#i honestly put my hand up to my mouth overcome with emotion when i realized those were their clothes and things

[all-things-ghostly]

Soulmate AU Shorts for the Hatboxes x Reader 🩶🩵

Right off the bat I’m so sorry it’s taking me so long to post chapter 2 of Soul Ties y’all, I’ve been working on it every day it’s just that I’m getting into my own head about how it’s written and the word flow and such and it’s taking me a while to get it done. Luckily I’m almost at the end of it so it should be out soon but until then here’s some fun concepts since I love those slightly dystopian soulmate AUs

Red String of Fate

Alistair: Personally, he could not care less about the string tied around his finger. If anything, he found it to be a nuisance. Alistair didn’t care about love because it’s something he never knew. He never sought you out, he never expected you to come. It’s not like he could leave the mansion either way, so he simply stayed put and ignored its very existence.

Other people in the mansion had mixed opinions on it. Some of the ghosts viewed it as a sign of hope - they prayed for the day his soulmate came along, hoping maybe it would soften some part of his cold, dead heart. Others shuddered at the thought of Alistair having a soulmate, fearing that anyone that he could possibly be attracted to would be just as wretched as him.

Then one day, much to everyone’s surprise, you actually come along. And everybody except Alistair realizes you’re the one. Only when it’s too late and he already has you pinned beneath him, hand raised and ready to claw your throat out, does he notice that the string around his ring finger connects right to yours. The slits that are his pupils dilate and he just stares at it, trying to process everything, especially the fact that he almost just killed his own soulmate. The mix of complex emotions overwhelm him so much that he can’t bear to be there anymore and runs away.

Hatty: Hatty was overjoyed when he woke up one day and saw the string for the first time (you were born long after he died, so the string only formed once you came into existence and were old enough). He had gone over a century without ever having one and therefore just believed he had no soulmate. But no, here it was. Here it really was. Then… that excitement turns to nervousness. You’re probably going to think he’s a complete loser! I mean, look at him—he lives in an attic, a messy one at that, he’s short and he’s shy and not to mention slightly awkward. He’s going to make a complete fool out of himself. So Hatty hides out in that attic until he just can’t take it anymore and the curiosity eats him alive.

In an instant, it’s just like he flees overnight and was never even there in the first place. Escaping through the attic window, Hatty sets out on a long journey to follow his string until he finds you. It takes quite a long time to get to you, but as he rides on trains, walks through busy streets, and sits under the stars, he thinks of exactly what he’ll say when meeting you for the first time. Something so smooth and cool that you’ll just completely ignore all of the things he deemed “negative” about himself and find him absolutely irresistible. It’s a fool-proof plan.

Then, after a long, long while of traveling, he finally finds you.

This is it. Hatty checks himself in the reflection of a window, straightens his posture to look bigger (which… honestly doesn’t do that much) and starts strutting over with the most confidence he could ever exude. The whole thing reminds you of a male peacock. He taps you on the shoulder to get your attention, and when you turn around and look at him…

It all falls apart.

He’s just absolutely stunned by you. How you look, your energy, just… everything about you. And suddenly all that confidence just falls apart. He opens his mouth to try and say that totally awesome thing he had come with, but it just comes out as the most incomprehensible, stuttering babble ever. Immediate embarrassment overcomes him. He really fucked this up. Hatty covers his face to hide himself, scared to see your reaction, but then… you start laughing. It’s not a mocking laugh. Instead, it’s the most beautiful laugh he’s ever heard. He peeks through his fingers to look at you, and instead of the disgusted expression he thought he’d see, he sees your loving smile.

Hatty’s right. He’s a loser.

But that’s what you like about him.

Color Blind AU (You can’t see color until your soulmate touches you)

Alistair: You and Alistair were childhood friends. Well, sort of. His father didn’t want him to be hanging out with “the commoners” so to speak, so he wouldn’t let Alistair visit you in person. However, you would always talk to each other through the windows of your houses when no one else was looking. The two of you had even trained a pigeon to deliver letters to each other.

Then the news spreads throughout the whole society.

Almost very suddenly, his mother has passed away.

Everyone who lives under Addison attends the funeral, including you and your family. Of course, you aren’t allowed to get very close to the front. Those spots were saved only for close family and the extremely wealthy. But you could still hear everything from the back. You noticed that not even halfway through, there were some quiet sobbing sounds coming from the front. They were Alistair’s.

It only got louder and sadder as the funeral progressed. The cries went on for over half an hour without stopping and only got worse when he and his father walked up to view her in the casket. And yet, you noticed that nobody did anything. They had all been whispering amongst themselves in a judgmental tone. You even saw Addison grab Alistair by the wrist and hiss something into his ear at one point.

Eventually, you decide that if no one else is going to help him, you will. You start walking away from your family and rush down the aisle to get to Alistair in the front. One of your parents tries to stop you out of concern, but you don’t listen. Despite everyone’s piercing stares, you fearlessly walk right up to Alistair and wrap him in the biggest hug you can muster.

The boy immediately falls apart in your arms, burying his face into your shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. You hold him tightly while he weeps and absolutely refuse to let go. Tears soak into the fabric of your funeral outfit as Alistair cries and cries into you, his nails death gripping into your back like if he let you go, he’d lose you too.

It takes a few minutes, but finally his hysterical weeping dies down into only mere sniffles. His burning eyes open again. Alistair pulls back from you and wipes the stray tears off his cheeks, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, when he notices something odd…

Everything seems brighter than before.

Hatty: Even though he couldn’t see color, Hatty was a lover of all things artistic. From a young age he was obsessed with arts and crafts and was always coming up with new projects. Though supportive, his parents would always give him a certain… funny look whenever he showed off what he had made. The same thing would happen with some other adults he knew. As he got older, even some of his friends started giving his work odd looks. Hatty never really knew why. But that’s okay. He never let it get to him and kept creating well into his adult years.

