afraid that he’d vanish if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

- He was back. Back and here to stay.

- As much as he would love to be touching you at all times, he also doesn't want anyone to see the two of you together. He doesn’t want you somehow being dragged into something because his enemies saw the two of you together or because police believe you’re somehow involved in his revenge plot. So he tries not to interact with you in public, at least not where anyone could catch you. 

- He’s sort of your little secret; a figure that only you notice, a person that only you know exists. It’s hard to stop a small smile from coming onto your face whenever you’re asked about your love life or pressured to get out into the dating scene. If only they knew. 

- Soft caresses. Whenever his hands are on you, they’re; more often than not, being intimate, gentle and loving. You can practically feel his adoration for you in his every touch. 

- Brushing the hair out of his face so you can see and kiss him properly.

- Long, tight hugs.

- Passionate kisses. 

- Having his makeup smeared across your face. He runs a finger across the paint, rubbing his thumb over your lips and calling you beautiful.

- Sitting up late at night with him and stargazing. 

- Waking up to soft kisses. Oftentimes it’s in the middle of the night but you don’t really mind, you just tiredly reach out to him as he takes off his boots and joins you in bed. 

- He opts for more meaningful and romantic nicknames. Things like: Annabel Lee, darling, beloved, angel, my love, my life. 

- Getting poetry and songs written about you. A lot of the time, he’ll leave them for you to find or; if they’re a song, quietly sing them to you in the dark of the night. 

- He likes being held in your arms when you cuddle, his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. But he also loves to hold you, wrapping his arms tight around you and cherishing the way you snuggle into him. 

- Eric is absolutely, irrevocably in love with you. You’ve never had a man so infatuated with you and you never will again. Your relationship isn’t the most conventional or normal, but you never doubt for a second that he loves you.

- He can’t stand the thought of you thinking that he doesn’t care. It’s the easiest way to tear him up inside.  

- He’s incredibly sweet with you, always reassuring you with a laugh when you do something wrong, never getting mad at you for your mistakes and always making you feel better when you’re feeling down. 

- Teasing each other, he likes spooking you a bit and overall just making you laugh. 

- He’s still got a good sense of humor. His jokes may be stupid and he may tell you them a hundred times each but you never mind. 

- Dancing together. Sometimes its romantic slow dancing and other times he’ll just break out into a little jig.

- Getting to watch all his gymnastic and athletic skills. He both amazes and amuses you with the things he does. 

- Grand romantic gestures. He’s a hopeless romantic at heart. 

- He used to have warm hands and he resents the fact that they’re always cold now. One of the main reasons he likes to hold your hands is because he can feel your warmth seeping into his skin. 

- A lot of the time, he’ll just show up and/or vanish into thin air. He’s most likely scared you every now and again with the way he just appears in the doorway of your room or knocking at your window. 

- He wants to take care of you whenever he can. Injured, sick, upset; he’s there for you and knows exactly what to do to make you feel better. 

- Trying to help explain everything that happened to him and figure out how he’s back again; and how to keep him that way. 

- He loves the little things about you; something he learned to do while you were together and perfected while he was dead. He could name a million things off the top of his head that you do or about your appearance that he absolutely adores. 

- Having him play the guitar for you. You’ll usually sit behind him, resting your cheek on his back while he strums along, sometimes humming the words to one of his bands songs. 

- Reading gothic literature together. He smiles whenever you tell him he has the perfect voice for it. 

- He loves horror. Anything scary is right up his alley. Horror movies, Halloween, urban legends, scary stories; he loves them all. 

- Taking care of Gabriel for him. The fluffy feline adores you and Eric likes coming home and seeing you curled up with him on the couch or bed. 

- Kissing in the rain and in the dark of the night. 

- He could genuinely sit and talk with you for hours, or just sit with you without saying a word. Just being by your side is enough for him. 

- The two of you tend to stay indoors and enjoy quiet nights in, he liked it even before everything happened to him. He prefers being alone with you with no way to be interrupted. 

- Getting to pet and interact with his crow. The two of you wind up spending a lot of time together. 

- Getting close to and helping take care of Sarah. He loves just sitting back and watching the two of you play around. He’s adorable when he joins in on the fun. 

- He loves how you make him feel normal, always treating him the same as before and making him feel like his old self again just by being with you. 

- Tracing his scars. He sort of likes when you do it, it’s like you’re taking away the memories of that day and replacing them with happy ones. 

- Comforting him when he thinks about his death and looks into your mind to see your memories of life without him. You just wrap yourself around his back and let him feel what he has to. 

- Eric kinda goes feral sometimes. There’s two versions of this Eric: 1) the guy who kills and 2)the guy who’s looking at you with the eyes of a wolf, wanting to eat you alive. Sometimes he’ll just pounce, pulling you into his body and smashing his lips to yours.

- He’s incredibly protective of you. He knows how dangerous your city is and how fragile life can be. He’s determined to make sure nothing ever happens to you; even if it means hurting or killing other people. 

- Because he can’t really be seen with you, he has a bit of a mean streak when it comes to jealousy. If he can, he’ll scare off anyone who he thinks is getting too close to you, threatening them the moment he can get them alone. You’re his and his alone.

- He never gets upset with you. He might have a bit of a temper; particularly after his death, but you’ll never be on the receiving end of it. You very rarely; if ever, fight, the only times he’ll argue or fight with you will when he’s worried about your safety which is something you’ll never hold against him. 

- He’ll never get tired of hearing you say you love him. Oftentimes, he’ll ask you to say “it” again, nuzzling into you while you giggle and repeat yourself. 

- He tells you he loves you constantly, repeating it between kisses, while kissing your forehead, or saying it while gazing deeply into your eyes. It feels so natural for him to say it; there's never any second guessing, it’s the one thing he’s completely sure about in his life. 

- You aren’t sure what will happen to either of you in the future. All you know is that he’ll love you and you’ll love him for the rest of eternity. 

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @knyfutureauzine! I’m grumpy we didn’t get any aftermath whump or hurt/comfort in the series.

…

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…

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i.

Someone knocked on the door. It was a quiet sound, barely audible in the yard. The rough scrubbing of dirty clothes drowned out any other noise. Arms deep in soapy water, Aoi wasn’t even entirely certain she hadn’t imagined it. No one else seemed to have heard it. Not Kanao as she diligently hung every cleaned shirt. Not Sumi, Kiyo, or Naho as they swept the house, the soft pitter-patter of their feet echoing through the hallways.

Just as Aoi went back to work, she heard a second sharp rap. This time Kanao noticed as well, her blank eyes turning toward the entrance. “Someone’s there,” she murmured, halfway to hanging a pair of pants.

“I’ll get it,” Aoi replied quickly, before Kanao could move. While her now-blind sister could navigate the butterfly estate without help, Aoi didn’t want her to exert herself more than she had to. “It’s probably a pillar.”

Leaping to her feet, she left a trail of droplets as she hurried to the front door. They used to guess, before it all went down, just who’d dropped by. Nine times out of ten, the answer would have been Mitsuri. She had liked to appear for no other reason than to hug and spread her love. Obanai had lurked in her shadow, begrudgingly taking a cup of tea whenever a nervous Kiyo gave it to him. A rarer visit had been a clueless Giyu, who never understood why Shinobu only offered terse replies and sharp smiles.

Aoi’s favourite had been Rengoku, with his sunny smiles and even sunnier disposition. Part of her still expected his golden hair as she yanked open the door.

Instead, a beaming Tanjirou stood at the entrance, and Aoi tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. It had been at least a year since they’d all died. She should have known better than to expect a ghost. “You’re late,” she huffed, letting the irritation wash over her and mask her emotions.

“Sorry about that.” He didn’t look the least bit contrite for that. In his hands was a bouquet of sunflowers and he gently held them out. “Nezuko picked these.”

“It couldn’t have been you,” she muttered half-heartedly, carefully taking the bundle. There’s no flowery scent when she sniffs, just the usual weak smell of leaves and plants. “They’re pretty. Is she coming later?”

“Yep, with Sanemi!” Tanjirou lightly stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and putting on the slippers she pointed at. They were the same ones from when he’d trained here. “He’s really nice to her, but he still doesn’t seem to like me. I wonder if I did something to him?”

“Who knows?” Scratching her chin, Aoi thought about the scarred wind pillar. They didn’t cross paths often, no reason to outside of funerals and memorials, but his sharp edges seemed to have softened. Whatever bark was left in him was brittle, easily cracked. Rumour had it that it was because of his brother’s death. She could believe that. Aoi didn’t feel like the same person she had been before Shinobu’s death, before Kanae’s or her parent’s loss.

Grief had a way of changing a person.

“Inosuke and Zenitsu are coming soon, they’re just getting some more flowers,” Tanjirou added, not sounding too bothered by it. Maybe he knew more than he let on. His burn mark was bright in the morning light and maybe, limited time had a way of making problems less important.

“Then they’ll be on time for once,” she snipped, resting a hand on her hip. Aoi frowned up at him. “Though they weren’t the ones who promised to help clean up.”

“Right, right.” Tanjirou laughed awkwardly, rubbing his neck. His smile was disarming. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry—just don’t do it again.” With that resolved, she led Tanjirou toward the yard, her arm still laden with sunflowers. The bright yellows contrasted with the dreary walls of the compound, their footsteps loud against the silent backdrop. Everything felt unusually muted and the rooms utterly depressing. It was irrational; the décor hadn’t changed since Shinobu’s death and the estate had always been some flavour of quiet. With Shinobu and Kanao often out for missions, Aoi had gotten used to a certain level of absence. Though, there had been one exception, one time that the halls had been filled with noise. The time that those three had studied here, when rooms had been filled with Zenitsu’s cries, Tanjirou’s laughter, and Inosuke’s overconfident roars.

The estate had been full those days. Hopeful, even. Aoi remembered believing that they could make it through with a minimal amount of casualties. Now she had more deaths than she had fingers.

“It’s quiet,” Tanjirou murmured, startling her out of her thoughts.

She glanced at him. Was he thinking of those far gone days too? “Yeah, it is.”

“And peaceful,” he added, smiling fondly. “I’ve always liked that about here. I can just sit and think, without worrying.”

It was strange, really, how the same thing could appear in two different ways at once. How the same observation could lead to two different conclusions. He wasn’t wrong. Neither was she. Before she could reply, they reached the veranda.

“Tanjirou?” Kanao guessed from the clothesline, slowly turning around to greet them.

“Yeah.” His expression softened to the same degree that hers brightened, his voice catching slightly. Aoi wondered if he realized just how much his love showed through him, that love that powered him through to save his sister’s life and now was focused on the single girl in front of him. Even if Kanao couldn’t see it, she must have felt it.

Aoi knew when she was the third wheel. Gently, she pushed him toward her sister. “You two, finish the laundry! We don’t have much time before the others get here!”

“Okay, okay, got it.” Over his shoulder, Tanjirou smiled at her as bright as the sun, as bright as Rengoku, and she felt a familiar lump in her throat.

ii.

Someone knocked on the door. Aoi heard it at the same second Naho walked past, her arms full of blankets. “Someone’s at the door.”

‘Yeah.” Naho nodded.

Aoi rested her hands on her hips. Standing on a stool, she felt marginally tall, though she just made Naho’s height now. Everyone had to grow taller but her. “Is someone going to get it?”

“How?” Nahro gestured at the blankets with her head.

“And the others…” Aoi trailed off, her cheeks puffing slightly. If they hadn’t responded to the door by now, they were either too busy or didn’t hear it, and it’d take longer for her to find them than it would to just open the door herself. Hopping off the stool, she grumbled, “Fine, fine, I got it.”

With Sanemi, Nezuko, and Uzui already in the house, it wasn’t too hard to guess who it was. There were only three people left, after all. Yanking the door open, Aoi wasn’t surprised to find a stoic Giyu on the other side, several white lilies in his hand. “Sorry about the wait.”

As usual, his countenance was as tranquil as a still lake, his mood impossible to read. Was he irritated she’d taken so long? Did he not care at all? She had known him for several years now and was no closer to the answer than she’d been when they’d first met.

“It’s okay,” he answered politely. His expression didn’t change.

After a few minutes, when it was clear he wasn’t going to move, Aoi stepped back and gestured. “You can come in, you know.”

Giyu looked at her, then at the entrance. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, as though he wasn’t certain if he could come. It had been months since she’d last seen him and she’d forgotten how annoying he could be. Even now, as he pulled off his shoes and placed them, they were a whole space away from the others.

“You can put them right next to the others, you know.” When he didn’t move them, Aoi sighed and nudged them closer to the others. Things would get messy enough when Inosuke arrived; she didn’t need more to clean up. Turning around, she led the way to the kitchen now. “The incense sticks are too high for me to grab. Could you help me with those?”

“Yes,” he replied, another monosyllabic response.

“We’ll visit Shinobu after lunch.” Aoi was proud she made it through that entire sentence without wanting to cry. “We just need to finish cleaning up. You can help.”

From the corner of her eyes, she watched him nod silently. Aoi had the urge to apologize—it was insane, that she was giving a pillar an order. But with no demons, there were no pillars, and the people she’d idolized were now just ordinary citizens like her. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped. Part of her still expected demons every night, that Shinobu would stumble through the door in the middle of the night, tired and bloody.

Maybe she’d never shake of this feeling of unease whenever the sun set. Forcing herself out of her thoughts, she added, “I think it’s just moping…”

Giyu wasn’t beside her anymore. She spun on her heel. “Giyu?”

Three doors down, he stood at the entrance to Shinobu’s workroom. When he didn’t reply, she quietly approached him. “Is something wrong?”

Still, he kept quiet. Aoi followed his gaze into the room. The blinds were pulled back, letting sunlight in. Shinobu used to keep them drawn, preferring utter darkness for her experiments. Despite her strict organization of her samples, her books had always been scattered around haphazardly, an accident waiting to happen.

“It’s all gone,” Giyu murmured.

“Yeah…” Aoi rubbed her arms awkwardly. She had scrubbed the room clean of Shinobu’s presence, shelved the books, tossed the samples. It was a simple office now.

“She’s gone.” His voice was soft, almost too soft to hear. Despite his teary eyes, Giyu didn’t break down, just stared into the room with the same emotion she had when she’d finally forced herself to clean it.

Resignation. Acceptance. Aoi had always thought of him as a doll, but that hadn’t been fair. Despite how Shinobu ragged on him, she’d often drag him into her workroom. The candles would flicker well into the morning, the two of them quietly sharing a drink as they watched the moon. Whenever Giyu would visit, his shoes used to be on the far end, neatly tucked next to Shinobu’s.

Her throat burned, remembering the sight of Shinobu’s shoes next to his. She’d almost forgotten what they’d look like, what that space used to be for. Reaching down, Aoi grabbed his hand. His skin was warm. “She is.”

Aoi hoped Shinobu had done this once too, reached out and clasped his hand. That she had done something for herself before she died. That Giyu would remember this long after Aoi had forgotten what Shinobu sounded or felt like.

Maybe some part of Shinobu could linger, long after her presence disappeared from the house.

iii.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Got it,” Aoi yelled automatically, used to the drill by now. She yanked open the door. “Everyone’s here already, Shinobu—”

There was no one at the door. Of course, there wasn’t, because Shinobu was dead, because this was Shinobu’s one year anniversary and Aoi should have remembered that by now. It was irrational, really, the way she kept doing that, the way she kept expecting Shinobu whenever candlelight crept out of a room in the middle of the night.

It had been a year. Only a year. As long as a year. It hurt and Aoi thought she knew how it felt to miss someone. She’d forgotten how much it hurt at first, how dull that pain could get. Behind her, she could hear Tanjirou’s laugh, Sanemi’s angry growl, Giyu’s confused squawk. It wouldn’t be long before she lost them too, before she had to go through this all over again.

Death was the constant companion of demon hunters. She didn’t know how she’d forgotten that.

As she stared blankly out onto the dirt pathway, a bright purple butterfly lazily floated by. Shinobu, she thought irrationally. It made no sense. That was a butterfly. Shinobu was happy in the afterlife. Yet Aoi couldn’t stop herself from chasing after it. Its wings looked like Shinobu’s cloak, delicate and ethereal.

What would she do if she caught it? If she didn’t catch it? I miss you, I’m sorry, and are you happy ran through her head in a loop.

Yet the butterfly stayed out of reach, away from her questions. As she ran around the corner, she almost ran into Inosuke as he charged past her.

“I made it first,” he roared, heading straight for the door.

“S-sorry…we’re…late…” Zenitsu panted and she turned back to find him standing in front of her, winded and half-collapsed. He smiled.

“I-it’s fine.” Aoi glanced around but the butterfly was gone.

“W-we got flowers,” Zenitsu gasped, holding out a hand before realizing it was empty. “A-and we dropped them…” He glared over her shoulder at the long-gone Inosuke. “Because someone had to have a race.”

It was utterly like them and Aoi laughed. God, it felt good to let it all out, to just feel without remembering anything else. Maybe this was what she’d needed all this time. As usual, Aoi had been over thinking things.

Her present could be shattered in a blink of an eye. Most of her friends wouldn’t make it past five more years. But she’d lived through loss before, and she’d learned the most important lesson: there was an after.

There was no need to dwell on the past, to chase after ghosts. Better to just embrace what she had, for as long as she could, and prepare herself for the future.

Aoi could almost hear Shinobu’s approving hum.

Shaking herself out of it, Aoi offered Zenitsu an arm. “Come on, let’s get going. There’s plenty of work left.”

[imhereformr]

Hi! :) Could you please do prompt 11 for Rivusa? 💜💜 I wish you a wonderful day!

11: Secret Relationship

Rival gang AU /// Content warning: mildly smutty

The abandoned car factory wasn’t the most romantic place. It was certainly not where Musa had ever expected to be having rendez-vous’ with her lover. The place, even though it’d been deserted for close to twenty years now, smelled like a strange mixture of leather, chemicals and dust. Occasionally, the ghost smell of burning metal would tickle her nose, but those were rare. Besides, she spent most of her time coiled into Riven’s side, enveloped by the fresh, woodsy scent of his aftershave or the sweetness of his sweat.

She walked through the building to the backroom where they spent most of what little, precious time they had together. Always Monday nights, sometimes Wednesdays if they were lucky. She hated sneaking around, but it was necessary. If her father, the president of Magix’s Fallen Angels, found out his daughter was fucking – and in love with – the VP of their rival gang, The Dragon Riders, a war would break out between the two that would likely leave more dead bodies than she wanted to be responsible for.

No matter how hard she tried to keep quiet, her footsteps seemed to echo through the building. Every time they met up, she became paranoid. Musa was careful – more careful than she’d ever been about anything. She made sure to leave in the middle of the night once her father was asleep; made sure to always park her car a block away instead of in front of their house so that if he woke up he wouldn’t see her leave; made sure that no one was watching her as she got in her car; made sure that no cars followed her when she got off the ramp that led to the near-deserted stretch of road where the factory was; and made sure to park her car inside the old employee indoor garage who’s door that Riven had managed to fix so they could open and close it. All that effort – so much more effort than she ever thought she’d put into seeing a guy – just for a few hours by his side. And it was, in her opinion, more than worth it.

The door to the office where they spent their time was already open when she got there. Unlike the rest of the factory that was littered with trash, dirt and discarded production equipment, this office was in decent shape. It helped that Riven had taken the time to clean it when he had come across the area. There was a desk that faced towards the right wall, a torn black leather office chair, shelving and filing cabinets; all from the factory days, and all in surprisingly good condition. Riven had bought a loveseat for the corner of the office for them to cuddle up on a while back – that was the sole addition to the room. She would have preferred a bed so they could lie down, but there just wasn’t enough space.