Then, he finally meets you, his soulmate. It happened when he was sketching at the park - he had accidentally dropped his pencil, and you both brushed hands against each other when trying to pick it up for him. Both of you absolutely lit up and ended up spending the whole day together, even if it wasn’t the original plan.

That night, he went home to the mansion feeling happier than he ever did before. Not only did he meet the love of his life, but now he could finally see in color! In fact, that’s most of what he had been blabbing about all day. So Hatty couldn’t wait to get back into his attic and get to see all of the wonderful—

Oh, no.

Oh. No.

The color explosion that hit him was so obnoxious he could’ve sworn his eyes would bleed. Oh, the horror! What looked beautiful in greyscale looks like absolute shit in color. Why did nobody tell him he was mixing neon orange with mint green?! Everywhere he looked it was disaster upon disaster upon disaster. Color theory who? Oh, god, now it all made sense! He had a completely warped perception of color all his life!

Oh well. At least he got to meet you today.

Crack Bonus: OG Hatbox Ghost

Hatbox hated only being able to see in black and white. He felt like there was just so much that he was missing out on. Fields of flowers, sunsets, fireworks. He was tired of this lifestyle and wanted to meet his soulmate as soon as possible.

So he started “accidentally” bumping into absolutely everyone in sight when he walked by on the street. He got away with it by pretending that he was just rusty with his cane, but in reality he was just trying to touch as many people as he could hoping to find the one. Shockingly, it actually worked. One day he smacked right into you and his vision exploded with color.

Hatbox didn’t even let you introduce yourself before immediately rushing off to look for the nearest mirror. He had always wondered what he looked like outside of that greyscale prison. Finally, he rushes into the nearest clothing store, dashes into the changing room, and looks himself up and down.

He looks… exactly the same.

Utter disappointment.

[skinnyducky]

made for you // v.h.

hello.. im sorry i havent been posting. school has been keeping me busy but i wanted to post this. this idea comes from @yelenasdarling so thank you ! i recommend listening to halley’s comet by billie eilish (as well as the whole album) bc that’s the song that is being discussed in this (as well as many others), so yuh. enjoy ! and i promise i haven’t forgotten about party @ y/ns !

vinnie hacker x singer!fem!reader

Word Count: 1408, edited

WARNING: MAJOR FLUFF LUV

---------

As the year was coming to an end, so was your debut album. For months, you’d been working with the best producers, musicians, and doing endless promo for this album and within a few days, you’d be playing it for the label. Obviously because it is your first record, you’re protective over it. No one had heard it besides the people working on it. So, you were a bit nervous to let your pleading boyfriend, Vinnie, tag along to the studio with you.

It was Friday, and you two had been chilling in his room when your producer, Sarah, said she needed you to go over it before the label meeting. As you bid your goodbyes to Vinnie, informing him of the reason for your departure, he pouted. “Why can’t I come?” he nearly cried, giving you his puppy dog eyes. Because you couldn’t resist them—and you just can’t say “no” to him—you allowed him to come.

Now here the two of you were, in the studio and listening to Sarah go on and on about how long it took for her to finish mastering it. Your manager, Jen, had came too. She had to hear the album for herself also. She couldn’t have her client looking a mess in front of her bosses. Bad for business and her reputation.

“…and after an hour or two of making sure your vocals were clear, I finally finish the album.” Sarah explained. “Honestly, this is probably the best album I’ve produced in a minute, and I worked on SZA’s album.”

“That good?” Vinnie asked with a smirk, leaning against the studio door. “That’s sick. I’m ready to listen to it.”

As that sentence left Vinnie’s mouth, you felt your anxiety overcome you. “Are you sure, Sarah? There has to be some sort of adlib I need to rework or something. Can’t be ready so soon.”

“Y/n, it can’t get any better than this. This is a solid project. I should know, I spent days listening to it over and over again. Trust me, it’s ready.”

“Besides, it’s too late to rerecord now.” Jen added. “The label meeting is next Thursday, and we don’t have a week for Sarah to mix and master all over again. Once the label gives us the greenlight, if there’s anything to tweak, you can do it before you have to submit the final project. But until then, no changes and no additions.”

You sighed, nodded your head. It’s not that you were afraid of it not being perfect. You were more scared of what Vinnie would think. I mean, he’s the one who inspired the album; more than half of the songs are about him. His opinion meant everything to you, and if he didn’t like an inch of it…that would destroy you.

As you were sulking and picking at your chipped nail polish, Vinnie wandered over to you where you sat at the soundboard with Sarah. He leaned against it and smiled down at you. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Nothing.” You sighed, keeping your head down. He scoffed and chuckled. “Y/n, you’re playing with your nail polish. You always do that when you’re upset.”

He pulled you up and took you out of your seat before sitting down himself and placing you on his lap. “Tell Santa what’s up.” He joked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I’m just nervous. This album means so much to me.”

“Completely understandable. It’s your first one, it should mean a lot to you.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just because of that. It’s also because it’s about you. The only reason you haven’t came with me to the studio until now is because I didn’t want you to hate anything on this, and it would kill me if you did.”

“Y/n, look at me”—you finally met his eyes for the first time—“I could never not like anything you do. Especially if it’s dedicated to me. That’s like throwing away a gift you gave me. I wouldn’t ever do that. So don’t think for a minute that I’d hate this. That’s literally impossible.”

You smiled, planting a kiss on his forehead. “You’re too good for me.”

“I know.” He laughed and turned to Sarah. “Play us the album!” He said dramatically, sending the producer into a fit of giggles.

She followed his orders and with a few clicks and the press of a button, the first song from your album rang out from the studio speakers. You watched timidly as Vinnie bobbed his head up and down as it went from track to track.

“This shit slaps!” He exclaimed as “Y/n Bossa Nova” played. He nearly about died during “Oxytocin”, claiming it to be god tier. Minutes went by until you got to the final track “Halley’s Comet”, and you were scared to play him this song.

While the other tracks were quite playful in nature, this one was different. The song was a bit cynical, but it was also like a love letter to Vinnie. Never before have you ever felt what you had with him. And at first that made you scared. But as the months went by and your relationship started to blossom, you realized he was the one for you. This was just your way of telling him that.

When it started, you looked everywhere but at Vinnie. It wasn’t just because you couldn’t bear to see the expression on his face, but also because this song was quite emotional. You didn’t want him to see you “being a little bitch” as you put it.

The sound of your soft vocals bounced off the walls and you felt Vinnie place his chin on your shoulder. His hold on you grew tighter as he swayed you two back forth. A small smile crept it’s way onto your face as you tried your best to stray away from crying.

“I’ve been loved before, but right now in this moment,” you sung, “I feel more and more like I was made for you…”

When those lyrics hit, you felt Vinnie stop swaying. Hell, you were pretty sure he had stopped breathing too. You didn’t know what to think about that; did he not like the song, is he shocked? What was he thinking and feeling? Shortly after, the song came to an end with you singing, “I think I might have fallen in love…what am I to do?”

And with that, the album finished. The room was silent, the only sound being your sniffles. Although that was broken when Sarah screamed. “Wasn’t that amazing!? Ugh, my power…I really outdid myself on this one.”

Thankfully, Jen understood the impact of that last song. “Sarah, why don’t we go get a Snickers or something from the vending machine?”

“I can’t eat anything fatty, Jen. You know this.”

Jen mouthed some profanities and threats at the woman causing her to shoot up from her chair and run out into the hallway. “We’ll leave you two alone for a minute.” Jen smiled, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Neither of you or Vinnie spoke and that somewhat was comforting. However, part of it made you feel insecure about the album, “Halley’s Comet” in specific. Out of all the songs, that’s the one you wanted him to like the most.

The silence soon grew uncomfortable, so you decided to be the first to speak. “Well, that was the album. What’d you think?”

He opened his mouth, but it was obviously he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I-I don’t know how to even put it in words.”

“That bad?” You sighed.

“No, never.” He laughed. “It was beautiful, all of it really. And that last song, that was amazing.”

You pursed your lips, hiding the grin wanting to break free. “You think so?”

“Yeah, it was definitely one of my favorites. To know I had that much of an impact on you, it’s really sweet. I didn’t think I could simp for you any harder than I do now.”

“Shut up!” you laughed, slapping his shoulder.

“It’s the truth!” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. “I love you, Y/n. I really do.”

“I love you too.” And with that, he laid a sweet and gentle kiss on your lips.

Pulling back, he said, “Oh and just so you know, I agree with you.”

“On what?”

“You were definitely made for me.”

[tripleaxeldiaz]

elmosolyodni for the wordstuck prompts 💕

elmosolyodni: to slowly break out into a genuine smile when being overcome with emotions, like love or utter happiness.

read on ao3

As much as he wanted it to be, as much as he wanted it for himself, Eddie’s never been great at romance. 

His proposal to Shannon was more like a suggestion, a stuttering statement that tumbled out of him when she showed him the positive test six months after their first date. And he didn’t give it much thought again — didn’t have time to think about it — until a couple months into his tour, when his team was swapping stories about wives and husbands over dinner and someone asked, “So Diaz, how’d you pop the question?”

The fact that he didn’t have a story to tell stung more than he thought it would.

He tried to make it up to her — bought her flowers when he was home, took her out for their anniversary every year, but between parenthood and redeployment and the growing chasm between them when he came back the second time, any notion of romance felt harder and harder to hold onto. And when she left, amid the panic and shame and anger, there was also a sadness, a resignation that the romance he’d quietly craved just wasn’t meant for him. He had bills to pay, a kid to take care of, a life to rebuild. Sweeping gestures from him or for him no longer seemed important.

That all changed when he met Buck, as most things in his life did.

Even before they started dating, Eddie wanted to do things for Buck. He wanted to buy him the shirt in the window display that reminded him of his eyes, wanted to make sure that they always had his weird Icelandic yogurt in the fridge for when he stayed over, wanted to wrap him up when he got that broken look on his face and remind him that he is loved by everyone and especially by Eddie. It was a physical need, one he felt in his gut every time, but he’d shut that part of himself off so firmly that all he could do was hope it didn’t linger too long. Buck needed a friend, and he’d be damned if he did anything stupid enough to ruin what they already had, what they’d already built.

It took a bullet ripping through his abdomen to make him realize what a terrible idea that had been.

But a year later wounds are healed, PT is long done, and he wakes up next to Buck every morning feeling happier than he has in almost a decade. He gets to buy the shirt for him, stock up on yogurt, and press himself into Buck’s space until his eyes get their spark back. He can fantasize about the house they’ll buy or the dogs they’ll adopt once Chris moves out.

He can see a titanium ring in the display case of the jewelry store at the mall and perfectly imagine what it would look like on Buck’s finger.

And he can make it all the way to his truck after buying it before the panic starts to set it.

He doesn’t register driving to Maddie and Chim’s until he’s frantically knocking on the door, hoping he heard Buck right and that Maddie’s off today taking care of a sick Jee-yun. The door flies open, and he sees Maddie’s face go from pissed to surprised to confused as she zeros in on the velvet box held limply in his hand.