Musa paused by the office door. Riven, leaning against the front of the desk with his phone in hand, still hadn’t noticed her arrival – she must not have been as loud as she thought – so she took a moment to drink him in. He was tall – significantly taller than her – with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He always looked the same: dark wash jeans, a plain t-shirt and his leather jacket, the very one that told her she shouldn’t be near him. His maroon hair was slicked back – partially by stylistic choice, but also because he had a habit of running his hand through his hair whenever he was thinking about something or uncomfortable – and he still had a scar along his cheekbone from a fight he’d been in two weeks earlier. She knew that under his clothes, adorning a body worthy of a god, were more scars and bruises from that fight and others past, and two gunshot wounds: one in his right shoulder and one just above his left hip bone.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked when she realised she’d been staring at him far longer than was normal. Riven’s hand instinctively reached for the gun he kept tucked into the back of his jeans but stopped when he registered her voice. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled brightly. His smile sent a bolt of lightning through Musa, awakening something deep in her. She returned his smile as she approached him, pulling off her own leather jacket. He mirrored her movements, tossing his jacket onto the desk where it landed on top of hers.

His lips were on hers within seconds, hungry and desperate. His hands wasted no time in making their way to her hips and pulling her as close to him as physically possible. Her own hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly with every moan that escaped her lips. Riven backed her up against the wall, pressing himself into her. “You’re late” he whispered, removing his lips from hers to trail kisses down her neck.

“Sorry” she managed between gentle moans and pleased sighs. “Dad went to bed a bit later than usual.”

“Doesn’t matter. You're here.” His lips returned to hers, drowning her in desire. One of his hands wandered down from her shoulders to her chest, where his thumb brushed over her nipple lightly, sending a shiver through her, and down to the hem of her shirt. There was no pretense of modesty, no playfulness in the way Riven pulled the shirt off her. He knew what he wanted, and she was more than happy to give it to him. She hadn’t bothered to put a bra on in her rush to get out of the house, and Riven smirked when he noticed. He ducked down to suck at her nipple, and Musa arched her back to make it easier for him.

Her hands ran along his back, digging into him with her nails, until they found the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift movement. Her eyes drifted down to his perfectly sculpted abs as she ran her hand across them, feeling every groove and bump. She let her hands slide lower, giddiness and anticipation building with every second, until one was cupping and teasing his bulge and the other was fiddling with his pant button.

Musa could feel his eyes on her, and when she lifted her own to meet them, she found him watching her with a softness that made her feel like goo. “What?” she laughed, her voice coming out much breathier than she’d expected. Riven shook his head, pulling his eyes away from hers and whispering an almost inaudible nothing. When they’d first started doing this – whatever this was – Musa would get upset when he would do that. She thought he was hiding something from her. It had been two years since then, and she knew better now. Nothing didn’t mean nothing; it meant I’m happy or you’re perfect or, her favourite, I love you.

***

Riven pulled her onto the loveseat beside him and draped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, feeling it rise and fall in time with his chest and heavy breaths. Her finger trailed along his sweat-slicked chest, drawing figure eights. A smile was plastered on his face and his eyes were still glazed over from his orgasm. He was beautiful.

“I’ve been looking at Melody” he told her after a few minutes. She could feel his fingers ghosting over the angel wings tattooed on her back. He traced the wings every time they were together, and every time she wished they weren’t there. Those wings represented a stupid, made up barrier keeping her from him, and she’d grown to despise them.

“Oh?” Musa raised her eyebrow as she tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were focused on the dark office, but looked faraway from where they were. She loved his eyes. They were a deep shade of violet that swirled and danced every emotion he felt. He was her ticket into his soul and, now that she could figure them out, she never had to wonder if he truly loved her again. Until the day when those eyes wouldn’t look at her like she was the sun, she knew he was hers just as much, if not more, than she was his.

“You told me you’ve always wanted to see the realm your mom was from. And I looked into it, there is no Dragon charter out there. You’ll have to confirm about the Angels, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Musa sat upright, resting her palm flat against his chest. She searched his eyes for any hint of dishonesty or humour, but found none. “Really?” They’d talked about leaving Magix – getting away from the gang life and starting over somewhere – more times than she could count. Everywhere had been an idea: Solaria, Eraklyon, Andros, Melody, Zenith, Dalona, Oppositus. That’s all they’d ever been, though, ideas.

“Yeah. I don’t know what my future holds, but if it doesn’t include you – all of you, not just secret meetings in the middle of the night in some shitty abandoned factory – I don’t want it.” Riven dropped his head onto the back of the couch and let it flop sideways to look at her. His hand caressed her cheek with a tenderness that she knew he reserved for her. Her hand lowered from his chest to trace the dragon’s tail that coiled up his right leg, ending in a majestic magenta, blue and black dragon on his back. “I like Melody.”

“Good” he smiled. “I’ve looked at real estate and I have enough money saved up that we can get a nice place of our own. We couldn’t get anything big enough for a family in the city, but the suburbs are still really affordable.”

“The suburbs? Are we the suburban type?” she laughed. “I mean, I’ll have to learn to bake pies. And what the fuck does a PTA do?”

“Do you think we’ll have to get a minivan?” he added, laughing at the snort that escaped her lips.

“Of course. How else are we gonna get the kids to soccer practice?”

“Fine, but I refuse to wear beige or polos. And I still want at least one bike.”

“And I won’t wear dresses or curl my hair. Plus I demand that you keep at least one jacket. You look too hot in leather to give it up entirely.” Musa eyed the leather jackets crumpled on top of the desk. “Preferably one without a dragon on it.”

“We’re gonna scandalise the neighbours with our tattoos, leather jackets and motorcycles.”

“That’s fine. We’ll probably be the coolest parents in the neighbourhood.”

They fantasized about their life after escaping until Musa’s alarm went off at 4:15, breaking them out of the dream bubble they created and forcing them to return to their real lives. They got dressed as slowly as possible, dragging out the time until they’d have to be apart again. Then, the lovers walked hand in hand through the factory to the garage.

When they reached their vehicles, Riven pulled her into a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, reciprocating the tightness of his around her waist. After pulling away before the kiss became too heavy, Riven laid his forehead against hers. “One month” he whispered. She looked up at him through the messy fringe on her forehead. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was drawn tight. “That’s the goal. We leave in one month.”

“Wait, really?” Musa pulled her head away from his as she batted her eyelashes in confusion. She never thought he’d actually want to leave Magix. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, are you not?” Riven furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. She could feel his fists clenching on her back, and the doubt and hurt that sparked in his breathtaking eyes tore Musa to shreds, made her feel like she’d just stabbed the man she loved. “I’m in. I just never thought you would actually want to. I mean, the Dragons are your family.”

“And the Angels are yours, but we can make our own family. One free of drugs and turf wars.”

“Just pies, minivans and nosy, scandalised neighbours. Sounds perfect.”

“Anywhere that you are is perfect” he whispered, pulling her back in and placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing in each other's scent and memorising every feature so they wouldn’t forget them in the week until they could see each other again. Riven’s alarm went off, alerting them that it was 4:45 and they had to leave now. He pulled her into one last kissed, far sweeter than any they’d shared in their two years together. It was full of promise and hope, something they’d never had before.

“I love you Musa.” It was so rare to hear him say the words I love you that Musa cherished every single one. In their two years, he’d said it exactly twelve times. The first was a year ago when it had slipped out after they’d had sex. Not exactly romantic, but still very cute. “I love you too Riven.”

They shared one more quick peck before Musa watched him take a seat on his bike and ride away. She got in her car and let out an elated sigh and took off, already counting down the days. All she had to do now was sit tight and not let anything slip. It couldn’t be that hard; she’d already kept this secret for twenty-seven months. What was one more? She just had to make it through this one month without her excitement bubbling over and he would be all hers.

[sabraeal]

If All Else Fails Just Play Dead

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Swan Princess AU

There is a boy in her house.

Two boys, actually; not counting Uncle, who is the Margrave Entaepode, or Papa, who acts like he is, or Raj, who everyone simply tolerates because there are worse things than having the first prince adopt your heir as their particular friend, and all of them start with denying said prince what he wants.

(And also because when he’s not trying to flex all his royal powers at once, Raj can be almost tolerable. He at least believes in magic, which gives him a leg up over just about every other boy Shirayuki has known, save for uncle, even if he doesn’t know any himself.)

Sakaki is also not to be counted, though she feels bad about it, on account of how often she typically forgets that Sakaki is a boy and not just some boy-shaped furniture Raj travels with, like how he always brings his pillow and his favorite chair. She’ll have to remember to bring him some extra pastries from the kitchen as an apology.

No, these are two entirely foreign boys, shipped straight from the court of the King Who Isn’t, as her father calls him-- though not within his mother’s hearing. Shirayuki is resigned to make the best of it; Uncle asks for so little, and she is the Lady of the Manor, even if she only comes by the title from a lack of older women to fill it. If she must, she can entertain their guests, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, not one bit at all.

A shelf rattles, jostling the books on their bindings. Shirayuki’s fingers nearly dint a page as she turns it, but she does not look up. To look up would be to give in, and even if she is charged with entertaining, she does not need to be the entertainment.

It rattles again, now with two giggles to accompany it. Excellent. It seems both her troubles are accounted for.

With a sigh, she collects herself. This is what is fair, after all. It is her duty to see after Entaepode’s guests, and Papa is already taking on the brunt of the Her Majesty’s needs, as well as the marquis’ that travels with her. Not that she would have minded if he wanted to switch; Queen Haruto at least seemed like the sort to enjoy a quiet afternoon in the library.

A leg swings over the top of the shelf, long and skinny and ending in a particularly scuffed boot.

Very much, Shirayuki thinks, slapping her book shut on the table, unlike her son and his companion. 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She means to be mild, but each sound falls so waspish from her lips that it could sting. Oh, Uncle will be displeased when he finds out she was rude to their esteemed guests. “It harms the books.”

A sly, cat’s grin shines down on her as a second leg follows the first. “We’re just on the shelves.” Obi twitches his shoulders in a lazy excuse for a shrug. “It’s not like we’re ripping out pages.”

Of the three of them, he’s older-- oh, well, both boys are older than her, but he’s oldest. Only a few years shy of being a man in his own right; the sort of older that’s supposed to know better. Not that he looks it-- Obi’s supposed to be thirteen, but he’s barely an inch taller than Prince Zen, showing none of the stretch in his limbs that boys his age should before they come into their growth.

His feet dangle, just at the level of her nose, and uncharitable irritation itches in her thoughts. Maybe he’ll be one of those boys who’s small forever, a man in a child’s body. The sort of boy she’ll be looking down on instead of up at, should she get Papa’s height, or Uncle’s.

“The shelves are where the books live,” she tells him officiously, fists high on her hips. “And if you knock it over, then you might hurt your spine, or worse, one of theirs! Or even worse,” she adds with no little horror, “you might tear out a page!”

He blinks, those wide, gold eyes flashing like candlelight. “Huh.”

She conjures up Uncle at his most imperious as she says, “This isn’t a training yard.”

“How would you know?” The shelf wobbles, and a pale white mop heaves itself over it. The second Prince of Clarines is pinch-faced, like he’s always just finished sucking on a lemon, and pale as an invalid. She could believe he was bedridden, from the way he keeps waiting to be served. “It’s not like you’ve ever been on one.”

A breath hisses between her teeth. It’s not from lack of trying, she wants to say; her last birthday, Papa has trousers sewn for her, plus a shirt and waist. He’d promised her a sword, even traipsed her through the halls to the yard, but Uncle had been waiting right at the gate, mouth drawn to a forbidding line.

What are you thinking, Mukaze? She’d heard him growl, her ear pressed tight to the study door. My own heir, and you put a blade in her hand.

If she were a boy, you’d have thought I’d done it too late, Papa had replied, easy as always, the way that would drive Uncle mad. I don’t see the harm--

Of course you don’t. Uncle had never sounded so cold, so bitter as he did in that moment. You never do.”

Her stomach twists, slithering around like a nest full of snakes, only getting more knotted, more sick as she thinks about it. Uncle and Papa were close as brothers, surely--

Surely, she shouldn’t be worrying about this at all.

“Why are you wearing all that black?” she snips instead, ignoring the heat that licks up her neck. “It’s summer.”

It’s not doing him any favors either; all that thick velvet just makes his limbs skinny and his face more drawn, like he’s a skeleton rather than a boy.

The prince stills, legs no longer kicking, lips no longer flapping; just a steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. Obi-- a study of constant motion-- doesn’t even do that; instead he sits, utterly immovable, and stares.

With a voice chilled with the winter he’s never felt, His Highness finally says, “My father died.”

She’d known that, she had. His Majesty died a year ago, her Uncle even told her, their legs pressed tight on his study’s sofa. She liked doing that, lining bone to bone, like they might one day be a matching set, margrave and heir both. Another pair of shoulders to carry the burden of rule, after so many years of an absent, broader pair.

Her Majesty has ever been a bosom companion to this family, he’d continued, a strange tightness to his voice. Now that her mourning is over, she is bringing her youngest son to visit. I’m sure your father would be pleased if you became...as close as they.

So much for that. Uncle would be so disappointed-- not only had she scolded the prince, but she’d insulted him too, and--

And he had started it. Her mouth settles into a thin line, so like Uncle’s.

“So did my mother.” So long ago that she is barely more than a song and a scent. Still, there is no ceding ground, not to Prince Zen; every inch she gives him yields a mile, and he considers it his due. “And you don’t see me walking around in velvet during high summer.”

The prince’s skin is pale as moonlight, the envy of every maid in the manor, but it flushes an angry red now, his body trembling to contain him. “My father, he sputters, leaping off the shelf, “is more important than your stupid mother ever will be.”

Papa praises her for her even-temper. Just like your mother, he laughs, not as boldly as he is wont. You never let anything under your skin. Not like me. Though all our impulse certainly bred true.

Anger, Uncle would say in his soothing voice, every syllable measured, makes a man a fool. You would do well to eschew it if you can, my little girl.

So it is not that Shirayuki is angry; oh no, she is incandescent.

Her finger curl, carving pitted crescents in her palms. For once she is glad that magic is consigned to history books and scholars in their towers, for if she could but call fire to her fingertips, this whole library would be alight. Her mother may be more sense than solid to her, but there is not a stone here she has not touched, and--

Well, Uncle is right, but Shirayuki is content to be stupid.

“Maybe so,” she says, so calm, so even, just as Uncle might. “But at least people liked her.”

For a moment, Prince Zen looms, every line trembling, and she is convinced that he will raise a hand to her, that he will truly treat her as her father’s mouth has earned her. But instead he spins on his heel, stalking out of the library with naught a word.

Wrath leaves her at once, a spirit exorcised from her chest, and oh, she’s dizzy with the lack. Her hand reaches out, meaning to grab for the chair--

But another hand grabs it instead. Shirayuki had never noticed at what a patrician angle Obi’s nose sat, not until he stares down it at her, his face a smooth bronze mask.

“That,” he says, finally sounding his age, “was badly done.”

Had her father sat her down after that terrible, disastrous morning, and told her that one day she would consent to marry the prince, Shirayuki would have--

Well, she would have done something Uncle wouldn’t approve of, surely. And she had, when Papa sat her down not too long after the queen’s carriage disappeared into the horizon, and told her that their union had been agreed upon, dowry and all. But to think she would ever want to, that she herself would gladly make the plans-- impossible.

If only it had stayed that way. If only she had remembered why she’d waved him off at arm’s length every summer, why she’d tossed him in the pond when he tried to kiss her at fifteen and told him he’d have better luck finding a princess of his own species in there. At least then she might be able to scuttle this whole wedding, instead of having Papa and Haruto cluck at her pitifully when she asks, telling her that it would all work out eventually.

After all, hadn’t she loved him just last night?

Shirayuki huffs, rolling to her side. She’s no longer livid, which is an improvement; last night she’d thought quite long and extremely hard about how many tapestries she would need to tear from the walls to get a good, solid bonfire to catch and burn Wistal palace to its very stones. Once she started considering where the custodians might keep turpentine, or whether she could wheedle the key to the cellars out of the chatelaine, she’d forced herself to lay down. Few things had ever made her so angry that they couldn’t be solved by a good night’s rest.

Wrath and rage has cooled, but not to her usual levelheaded calm, the answer filling her with vim and vigor and a dangerous determination. Oh no, instead her fine barrel of fury has turned to melancholy, and with each minute that ticks by, she drinks a deeper draught.

Is beauty all that matters to you?

Even now her breath catches at the roiling confusion in Zen’s eyes. What else is there?

“What was I thinking?” Her fists clench at her sides, but it’s not enough, not until she brings them to her eyes and pressed down, colors sparking across her eyelids. “Why did I...?”

She thought he had changed. They all had, these last few years, hadn’t they? No longer the three children that had tripped over each other in her uncle’s halls, bickering and pinching and causing trouble wherever they roamed. Shirayuki’s temper had mellowed. Zen had grown taller-- or at least tall enough to please him. And Obi--

Obi should be here. And now he’s not, and it’s yet another why she has no answer to.

A timid knock brushes against her door, followed by an even softer, “M-my lady?”

Shirayuki pulls her fists from her eyes, blinking away the blur. “Come in.”

A small girl slinks inside, dark eyes wide and round. “M-my lady...” Her brow furrows. “Your hands are wet.”

She glances down, staring at the fingers laces so tightly in her nightgown. Her knuckles do indeed shimmer in the light, right where they had been pressed along her eyes. “So they are. I...suppose you are here to dress me.”

“Ah...” The maid loses her certainty, eyes darting around the room. “About that...”

Her heart leaps in her breast. “Has something happened?”

“Ah, well.” The girl winces. “There’s a bit of a, um, problem. With the arrangements.”

“The arrangements?” Shirayuki echoes.

“Ah...”

That’s when she hears the screams.

Her twelfth summer marks the moment that this arrangement becomes completely, irrevocably unfair.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Branches shiver above her, the only sign of Obi a few flashes of black and buckskin and the leaves quivering in his wake. “You two have gotten nearly civil these days.”

“But you’ve gotten tall,” Shirayuki grouses, tucking herself between the roots of the old oak, book sprawled upon her lap. “Any day now you’ll be head and shoulders taller, and what if Zen’s the same? I can’t be the smallest.”

“Well.” She can’t see him, but she knows he settles above her, perched on a branch too precarious for his size. “You are a girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be tall.” A finger taps against the page, thoughtful. “Haruto is.”

“For a lady.”

“For anyone,” she corrects primly. “It’s fine enough for you to be tall-- you’re tolerable. But Zen...” She grimaces. “His height it the only thing that keeps him humble. The king isn’t tall, is he?”

“He is,” Obi informs her with relish. “Almost taller than my father, and he’s not done growing.”

She pictures it, Zen being able to look Haruka square in the eye, and shudders.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Shirayuki sighs, finger knitting in her lap. “Uncle should forbid you from coming. You can stay for now, but next summer is right out.”

It’s strange how even though she can’t see him, she can feel his grin on the air. “I’m sure nothing would make him happier.”

“Or me,” she admits, wistful. “What good neighbors Zen and I might be, if we never had to look at each other again. Save for weddings and births and funerals, of course. And you’d always be welcome, Obi.”