“Uh, Eddie, that’s really sweet, but there are a lot of reasons why this would never work.”

His laugh is borderline hysterical as he gently pushes into the apartment. “It’s for Buck, but I— we haven’t really— I don’t even know if—” He doesn’t realize he’s pacing until Maddie takes his elbow and steers him to the couch, hands him a glass of water, and pushes him to sit.

“Breathe. Drink,” she says, and he does as his mind keeps spinning. She sets the empty glass on the coffee table and sits in the armchair across from him. “Okay. You want to propose. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course.” It’s the best thing, at the very top of a list of things he thought were untoppable.

“Have you guys talked about getting married?”

It wasn’t so much a conversation as a shift in language — one day the phrase “if we get married” changed to “when we get married” and neither of them thought twice about it because it felt so right.

“Sort of,” he settles on.

“And you’re sure he’d say yes?”

“Yes.” There’s few things in life he’s ever been so sure of, no matter what his earlier panic was making him think.

“So what’s the problem?”

He slumps back on the couch, hands running through his hair. “I don’t know how to do it.”

Maddie squints at him. “Eddie, it’s a pretty hard thing to mess up. And you’ve already been married, so don’t you have some practice?”

“That was different,” he says. “Shannon was already pregnant, it was more like a to-do list item than anything else. I didn’t even get her a ring until a couple months later.”

“Well you’re already a step ahead there, so that’s good.”

He sighs, pulling the ring box out of his pocket again and opening it. The thin line of silver running through the black glints in the sunlight, and he can still picture Buck wearing it so clearly, he’s just not sure how it gets there. All he knows is this aching need he can feel in his chest to make sure that however he does it, it’s enough — more than enough — that Buck knows exactly how deep his love runs, exactly how desperately Eddie needs him in his life and by his side.

Maddie moves to sit next to him and takes the box, and Eddie falls back into the cushions again. “I just want it to be perfect for him,” he says quietly. “Romantic. All the stuff people dream about when they think about getting engaged. But I have no idea how to do that.”

Maddie studies the ring for a minute before shutting the box, pressing it into his hand until he looks her in the eye. Her gaze is steady, piercing, and very (scarily) reminiscent of her brother’s. “You are asking him to marry you. It’s already perfect.” The reassurance helps, and it’s easy to smile back at her when she squeezes his hand. 

“But,” she says, reaching for a pen and notebook on the coffee table, “a little romance never killed anyone, so let’s make some lists and figure out what you do and don’t want to do.”

Lists sound good. Eddie can work with lists.

“Rule number one,” she says, already scribbling, “no sporting events. Nothing kills the mood faster than seeing your face on a Jumbotron…”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, none of the lists really matter.

Because two weeks later, they’re sitting on the back patio after dinner, night air cool and lit up around them by the lights Chris insisted on hanging for his last backyard sleepover. Buck’s going on about a patient who tried to insist he could do CPR on himself, and Eddie’s hypnotized by his enthusiasm, the expressiveness of his hands and the joyful blush on his cheeks. He says something that makes both of them laugh, bubbling through the quiet of the neighborhood, and Eddie knows, immediately and with every part of him.

He has to ask Buck now. It’s not the candlelit dinner and walk on the beach he’d decided on with Maddie, nor is it even close to as big and bold as anything else they’d come up with. But none of that matters now because his skin is buzzing and his heart is pounding and he doesn’t want the ring burning in his pocket a minute longer — he wants to swear himself to Buck right here, in this moment that is extraordinarily ordinary and perfectly them. This is a story he wants to tell people over and over, to their family and friends and anyone else who will listen.

The universe must still be trying to make up for the hell it put him through last year, because the playlist coming through their portable speaker changes to something softer, romantic, and Eddie takes his chance before he talks himself out of it.

“Dance with me,” he says, standing and offering his hand to Buck. 

“I’m sorry, are my stories boring?” Buck laughs as he takes his hand, folding into Eddie’s space like he’s always meant to be there, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Never,” Eddie says, and he pauses, because the one thing he and Maddie didn’t talk about was what he actually wanted to say to Buck when he asked. And now that he’s here with very little preparation, the huge, all-encompassing feelings he has for Buck refuse to be wrangled into a few measly sentences. None of the words he can think of feel big enough to capture how deeply his love runs, and he can feel his skin start buzzing for a much more unpleasant reason.

Hands squeeze his waist, zoning him back in and focusing him on Buck, on the crease between his eyebrows and the worry around his mouth. “Everything okay?” he asks, because he always knows when Eddie gets lost in himself, sometimes even before Eddie figures it out. 

Buck knows him better than he knows himself. He doesn’t need big, poetic monologues for Buck to understand what’s going on inside his head.

The buzzing changes again, fueling his determination as he slips his hand into his pocket. “I love you. So much it’s almost scary. But I’m more scared of spending the rest of my life without you,” he holds the ring up between them, “so will you marry me?”

Buck freezes, stopping them both from swaying with the music. Eddie watches his eyes flit between the ring and Eddie and back again, holding his breath as he waits for an answer. Finally, Buck’s eyes lock on Eddie and stay there, a soft smile growing and growing until it’s so incandescently bright that Eddie’s afraid he might have to look away or risk losing his vision.

And then, just as quickly, Buck drops his hands from Eddie’s waist and runs back into the house.

Eddie honestly isn’t sure what to make of this, the only thought running through his head being what the fuck just happened here. But then Buck’s running back outside, still smiling and not-so-secretly holding something behind his back, and now it’s Eddie’s turn to glow.

“You’re joking,” he says quietly, cheeks already hurting from a smile that feels permanent and eyes feeling a little wet.

Buck shakes his head, his eyes shining too as he holds up the velvet box. “Bought it like a month ago when Chris and I went to buy him a new backpack, I had to bribe him with a new video game to keep him quiet. I haven’t even gotten a chance to tell Maddie yet.”

Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if the sheer amount of joy coursing through his veins was making him float a couple inches off the ground. “Is that a yes then?” he asks.

Buck’s laugh is loud and sharp, and Eddie can’t think of a more perfect sound. He takes the ring out and tosses the box aside, holding it up next to the one in Eddie’s hand. “Only if you’ll marry me too.”

It’s a flurry, then, of rings on fingers and breathless kisses and whispers of I love you, I love you so much. The whirlwind settles and they start swaying to the music again, holding each other even closer, and Eddie revels in the new weight on his hand that ties them together. He feels light and loved, completely enveloped in this romance that he’s finally able to give fully and receive just as well. 

Buck takes his hand and places a kiss just below his ring, and Eddie knows this is just the beginning. They have a lifetime of love and happiness ahead of them, and Eddie finally feels like he deserves it.

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Switch

Day 10, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: The Switch

Author: adenei

Pairing: George Weasley/Angelina Johnson

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T

TW: Mentions of character death

***********

The shop is quiet as George locks the door to his office. It’s been a month since the grand re-opening of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and the steady thrum of customers has put the business back on track to where it was before the untimely closure due to the war. Things are different, of course, with Fred not being there, but George’s family and friends have stepped up and offered more support than George knows what to do with—not that he wanted it in the first place.

  In retrospect, he is thankful for his family and friends, Ron and Angelina in particular. They helped him put down the bottle and get his life back on track. 

  “Fred wouldn’t want this.” Angelina had told him late one night while she and Lee were staying over in his flat that smelled of days-old Firewhisky and hadn’t been cleaned since before they’d gone into hiding at Aunt Muriel’s.

  “How would Fred feel if you let everything the two of you worked for go to shit? How would you feel if the tables were turned and if it was—” Ron had yelled as he snatched the half-full bottle away from his brother and dumped it down the drain. The emotion was raw as the words caught in his throat, the end of the phrase hanging between them like the weight of a bludger pulling them down and grounding them.

  At first, he’d been pissed, but they were right. Fred wouldn’t have wanted George to resort to any of that. And even though he’d been begrudging in accepting help to begin with, George knew he wouldn’t have gotten the shop up and running as swiftly as he did without everyone’s help. The hole in his heart still ached, and not a moment went by where he didn’t miss his brother, but finding a new stride in this post-war life is exactly the push George needed to not only move on but also honor and make Fred proud.

  As George makes his way onto the main floor of the shop, a figure standing behind the counter makes him pause. He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, the unrequited crush from his Hogwarts days now thrust back in his life, as if to taunt him of just another thing he’ll never have.

  “You’re still here?” The exhaustion is apparent in George’s voice after a ten-hour day.

  “Yeah, I wanted to make sure you didn’t stay on and try to do all the inventory yourself again like last week.” Angelina runs her fingers over the various displays of fireworks that are locked away behind the checkout area as she lightly teases George.

  “Nah, I learned from that mistake. Besides, don’t you have your regular job that you need to get back to? Now that things are running smoothly again, we’ll be able to manage without the extra help. Especially once things die down after the first.”

  “I don’t mind spending a few hours here after work, you know that. Things’ll start to pick up again soon once the Quidditch season gets underway, I’m sure, but right now, my corresponding duties are light. Call me crazy, but I’ve enjoyed spending more time with you lately. Almost makes me feel like we’re back in Hogwarts, you know? When real life and responsibilities seemed so far away.”

  A chuckle escapes George’s lips. It was true, all this time they’d been spending together, especially with Lee and sometimes Alicia, almost made everything feel right again.

  “Well, we can hang out in other places, too. I swear I don’t live at Wheeze’s.”

  “George, you live upstairs.”

“Ah, bugger off.”

  “I’m only teasing.”

  “And all I’m saying is if you want to do something outside these walls, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Are you hungry, then?”

  A genuine laugh bubbles up into George’s throat at Angelina’s brazenness. “Bloody hell, woman! Impatient much?”

  His outburst brings a smile to Angelina’s face, brightening the dark circles under her eyes from the extra hours spent helping out. 

  “You’re the one who said to ask. So, what do you say? Fancy a drink and a meal down the street? It’s late enough that the Leaky shouldn’t be too busy.”

  “I s’pose it couldn’t hurt. Beats making something for myself, that’s for sure.”

  “Great, let’s go.” 

  Angelina walks around the counter and reaches out to take George’s hand in hers. An electric shock shoots up his arm from the point of contact, and George has to stop himself from pulling away from the surprise of it all. A memory flashes through his mind of twinkling lights amongst a silver backdrop in the Great Hall all those years ago. He sees two figures dancing and twirling to the music of the Weird Sisters, one with flaming red hair much like his own and the other whose sapphire gown swished against the travertine floor. The memory brings a reminiscent smile to his lips as Angelina tugs him out the door.

  When they reach the Leaky, the pair settles into a quiet booth in the back of the establishment, away from curious eyes. It’s late in the evening for a meal, which is made evident by the empty tables and chairs scattered throughout the pub. Only a handful of patrons litter the bar, allowing Tom to be attentive to their needs. 

  George takes a large swig when the barkeep returns with Butterbeers, and they place their orders.

  “No shot of Firewhisky tonight then?” 

  George shakes his head. “I told you, Ange, I was serious about stopping. I can’t use the bottle as a crutch for grief anymore.”

  Angelina nods as she observes him intently. George can feel the heat of her gaze trailing over him as he takes another sip from his drink. 

  “You’re staring.”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Oh? And here I was thinking I was mesmerizing you with my dashing good looks,” George quips. 