“Thanks.” He drops down one of his too-long legs, toes curling in the air above her, the only visible part of him. “But I wasn’t talk about the Young Master.”

Shirayuki blinks, mouth curving in confusion as she parses his words. “You can’t mean Uncle.”

Obi leans, just enough for her to see his dubious, arched brow. “Why not?”

“Uncle’s always liked Zen.” He’d been the one to calm her when she’d come crying, distraught that Papa would make her marry a boy as pompous as him. Plenty of boys grow out of their pettiness, little girl, he’d told her, smoothing the wild riot of her hair, at least as many that don’t. “Even now, he’s with him, showing him the march.”

“Only because your father asked him,” Obi says, settling back into the canopy. “The next Margrave Entaepode needs to know what his lands can bring. Especially if he means to bring them to his brother.”

Shirayuki frowns. “I’m the next Margrave Entaepode.”

“No,” Obi hums. “You’re the next margravine.”

Shirayuki is not sure what she expects when she walks into Clarines’ great hall, but it is certainly not carnage.

“What happened?” she breathes, picking her way over a toppled chair. There’s not a scrap of fabric that’s not torn, not a table nor chair without a wobble. Flower petals lay strewn on the ground, and the cake--

“Oh no,” she sighs, “I was so looking forward to desset.”

It’s toppled, every tier crushed to the stone beneath it, buttercream and jam and custard smeared up and down the aisle. It had been a gift from the Seirans; Zen had been so excited to know their much-beloved cook had made each layer with him in mind-- Except one, Obi reminded him, swiping a bit of cream from a spoon. You know who Cookie loves best.

“A beast did it,” the steward tells her, near to tiers. “Knocked it over, then even stopped to take a bite.”

“Three bites,” a maid chimes in. “Odd, it was. I could have sworn it thought about it too, just stood there looking as Cook came in, shouting to high heaven, and ate its share.”

Shirayuki glances down. “Flew? As in-- with wings?”

“Yes,” the steward agrees, “it had wings, and a mouth with cruel teeth.”

“There weren’t no teeth,” the chatelaine snaps waving the wailing man off. “It was just a bird. Swan, I think, from the size. And the meanness. Came in here like a holy terror, it did.

“It was a beast with teeth,” the steward insists, “and it bit one of the footmen!”

The chatelaine huffs. “What did you expect, trying to grab it like that?”

Shirayuki can’t help but agree; she’s bitten more than a man or two that tried to catch her as well. But that’s not what has her attention now; instead it is the cake on the floor, those three big bites out of it, baring chocolate sponge and raspberry custard. The layer Cookie made special. The one she thought would go to waste when...

“Where is he now?” At their looks, she amends, “I mean, it. The beast.”

“Outside,” the steward says, sending a narrow look toward the door. “A few of the maids managed to chase it out, but I’m afraid it will have gotten into the decoration-- my lady, where--?”

“I’d like to take a look,” Shirayuki calls back, slippered feet already carrying her to the door. “I, ah, think I might know how to solve this...problem?”

The steward blinks. “Is there some...Tanbarunian folk tradition for this? Ridding the grounds of a foul beast?”

Her feet stutter at the threshold, and she swallows down a laugh. “Certainly something for removing one fowl.”

At thirteen, Shirayuki will admit, Zen becomes tolerable. Not without extreme duress, and certainly never if Obi is around, but being in his presence no longer feels like slivers under her fingernails. Now it’s just that unpleasant drone of cicadas, the same that herald his arrival every summer.

“Are you supposed to be climbing?” she asks, settling herself at the base of the tree’s trunk, as always. “Your mother won’t thank you for ruining those trousers.”

Obi laughs, already deep in the canopy. “I think you mean his laundress.”

“I have plenty more,” Zen scoffs, levering his boot over another knot, giving him the height to reach the first branch. “And I think you’re only so cross because you can’t climb for beans.”

She retracts her opinion. His Highness has certainly not become tolerable in the least.

“Come off it,” Obi laughs, so easy in his bower. “Anyone can climb.”

Zen grins down at her with smug authority. “Not Shirayuki, she’s a girl.”

“So is Kiki,” Obi reminds him, “and if she heard you talk like that, she’d come up and throw you off that branch herself.”

“Kiki hardly counts as a girl--”

“--That’s not what Mitsuhide would say--”

“--And that doesn’t mean Shirayuki can,” Zen adds, tone brooking no argument. “She doesn’t even have trousers on.”

“Shirayuki can climb in a dress just fine.” Obi swings down, right to the lowest branch. Or rather, the second lowest, since Zen hasn’t vacated the first. “Come on, I’ll tell you how.”

She spares the tree a dubious glance. “Are you sure--?”

“Always. Don’t you trust me?” He lowers down a hand, callused and bronzed, and she takes it. “Good, now put your foot there. Now just...think up.”

She sends him a dubious look. “I don’t think it’s possible to just go up by thinking it.”

He grins down. “You’d be surprised.”

Shirayuki is definitely ruining her dress.

“You’re sure it’s up here?” she calls down, a worried swarm of footmen huddling beneath her. “Waterfowl aren’t really...tree-dwelling birds.”

“I’m sure, my lady,” one pipes up beneath her. “Took to wing, then hopped up the branches easy as you please.”

Shirayuki casts a long look up the oak, sighing. “Of course he did.”

One slippered foot lifts, hooking over a thicker branch, resting her weight right by the trunk.

“Just think up,” she murmurs, irritation rising with every word. “Just think up and it’s hardly anything at all.”

“HONK,” agrees the goose above her.

“Oh.” She blinks, taking in the sleek white body and the webbed feet tucked unnaturally beneath it. Well, not that the pose was unnatural, but the place. “You’re not a swan at all.”

“HONK,” the goose informs her, wistful this time.

“Be glad,” she says, reaching for him. “If you were any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to carry you, and you’d be stuck up here with your big wings and bad decisions.

The goose ducks it head, abashed. “HONK.”

“You better,” she starts, trying to wrangle a bird his size beneath her arm, “be exactly who I think you are.”

This close, her fowl friend doesn’t dare express his opinion at the only volume nature saw fit to give him, but instead, cuddles right against her neck. For one, weak moment, Shirayuki leans against the trunk, letting her head sink into his feathers. Please let this be him. If it is, she can worry about the how later. Maybe even the why. As long as he hasn’t abandoned her, there’s nothing--

“Not to interrupt you,” a lady’s languid voice drawls beneath her. “But I’m assuming that you might need some help getting down.”

Fifteen is when Shirayuki is made aware of just how utterly unfair her life will be from now on, now that she’s to be the wife of a prince.

“No, no,” Obi laughs, nervous. “I think the Young Master has it right this time, Miss. You can’t come.”

“Why not?” He’s gotten much taller now, taller even than when he arrived, and she has to look up to guilelessly meet his eye, much more than she’s used to. “If I can climb trees with you, I can splash around in a pond just fine--”

“Yes, but--” his mouth split into a pained grimace-- “climbing trees doesn’t involve taking off clothes. You can see how that might be a, hm, problem now, can’t you, Miss?”

“No.”

His exasperation is completely unwarranted, considering how exasperating he’s being. “You’re a lady.”

“One that can swim,” she counters. “We’ve done it before, I don’t know why it’s bothering you now.”

“Because you’re...” He waves a hand at her, a harried up and down, but she only stares back. “Of all the things for Master to leave to me...”

“I can keep my shift on,” she offers, “if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, Miss.” Obi sighs, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Surely your father-- no, your uncle. Surely your uncle’s talked to you about how boys and girls shouldn’t, um...you know.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s just...” He takes a steeling breath. “Miss, you’re a woman now. You can’t be naked with men.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I said I would wear my shift. And besides, you’re not men, you’re boys.”

Obi head rolls heavenward. “Only to you.”

Shirayuki gives him a considering look and pulls out her trump card. “Would you let Kiki Seiran come?”

She doesn’t know this Kiki Seiran, not from anything more than what’s been said in her presence, but she knows-- whatever a man does, Kiki does, and better too. The moment her name leaves her lips, Obi drops her a helpless glare.

“Kiki,” he says, as if savoring the word, “doesn’t count. No one lets Kiki Seiran do something, she just does it, and we all live with the consequences.”

A fond smile flickers across his lips, and for no reason at all, her stomach twists. “You should marry her.”

Obi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kiki Seiran,” she says lightly. “It seems she’s really quite impressive.”

For a long moment he stares at her, unblinking. Then he coughs, one, twice, until it’s no longer a cough but roaring laughter.

Shirayuki stares at him. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he wheezes. “That’s some vote of confidence, but Kiki Seiran-- she’s not for the likes of me.”

The sick knot in her stomach dissipates into affront. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Again, you really know how to compliment a man,” he teases. “But no count worth his acreage will marry his daughter and heir to a bastard. With her pedigree, they’re probably planning to marrying her to Elder Highness as we speak.”

“Well, that’s silly,” she huffs. “You’re worth a thousand princes Obi. Any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His smile wavers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“You should bring her next time,” she decides. “I can talk to her.”

“Ah,” he coughs, shaking his head as he traipses after her. “That won’t be necessary at all.”

This is not how she thought she’d meet the illustrious Kiki Seiran, her wedding dress torn to rags and goose hugged tight in her arms, but it would not be the first time today fate thwarted her expectations.

“I’m fine,” Shirayuki assures her, slowly making her descent. “But do you have, um, water?”

One elegant brow arches. “Water?”

“Ah, yes.” She drops down before her-- oh, Lady Seiran is...quite a bit taller than she’d imagined, and at least twice as pretty. No wonder Obi always smiled when he talked about her. “Like a, um, lake? Or a river might do?”

“A lake?” Her gaze drops, mouth canting into a thoughtful line. “For your avian compatriot, I suppose. You think his home must be close by.”

“Yes,” she lies, because babbling about ancient texts she’s certain she was never supposed to see and magic of the blackest sort seemed a poor first impression to make. “It would probably, uh, help with the...destructive behavior.”

“He has left quite a spectacle behind. It will take hours to clean that up. Or days,” she adds with a pointed look toward the goose. “Your wedding seems to be thoroughly postponed.”

Good, she doesn’t say. This Kiki Seiran is Zen’s friend too, after all. And even if Shirayuki could have shaken him to pieces last night, she’s that too.

“Water?” she says instead.

It’s the right thing to say, since Kiki turns around, gesturing toward the treeline. “There’s a pond back there. Just follow the cobblestone path and it should take you right out to the dock.”

“Perfect.” Shirayuki takes two hurried steps before pausing, turning over her hip to add, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Kiki. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s that brow again, lifted into an elegant arch Shirayuki could never hope to mimic. “Only good things, I hope.”

Her stomach lurches as she replies, “The best.”

[darkistmalfoyhead]

My Little Ghost~ Ficlet

Draco Malfoy hated Hogwarts. Absolutely loathed it. Yet when he found an old, dusty piano tucked in between several writing desks he felt quite happy for the first time in a while. Some of the best memories he had was teaching piano to his little cousin, Grace who made insufferable family dinners bearable.

It was the witching hour, where reality faded away and there was nothing but him and the music. Time had no meaning and his hands danced until they shook from strain. The sad looking piano was his little friend. But it creaked and groaned, skipping several chords so the day after he began the daunting task of fixing the rusted thing. After the others went to sleep he toiled, back sore and sweat dripping down his face by the end of the night.

Yet as the days drew by, he made no progress whatsoever. If anything he’d made it worse. However one evening there was a curious stack of books on a desk. He flipped through them. Vanishing rust, transfiguring ivory and polishing spells. Who had done this? Maybe Madame Pince didn’t hate him as much as she let on. Draco grinned and returned to work.

The very next day he left a plate of cookies on her desk and a girl snorted. Granger. He shot her a glare.

The treats must have worked because the books kept coming. By third year the piano was completely fixed and the stacks became filled with music theory and classical pieces. He dutifully played through them all.

Draco didn’t feel so alone anymore but the weariness never left him. His hands grew calloused and worn. Maybe it was because of the swirling whooshes of air that always passed by him as he practiced or the gentle sound of whispered breathing but he pretended that he was playing for the ghosts, the ones who were forgotten. Six years later raw agony coursed through his veins. The Dark Lord killed his sweet cousin for being ‘too soft’.

And it was all his fault. Why?

Because she had been caught practicing the piano instead of working, playing a tune that was for ‘children’.

He tried to break his fingers, to burn away the beauty he’d created just for her that became the cause of her death. Everything in the world seemed to work against him. But the quiet ghost of the library stopped him, always watching and never leaving. And slowly, ever so slowly, the boy who spiraled down came to a halt.

But it wasn’t Madame Pince with her sour expression who helped him. There was another girl, a first-year who was brushed aside by everyone else and left in the shadows. She would often borrow Harry’s cloak and wander the library, happily running through the shelves.

One day, however, she wasn’t alone. The pretentious Malfoy had wandered in, the very same boy who called her filthy names. She debated hexing him. How dare he take her only sanctuary from her.

Yet for the first time she had seen something other then pure arrogance on his face. His eyes were wide, filled with a quiet wonder as he lifted the lid of the forgotten piano she had walked by many times.

And then he started to play. The notes were wobbly at first, the pianoforte creaking as his hands moved but soon they began to dance, slowly but surely.

She’d left the world in that moment, the time he touched the instrument and made something beautiful out of the weathered old thing. Hermione tried playing after he left, tentatively pressing the still-warm keys. It sounded awful.

The next day he returned. She pretended not to notice what he did but she again would find herself listening. Maybe she cared enough to cast several tricky sound barriers- she told herself it was only to ensure Filch didn’t find them from his foolishness. Yet she made sure the barrier was large enough to cover the whole library so that she could hear the songs as well.

That was there rite for the next few years. As the lanky little Slytherin became leaner and taller, she would take the cloak and run to the library, doing homework amidst the archives and leave tomes that would help whatever was troubling him.

Because seeing the cold, calculating Draco Malfoy with a soft smile on his face as he hummed in tune made him so utterly human she couldn’t resist but stay for him.

And as the years passed, his expression became sadder and filled with exhaustion. He would talk to her, too. It always made her want to smile for he would address her as his ‘little ghost’ because she was careful to make sure he never knew her identity. Sometimes he would ramble about his day, other times it would be nonsensical chatter.

But one night slammed his hands against the keys, creating a primal, ugly sound. He doubled over, grimacing in pain. She still didn’t know why she did it, why she held her enemy. But Hermione Granger wrapped her arms around his torso, pinning his hands before he could do further damage and letting the boy sag into her arms.

Two lonely souls finding refuge among the must of pages, bound by the music and comfort they brought one another. The next day it was all gone as both awoke to worlds that were no longer in there control. Mornings were dark and lonesome, evenings the only time when her blood thrummed, when his fingers danced with happiness.

She silently cried in the bathroom after Malfoy had split her book bag in the hallway, gritting her teeth. There was a danger of growing accustomed to the soft, sweet boy in the library. She had started to forget the monster he hid behind during the day. After everything she’d done for him, felt for him he still didn’t know. Would never know. Because she was so afraid of that smile he gave only to the quiet ghost would disappear if he saw the muggleborn that she was.

Yet a persona she’d gazed upon many nights tentatively stepped into the girl’s bathroom. Shocked, she froze, unsure of what he was playing at in there sixth year. Was he there for more? To torment her, humiliate her because she tolerated it due to her stupid unrequited love?

Those familiar, long fingers delicately pinched a tattered cloak. It was Harry’s. Oh no. No, no, no, no. She’d left it in the library last night.

Hermione paled, reaching for her wand as he came closer, his face unreadable. Does he know? Is he going to hurt me?

Instead he slumped beside her, his arm dangling over his knee. The two, gray storms looked at her with such a bitterness she nearly recoiled. His hand found it’s way around her shoulder, the other crumpling the cloak. She cursed her beating heart as she stared at him with mixed fear and delight.

I’m so sorry, my little ghost, he murmured, eyes filled with anguish. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She inhaled sharply, not daring to breath.

He knew. And he didn’t hate her.

So she curled into a ball, making herself as small as possible and leaned against the broken boy’s chest. Idle arms wrapped around her and she heard something muttered about ‘payback’. But she could feel his stiffness, for she knew he’d never imagined that it would be her.

In fact, Hermione wondered why he hadn’t asked the question yet.

Why didn’t you tell me? It was quiet, barely audible. There it was. She felt his arms grow tense, his reflex to fear the worst that she’d observed over the years.

Because I thought you deserved to be happy.

He shuddered, his lips grazing her ear.

I was your tormentor. And yet you still though about me? Draco pressed his face into the nape of her neck. I hope to repay you, little ghost,

She shivered for she knew what was coming next. The hands calloused from the old piano tilted her chin, a question in his eyes. Then the world was gone, gone, gone as his mouth met hers.

It was asking if she wanted him for the broken thing he was. And she said yes, digging her fingers into the pooled fabric, arching her back as he laid himself on top of her.

The cloak would no longer be necessary in the library tonight.

[matchasprouts]

The Walls - Chapter 5

[ whoa! idk how i got this out but uhhhhhhh enjoy ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

Felix was surprised to be woken up by Greta, three hours after he usually got up no less. Before he could ask why she let him sleep in, she cut him off with the answer. “You looked ready to drop dead yesterday. I figured you needed the extra rest.”

She was right, those extra hours helped dissipate some of the ache in his muscles. “Maybe you should take a break today,” she suggested, readjusting Brahms on her hip. “I know you usually don’t do that, the Heelshires told me that much, but you really need it.”

And then she left, and Felix was left wondering what she meant by that. Until, of course, he caught a look at himself in the vanity mirror.

He looked nothing short of awful. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of proper sleep he’d been getting, his eyes themselves were bloodshot, and if he looked closely he could see there was still dirt in his hair.

Not to mention the screaming ache that shot through every muscle in his body, almost making him feel like he was about to collapse.

The last time his body felt and looked like this was in college, and he hated it. He hated looking weak, much less feeling weak. If a break was what it took for him to have the energy to kill someone if needed, then he would take that goddamn break.

Starting with a hot bath to soothe his body and finally get that fucking dirt off of him.

---

He almost died in the bathtub.

Or at least, that’s what he told Greta when he came downstairs with his hair still sopping wet and dripping water everywhere. She seemed concerned for all of two seconds before deciding she simply didn’t care.

What actually happened is that he fell asleep in the bathtub, woke up suddenly to the sound of a child laughing, and freaked himself out. To be fair, he did hit his head on the side of the tub at least twice.

Anyway, Felix wasn’t built for breaks, so instead of relaxing or even just doing something small like playing the piano, he spent his time helping Greta with her chores. Being taller than her, he could reach higher shelves when dusting the bookcase, so he did. When she was occupied with Brahms, he would take over vacuuming or the dishes. He even took to going around and fixing every slightly crooked painting that he was sure had been jostled by the wall thing.

Basically, he was no good at sitting still. Felix was either doing something every second of the day, or he was sleeping. There was just no in between for him.

That is, until there was literally nothing else to be done. It was late afternoon now, the sun was just barely starting to dip past the horizon. Felix was sitting at the piano, playing a soft and somewhat cheerful tune, since Brahms didn’t seem to like the melancholic melodies he knew.

“When did you learn piano?” Greta asked after a while, setting down the book she’d been reading to the doll. The suddenness of the question made Felix’s fingers stutter, hitting a sour note that made him cringe.

“I don’t remember,” he admitted after moving his hands to his lap, so he couldn’t get distracted while playing again. “I imagine it was sometime in my childhood, maybe in highschool? I think I took a class… I’m not sure. My childhood memories are foggy at best.”

At least he was telling the truth. While fresher memories were burned into his head, anything before his freshman year in college was a blank. The only therapist he’d ever seen told him it was repression, due to trauma. Since he couldn’t remember what the trauma was though, they could never work on it.

The only thing he truly remembered was his mother. Soft voiced, a brunette like him, piercing green eyes. She was beautiful. She also had a grip like the devil, and spoke like it too.

To some extent, he was aware that his insecurities came from her. He also knew that she had been… less than supportive when he told her that he was trans, and that it led to probably one of the worst arguments of his life.

Sometimes, when he looked down at his hands, he thought he could still see the bruises her grip had left.

He shook his head, clearing it of the images of her. ‘She’s no longer a concern,’ he reminded himself internally, ‘you took care of that. She’s gone.’

“Oh,” Greta spoke again, snapping him back to reality, “well, that’s too bad. You’re really good at it, you know. You must have been practicing for a long time.”

Right. They were talking about the piano. He mentally scolded himself for getting off track before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I played all through college. Most at frat parties and the like, it’s a great party trick. My hands still cramp up sometimes though. Guess that’ll never stop happening.”

He returned to his playing after that, due to the soft scratching in the wall behind him. Sometimes the thing would let him take a break, but apparently today was not one of those days. He liked that it liked his music, he really did, but it could be so demanding sometimes.

After a little while, it came time for Brahms to be put to bed. After glancing at the clock, Greta stood up with the doll, told Felix good night, and headed upstairs.

Once Felix had finished the song, and confirmed that the thing had taken off, he followed her up.

And, since both were upstairs, neither of them heard the door open. The door they never bothered to lock because no one ever came all the way out here.

Felix had just collapsed face first onto his bed when he heard the thing practically running through the walls, back downstairs. Following that, he heard the familiar sound of the billiard balls hitting each other.

He shot up without a moment’s hesitation, running almost full speed back down the stairs and to the room where the pool table was kept. He almost fell over once there, slamming full force into the doorframe.

There stood a rather greasy looking man with long hair pulled back into a bun, sporting a messy beard. He stared at Felix in confusion, who was glaring so harshly at him that he would be dead if looks could kill.

It wasn’t long before Greta and the doll joined them, interrupting their staring match. “... Cole?” she asked softly, sounding both confused and scared.

Oh? Oh Greta was scared of this man? And he invaded their house?? Oh.

Almost immediately, Felix stood in front of Greta, grabbing one of the pool sticks and holding it up as a make-shift weapon. “You’re not welcome here,” he spat at Cole who, for the most part, seemed unfazed.

Boy was he gonna regret that.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Cole brushed him off, looking around him at Greta again. Felix once again stepped to block him. He accepted this fate, choosing to just speak at Greta. “Greta, babe, you just left without saying anything.”

It was hard to tell, but Felix could feel Greta’s free hand brush up against his back, seemingly grateful to have a shield against the other man. “Getting- getting this job was kind of sudden… and you know we aren’t together anymore…”

Knowing that Cole was an abusive ex made Felix want to kick his ass even more.

Cole took a step toward them, and Felix immediately held the stick up higher, more than ready to take a swing at the bastard. That made him pause, clearly wondering if getting beat up by a gardener was worth it.

“So, where’s the little kid?” Cole asked after a moment of tense silence. Felix glanced back at Greta, silently willing her to ignore him, but she stepped forward anyway and showed him Brahms. Cole laughed, as expected. “No, seriously, where’s the kid?”

“This is Brahms,” Greta said, standing her ground. She and Cole stared at each other for a long moment, before he seemed to accept that she wasn’t joking.

“Well, that makes this easier at least. We’re going home tomorrow. I already bought the plane tickets,” Cole announced, making Greta actually flinch. It was clear she didn’t want to go. Felix’s patience was running thin- he knew he needed to cut this off before he did something rash.

Before either of them could continue their conversation, Felix stepped in. “She’s not going anywhere. She has a job to do, and she will complete it. The Heelshires expect it of her. You’re welcome to stay here for tonight, only because I pity whatever hole you crawled out of, but you will be gone in the morning. Do I make myself clear?”

At least he was smart enough to avoid a confrontation. “Crystal,” Cole replied, putting his hands up in a mock surrender.

“I’ll get him set up. Can you go lay Brahms down?” Greta stepped in again, a hand on Felix’s bicep. He nodded to her, setting down the pool stick and taking Brahms from her. He sent Cole one last glare before heading upstairs.

Normally he’d be able to hear the thing follow him into the bedroom, but not this time. He assumed it was because it was watching over Greta, which he was glad for.

He changed Brahms into his pajamas with shaky hands, trying so hard to contain the rage that threatened to spill over just from Cole’s presence in the house. Another broken fucking rule, and he hadn’t been good enough to stop it.

After tucking Brahms into bed and giving him the obligatory good night kiss, he went back downstairs to check on Greta, only to be stopped by her at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for not doing anything… rash down there,” she told him, looking genuinely grateful.

“Believe me, if there was no consequences in beating him until he was unconscious, I wouldn’t have hesitated,” Felix replied harshly, now turning on his heel and heading back to his room. Greta stood in place for a moment, surprised, before heading into Brahms’s room.

The doll was the only comfort she had at the moment, so she laid down with him, holding him close as she drifted off to sleep.

---

They woke up to Cole yelling downstairs, practically screaming for Greta. When she and Felix got downstairs, the offending asshole grabbed Greta by the arm and yanked her into the room.

“What the fuck is that!?” he yelled, pointing up at something written in red on one of the upper windows,

‘Get Out’. Huh. Clearly the wall thing didn’t like this bitch.

Felix tuned out Cole’s frantic yelling when he noticed Brahms sitting in one of the armchairs, a bag full of dead rats sitting in front of him. Greta noticed it as well, gasping at the sight of the boy and rushing forward to pull him into her arms.

Apparently Cole did not like this.

“Of course all you care about is that fucking doll! He’s not a real boy, Greta!!” he shouted, making both Felix and Greta flinch. “Now you tell me who the hell did this!”

“Brahms did,” Felix cut in, making Cole look sharply at him. He figured he’d rather Cole yell at him over Greta. “He doesn’t like you. You’re an intruder in his home. He was bound to lash out.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that the fucking DOLL did that?” Cole snapped, taking an aggressive step towards Felix and gaining a low growl in response. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“He’s not,” Greta cut in, her voice shaky. “Brahms… is very creative and- and he doesn’t like you. Not at all.”

Cole glanced between the two of them before letting out a frustrated yell and snatching Brahms from Greta’s arms, despite her protests. “Enough about this stupid doll!”

Before any of them knew it, they were upstairs and in the child’s bedroom. “Put him down Cole!” Greta begged him, staying a safe distance away but clearly wanting to run over to the boy.

Felix, on the other hand, was taking direct action. “Either you put him down, or I make you regret being born,” he threatened, grabbing the closest weapon- a small bat that he jokingly left in Brahms’s room “in case he needed it”.

“You’re not gonna touch me with this fucking thing here,” Cole retorted, holding Brahms up by the leg. He was right, because Felix just stood there, gaze glued on the doll.

Cole began to swing the boy around by the leg when he realized no one was going to do anything, quietly humming to himself. “Maybe… if this thing wasn’t here…” he mused, glancing at Greta.

Felix moved first, lunging for Cole, but he wasn’t fast enough. Not even close. Brahms’s head shattered on the chair before Felix managed to tackle Cole, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

And then the walls started to shake, freezing both of them. Felix was up in a matter of seconds, truly panicking now. It had seen what had just happened.

And it wasn’t happy.

[f0rever15elf]

Could you please do headcannons on an S/O or lover who is taller than the boys? Would they find it hot or think you're intimidating?

Thank you so much, I love your headcannons!

Hi there lovely!! I’m so sorry this took so long!! I hope you enjoy it! 

Head Canon Masterlist

When you’re taller than them

Whiskey: Please, please wear those tight jeans he bought you for horseback writing. He loves the way you look in them, how long your legs look. Leading up to meeting you, Jack didn’t know he enjoyed being the little spoon, usually being taller than his dates so it just made sense to him that he was big spoon. Then one night you wrapped yourself around him and the man very nearly started crying. Now, it’s his preferred place when y’all are sleeping. He loves the fact that you’re taller than him, especially when it comes to hugging you. Easier access to grabbing the booty, and it’s easier to nuzzle into your neck. Jack is infatuated with you and will gas you up any time you feel self-conscious about being taller than him. 

Javi: height doesn’t really matter to him, honestly. Tall, short, same height as him... it really doesn’t bother him. He’s still gonna cuddle you the same way, he’s still gonna stick his hand in your back pocket the same way. he’s still gonna praise you and fawn over you like you’re  the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen. And that’s cause you are. Plus, it’s an advantage, cause if he ever loses you in the crowd, you’re fairly easy to spot. He won’t lie though, you being taller gives him easier access to the booty, and just like Jack, Javi GREATLY appreciates that. 

Frankie: “I love my tall partner,” is probably his most used phrase. The man says it at the most random moments too. Like, you’re out at the grocery store, reaching for something on the top shelf and you just hear him sigh and say he loves how tall you are and you turn around and he’s staring at you with these big goo goo eyes. The man is absolutely helpless when it comes to you. He has absolutely no issue with asking for help reaching things, either. He makes ample use of your height, in fact, but in reality it’s just a reason for him to thank you with a kiss (he likes kisses.) 

Ezra: The man won’t be quiet and will 100% be comparing you to the Amazons. Grace and beauty and height unparalleled. He writes poems about you, absolutely. He also clings to you like a koala any and every time you’re laying down together, big spoon or small spoon, he doesn’t care. If you ever had any sort of self-conciousness about being taller, he’s gonna double down on erasing it. No love of his will ever look down on themselves for such regal beauty. He’s still of the mindset of doing everything on his own, even with the loss of his arm, denying your help. that is, until you come up behind him and reach over him to get whatever he needs for him. Then, he looks up at you with bright red cheeks and he swears his heart is gonna beat out of his chest. He acts purposefully stubborn after that just to get you to do that too him again. 

Oberyn: The gods made you, and it delights him. Everything about you, but especially your height. He’d make sure you’re outfitted in the finest garments that accentuate your height, and you’ll never miss how his eyes rake over you when you do. He likes things his way, but sometimes his way is you in control, over him, taking advantage of your height over him. Only for you, would he ever allow this, much less crave it. When he introduces you to the sand snakes, they’re also in awe of your height, just as much as he is. The term “godly or heavenly” is thrown around a lot in reference to you, after all, such regalness could only exist in the heavenly realms, right? 

Din: He adjusts things in the crest as best he can to compensate for your height, apologizing the whole way that the craft is smaller and has the potential to make you uncomfortable. You assure him it’s ok, but whenever you’re on a relatively safe planet, he makes sure to find a place to stay where you can effectively stretch out. He secretly really loves the fact that you’re taller than him, but he’ll not say it out loud. Not that he needs to with the sounds he makes when you come up behind him and rest your chin on his shoulder or head. It makes him weak in the knees and he tries to cover the sound with a cough, but you know what you’re doing to him. And boy do you enjoy it. 

Pero: A tall partner is a strong partner. You must have been well fed as a child to grow so well. Your height means you have a longer reach too, which is good for sword fighting, which he will definitely be teaching you. He feels a sense of pride walking with you, that his lover is taller than him. Tall and strong and powerful. He feels nothing like intimidation or envy, he could never feel those things about you. He still encourages you to cuddle with him at night, tucking you under his chin to keep you safe and warm. He’s also incredibly stubborn, still demanding that he reach the things on the top shelves so you don’t need to, even though you can reach them much more easily. HOnestly, it’s endearing.  

Max: He buys you clothes that show off your ass and long legs because he LOVES them. Easier access to grabbing your ass? Yes please! Easier access to shoving his face into your chest when he hugs you? He can die a happy vamp. He’s also a heat leach and WILL koala to you every chance he gets. Because of this, more often than not you end up wrapping around him at night while you sleep and he is in heaven. Expect many ass smacks because it’s right there and how could you expect him to resist? 

Maxwell: At first, he’s a little self-conscious.  He doesn’t have a good self image, and feels like he needs to appear bigger than he is. He definitely wears shoe inserts for a while until you convince him to stop when he complains about how they make his feet hurt. He’ll take lots of gentle motivation and confidence boosting to be able to accept that it’s ok that you’re taller than him. When he’s finally comfortable, it’s like there’s a whole different side of him. He likes tucking himself up against you, feeling safe and comfortable. He gets rid of his inserts, not put off at all that you have some height on him as he walks you around parties on his arm. He decides he needs to make up for lost time, praising you and telling you how much he loves your height, especially at night when you’re cuddling and he’s super sleepy. 

Marcus Pike: Perfect boyfriend loves his tall partner. Heart eyes, all the time. It’s adorable, really, to be walking with him and looking down to see him smiling up at you. The only time he ever really shows any sort of self confidence was one time when the two of you were just chilling, and he asked if you ever wished that he was taller. He had taken your no at face value, smiling at your confirmation. He’s the type to play at the fact that he’s always having to move the seat up in the car when he drives after you, but it’s always in good fun. 

Marcus Moreno: Marcus kinda glitches out sometimes when he looks at you (much to Missy’s embarrassment). He likes tall people. He likes them a lot. His jaw falls open and he kinda just stares while you go about your business until you look at him and he snaps out of it. It doesn’t matter how long the two of you are together for, it’s gonna keep happening. Sometimes, when you come up behind him he loses all manner of brain function until you press a kiss to his cheek and move from behind him. It’s honestly pretty incredible how you can render the leader of the Heroics positively speechless. Missy jokes that that’s your superpower, and Marcus is inclined to agree. When it comes to cuddles, Marcus prefers the small spoon 9 times out of 10. Gods, he just really loves his tall partner. 

[container-of-apple-juice]

Someone requested Naruto’s first time eating cup-ramen foreeever ago. I reserve the right to edit this lmaoo

—

“You are responsible for feeding yourself from now on. Do you understand? Guards will no longer come to fill your fridge. Do you still have the key I gave to you?”

Naruto blinked up at the third hokage from his spot atop the kitchen counter. Only when he saw the man’s eyebrows draw together in frustration did Naruto remembered to nod emphatically at him in response to his question.

But what did that mean? He only had milk in his fridge...

“Good. There is a shop not far from here where you can go to buy groceries. Here is your monthly allowance.”

Naruto jumped as the taller man thrust his arm out toward him, holding out a handful of notes for Naruto to take.

“Spend it wisely.” The third nodded minutely as Naruto took the money from his grasp. He glanced briefly around the small apartment in the silence that followed. He kicked a crayon at his feet.

“Clean this place up, would you?”

And with that the third left his apartment, neglecting to lock the door behind him. Naruto guessed that was his job now. To make sure he clicked his door if he wasn’t planning on leaving the apartment that day.

He looked down at the notes in his hand for a long time. He’d never been given this...allowance before.

He glanced to the right at his nearly empty fridge.

He thought it was strange that the third had mentioned the guards “filling his fridge.”

It had never seemed full to Naruto.

He was sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, though. If he never had to bite into another mushed up peanut again he wouldn’t complain. Maybe this would be...cool?

He wondered what kind of things he could buy to eat. And where was this “shop” that the third had mentioned?

He hopped down from his spot on the counter and walked over to his tattered sandels where they lay by the entrance to his apartment.

Naruto noticed that everyone seemed to wear shoes when they were outside and, besides, he didn’t particularly like the way rocks dug into his heels, so he quickly learned that shoes were an absolute necessity if he was leaving his cold room in favor of the wide and open outside.

He reached for the doorknob but jerked back when he realized he didn’t have his key. He ran abruptly over to his unmade bed and plucked the weirdly shaped metal piece off of his pillow.

Upon reproaching the door he took a deep breath, as he always did, and twisted the knob open.

He had run into a few other people (including the old woman from his first adventure outside) on quite a few occasions over the months he’d been permitted to leave his apartment. None of them seemed like friend-material, though, sad as Naruto was to admit it.

They all reacted in a similar way, seeming shocked at Naruto’s presence, only to quickly follow up their surprise with worry or disgust; no one staying for longer than a minute before turning heel and nearly running in the opposite direction.

Naruto even tried to strike up a conversation with a few of them, but no one was interested in anything he had to say. He was just happy when they didn’t spit on him at this point. He shuddered at that particular memory.

He sighed out a breath of relief when the hallway outside of his door was totally empty this time around. He figured he was better off traveling alone than somehow scaring off anyone he happened to see. He didn’t want to upset anyone, he knew better than anyone that the outside world was a scary place.

He wished he could make them see that he was no one to be afraid of.

Naruto shrugged off the thought as he made his way toward the now familiar set of stone stairs that led him out of his apartment complex.

He pocketed the key and gripped his allowance tighter in his tiny fist.

Somehow the two items felt equally as important, and he didn’t want to lose either one.

He figured that any “shop” with food for him to buy would probably not be near the forest or the river (which he often favored over the more crowded area of buildings and people.)

He swallowed down his nerves and walked toward the stone path that lead toward the cacophony of bland colored buildings full of people that probably wouldn’t want to talk to him.

He tried not to notice the ugly looks thrown his way as he walked.

Why did everyone hate him?

He shook his head, trying not to dwell on those thoughts and instead trying to savor the warmth of sunlight on his skin.

He opened his eyes (when had they slipped closed?) and noticed a taller woman exiting a nearby building with a bag in each hand, one of which had something sticking out of the top-

Bread!

The guards had always brought Naruto a loaf of bread! That must be one of the shops that the third had mentioned! (Bread shop!)

He bee-lined for the store in question which had a sign reading “Quick Mart” just above its entrance.

He felt a gush of air as he entered the building and froze in the doorway. He could only see one other person in the building aside from the person behind the desk toward the front.

The older woman seemed to be passing her items to the man behind the counter. Naruto watched aptly as the woman in question passed each item to the man who was clad in a bright blue apron.

Naruto’s breath caught in his throat when the woman passed what he assumed was her own allowance over to the man behind the counter.

He noted the information for future reference and cast his gaze toward his feet as the woman passed by him on her way out of the store.

He felt his cheeks heat up as he walked further into the shop. Bread. He could find bread. That was a start.

Five dollars??

He only had....30!

He leaned up onto his tippy toes and grabbed the bag of bread anyway, not knowing what else to do.

He wandered the isle until he found jelly as well, cursing himself for buying the same thing that the guards always bought for him.

The jelly was only three dollars but...

He shuddered.

He was so tired of peanut butter and jelly.

He shoved the jar of sickly sweet paste back onto the shelf along with the bread he had grabbed earlier, not caring that it was out of place among the colorful glass jars.

He could buy anything he wanted now! Being outside always brought new things into his life. It’s what he loved the most about it! He refused to buy the same thing he had always been given.

He fidgeted nervously as he glanced at different items on their shelves. Anchovies?? Olives?? What the heck was that?? And why did they want almost a quarter of his allowance for such a tiny jar...

He turned a corner sharply and gasped at the sign that laid directly in his line of vision.

$1.00

Naruto had that. He definitely had that. Thirty of that.

There were like, thirty days in a month.

Perfect.