  Angelina smiles, and for a moment, George thinks he sees a blush on her cheeks before she recovers.  For all the time they spent together during Hogwarts, and more recently in the months following the war, George finds it odd that they’re struggling with conversation now.

  “Knut for your thoughts?” asks George.

  “Just that it’s been nice reconnecting with you. And Lee. Circumstances are shit, of course, but with my hectic schedule during Quidditch season, I don’t get much time for socializing and friends. I even had to drop my registration for the semi-pro league I was hoping to play for.”

  George nods, and his stomach twists as he processes her words. That would mean she’d be leaving soon once things got busy. He’s overcome with the urge to see if her job is something she’s passionate about.

  “Do you love it? Your job, I mean.”

  “Well, yeah, if I can’t play professionally, the next best thing is writing and commentating. Plus, I’ve gotten to see the world all on the Ministry’s dime. Can’t complain there…”

  “But is it something you see yourself doing for a long time?” George presses. He doesn’t mean to sound judgmental, but he needs to know if it’s even worth it to pursue.

  “Well, after graduation, it seemed like the right fit. The opening was there, my parents were encouraging me to see the world, and I didn’t have anything tying me down. Honestly, I think my parents thought it was safer for me to travel, especially with the war on...”

  And what about now? 

  George is nodding his head up and down while the question ricochets in his mind. He opens his mouth, gathering the courage to allow the four words to escape his mouth when Angelina interrupts him.

  “Well, there are some openings that would allow me to stay in London that have just come up. They’re looking for commentators and stats writers for the matches played in the Kensington stadium. So, if you needed an extra hand at the shop, I could stay—”

  “—I don’t want you to stay for the shop. If you want to travel the world, you should. I doubt you’ve seen all the world has to offer in two seasons.”

  No! What are you thinking! 

  George can almost hear Fred chastising him for his rash response. It doesn’t come out the way he meant it to sound, and he knows he messed up given the crestfallen look on Ange’s face.

  “I only meant—”

  “I-I’ve actually already put in for the London job, George. And I promise it’s not because of the shop. Lee promised to help me with commentating, and this way I can play again. I start training next week. You know how much I missed playing Quidditch, and now that England is safer, I can stay and have the best of both worlds.” 

  The longer she goes on, it feels like she’s rambling and going on with a laundry list of pre-prepared reasons, which doesn’t sound like the Angelina he knows. It’s almost like she’s trying to convince herself that those are the reasons she’s staying, and not for anything else.

  “Oh.”

  Ange rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I know you and Fred always used to think you two were the center of the universe, but I promise I didn’t choose to stay just for you.”

  Her voice is light, and she’s smiling, but George can’t help but sense something else lingering beneath the surface. Disappointment, perhaps? Or maybe he’s just reading into things too much. Hoping something might be between them that really isn’t. He forces himself to stop overthinking and simply enjoy her company instead.

  “Well, I, for one, am happy you’re staying. We’ll be able to get together more often, and it’ll almost feel like our Hogwarts days. Maybe I’ll even be able to convince you and Alicia to test new products again.”

  Angelina nearly spits out her Butterbeer at George’s joke as Tom approaches with their meal. He knows he’s not fooling either of them; the irony is that the girls were always two steps ahead of him and his brother. They were the only two in their year who managed to avoid becoming test subjects to all of their prototypes.

  The two fall into more reminiscing as they tuck into their fish and chips. George doesn’t realize how ravenous he is until he starts eating, and he’s even more grateful for Ange’s suggestion now.

  As they are polishing off the remainder of their baskets, the topic of conversation falls on the Yule Ball, as Ange remembers how Fred had tossed the wad of paper at her.

  “It was romantic, wasn’t it?” George jokes as he remembers his brother’s ridiculous attempt at asking a girl out. “Still don’t know why you said yes to that tosser.”

  To this day, he’d always resented his brother for drawing his wand first and asking Ange to the ball. Of course, George knew it was all meant to be a bluff. It was Fred’s attempt to get his brother to buck up the courage and ask Angelina for himself. 

  George remembers it vividly. “Just ask her. What’s the worst she’ll say? No? Fine, if you won’t do it, I will.”

  When Fred had gotten Ange’s attention, George had no idea what to expect. They were usually well in tune with each other, and George could anticipate Fred’s moves, but when his brother had asked Angelina himself, it took George by surprise.

  “We were getting down to the wire, weren’t we?” Angelina interrupts George’s thoughts. “No one else had asked me, so I figured it was better to go with one twin than none at all.”

  George chooses the wrong moment to polish off the last of his chips. The fried potato catches in his throat, and he coughs it up, all while reaching for the last dredges of his Butterbeer to clear things out.

  Did she just say it was better to go with one twin than none at all? But then that would mean… 

  “Ange, don’t tell me you were waiting for me to ask you.”

  She shrugs and averts her eyes from his gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you’d asked, let’s put it that way.”

  After this revelation, George burst into laughter. To anyone else in the near vicinity, it probably sounded like he should be admitted to the Janus Thickney Ward. He hasn’t laughed this hard since he and Fred were able to pull off a prank on Muriel shortly after arriving at her Manor at the end of March.

  “You—Fred—I—me—” He can’t seem to formulate a coherent string of thoughts until Angelina goes from amused to offended.

  “Honestly, George, I didn’t realize it was that funny. Forget I said anything.” She checks her watch and gathers her bag. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. It’s getting late, and clearly the thought of the two of us together appalls—”

  She’s in the process of standing up when George sobers from the onslaught of irony and reaches out to grab her wrist.

  “Ange, wait. I’m not laughing at that. Just—just give me a chance to explain, yeah?” He pulls her into the bench beside him, where she lands on her bottom harder than she needed to as she lets out a loud huff of indignation.