He grabbed as many of the little styrofoam square containers as he could, piling them high in his arms before realizing he couldn’t possibly hold thirty of them.

He hurried over to the counter near the front of the shop with his bounty, dropping three or four of the identical items behind him in the process.

“I’ll be right back!” He shouted at the man behind the counter, probably louder than necessary.

He didn’t bother reading the man’s expression as he quickly turned on his heel and ran back toward the isle he had come from.

The plastic squished uncomfortably against the bare skin of his arms as he cradled them once more, but he paid the feeling little attention as he trudged toward the front of the store once again.

“I have thirty dollars!” He yelled once again, throwing the remaining containers up onto the counter before him.

“......do you need a bag.”

It didn’t really sound like a question but Naruto cocked his head to the side in response anyway.

The man behind the counter held up a thin piece of plastic with handles, expression as bored as ever.

“To carry everything?” The words were unimpressed as the man glanced behind Naruto at the containers of food the younger boy had dropped in his excitement.

Naruto let his jaw drop open. Who knew it would be that easy??

“Yeah! That’d be awesome, ykno?”

“It’ll be ten cents.”

“Oh, uh- I don’t-“

“I’ll just take it out of your total.”

Naruto shifted his weight at the words, not totally understanding the situation but hoping it wouldn’t cost him any of his bounty.

He watched nervously as the man scanned item after item, neglecting to place a good portion of them into the bag.

“You said you have thirty dollars?”

“I-I think so!” Naruto thrust the notes toward the man just as the third had done to him.

The man took the notes from him, seeming to avoid touching Naruto’s skin as he did so.

A few awkward moments later and Naruto was leaving the shop with two bags full of what he was hoping would be enough to last him the next thirty days.

He delights in the fact that the bags are not too heavy as he carries them back to his apartment.

He’s pocketed cool rocks that were heavier than this!

And, trust him, you could not eat rocks. This was already turning out to be a great trip outside.

He skipped the final steps toward his complex and trudged triumphantly up the stone steps.

He leaned one bag against the wall as he unlocked his door and happily scooped it up as he made his way inside.

He glanced at his refrigerator briefly.

He still had milk in there, it was only two months old.

Naruto didn’t think he needed to refrigerate the things he’d just purchased, so his milk wouldn’t need to be thrown out or anything. Not that there wasn’t more than enough room anyway.

He tossed the bags down haphazardly against the counter of his kitchen and eagerly plucked one of the styrofoam containers out of the bag.

He looked at the images on the container. He couldn’t understand what the words were trying to tell him, but he saw a picture of a microwave and water. He could work with that.

He haphazardly tore the plastic and cardboard from the styrofoam cup and let them fall gracelessly to the floor of his kitchen.

He set the cup down on the counter and let out a shuddering breath. Why was he nervous? He had a bunch of these cups, surely if he messed one up he could simply try again until he got it right.

But he should take his shoes off first, yeah.

He kicked the shoes in question off toward the door unceremoniously before turning back toward the counter.

.....maybe he should clean the place up first, like the third had said.

Nearly an hour passed as Naruto picked up his few scattered possessions. He may have gotten distracted by his art supply box, though. He wanted to draw the man from the shop that he’d visited. If Naruto couldn’t talk to anyone, then he could at least draw them- so he would remember them! Plus, he was always looking for an excuse to use his favorite blue crayon. He vaguely wondered if he could buy one of those bright blue aprons that the man wore.

His scribbling was interrupted by the rumbling of his stomach and he froze. He mechanically set the crayon back inside its box.

He tried to channel his nervousness into excitement over his new food options.

Well....option.

He left his drawing and supplies as a mess on the floor behind him (he’d cleaned enough anyway.)

He was grateful that the little styrofoam cups he’d purchased had pictures on them- he neglected to check the directions before he purchased them all, but thankfully he could understand pictures well enough.

He peeled back the top of the cup about half way and peered inside.

What the heck was that?

There were little yellow, green and orange bits inside the cup.

He picked one of the orange bits out and popped it into his mouth.

His face scrunched up instinctively. It wasn’t bad necessarily, it was just...bluh. Nothing special. He appreciated the new texture it brought to him, but he hoped it would be better once he followed the picture’s instructions.

He walked over to his sink, struggling to reach the handles to turn on the water from his place well below the counter. He often hopped up onto the counter to turn the water on, but he’d recently been just barely able to turn it on if he stood on his tippy toes...and lifted one foot...and hopped a little.

The cup quickly overflowed with water and he panicked, jerking it away from the aggressive stream before any of the bits inside had the chance to spill out.

He placed the brimming cup on the counter and hopped in place until he could effectively turn the faucet off.

With a relieved breath he slumped his shoulders, vaguely wishing (once again) that he was taller, before shrugging off his initial panic in favor of returning his attention to the cup of..noodles.

He noted the little indent on the inside of the cup that he assumed was the “fill line” which was indicated in the drawing.

He dumped out some of the water, using his fingers to hold back the dry yet colorful bits as he did so.

Once the water lie just above the line he nodded successfully to himself, pleased with his work.

The microwave was an entirely other journey. He definitely had to jump up onto the counter to reach that thing.

He’d only used it once before, when one of the guards (he had spiky brown hair and a scar on his face) had brought him a bag of microwaveable “popcorn.”

Naruto took careful note of the cup of water and dry food in front of him as he climbed onto the counter with a hop.

He stood barefoot atop the countertop, reaching for the microwave and opening it with ease. He glanced down and grabbed the styrofoam with both hands, reverently placing it on the center of the tray within the tiny compartment that was his microwave.

He swiveled the container so that it’s directional pictures faced him from inside the microwave and he saw the number “4:00” followed by the word “minutes.”

Naruto wasn’t very well versed in reading, but he had caught on rather quickly to numbers, seeing as they dictated how many hours of sunlight he was allowed within a day.

He pushed the number 4 followed by two zeroes on the machine before him, following the actions that the guard had taken on that one day so long ago, with the popcorn.

He missed that guard. He wondered where they had gone since then, seeing as he’d never seen them again.

He pressed the big circular button toward the bottom of the machine which he’d learnt made it start and jumped slightly at the glowing light from within that subsequently sprang to life before him, spinning his noodles around on its little plastic tray within.

Naruto leant onto his knees from his spot atop the counter, staring into the microwave behind the black dots that obscured his view.

He watched his new purchase spin around and around for the entire four minutes- never once noticing an outside noise. His apartment had always been disturbingly silent.

Before the second beep had its chance to disrupt his silence Naruto had jammed his fist into the large button near the bottom of the microwave.

Steam erupted from the tiny styrofoam cup before him and Naruto felt his jaw go slack at the sight.

Was that normal? Had he done it right?

He reached into the small compartment and grabbed the styrofoam cup. It was warm to the touch.

Naruto was careful not to spill its contents now, scared that he would somehow disrupt the cooking process, or whatever magic was going on inside its malleable confines.

He placed it on the counter before him and lifted the paper lid back, jumping slightly as more steam broke loose.

Peering inside Naruto noticed that the contents remained mostly the same as before he had “cooked” them.

He went to prod at the stiff mass submerged within the steaming water and yelped as the hot water scorched his fingertip.

Pouting, Naruto looked around him. How was he supposed to eat something that he couldn’t touch??

He nearly cried at the thought of wasting his allowance. The third would be so disappointed in him.

—

Hours had passed and Naruto had all but chalked up his recent purchases up to a major failure. Maybe he could give the rest of his useless styrofoam cups away to his new friends? (Well, the weren’t his friends yet, but maybe they would be if he offered them his useless noodles?) it seemed sad to even consider.

He had scrapped his drawing of the blue-apron-man as well- the memory only serving to remind him of his bitter failure. All creative inspiration left him and he’s spent the past several hours watching the sun make its way across the sky from his singular window.

His stomach churned angrily at him. How could he be so bold as to buy so many of the same useless thing? He dreaded his next meeting with the third.

Feeling numb, he approached the kitchen counter once more.

He gazed skeptically at the now-cold cup of “noodles.”

He managed to jump up onto the counter with what little strength he had left and stared longingly at the traitorous cup.

The lifeless colorful nuns within the cup called to him uselessly and Naruto dared to prod at the stiff lump that had expanded marginally below the water line.

He could touch it without pain, now, at least.

A small sliver of hope thrummed within his chest.

He pinched a section of the cold, wet noodles between his fingers experimentally.

Dull excitement sparked within him as he raised his wet fingers to his lips and tongued the damp frills of starch.

Oh.

Oh!! Oh yes

Naruto eagerly shoved his tiny fist back into the cold liquid and grasped a full hand of noodles this time, spilling the yellow liquid onto the counter in his haste and all but hitting himself in the mouth with his excitement.

There was so much flavor! It was cold, but exciting! Unlike anything he’d had before- oh yes-

He greedily scarfed down all of the damp, soggy noodles, all from his place atop the counter of his kitchen.

Yes

It wasn’t a waste! He hadn’t failed after all! He felt his stomach sing as he raised the cup to his lips and drained the rest of its contents into his mouth.

Before he could even process his success he had emptied the cup.

It worked.

He was suddenly so thrilled that he had used all of his allowance to buy more of this.

He was determined to try it before it had cooled completely next time.

Oh yeah, he could get used to this.

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Bookkeeper – Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Epilogue

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety) words: 1540 chapter warnings: none :) chapter summary: ...and they all lived happily ever after.

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

< previous chapter

—

The sound of polite applause echoed throughout the room. The buzzing of young students faded with each step across the stage. 

Steady hands shuffled paper on the podium. A deep breath. 

Logan Fray looked up at his audience: a group of people whose minds and souls were only beginning to blossom into a compass.

He looked down at his speech, pushed his glasses up, and cleared his throat.

“Here is what I know...” 

—

Logan was never one for happy endings. Happy endings always seemed too close-minded for his taste. Though this, perhaps, was ironic given what he now knows. 

After visiting The Midnight Forest, Logan’s hand seemingly never left the paper. He wrote through the night and throughout the next day. Patton and Roman were admittedly concerned at first, but grew too understand what was happening — Logan wasn’t writing, but searching. 

As all artists tend to do. 

He finished his speech a bit more last-minute than he had hoped, but knew it was perfect the second he dotted the end of the last sentence. He went out to a bar the night he finished, Patton by his side and even Roman, hidden yet curiously peering out of his shirt pocket. Logan vaguely remembered the blurry lights cascading across his vision, the cheers, the laughter, and the warmth that filled his bed not too long after. 

The days that followed were filled with practicing his speech, revising it, and everything in between. Logan felt himself bouncing across the walls of Fray and Far Fables. Despite his efforts that he was fine— truly fine—Patton had convinced Logan to let him help out. And, of course, everything was better because of it. 

As for him and Roman, they grew as inseparable as Logan was to his own magic. Roman would give him notes each time he practiced and, in secret, Logan would take The Midnight Forest with him on another project he pursued. 

On the quiet days—the days when the rain would slowly fall onto the roads outside—Logan would sit down in the armchair next to his window with a cup of tea, and would always feel a small presence resting on his shoulder, watching alongside him. 

The shop was quiet, but it was home; something that Logan hadn’t felt in years. In every corner he’d turn to, there was someone he could live for; someone he found purpose in. 

And he glowed; oh, how he glowed. 

The night before his speech came before he knew it. Patton helped Logan close up as Roman departed for some “beauty sleep” before his trip out into the real world. Logan ran through his speech a bit more before Patton eventually pried it from his hands, leading him upstairs to the bedroom instead. Logan begrudgingly, but gratefully, followed. 

“And just like that, the day is done!” Patton flopped onto the bed with a sigh as Logan changed into his pajamas. “Time flies, huh?” 

“It does, perhaps too quickly.” He joined Patton in bed, letting himself melt into Patton’s embrace. “I can’t believe it’s tomorrow.”

“You’ll be amazing, Lo. You always are.” 

Logan smiled, curling up in Patton’s arms. They laid there in silence for a few moments, letting the moon float towards the peak of the sky. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and Logan quietly thanked each and every star for bringing him to where he now was. 

“Hey, Lo?” Patton’s sleepy voice buzzed against Logan’s chest. 

“Mhm?” 

“I...I love you. I love you so so much. And whatever happens out there and whatever’s beyond it, I...I’m going to keep loving you.” 

A beat of silence. Logan cleared his throat.

“There is simultaneously everything and nothing in life, dear. There is pandemonium and solace in every corner, all at once. And...and there was a time where I had to navigate those truths alone. But now, there is a light guiding me in my pursuit, regardless of where I turn.” 

Logan held Patton a bit tighter as sleep closed in on him. 

“You make me stronger and more resilient each day, Patton,” he murmured in the crook of Patton’s neck, “which is to say, I love you too.” 

…

Early next morning, just as Patton left the shop with Roman on his shoulder, Logan placed a few papers besides the copy of The Midnight Forest on the front counter with a smile. 

— 

“So all this being said, I present to you, once more, my question: If life has no inherent meaning under the lens of nihilism, why are humans so eager to escape and create art if they are simply creating something out of nothing? What, then, do you suppose is the answer?”

Logan looked up at the hungry and curious eyes that met him, and smiled. 

“The answer lies beneath the former of the statement, ‘creating something out of nothing’. With every bit of nothing that could ever follow us in this life, there is something. There will always be something.

“Art is, hence, cyclic in nature. It takes the nothing and creates within it, something. And within that something are arms that will always reach out and beg others to do the same. There is a hidden fascination within us all to fill the void with purpose, with passion.

“Someone once told me that in a life with very little meaning, art worms its way into the spaces that it can fit. And with the help of others, art– and everything it represents– is made bigger than the spaces of life they initially occupy. Within those spaces is the possibility to grow, to foster bonds — to know, truly know, every corner of this life. 

“You are young and are now bouldered with a responsibility that may seem unshakeable. But you are also artists, searching for answers you may need to make yourselves.” 

Logan caught sight of Patton in the audience with a teary smile. And, hidden in his shirt pocket, a warm glow of red. Logan’s smile grew. 

“So continue searching,” Logan finished. Behind the podium, his hands glowed a reassuring blue. “Continue your pursuit of creation, of knowledge, of growth; for your questions will spark answers that spark questions again. And I promise you, such a cycle will allow yourself to grow bigger than the spaces of life you initially occupy.”

 —

Later that night, Roman found himself alone in the shop. Logan had met some important scholars (Roman had scoffed when he told him) who dragged him out for drinks to talk about prospective research. Patton had tagged along after some gentle reassurance from Roman that he would alright on his own. 

So Roman took it upon himself to clean each shelf and each book of Fray and Far Fables, weaving himself through stories and letting each one breathe, if for a little while longer. 

He eventually found his way to the shelves behind the front counter, frowning at a small gap between one of the books. He narrowed his eyes. There was a book missing. 

He descended onto the front counter, pursuing his lips and trying to figure out where the book could have gone, until he nearly tripped on his answer. 

Roman looked down. His face softened. Right at his feet was a copy of The Midnight Forest , resting neatly and soaking in moonlight from outside. 

He carefully walked onto the cover and laid down on it, trailing his hand across the title. 

Suddenly, he caught sight of a few papers next to the book. Roman frowned, standing back up and floating up to read the whole papers. His eyes widened at a few selected words. 

‘Riptide Publishing Co.’

‘Upcoming dates...sign here…’ 

‘Possible release date for…’

Roman saw an image plastered on one of the papers. 

‘The Midnight Forest by Virgil Aries: With a new foreword by: Dr. Logan Fray’

Roman felt himself glow brighter than he had ever had before. His glow illuminated a small sticky note on the paper. 

‘To my dearest friend,

Here’s to the new stories the world will finally get to hear. Here’s to light, here’s to love, and here’s to hope.’

Roman grinned. He immediately flew onto the cover of The Midnight Forest and placed his hand on it. Red rippled across the whole shop as Roman tumbled through the front cover.

As soon as he opened his eyes, Roman dove into the forest, weaving through trees, searching and searching and hoping…

And then, everything around him froze.

Hovering in the centre of the forest clearing was a faint outline of a small silhouette, only a little taller than Roman, basked in moonlight. It stood still for a moment, as if looking right back at Roman. 

The silhouette then pulsed with a soft, familiar, purple glow. 

Roman grinned, tears running down his face as he flew towards the silhouette. He reached a careful hand towards it, worried that if he moved too fast, it’d all disappear. 

But when the purple silhouette just outstretched a hand, Roman knew it was going to stay; after years of waiting, Virgil would finally stay. 

Roman took the silhouette’s hand and swept him into a waltz; one that took them high above the forest clearing; one that brought them even just a bit closer to the stars.

—

a/n — thank you for reading <3

[read more of my works here!]

[joonclouds]

The Price Of A Wish | 3

 The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You meet Hoseok for the first time when you’re seventeen. It's in the early days of March - you remember because it's the time where Spring isn't quite here yet, so the evenings are still chilly. Getting to wear your favourite sweaters a few weeks longer is something that you still get a small thrill out of. You're a lot younger, a lot less jaded than you are now.

Leaning against the wall a ways off from the main crowd, you watch the guests in disinterest. It was laughable for a party of forty, at most, to rent such a colossal space. Surely even if it was a selection showcase, it was excessive.

Your family’s attendance to an event meant no expense was spared. The dress code is smart casual but a grand hall has been rented, with towering ceilings and a sprawling expanse of space. There was a live string quartet and champagne and little degustation canapes. Everyone talked in hushed voices, as if afraid to disturb the air around them. And what were they feeding with these canapes? Mice? You can’t even have real alcohol, just this stupid fizzy grape juice in a fancy glass. You think about the amazing grilled cheese that Madam Han, your housekeeper, makes and you groan internally, wishing to be anywhere but here. You’re sure your face says just as much.

“Yup, me too.” Turning in surprise, you find someone next to you.

His height is the first thing you notice. A good head taller than you are, and all black looks good on him, a silk shirt hanging loose and ripped jeans tucked into boots. He looks familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it yet, so you shelve that thought for later because well. There were more important issues at hand.

As a general rule, you thought all that "love at first sight' type thing was bullshit. You didn't buy into that sort of malarkey, and even if you did, it’s not something you got to have. But what was a girl to do in the face of .. well, a handsome face? Despite the remnants of stubborn pre-teen chub around his cheeks and a smattering of acne on his chin - things you're sure he'd grow out of in time - he's just your type of trouble.

Maybe you didn't know that yet, but all you do know is that when he turns slightly to give you a half smile, you freeze and your heart jumps like it's about to launch itself out of your body.

“Well. Someone's having fun.” He clarifies, fiddling with the stem of his champagne flute. You quickly look away, but not before noting his similarly bored demeanor.

"As much fun as you are, clearly."

“Yes, this is a riveting time.” He deadpans back, and the snicker he garners out of you breaks the ice like sugar glass. The both of you return to surveying the small crowd, but make no move to leave, enjoying the feeling of sharing in a certain kind of disjointed camaraderie. What is it they always say about shared trauma?

“You’re old enough to drink?” You tilt your glass in the direction of his.

“I’ve been old enough since three years ago. But legally, no. This isn’t alcohol.”

You sigh, but then a thought pops into your head. “Wanna sneak into the kitchen with me? The servers often leave the open bottles unattended.”

“Not your first rodeo, huh.”

“And certainly not my last. I can’t wait to be legal so these things become more tolerable.” You take another sip of your non-alcohol.

After a moment you ask again - “So? Kitchen?”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could, but this night is a sober one. Nerves and alcohol don't go well together for me.”

“Aaaaaaand he turns out to be even less fun than this party.”

This earns you a chuckle from him. It’s warm and inviting, a little buzz of electricity in your veins. Feels like if you’d been drinking actual champagne that evening. He nudges your shoulder playfully with his own when you cross your arms and angle your body slightly away in a small show of sulking.

“I have no choice, cowboy. I’m the showhorse. Gotta do the parade if I want my scholarship."

“Ah, Jung Hoseok.”

The puzzle pieces fall into place and you give him another once over out of the corner of your eye, this time with more recognition than before. Now you knew why he looked familiar - the identities of the artistes were all kept secret until after the selection showcase, but since you were your father's daughter, you'd seen the lineup beforehand.

"Yup, that's me." Hoseok downs the rest of his drink, grimacing. "And this entire thing is a show by a pretentious businessman who's already decided who's going to be selected."

"Looks like it's not your first rodeo either, you know how this works."

"Boy, do I."

"So why stay sober for it anyway?"

"I like dancing."

Hoseok's answer makes you go quiet. Whatever sarcastic banter you had lined up was halted in the face of such a simple, honest admission.

After a moment, he adds - " and I have a feeling it might reflect badly if I turned up tipsy to my first performance in front of the panel of directors.”

You shrug. "You know what they say about brooding artists and alcohol."

Suddenly, a thought comes to him. “Wait. You know me?”

He turns to you, and you can see him trying to figure out who you are, why you know him but he doesn’t know you.

“Of course I know you.” You state a matter-of-factly. “Jung Hoseok, the parading showhorse.”

“And you’re…. Mirae? The….cellist?” He takes a wild guess at one of the other performers in the showcase lineup that night.

“Nope.” You reply, popping your lips in amusement when you realise he has absolutely no clue who you are.

"You're not competition, are you?"

"Wrong again."

Hoseok squints in confusion and turns fully to face you, taking you more seriously now. “So who are you?”

Leaning in closer to him you tilt your glass in the direction of where the biggest group of people congregated in the middle of the room, deciding to at least have a little bit of fun tonight if you couldn't get your hands on the drinks. Albeit at the expense of someone else’s embarrassment, but it’s not like you two were close anyway. Consider it a trade off of sorts.

“See that man in the gray suit?”

“The CEO of Aurarts?” He frowns slightly. “Why?”

“He's the one who gets to decide if you get your scholarship or not, right?”

“Yes.” He drags the syllable out hesitantly. “Where is this going?”

“Well. In the direction of him being my very pretentious father. I'm sure you'll know my name soon enough.”

The colour drains from Hoseok’s face.

“Fuck-“ He begins, but quickly catches himself and bites his lips together when he decides that swearing in front of the daughter of the business magnate he just badmouthed, and who is coincidentally also funding his scholarship, isn’t the best first impression.

“Sorry. I. Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. Gone is his easy charm - he’s now visibly perplexed, turning red and refusing to make eye contact. It makes you giggle, a bright pealing sound that seems to cut like a warm knife into butter. As it happens, the emcee’s voice crackles to life over the speakers, cutting your laughter short and inviting guests to take their seats as the performance is about to begin.

"There's your cue, and mine."

You sigh, quite content with your fun for the evening; Hoseok is pretty cute when he’s flustered. He's opened and shut his mouth three times and still trying to find a way to dig himself out of the hole he's in, so you decide to put the poor boy out of his misery and leave first. Pushing off from the wall, you offer him a small wave and mouth a ‘good luck’ over your shoulder. He manages a tiny wave back.

Between accompanying your father amongst the guests and making small talk with them after the performances are over, don’t get a chance to talk to Hoseok anymore for the rest of the evening. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of a silky black shirt and a charming smile, but not long enough of a look to know if he was looking back.

But you do get to watch his performance - it’s the last one of the night, and you don't know if it's intentional, but they’ve saved the best for last.

Hoseok walks onto the makeshift dancefloor, barefoot, and one more button on his shirt undone. Perhaps you didn’t notice it before, but there is a power with which he holds himself in his beginning pose, facing away from the audience, stance wide and hands crossed in fists behind his back. His head is turned, just enough for you to see his side profile, and you know he sees you sitting in the front row. You feel a shiver of excitement at the base of your spine. It pulses in rhythm to the opening beats of the dance track.

When he starts, you understand why he’s in tonight's lineup. Each movement of Hoseok’s body is fluid but perfectly controlled, matching the heavy bass tempo on the dot. Never early, never late. The music slowly starts to pick up, and his eyes turn dark, expression changing with every turn of the music. Joy, fear, passion and desperation tell the story of escape from old demons and rebirth into a new self. As everything reaches a crescendo, it’s like his presence expands into the cavernous hall that seemed to swallow every one of it’s tiny guests earlier, filling the space until you felt like the walls might burst.

One fist clenched and shaking in the air, Hoseok ends his performance kneeling atop a raised dais in the middle of the stage. The air is so silent and heavy with awe you can hear his laboured breaths. His smile is so bright and victorious, you think you might be dreaming when it is literally blinding you in the shine of spotlights. It's then you realise he's actually got braces on. Your heart gives you a quiet, endearing sigh, and you agree with her.

Applause erupts, a standing ovation is given. It takes you a little longer to collect yourself, but you stand with the crowd too, and clap until your palms heat and sting.

He’s not dancing to the music, you think. He is the music.

_________________

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A/N: And with that we’re all caught up with the chapters I’ve also posted on A03! You can check me out there if you prefer A03 hehe. Will be releasing future chapters at the same time from now on. Hope everyone is having a  ✨great day✨ xoxo

[let-love-run-red]

Adventures of a Single Father-5

Tag List: @sincereleygmg, @0hour9am, @siobhanlovesfilm, @thefandomzoneisdangerous​, @darthseph​, @alyssah430 (I’m so sorry some of the tags didn’t work loves)

Adam woke with a start when he felt something moving on his chest. He glanced down to see Cody shuffling on his chest. Adam let out a sigh and rested his hand on his son's back, thankful Cody hadn't fallen off while Adam slept. He turned his head to glance at the clock on his bedside table. 6:00, he should have been making dinner for himself, and Cody was no doubt hungry. Adam stood while holding Cody against his chest and remembering what Dr. Garcia had said about trying to move Cody away from formula. He thought he'd gotten some jars of baby food on a sale at the store but looking in the pantry they were nowhere to be found. He sighed and reached for the can of formula. Solid foods would have to wait.

He opened the can to find it empty. He dropped it in the garbage can in the corner, before reaching for the second can only to grasp empty air. He dug around in the pantry, silently cursing in his head before shutting the door with more force than necessary. He grumbled under his breath before walking to where he'd dropped the chest carrier, laying Cody on the couch before fastening the carrier to his own chest. He picked up Cody, walking to the bedroom and dressing him in a light jacket and mittens. He would be close enough to Adam's chest to stay warm. Cody squirmed and grumbled when Adam put his mittens on his hands before slowly waking with a start.

Adam shushed him quietly, lifting Cody so his head was resting on Adam's shoulder. Cody reached up to grab Adam's hair and Adam winced as he tugged sharply. Adam set Cody in the carrier, lowering his head with his son to avoid losing a lock of his hair. He gently freed his hair from his son's grip, talking softly to Cody while making his way to the bathroom. He dug around in the drawers before finding what he was looking for, a black elastic band. He gathered the hair that Cody could reach from the carrier and pulled his hair back into the elastic, resulting in a half ponytail. He made a mental note to get his hair trimmed.

Adam walked to the couch, lifting his jacket in his arms and sliding it on as Cody waved his hands around in an attempt to remove the mittens that Adam had tied to his coat sleeves. Cody let out an indignant squeal as Adam zipped his jacket around Cody.

"Dada!" Cody screeched as he swung his tiny angry fists out to the side. Adam let out a sigh, taking Cody's hands.

"I know you don't like it kid, but you've gotta wear 'em." He said as he released one of Cody's hands to smooth his hand over the soft black hair on Cody's head.

Adam double checked he had his keys and wallet before walking out the door, locking it behind him and venturing down the hall. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he thumped down the stairs. He heard a similar thumping sound, just much lighter, and looked down the stairwell to see you making your way up the stairs. Your hair was awry as you gripped the handrail tightly.

"(y/n)!" Adam called delightedly. You snapped your head up, a smile breaking across your face when you spotted him.

"Hey Adam!" You replied. Adam quickly made his way down the stairs and pulled you into a hug, careful not to crush Cody. You were slightly taken aback, yes you and Adam had touched, but it was nothing more than a high five or handshake. He pulled away and held onto your shoulders.

"I got a job." He said, his voice at a whisper, almost as if he believed it would turn to dust if he said it too loud. Your smile grew before you hugged him again with a delighted squeal. Cody huffed in protest at the proximity and you pulled away before running your hand gently through Cody's soft black locks.

"That's great Adam!" You said joyously. He nodded happily, and the two of you stood in a not so awkward silence for a few moments before you spoke. 

"Where are you headed?" You asked, glancing between his face and the back of Cody's head just poling out from under Adam's jacket.

"Oh, the store. I'm out of formula and baby food, I should've checked sooner." He said with a chuckle. You remembered that you were out of batteries, and a little low on milk for your taste. normally Laura would grocery shop, but she was lactose intolerant and nearly always forgot the milk, and cheese, and nearly every dairy item. You never made a list, so it was forgivable, she just never thought about it.

"Mind if I tag along?" You said, turning to face down the stairs. You had been looking forward to a warm shower but you would much rather spend time with Adam. You wanted to get to know him past just his fatherhood. That couldn't be all that defined him.

"Not at all, M'lady." Adam offered his arm to you and you took it. He helped steady you as you walked down the stairs on your sore feet.

The two of you walked to the store in a comfortable silence. You had kept your arm linked with his as you walked, not quite wanting to pull yourself away from his warmth. Occasionally you would glance over to him, watching him as he walked, counting the beauty marks on his face or examining his hair. You didn't mind it pulled back, but you much preferred it loose. 

When you reached the store Adam grabbed a cart and unzipped his jacket, laying it atop the children's seat. You unbuttoned your coat before quickly pulling it back closed and shivering. It was too cold for your taste.

"So, the job, where's it at?" You asked. He had seemed so excited about it, you figured that was a good opening topic before you asked him your burning question.

"Oh, it's at that pub downtown, it's called Valhalla. The owner seems, nice. He's a little intimidating. I start tomorrow." Adam said as he pushed the cart into the store with you in step beside him. The two of you chatted about his job as he made a B-line for the infant section. You glanced to the back of the store to the dairy section before breaking away from Adam with a quick explanation.

Adam watched with a smile as you walked away, before continuing down the aisle. He picked up a few more cans of formula, and jars of baby food. He also picked up a new toy that Cody seemed to be particularly interested in and looked at a few of the baby walkers they had stocked. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, remembering what Dr. Garcia said about how dangerous the walkers could be. Besides, Cody was learning to move on his own.

Adam roamed through the aisles a bit more before running his grocery list in his head and deciding now was as good a time as any to pick up some of the more urgent things on his list. He made his way to the toilet paper section, parking the cart at the far end of the crowded aisle before weaving his way through the swarm of people. Adam reached to one of the taller shelves to grab a pack of toilet paper when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to look behind him to see a rather short, elderly woman shyly wringing her hands.

"I'm so sorry to bother you sir, but would you mind grabbing me a pack?" She asked gently. Adam flashed a smile and handed her the pack he had just grabbed down before turning to grab another for himself. He felt another tap on his shoulder and let out a sigh before holding the pack behind him. He felt somebody take it from his hands before grabbing another, and feeling another tap. He froze, trying to quell his frustration. He cursed his genetics for making him tall and cursed the fact that nobody in this aisle was even as tall as his shoulder. He turned wordlessly, holding the pack of toilet paper.

"Oh! How cute is he?" The middle-aged woman behind him cooed over Cody who was looking around curiously in the chest carrier. She reached to touch Cody and Adam felt the urge to curl himself around Cody. Instead he sharply cleared his throat and the woman withdrew her hand. Adam glanced behind her to see a bored looking teenager leaning on a basket that was pressed against the shelves across from Adam, which was funneling people much too close to him for comfort.

"I was going to ask if you would grab me a pack, but this little man is so cute!" The woman cooed at Cody. Adam held out the pack in his hand to her. She took it and called to the teenager before he looked up just in time to catch the pack of toilet paper in the chest. Adam suppressed a chuckle as the boy tried to catch it before just giving up and letting it fall to the floor. The woman turned back towards Adam, looking up to his face for the first time.

"I see where he got his handsome looks." She said, holding her hand out to Cody. Cody pulled his arms inside the chest carrier, pressing his face against Adam's chest as Adam rested a large hand over Cody through the carrier.

"Are you having fun with daddy on his week little man?" She asked. Adam felt a fire in his chest and suppressed a loud growl. His weekend? As if he was incapable of having Cody full time? As if he couldn't take care of his own child?

"My week?" He said quietly, his brows knitted together tightly.

"Well yes I can't imagine any court taking a baby away from their momma for longer than a week. She said, oblivious to the anger rising in Adam's chest. He heard a faint "mom" from behind him and glanced towards her teenager to see him paying full attention now and trying to pull his mother back to the cart.

"Especially one so young and absolutely precious, what did you do to momma anyway?" She asked with a chuckle, looking up to Adam's face.

"His fucking momma," Adam seethed, "was starving him and walked out on us when he was four fucking months old." Adam snarled. She stood straight, the smile falling from her face.

"I snuck out of the house every night to feed him so he wouldn't starve. So I hope to god that if we had to go to court, they'd keep his mother away from him." Adam said sharply before grabbing the fourth packet of toilet paper, and storming from the aisle. He heard a faint "how rude" from the aisle before hearing the woman ranting, most likely to her son, as Adam walked back to his cart. He dropped the toilet paper in the basket and grumbled to himself as he walked. He glanced down to Cody to see his son looking up at him with a happy smile. Adam thanked his luck that Cody was too young to understand what had just happened. He looked up to see you walking towards him, holding two gallons of milk and a few packs of batteries.

"Sorry Adam I had to track down an employee to help me find the batteries." You set them in the cart away from his things.

"They were in the office supply section," You said with a chuckle. "honestly why there?" Adam let out a small huff of a laugh from his nose and felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Got anything else you need?" You asked, cooing to Cody in the carrier when he turned to look at you. Adam shook his head. He just wanted to leave the store, and hopefully avoid any comments about his fatherhood and how it must be "his week." Honestly, who did she think she was? The two of you walked towards the self-checkout section, splitting off and going to the two open stands across the space from each other.

Adam began scanning his items, watching Cody startle at each loud beep. He continued scanning items until he got to the formula can. For some reason the system decided it didn't like that can and let out a loud beep before blocking the screen and blaring the message "Please Wait for assistance" repeatedly. Cody started crying in distress at the sound, causing Adam's stress levels to skyrocket. He pulled Cody from the carrier, cradling him against his shoulder and bouncing while he searched for an associate to make the loud noises stop. Each time the message played Cody started crying again. Adam gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut against the piercing gazes of the other shoppers.

Finally, an associate appeared. An older man who walked with a slight limp. He gave Adam a tight-lipped smile before scanning his ID card and scanning the formula again. The machine started flashing again and the two men sighed. The associate scanned his card again, before typing in the item number manually. Finally, the machine accepted the can of formula. Adam let out a breath of relief both at the machine and the fact that Cody was no longer crying. Adam thanked the associate, who hung close by in case Adam's kiosk decided to have problems again. Adam reached for his wallet and pulled it out, digging for his credit card to pay.

It wasn't there. His credit card was missing.

Adam set his wallet on the small top next to the machine, leafing through it with one hand while cursing quietly. His card wasn't there. He didn't have enough cash to pay for any of the items and his credit card wasn't in his wallet. Cody started fussing again and Adam felt tears pricking at his eyes as his anxiety swelled. He started breathing heavily and fumbling through his wallet. He tried to check it again, dropping it on the ground with a rather loud Fuck.

He heard bags rustling beside him and turned to watch you set the two gallons of milk and small bag of batteries down next to him before you pulled your own card out and slid it into the card reader. You gave Adam a gentle smile before bending down to pick up his wallet and handing it back to him. Adam took a deep breath and pressed his cheek against Cody's head both in an attempt to comfort himself and his son.

You finished the transaction, replacing your own card in your wallet and sliding it into your purse before helping Adam load his bags onto his free arm, picking up your own and walking out of the store with him.

"Thank you." Adam said quietly after a few minutes of silence. You turned to him with a smile.

"No need, it's what friends are for." You said gently. Adam quirked a smile and looked down to see Cody sleeping soundly against Adam's shoulder. You were both quiet for a moment, before you spoke.

"So, today at work I had a group of girls come in." You said, gauging his reaction. He was watching you carefully as you walked.

"And I think they knew you." You said. You watched Adam fumble one of the bags and curse quietly.

"One of them was talking about her kid, I think her name was Hannah?" You said. Adam let out a groan.

"Yeah, I knew them. Jessa Marnie and Shoshanna were there too right?" He asked. You recognized two of the names but Shoshanna was unfamiliar.

"Yeah Jessa and Marnie, but I don't recognize Shoshanna." You said.

"Super quiet kind of shy and a little fuckin' weird?" Adam said with a chuckle. Yep that was the third girl. You nodded with a giggle.

"Yeah, they were there." You said.

"Anyway, she was saying she wanted you to help her raise her baby?" She continued. Adam groaned.

"She's still going on about that?" He said before shifting Cody and the bags around in his arms.

"I guess, what's up with that?" You asked. He sighed as you pressed the buzzer for your apartment, knowing Laura would be home to unlock the door. You heard the automatic latch click and pushed the door open, holding it open for Adam to follow.

"We were dating a while ago. God I was cringy, and she was a fucking weirdo." Adam said as he walked up the stairs with you following.

"We broke up and got back together a few times, all her idea, and then I started dating the British one, Jessa." Adam cleared his throat as you watched him.

"I guess Hannah got knocked up sometime during that, the guy didn't want to be a father and I guess she figured because I always talked about having kids that meant I could be." You hesitated outside your apartment door.

"Oh?" You urged him to continue.

"Do you want to come inside?" He asked softly. You nodded and pulled yourself away from your apartment, approaching his door. He pulled out his keys to unlock it, pushing the door open and setting the bags on the floor beside the door to walk to his room and place Cody in his crib.

"I mean, I kind of offered once I heard. But I was just so caught up in what could have been, I eventually realized it wasn't going to work and we called it off. I went back to Jessa and broke up with her after she found out what I offered." He said, removing his jacket and Cody's chest carrier before beginning to put the groceries away. You set the gallons of milk and bag of batteries on the counter, glancing into the pantry when he opened it. There wasn't much other than ramen noodles.

"After a few months I met Hayley. Hannah showed back up and begged me to help her raise her kid, but Hayley was pregnant and I could not leave her." Adam said as he balled up the bags and tossed them in the cupboard under the sink.

"She was pissed. But I mean I had my own family," Adam trailed off. "and then she left." He said, staring at the floor. You had been listening quietly to his story.

"I was so stupid then." He said softly. You took a step towards him, rubbing his bicep gently through his jacket. He looked down into your (e/c) eyes with tears pricking at his own. You leaned against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist in a hug. He hugged you back and rested his chin on your head.