  “Fred never intended to go with you when he asked.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows have raised so high on her face that George is surprised they haven’t gotten lost in her braids.

  “No, what I mean is, he’d been pestering me to ask you since the ball was announced. He knew I had a thing for you—obviously—and was being supportive.”

  It felt weird for George to admit that he fancied Angelina in school now, after so many years of keeping it close to his chest. Fred and Lee were the only two who ever knew.

  “So, what are you trying to say, then?”

  “When Fred asked you...I was shocked, too. I didn’t realize he’d already devised a plan that I didn’t cotton on to right away.”

  The look on Angelina’s face transformed from defensive to shock to comprehension, all in the span of a few seconds. “Don’t tell me…”

  “Being an identical twin has—er, had—its benefits.”

  “So.. are you trying to tell me that I didn’t go to the ball with Fred?”

  “Nope.”

  “And at the end of the night, when I kissed Fred in an attempt to make you jealous, I was actually kissing you all along?”

  “Sorry if it was disappointing.” The wisecrack escapes George’s lips before he can stop it.

  Half of him is expecting Angelina to slap him for the ‘switcheroo’ that he and Fred pulled, and in fairness, they deserved it. What if Ange actually had fancied Fred, and they’d pulled one over on her?

  But to his surprise, Angelina does the opposite. She leans in and kisses George right then and there. The same shock he felt when holding her hand earlier ignites within him once more as he lets his body take control. He allows himself to get lost in the feel of her lips, realizing that it’s the first time he’s truly felt like himself since Fred’s passing. He even dares to let himself think he’s found happiness again.

  Eventually, George pulls away as his lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen. They remain close, foreheads touching as he offers a weak smile. 

  “Y’know, I was going to tell you it was me at the end of the night, but how could I when I thought I was going to break your heart when you thought you’d kissed Fred?”

  “You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

  “Yeah, but you can’t argue with sixteen-year-old George’s logic, can you?”

  Ange rolls her eyes and leans back. George misses the contact as soon as it’s gone.

  “What do you say we get out of here?” Ange raises her eyebrows in question as if tempting him to follow when she scoots out from the bench a second time.

  George pulls enough money to cover their meals out of his wallet and leaves it on the table before scooching out behind her. He pays no mind to the remaining customers as he pulls Angelina back into him and whispers in her ear,

  “I’d say we’ve wasted five years of pointless pining to wait any longer.”

[winterbanner]

Mercy (Bruce Banner/OFC)

Summary: Bruce is upset after a mission goes awry. Can Catherine's words help him to see himself in the way that she does? Takes place six months after the first avengers film. 

Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt/ Comfort

Word Count: 2687

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rated PG-13

Pairing: Bruce Banner x OFC (Catherine King, former SHIELD agent gone rogue, now a member of the Avengers.) Her name is only mentioned twice, so just ignore it of you’re looking for a self-insert) 

It wasn’t easy being an Avenger, but today felt especially taxing. The battle wasn’t necessarily harder than others, it was the civilians that made the experience all the more horrific. They were everywhere, scattered throughout the streets, sprinting in a panic to find cover, to save themselves from the cataclysmic destruction. We tried to direct them all to safety, and for the most part we were successful, but there were only seven of us and hundreds upon hundreds of them.

When it’s your job to save lives it becomes difficult to focus on the positives, to think about the ones you saved, to consider how many lives would have been lost if you were not present. It is impossible to celebrate a victory, when the dead bodies of innocent civilians, bloodied and lying under the rubble, products of a conflict in which you were involved, are imprinted in your mind. It haunts all of us, but perhaps no one more than Dr. Banner.

I saw it happen, a young couple, was attempting to run into a department store for cover. Hand in hand they attempted to dodge the flying debris, while avoiding the menacing robotic soldiers that flooded the streets. 

Hulk was there, doing his duty smashingly, taking cars, and large chunks of metal, and throwing them at our adversaries, leaving them as nothing more than a pile of wires. The decision had been made to keep Hulk off the field as much as possible, for Bruce’s sake mostly, but also in the hopes of lessening the inevitable damage. There were times, however, when his strength was needed. For those occasions we taught him to avoid civilians, and the effort was made. Oftentimes you could find him gently careening around a group of huddled innocents, stepping between them and whatever destructive chaos we found ourselves faced with. This time however, he made a mistake, and when Hulk makes a mistake, the consequences can be gruesome. 

He heaved a car, vaulting it over his head at a group of enemy soldiers, but in the midst of our enemies stood the young couple, and as the car came crashing down, they were crushed. The young woman was left barely alive, screaming for her partner, who could be found a few feet away, his head crushed under the fender. Her outcries of pain and grief echoed through the streets, and over the sounds of metal clanging and weapon blasting, piercing our ears, with guilt and shame.

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault. He had no control over what precautions the Hulk did or didn't take, but despite his genius, that concept was something he couldn’t seem to comprehend. Bruce can see what happens during the time he spends as the other guy, he can see the destruction and death, just as much as any of us can, the only difference is that he can’t choose to run away, to duck for cover, to defend rather than attack. He has no control.

It was getting late, our wounds had been tended to, and we were beginning to settle down for the night. For many of us that didn’t necessarily mean sleep, it meant going onto our prospective floors to process the day's events. I, however, wasn’t planning on heading up to my quarters just yet, I wanted to check in on Bruce. I knew for a fact he hadn’t eaten, and I could also guess the toll that the day’s events must’ve taken on his mental state.