The two of you stood in the kitchen for what seemed like hours. You felt the need to comfort Adam, he'd been through so much. So much that somebody trying so hard like he was didn't deserve to go through. Your phone buzzed and you finally pulled away as Adam cleared his throat. You checked your phone to see a text from Laura asking if you were alright.

"I should let you get going." Adam said gently. You nodded silently, picking up the milk and the batteries.

"I should too, you've got work tomorrow." You said, your voice matching his. It felt too intimate to talk normally, as if this required a gentle voice and soft words.

"Yeah, I've still got to find a sitter." Adam said with a chuckle. You tilted your head.

"What time?" You asked him. He shrugged.

"Around 6:30 ish." He said. You rolled your options over in your head before speaking.

"I could watch him, if you want." You said. Adam lifted his head with a smile. Currently, you were the only other person he could completely trust around Cody. Since Hayley had left, he'd had trouble letting his son out of his sight longer than a few hours for a nap, but you, he would trust you with his life.

"You wouldn't mind?" He asked. You shook your head with a grin.

"Not at all." 

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled

Chapter 1

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

Warning: Implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, Demon!Dean, Sam’s tendency to leave out vital details for folks helping him to save Dean (read: Sam’s tendency to be a Winchester)

Word count: 1,895

Author’s Note: This story would not be possible without @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , who convinced me to write and finish this story, cheered me on every step of the way, and convinced me that even after over a year of not finishing a single thing, I hadn’t lost my writing after all. MJ, thank you for poking the story til it squeaked. And for the banner. And lots and lots of other things. If you’re reading this, hi! Have a seat and strap in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride (in the best way!).

“Hey, Miriam, it’s Sam...Sam Winchester...I don’t know if you remember me from-”

“I remember you, Sam. Not likely to forget a Winchester, much less...it’s one in the morning, what’s up?”

“I need to call in that favor.”

“All right. Where do you need me?”

…

Miriam stared blearily at the road as it stretched out in an infinite blur of dismal sameness, each expanse of asphalt and surrounding fields a dreary replica of the one before.

The last couple hundred or so miles had been hypnotically wretched, especially with the remnants of her headache hanging on by the tips of its claws since Sam Winchester had woken her with a phone call a few hours ago.

Caffeine and aspirin had taken the edges off, but straining her eyes into the endless darkness, alternating occasionally with too-bright headlights shattering the night (fucking halogens), had done nothing to ease the sharp ache that wouldn’t quite dissipate.

If she was being honest, the headache had been hanging around much longer than just a few hours, and if Sam’s call hadn’t woken her, the nightmares would have. They always did. She couldn’t really remember what an uninterrupted night of sleep felt like anymore. Exhaustion was her state of existence; it was preferable to feeling anything else.

“Suck it up, Miri,” she muttered into the muffled quiet of the car. Even her GPS was set on silent; the soft hum of the engine was the only noise she allowed to permeate her cocoon of quiet suffering.

Aaron would have been blasting some stupid metal band on the stereo, slapping her hand away every time she went to turn it down or change the station. He wouldn’t offer to drive and let her sleep off any physical maladies, but she wouldn’t have accepted anyway. He was a shit driver, and she always said she’d rather live long enough to let the next case kill her rather than the inevitable wreck if her brother was behind the wheel.

“Suck it up, Miri! Take another pill and quit whining!” he would have told her in the middle of an air drum solo.

Would have.

“Shut up,” Miriam muttered aloud. She drove on.

She pulled up outside something she would have dismissed as public waterworks or an electric station if Sam hadn’t told her what to look for. No cars outside, no mailbox, nothing to tell her this was an actual residence and not the setting for a seventies slaughterhouse flick. She checked her phone.

Text me when you get here; I’ll come let you in.

Alrighty, then.

Sam met her at the door and led her into the last sort of place Miriam could have imagined, a cross between a sci-fi/post-apocalypse novel and some sort of Cold War relic. He gave her the briefest of explanations as he led her through the bunker, saying something about legacies and a secret society, information which mostly passed right through her fatigue-addled head.

Pretty nice home base, she thought as they walked through the meeting room and past the library.

The research-oriented part of her itched to run her fingers over the spines of those books, to find out what was inside. Miriam cringed internally as she heard the echo of Aaron’s voice calling her a nerd, equal parts affection and ridicule in his voice. Then she throttled the pain down, locked the thoughts away, and dragged herself back to the present.

A few minutes later, Miriam was slinging her duffel down on one of the nicest beds she’d been able to claim in any capacity in months, maybe even years. Absolutely spartan and about six decades out of date, almost military in decor, but it was clean, and it had air, electricity, and both sheets and blankets on the bed. No nasty or rotten surprises left by former inhabitants; definitely an upgrade on a few of the shitholes she’d stayed in.

“We’ve got a fully stocked kitchen just down the hallway, and showers. Let me know if you need anything,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his head.

Miriam decided to save him further discomfort and cut to the chase.

“Fancy digs, Sam. It’s been a few years. You wanna tell me what’s got you so bothered?”

She’d noticed a distinct lack of the elder Winchester on the way in, but Miriam’s own recent history had done nothing if not jam a filter firmly in her mouth that kept her from sharing any and all thoughts that flowed through her mind.

Sam’s mouth quivered at the corners before he schooled his features into a mask of control that failed to hide the depth of his worry.

“I...Dean is why I called you. It’s...complicated.”

She took advantage of the awkward pause to re-evaluate Sam Winchester. He’d aged a lot in the few years since she and Aaron had run across the Winchesters. He’d grown broader since she last saw him, and he gave the impression of being even taller than she remembered, to say nothing of the length of his hair. She resisted the urge to offer him a hair tie for his shaggy mane.

Her gaze flicked down to his injured right arm, bound to his chest in a sling. She waited for several beats, but when he didn’t continue, she crossed her arms sternly, letting a shade of her impatience show on her face.

“You called me, Sam.”

Sam cleared his throat as if he still couldn’t get the words out. Miriam sighed. Her headache flared, burning the inside of her skull like a wash of acid between her eyes. Fatigue pulled at her, weighing her down towards the bed, but she locked her knees and straightened her back until she could trust her weary body not to betray her to gravity.

“Sam, we’re not close friends, I get that, but you called me here because I owe you, and hopefully because you know you can count on me. I haven’t been in the field recently, wasn’t planning on it any time soon. I’m tired; it’s been a hell of a year. If you want my help, talk to me. If not, I’m taking advantage of your hospitality to catch a few hours sleep in a decent bed, then I’ll head back out.”

“Dean’s a demon.”

His bald declaration woke her as the coffee she’d consumed after his phone call hadn’t.

Wasn’t expecting that, she thought as her eyebrows threatened to meet her hairline.

“Demons aren’t my area of expertise, Sam. And, let’s be honest, it’s fairly common knowledge that the Winchesters can exorcise a demon. What do you need me for?”

Sam shook his head, tension making the movement jerky and stiff as his jaw tightened. He had circles under his eyes to rival hers, and his shoulders slumped with a weight she knew all too well.

He reached up, awkwardly tugging down the neckline of his shirt to reveal a tattooed symbol she vaguely recalled from research she’d done years ago.

“Neither of us can be possessed,” he said, shrugging his shirt back into place with a wince of discomfort. “Dean is...Look, just come with me; I need to check on him anyway. You'll see.”

Making a physical effort to keep her jaw from hanging slack, Miriam followed Sam from the small bedroom. The whole situation was surreal, and the bland, institutional walls of the bunker only added to Miriam’s sense of dissociation.

She raised a curious eyebrow as Sam led her into what looked like nothing so much as a large file storage room.

Their footsteps echoed strangely; the space felt somehow emptier than the full shelves should have allowed. The ceiling, higher than what seemed necessary, continued much further back than the shelves. And what kind of shelving needed caging to connect it to the ceiling? The metal screen wasn’t what drew her attention, though.

The second she set foot in the room, Miriam felt an inexplicable pull to look behind those shelves, to push past Sam and shove the files out of the way. There was a presence in the room, something that spoke to a place deep inside her that she’d trained herself not to acknowledge, something familiar and forbidden all at once.

For the first time in months, she felt something more than tired, foggy despair.

Whatever was back there, Miriam wanted it.

It took her a second to realize that Sam was speaking.

“Don’t...um...don’t let him get to you, okay? It’s Dean, but it...isn’t,” Sam finished lamely with a grimace.

Miriam tilted her head to the side, considering his words. She opened her mouth, then closed it and shrugged, bracing herself for whatever it was Sam didn’t seem to be able to explain.

His shoulders slumped for a moment as he struggled to pull himself together.

Miriam hadn’t spent much time with the Winchesters, just the couple of weeks they'd worked that witch case all those years ago. Sam and Dean had been so in tune with each other, working the case with instinct and skill on a level that she’d both admired and envied. Then they went and saved her stupid brother.

Sam had been so much younger, then, not exactly sure of himself, but much more solid and in control than the tired, injured man in front of her.

“I owe you, and I mean it,” she’d said back then, shaking first Dean’s and then Sam’s hands, looking each brother in the eyes.

“You need someone to watch your back, to help you take something down, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t normally speak for that asshole,” she nodded at her younger brother, currently sleeping off the leftover ill effects from the hex bag that had nearly taken his life, “but I’ll go ahead and vouch for his dumb ass, too. Call me if you need me. Don’t lose my number.”

She hadn’t heard from them since.

Oh, she had heard plenty of them. What hunter hadn’t? All sorts of misadventures and exploits, taking down creatures most hunters had only ever heard of, much less encountered. But Miriam had gotten no phone calls from them, no requests for help. She figured they'd probably forgotten her and Aaron the moment they’d left town, rock blasting from the speakers of their legendary Impala as they cruised on to the next town, the next case.

“Why now, Sam?” Miriam asked quietly. “After all this time, why call me now?”

There were approximately a thousand more questions she wanted to ask, chiefly what the cage behind those shelves was holding, but she held her tongue after the one. Sam had obviously brought her here for a reason, so she reminded herself to be patient and ready for whatever happened next.

The younger Winchester hung his head for a moment longer, then turned eyes on her that were so familiar, her heart seized in her chest. She saw those same eyes every time she’d looked at her own reflection in the mirror since she’d returned from that last job, with one more scar and one less brother.

“Because I knew you’d understand.”

And then Sam straightened, and she watched as he willed steel through his limbs, stiffening his spine and hardening his features. He pulled on a narrow section of shelving and rolled it out of the way.

“Heya, Sammy.”

...

Chapter 2 is up! 

[argent-vulpine]

...Win Lovely Prizes?

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Sylvain/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

Claude’s missive had somehow made it through Imperial lines, crossing from Alliance territory into Faerghus. Sylvain could only assume it was Yuri’s doing; the man had the markings of an excellent spymaster even before the war had begun, it would only stand to reason that he become such over the long years of the war itself.

It seemed that Claude still intended on returning to Garreg Mach for the five-year reunion, as promised.

Some small part of Sylvain thought the man was made. He was Duke von Riegan, now, he surely had better things to do than chase after ghosts.

But another part of Sylvain wanted to believe. The professor had promised, after all. Five years was a long time. No one had found her, not even buried in rubble. But if she was alive… why hadn’t she returned? It had been better to think her dead, to grieve her in private. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he would be able to focus on the war. And with Dimitri presumed dead…

Well. That was two important people in his life who were no longer around.

He had been staying with Felix when the letter arrived; the Fraldarius heir had burst into the room, shoving the letter in his hands while holding a copy of his own, a scowl on his face (not unusual, especially these days).

“Get your things together,” the man had said, dark hair falling around his face. “If you want to make it in time, we’ll have to leave tomorrow.”

“Who says I want to?”

Felix stared at him for a long moment before stalking over, stabbing Sylvain’s shoulder with a finger. “I know you, idiot. You need this.” We need this, he very clearly didn’t say.

That, really, was what settled it more than anything. Sylvain knew that Felix had grown close to the professor, too. They’d been near-daily sparring partners, and had grown a friendship out of that, perhaps even to Felix’s surprise. He needed some sense of closure as much as Sylvain did.

The tall redhead raised his hands in surrender, giving his friend a wry grin. “Okay, fine. I’ll get packed up. We leaving at first light, then?”

“Tch. Earlier. I don’t want the old man to see us off and if we wait until light, he’ll insist on it.”

Some things never changed. “Then I’d best start getting ready and get some rest. You should, too.”

Felix had nodded once, sharply, and stepped away, pausing for a moment in the doorway as if considering something to say, before he huffed out a little sigh and left, words unspoken. They didn’t need to be, anyway. Sylvain could see the gratitude.

It wasn’t the easiest of journeys, going back to Garreg Mach. Edelgard had people all over, watching the roads and bridges, patrolling and causing trouble. They’d had to sneak past quite a few. Rumor had it that the monastery had fallen to ruin when the Church’s folk had vanished – presumably in search of Rhea who’d disappeared shortly after the professor had fallen – and bandits and looters had taken over.

As such, Sylvain had come extra prepared. He and his warhorse were armored up, the Lance of Ruin strapped down to the saddle while he carried a strengthened steel lance.

As he and Felix approached the monastery grounds, they could hear fighting already. Claude and the others? Who else had decided to make the foolish journey for a promise made before war had broken out?

Felix glanced up at him, drawing his sword, and with barely any warning the man slunk away, heading into the general direction of the fray. Sylvain nodded slightly, understanding, and adjusted his grip on his lance, spurring his horse onward.

The sounds of battle grew louder. The unmistakable cries of Leonie rang out over the abandoned town; he could see the occasional glimpse of the wings of her Pegasus as she darted through the air, a small battalion not far behind.

A large wyvern hovered overhead for a moment; Sylvain glanced up to see a smirking Claude looking a little haggard but more at ease than he’d been in a long, long time. “Glad you could join us, Gautier!” he called, nocking an arrow and letting loose on a bandit that Sylvain could hear but not see. “There’s more up ahead!”

“And just what schemes have you gotten us into this time, von Riegan?” asked the redhead, not really expecting an answer as he surged forward on his horse. They rounded a wall and came head on with a bandit; the man didn’t last long at all against Sylvain’s lance.

Steadily he fought through, catching the occasional glimpse of other former classmates: Raphael and Ignatz, the bigger man providing cover for the small archer’s sniping shots; Hilda, heavily armored on a horse as stout as his own, her axe swinging with seemingly wild abandon; Lorenz, also mounted, but he’d given up lance in favor of magic, setting bandits aflame or dropping crumbling rocks onto their heads.

And in the middle of it all…

… was the professor. Alive. Pale green hair seeming to glow in the firelight, looking as if she’d stepped through time. A little dirtier, her clothes still torn, silver blade flashing as she took down the enemy.

Somewhere behind her he could even see Marianne, protected by Lysithea and throwing out healing spells whenever an ally drew close. An enemy archer spotted them, and the professor called out something he couldn’t hear; in a flash, Marianne was gone, deposited elsewhere by Lysithea, who brought forth a powerful dark spell on the archer.

Time seemed to stutter, and then the professor was rounding on him. “Behind you, Gautier!” she cried, alerting him to the presence of a large axe mere moments before it was swinging. He yanked on the reins, drawing himself and his horse out of the way just in time, taking advantage of the bandit’s staggering step to ram the lance down.

He did not stop to see what he’d just done. War had made killers of them all, and while bandits normally might have warranted some small amount of mercy, well… he’d almost died.

Felix rejoined him, berating him for being an idiot but taking up a flanking position to protect Sylvain’s blind spot as they moved into the center. The sounds of fighting grew dimmer until there was nothing left but the quick, panting breaths of the survivors: his classmates… and one professor. An impossible woman.

“Look at that, Teach! All your Deers back together! It’s been… a long five years. We’ve got a lot to catch you up on,” Claude was saying as he landed his wyvern, hopping off in a showy dismount.

What Sylvain wanted to say would have to wait. There were more important matters to attend first.

He found her a few days later, back in the room she’d had five years ago, straightening up the scattered detritus left over by time. A broom was propped up nearby, waiting; Sylvain picked it up, using the broom handle to knock on the door frame. “Mind if I help?” he asked when she glanced up from righting her overturned desk.

She shook her head, gesturing for him to go ahead, and he slid into the room, shuffling past her so that he could start from the back.

The two worked in relative silence for a few minutes; he stopped sweeping to get a rag so he could wipe dust off the shelves, adding to the growing pile at his feet. His own room had received similar treatment, but being on the enclosed second floor, it hadn’t gathered quite as much… everything.

“You’re not going to ask?” she finally said, breaking the silence to look up at him, a deeper question in her eyes.

“We’ve all heard by now. You were asleep for five years, probably the doing of the goddess.” He’d been angry at first, thinking it a lie, but after seeing the state of her clothing, her armor, her everything, he had to admit it was the truth. She’d looked exactly as he’d seen her when she’d fallen. What other explanation could there be?

It was disconcerting, but honestly… she’d stepped out of a hole in the sky. What was one more strange occurrence that couldn’t be explained?

If anything, he was only mad at how she’d ended up in that state in the first place. If he hadn’t let her go, if he’d insisted that she retreat with him and the rest of the class… but no. He knew her well enough to know she never would have done that.

She hummed, a neutral sound, as she picked up the broken shards of her water pitcher, frowning down at the remains.

“Ah… let me check some of the other rooms for a replacement,” he said, setting down his cleaning cloth and making to step around her… but she stepped in front of him, stopping his progress. Confused, he looked down at her, his breath hitching when he caught her inscrutable stare.

There was a long silence that stretched between them. He didn’t know when she’d put the broken pottery down, but when she reached tentatively for him, he didn’t move. He didn’t dare even blink. Her hands felt so small when they gripped his arms.

He wanted to protect her. Oh, he knew she could protect herself, but… she’d been dead, as far as most were concerned. And he… and he… he cared about her…

“You got taller,” she said, shattering the quiet. “And broader.” Her lips curled into a sad smile. “I’m sorry I missed it.” Her voice had grown soft; he would have missed what she’d said if she weren’t right in front of him.

It was enough. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She hesitated a moment, as if unsure what to do, before her arms twined around his back, holding him so gently in return. They stood like that for a long minute before he finally – reluctantly – pulled away, cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. “Let me… go get you that pitcher now.”

She nodded wordlessly, stepping aside so he could pass and look through the rooms of students he was sure wouldn’t be coming back.

When he brought back a second chair in addition to an unbroken pitcher, she elected not to say anything at all.

The war progressed at a faster pace with the professor’s return. After five years of stalemates and steadily losing lands to the Empire, all it had taken was her reappearance to reinvigorate the efforts of all involved. Claude’s schemes grew more and more complicated, sometimes making Sylvain as if he was running to catch up.

The professor restarted her old habits. Tea with her former students, sparring in the training grounds (no one so much as squeaked about how Felix took up most of her sparring time), fishing in the pond and feeding the cats and dogs that had slowly returned to the grounds.

Instead of classroom lessons, they met in the old cardinal’s chamber, going over tactics and strategies, working out logistics for the war. The professor took groups out to deal with skirmishes, routing bandits from the forests around the monastery, clearing demonic beasts from trade routes, dealing swift justice to pirates along the coast in order to protect supply ships.

Sylvain went with her every time.

He’d gotten injured during one such skirmish, nothing major enough for serious healing, but it stung and made sitting in the saddle a little more difficult. It was still hurting a few days later when the professor approached him about it (how had she known he’d been protecting her?) and he’d had to admit – finally – that he didn’t want her dead. (He never had, and he’d thought she was before… he certainly couldn’t see her die now.)

Even now, he still couldn’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way… he’d fallen in love with her.

She never saw him for his Crest. She saw Sylvain. Saw what he was capable of, his strength, his mind. She’d acknowledged is intelligence, his capacity for strategizing.

Yeah. He was definitely in love with her. How could he have been so stupid to think otherwise?

And she… probably wouldn’t give him the light of day.

He was healed, ready to go back into battle, and to prove it was sparring against… Felix. Of course. Well, he’d been healed, at least.

His friend was ruthless, battering down on him, pushing Sylvain back and taking advantage of the lance’s weakness whenever possible. Sylvain was breaking a sweat, but then, so was Felix, his lips twisted with scorn whenever he came too close to breaking Sylvain’s defense.

“Get your head out of your ass,” snarled the swordsman, sliding under a jab from the lance and popping up on Sylvain’s left. “I can tell you’re not really focusing.”

Wasn’t he? … ah. No. Felix swept his legs out from under him, making Sylvain land on his butt with a thwump and a cloud of dust.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” A gloved hand reached out to him, helping him stand, and then Felix was in his face, glaring him down. “Is this about…? Of course it is. Tch.” He made a disgusted sound in his throat and stepped back, motioning for Sylvain to pick up his lance. “Just tell her already. Stop moping around.”

“Tell her what, exactly? That I’m an ass? That I said a lot of shitty things to her that I didn’t really mean, and also, hey, I’m love with her?” He sounded disgusted with himself. “Why would she care about me like that? I’ve done nothing to deserve it. And besides, we’re in the middle of a war!Now probably isn’t the best time anyway…”

The soft tak of boots he was all-too familiar with sounded in the training grounds, drawing his attention away from a smirking Felix. Shit.

She was there. Watching. For how long? Judging from the look on her face… long enough.

“Fraldarius, could you give us a moment?” she asked, glancing briefly toward the man in question.

“Sure thing. Training after dinner as usual?”

“Of course,” she replied, nodding and stepping to the side so Felix could exit the chamber.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Sylvain alone with the professor. He swallowed, heat creeping up his neck.

“Your lance, Gautier,” she said, nodding to the item at his feet.

Sheepishly, he picked it up. She gestured toward the weapon rack, indicating he should put the weapon away. He did so carefully, taking his time, steeling himself for whatever was about to come. Rejection… a lecture, perhaps?

He certainly wasn’t expecting her to be right behind him when he turned around, green eyes staring up at him, seeing into him. “Felix is right,” she said with the slightest of smirks. “You really are an idiot.”

And then… she was up, pressing her lips against his. It didn’t take him long to lean into it, to wrap his arms around her, drawing her close. Her hands came up to his head, fingers carding through his hair as she deepened the kiss, a satisfied hum in her throat.

They broke apart to breathe, Sylvain’s heart racing. He buried his nose into her hair, taking in the scent of her, the way she felt against him.

She gave out a huffing sort of laugh, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I know I’m not the best at… at showing emotions…” she said, trailing off for a moment, “… but I love you, Sylvain.”

His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, too… Byleth.”

Months later, when he stood in front of her, all nerves and ready to propose, he had to reflect back on how very, stupidly lucky he’d been. They’d lost people to the war, people he grieved, people he’d known, had attended the academy with. He knew that Byleth had felt all of those losses personally, all the people she couldn’t save.

But in the end, they had each other, and he promised he would see her happy for the rest of their lives together.

[lemonietrinket]

Ladder ||| Lucas x Reader

Summary: You love your boyfriend Lucas, you really do. But sometimes, his chaotic tendencies led him into all kinds of trouble. And you never, ever laugh at him. Totally. Not even when he puts himself in a compromising position. Not even once. Genre: Fluff, Comedy Warning(s): Please remember health & safety when putting up lights (they can get hot, you can trip over the wires, you could get tangled up in said wires...) as well as being very careful when using ladders. If you are not 100% certain that the ladder is stable, then do not use said ladder. Please, save your skulls. Word Count: 1383 Theme Song: I’m Falling - Golden Child I promise I didn’t choose the song for the title no one is going to fall I swear AN: 5th Dec prompt (credit to @songi-writes) decorating the house. I now realise that the original intention was likely to decorate the interior of the house but like, eh, since when did I ever follow the rules hehe. Also, I love Lucas, I love my big dumbass so so much. He’s just so sweet and kind and dumb—did I say I loved my dumbass?

~~~

You loved your boyfriend. You really did.

He was everything you wanted in a man.  Kind. Caring. Affectionate. Sweet. Amusing. Talented—

You get the idea.

The point is, there was one thing he lacked.

That thing, was common sense. 

And said lack of common sense got him in all sorts of situations that you never would have expected a man like himself to get in.

However, you wouldn’t change a thing.

Because one, you loved him in his entirety.

And two, no matter what scenario it was, it never failed to be absolutely hilarious to watch.

All you had to do was make sure he didn’t get hurt in the end and voila: free entertainment.

This was why, on the night of December the 5th, Lucas was up at the very top of an old rusty ladder, with his back to the fading daylight and his girlfriend, standing at the bottom a few feet away.

An old mattress, lent to you by your neighbours, had been on its way to a skip when you politely asked if you could use it as a precaution. They hadn’t understood why you needed it, and you weren’t sure how to explain it either.

Then Yukhei had suddenly sprinted from one side of the road to the other, chasing a drone (it was Haechan’s new toy apparently, though you knew exactly who bought it, and exactly who its real owner was, but you knew better than to get involved in the dorm politics again and so didn’t bring it up) and a few seconds after going out of sight, he reappeared and ran all the way back again.

They gave you the mattress with few extra words.

It sat at your feet, where you presumed he was most likely to land if he was to fall off the ladder, whilst he jostled with the lights.

They were cheap, thank god, on the off-chance (which you had calculated to be pretty high) that he would drop them, but you did hope he’d get them up soon, with as few broken bulbs as possible.

Not only would it be more money to spend, but there’d likely shards of plastic or glass to deal with and that was much more effort than you’d signed yourself up for. 

“Yo babe!” he called down from the penultimate step at the top.

“Yeah?” You couldn’t wait for what came out of his lips next.

“Look at me! I’m so much taller than you!”

“Yep,” you squinted up at him, trying not to let your chuckles edge into your voice, “you sure are! Not that it’s much different on the ground, though,” you added, muttering to yourself.

“Yaaa, what’s it like to be so short?” he asked, laughing to himself mainly. “With your head so close to the ground, like...”

You rolled your eyes.

“How do you see over high counters? Go to concerts? Or reach top shelves?”

“Ah yes,” you announced, “the famed top shelf! You see, we level up our manipulation and charm skills so we can talk those who rolled higher stats in height into doing things for us.”

You heard him laugh and nod his head, but it was the chuckle that appeared  when he didn’t really get what you were saying. 

Instead, you watched him shimmy down the ladder, to shift it across a few steps and clamber back up.

You flinched as there was a loud creak from one of the ledges as he stepped on it.

It wouldn’t actually break. He wouldn’t actually fall. Right?

As you’d zoned out, his joyous shouts brought you back into reality. Looking back up, your breath caught in your throat.

“Hey! Look babe! I’m a giant!”

He was jumping on the top most step, brandishing an end of the lights in his hands, the other rings around his arm. The ladder was shaking, and you could see the leg dipped in the gravel was slipping.

Oh dear lord.  “Yukhei, baby, please be careful!” 

“I am being careful!” he insisted, “I am the definition of careful!”

It was at that moment when the entire ladder juddered. Yukhei immediately caught onto the roof and steadied himself.

After your heart had returned back to your chest from rising into your mouth, you exclaimed, “Yukhei!”

He peered down at you from over his shoulder, the grin you knew so well lighting up his face, and his (in)famous laughter floating over the air. “I’m ok, don’t worry!”

“Well, I’m gonna keep worrying until you’re done up there and have both of your feet on the ground!” You strode over to the ladder and held the legs still as best as you could. “Please just... hurry up back on down here.” You bat your eyelashes as cliché as you could manage. “I haven’t had a cuddle in forever and it’s starting to make me so sad...!”

He pouted cutely, but your move worked. He began hanging up the lights at thrice the speed he’d previously done, and in minutes, with a couple of stretches, he was finished.

And no sooner were they all up, he was down from the ladder, his strong arms picking you up and spinning you around. 

“I’m back!” he announced, smile as bright as the moon.

“You are!” You added, “And alive!”

“And now,” his voice dropped lower, “I can make sure my girlfriend is no longer sad, by cuddling her as much as she wants!”

You accepted the invitation, leaning in to press yourself into his warmth, when you spotted a vacant look in his wide, glistening-clear eyes, his lips parting as he blinked.

The look of a thinking Yukhei.

“What is it?” you enquired, not bothering to follow his line of sight as it never was related to what he was pondering on.  You wondered if you would hear the tick of a clockwork system if you held your head beside his whilst he thought, cogs kicking into gear as he formulated an idea.

“Hang on, just one second!” he reasoned, dashing off round the house, out of sight.

You watched as he went, considering if he wanted you to follow him or not and thus stay round the front.

Luckily it wasn’t long before you received an answer.

The lights were a vast improvement to the plain cream walls, embellishing them with a gold and silver made it look as if the house was much grander than it actually was. As if fairies had pitched in their hands to make it a home for the two of you.

They also brought something into your heart. 

Whether it was a pride or a joy you couldn’t quite tell, but it did suddenly feel to you as if Christmas was genuinely coming in a few weeks, and that the mellow warmth that accompanied it every year would return this time too—even if the hundreds of days that preceded it weren’t always painted with gold. 

As you were distracted, dumbly staring up at the lights, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you.

Holding you as close to his body as he could, Yukhei nestled his chin in your hair, swaying the two of you gently to a beat in his own head.

“There,” he hummed, deep voice resonating through to your heart, “you’re not sad anymore, right?

“No, I’m pretty happy now,” you murmured, nuzzling your face into his chest. 

Though Yukhei brought you no end of joy from being his chaotic self, it was these moments that you prized more than any other. It was when you felt at home at last, and when you were most happiest.

“We should go inside,”  you suggested, fingers tracing lines on his back.

“Aww,” he cooed, “are you cold, baby?”

You smirked, slipping free from his arms. “Yeah I am, so you’d better come inside with me and do a better job at keeping me warm!”

He took this as a challenge, grin wide and shoulders squared. “First one inside doesn’t have to make the hot chocolate!”

The two of you didn’t even hesitate, taking off into a run.

The ladder was left by the front wall, but you didn’t care. You’d deal with it tomorrow, once you’d finished snuggling with your Yukhei. Even though you’d likely be preoccupied for quite some time. 

~~~

AN: I am very tired but I finished it! I’m not sure it’s as good as my others but I really tried I promise. This won’t be the last time I write for him (hopefully I won’t be as tired then) Thank you for reading!

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Did I mention I love Lucas?

Masterlist

[edited on 7th Dec 2019

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Nineteen:

"You cannot tell me that Return to Halloweentown is better than Kalabar's Revenge!" Jonas's voice heatedly exclaimed from the back door.

Smiling, Steve stood from his seat on the couch. Wanda turned her head to look towards the kitchen just as Katie loudly confirmed, "I said what I said. Kalabar's Revenge has that weird ass filter and Halloweentown doesn't even look like Halloweentown! It looks like it could've been filmed in our driveway!"

"We're not talking about which one looks more like Halloweentown," Jonas argued, "We're talking about which movie is better acted and has a better story."

This wasn't exactly the impression Steve wanted Wanda to have of Jonas and Katie. Not that it wasn't how they normally were. Just… he hoped that they would've bonded more before the loud, opinionated movie discussions started.

Glancing over at Wanda, he found her staring into the kitchen with her mouth open and her brows arched high on her forehead. Sheepishly, Steve shrugged as he clarified, "Our family's really passionate about Halloween. Especially the movies."

"I can see that," Wanda weakly giggled.

Steve nodded and headed for the kitchen. At the table, Katie tightened the orangey-red messy bun on the top of her head, "I don't care. Sara Paxton is a goddess, my guy."

Jonas shook his head as he grabbed a cookie from the seasonal witch ceramic jar that Bucky made. It was lopsided and the cookies hardly stayed fresh for long, but Steve refused to put any other cookie jar out for Halloween. Steve had even joked that he'd want to use it as an urn when he went. Bucky never found that funny.

"Kimberly J. Brown gave us hit --" Jonas chopped the side of his hand into his palm to accentuate his point "-- after hit, and you're just going to disrespect her like that?!"

Stuffing an entire purple sugar cookie into his mouth, Jonas went to continue talking, but Steve immediately reprimanded him. "Jonas Howard, take smaller bites. You know better than that. You're going to choke."

"I don't know, pops," Katie deadpanned, "I heard he's into that sort of thing."

Coughing and hitting his chest, Jonas was very obviously choking on the cookie, which made Katie laugh. Steve grabbed the oldest teen a glass of water to help soothe his throat and tried not to think about his child's sex life because that was definitely too much for him, as their father, to know. Instead, he decided to change the subject. Setting his hands on his hips, he looked over his kids. Jonas standing beside him, next to the cookie jar and Katie sitting at the table on her phone.

Feigning offense, Steve accused, "So, you go away to school and suddenly you can't give me a hug?"

Katie rolled her eyes, but a smirk was fighting to tug her lips upward. She stood from her seat and walked around the kitchen table to Steve. Being taller than Steve, the 5'11" girl bent her knees to hug his 5'4" frame more comfortably. With his arms around her, Katie let out a breath of relief and her body started to ease. Knowing that she had been homesick and anxious being away at college for the first time, he rubbed her back and held her just a little longer.

"I missed you," Steve reminded her, just as he always did during the occasional phone calls and the group facetimes and, more often, text messages. Because he did. He missed her. He missed tripping over her shoes that she left abandoned in the foyer. He missed finding her awake at six in the morning on a Saturday with a half drunk mug of cookies and cream coffee and thick glasses on as she started a Lifetime movie marathon. Missed her baking with Bucky on a Sunday afternoon. Missed her and her friends being too loud on a Friday night and having to remind them that the little kids were sleeping.

Katie held Steve a little tighter, "I missed you, too."

"I missed you, most!" Jonas playfully stated, wrapping his wiry arms around them both.

"I don't think so, mister," Steve argued. Because even though this was Jonas's second year at the university, Steve still missed him. Missed him sitting on the couch on a Tuesday night, teaching Bucky a new crochet stitch. Missed him helping Luke with his homework after school. Missed him asking how he looked before going on a date. Missed the Sunday Sunrise yoga that the pair would do almost religiously because it helped alleviate Steve's arthritis pain while stretching his scoliosis riddled spine, and Jonas didn't like his pops being in pain. And Steve missed him. Just missed him. No matter how many years he had a chance to get used to it, he never truly would.

Steve was positive that he'd miss his kids no matter how many years passed. Or how often they talk on the phone. Or how many holidays they visit for. He'd still miss having them home all the time. It made his heart hurt to think about what'll be like once they move out officially and they stop coming home for summer vacation.

And Steve knew that although she hadn't been in their lives long, he'd miss Wanda once she left, too.

Speaking of Wanda, Steve whispered, "Wanda is in the living room. And I need you to be on your best behavior. Or at least not yell every five minutes."

"Sounds like you're askin' for a lot," Katie joked, not seeming convinced that she could remember her inside voice.

Smiling, Steve half-joked, "Please, don't scare her off."

"Are you kidding? She's going to love us," Jonas confidently assured.

Steve playfully rolled his eyes and accused, "You've been talking to Uncle Sammy too much."

Glancing over at the living room, Steve watched Wanda snap her attention back to the TV. Almost as though she didn't want them to know that she was eavesdropping. Not that any of them would've cared.

Giving them both a squeeze, he removed himself and started through the dining room. Reaching the living room, Steve grabbed some knick knacks from the tub. As he crossed over to the book shelves on either side of the fireplace, Katie took a seat on the opposite end of the gray sofa from Wanda and Jonas plopped down in the purple velvet armchair.

"Wanda," Steve started as he introduced the three, "This is Katie and Jonas."

"Hi," Wanda shyly greeted, still holding that metallic silver pillow to her torso. Almost as though she was trying to hide her abdomen. Which Steve found to be odd, but didn't vocally question. If Wanda didn't want to draw attention to it, then he wouldn't.

Bringing his leg up to rest his ankle on his knee, Jonas leaned against the black and white striped pillow and asked, "Got roped into helping decorating?"

"Volunteered," Wanda corrected, giving him a small smile.

"Would you like to help us bake cookies instead?" Katie offered, "Might be more fun than decorating, at least. Even if it is with this bum."

Theatrically, Jonas gasped and touched his chest like a damsel in an old Victorian novel, "The audacity."

"What kind of cookies are you making?" Wanda asked, subtly sniffling.

"The Pillsbury classics," Jonas answered while Katie clarified, "Ghosts and pumpkins."

With his back to the kids, Steve froze. Facing the bookshelf as he set up the more breakable items out of reach of the younger kids, Steve's eyes widened. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten about picking up breakaway Pillsbury sugar cookies. Of course, things had been hectic, so he didn't think the kids would be too upset at him, but he still worried about upsetting them.

"Pops?" Katie prompted.

Sheepishly, Steve turned and explained, "I forgot to pick up the cookies."

"Well," Jonas ran his hand through his two-strand twist locs. The vibrant midnight blue reminded Steve of an ocean at nighttime while also noticing how it complimented Jonas's dark olive-brown complexion. Standing, he pulled his keys from his pocket, "Who wants to go buy cookies?"

"Ooh!" Katie nodded, setting down the ghost plush and turning towards Wanda. She offered, "You wanna join?"

Sincerely shocked, Wanda asked, "Really?"

"Yeah," Katie confirmed as she stood up fixing her green sweatshirt with a picture of a beetle, a plus sign, and a picture of a glass of orange juice.

"If you want to," Jonas added.

Wanda looked up at Steve, almost as though she was asking for permission, Steve picked up a ceramic ghost and smiled, "I don't mind. I can finish up."

"You're sure?" Wanda placed the pillow beside her and pushed herself up from the sofa. The bump starting to throw of her balance, Katie subtly took a step forward, ready to catch her if she needed to.

"I'm positive," Steve waved them off, "Go, have fun!"

"Do we need anything else?" Jonas asked, twirling his keys around his index finger.

Biting his lip, Steve admitted, "Pizza crust."

"Pops," Katie dramatically groaned, as she threw her head back in her playful annoyance. Tightening her bun, she looked over at Steve and said, "We'll be back soon."

"I'll be here," Steve set the cheerful, cute ceramic figure on the shelf and called, "My wallet is next to the coffee maker!"

Discreetly, Steve watched as the trio headed for the door. Smiling when Katie complimented Wanda's velvet black sweater, and chuckling under his breath when Jonas wondered if he could borrow it sometimes. Not necessarily amused that he asked to borrow a maternity top, but that he had asked, so soon after meeting her, to borrow it.

Steve felt light though. Knowing that his children were accepting a new sibling so easily, warmed him to his very core. He only hoped that once Wanda turned eighteen, she'd stick around. If only because Steve didn't want her alone. He didn't want her to struggle, especially not with the baby. It probably should've surprised Steve how much he cared for the girl after such a short time, but after fostering many children over the years, it didn't anymore. He loved all the kids that lived with them. Whether it was permanent or temporary, Steve loved them all.