As I stepped out of the sleek silver elevator, I could see Bruce out on his balcony, staring down at the destruction from hours before. It was cold outside, and he still hadn’t changed out of the ripped up clothes he scrounged up from the battlefield. His curls were still dirty and his hands were shaky as they clung to his opposing forearms, squeezing himself tightly. He had been crying, the evidence found in the redness of his eyes and the wetness of his cheeks. I grabbed a blanket that laid haphazardly on a nearby chair, and approached the terrace, food in hand.

“Hey,” I whispered, in an attempt not to startle him.

He jumped, before turning around to see who exactly the voice was coming from. When he saw that it was me, I saw the tension in his body release. “Hey Catherine,” he croaked. He was sitting on a patio sofa, staring out over the mangled concrete, flashing police lights and Stark Industry construction workers, that littered the streets of Manhattan.

I gently sat down next to him, before placing the steaming plate of pasta on the nearby coffee table. I took the blanket, and began to wrap it around his shoulders. He winced at my actions, afraid for me to touch him.

“It’s okay” I whispered, as I slowly placed a hand on his, in an attempt to show that I trusted him. I took the blanket and draped it over his broad shoulders before sitting back down again and turning my body towards his. It broke my heart to know that he was afraid to let me touch him, that he thought of himself to be that dangerous.

“Thank you.” he said, finally looking me in the eye.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a loving squeeze, a nonverbal you’re welcome.

He then turned his gaze back to the streets, his expression immediately hardening, holding within it a plethora of sorrowful emotion.

I looked over and saw that the plate of food had stopped steaming, growing colder from the chilly New York air.

“I brought you some pasta, Clint made it so it might taste like shit.” I joked gesturing the plate and fork towards him.

He smiled briefly at my comment. “You didn’t need to do that,'' he said. Before taking the serving of pasta. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

Bruce always had a way of deflecting your kind gestures, of making himself feel like he didn’t deserve them. “You haven’t eaten in hours Bruce and even if you had, I still wanted to come up here and check on you anyway.”

He looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, really thank you.” he said before twisting some pasta onto the fork and bringing it to his mouth.

“And surprisingly it doesn’t taste like shit.” He joked causing me to chuckle.

We both sat and watched the policeman directing traffic as he ate, all within a state of silence. From an outside perspective Bruce wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but when you took the time to get to know him, it wasn’t long before you realized that the man could talk your ear off. When he was passionate or excited about something, he could talk for hours, patiently explaining every particle, and every computation. Watching his face light up when I would ask a question, or when he realized that I was understanding, had become an occurrence I adored. Tonight, however, he didn’t utter a word. Probably in the fear that he may break down in front of me.

He finished up his meal quickly, he must’ve been starving, before placing his empty plate down on the table, and looking back to the street. It was honestly nice to see the city being picked up, to remind ourselves that the damage done can be fixed. There are certain types of destruction, however, that cannot me mended.

Two EMTs approached a pile of rubble. We witnessed their struggling to retrieve something, and to our horror they emerged with the body of a woman. They checked her vitals, and by the looks of dismay, it became apparent to us that she was dead. The emergency workers retrieved a body bag, and gently zipped up her carcass, thus sealing her fate. My heart ached as I thought of her family. That innocent woman could have been a wife, a parent, a child. Now remembered as a life cut short, lost to those they loved forevermore. I felt the pang of guilt press down on my chest, my mind overcome with the thought that that we could’ve somehow prevented the gruesome scene sprawled out before my eyes.

I looked over to Bruce, his eyes wide as he gazed upon the tragic scene that lay before us. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, I swear he didn’t even blink. He felt as though he deserved to watch this scene, to wallow in the pain that he may have caused.The screams of that young woman probably still echoing in his mind. I reached over and put a hand on his back, before rubbing small circles.

“Bruce let’s go inside okay. We don’t have to watch this” I said softly, as I gently gripped his chin pulling his gaze away from the street below to look at me.

He nodded in agreement, more concerned for my well-being that his. We both stood up and walked back inside to his sitting area, my hand still resting softly on the curvature of his back, as we took our seats on his familiar sofa. I had spent many nights sitting in this same spot, whether that be drinking and laughing with him and Tony, or after a mission in a similar situation as this one, I felt at home here, with Bruce. There were even some mornings where I had accidentally fallen asleep on that very cushion, only to awaken and find myself perfectly tucked in, with the smell of maple pancakes wafting from the kitchen.

After watching what had just happened, Bruce was trying even harder to hold back his emotions. He sat there, his hands shaking as they clasped together, his head hung in shame staring at his feet, his eyes glistening with tears. I scooted closer to him, before wrapping an arm around his feeble frame, my thumb gently rubbing his shoulder. He leaned into my touch, his weight shifting so his body pressed into my side.  

“What happened today wasn’t your fault.” I whispered, rubbing my hand up and down his back, in an attempt to bring him back to reality, away from whatever thoughts plagued his mind.

He pulled away, recoiling at the sound of my words that were telling him the exact opposite of what he had been telling himself. “I-I saw it happen, If I had just taken control, if I had just…”, he looked down once more, placing his head in his hands in an act of frustration. He wasn’t angry at me, he was angry at the Hulk for not being more careful, and mostly he was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t save them from the giant he was forcibly given the responsibility to manage.

I will never know what it is like to be plagued with something like the Hulk. The risk of danger and violence forever living just under the skin, unable to be fully contained or controlled. I will never know exactly what Bruce suffers through, but in this situation I unfortunately had some expertise.

I sighed, causing Bruce to look up from his sorrowful stance, as I adjusted my sitting position in the effort to make myself more comfortable.

“Ten years ago, I got a call from Fury telling me I was needed in Chicago for a negotiation. Some prick wanted access to SHIELDS weapon blueprints, in exchange for what I was told was “highly classified cargo”. I was instructed to give the contact false intel, it was risky, but nothing I wasn’t used to. “

“I had guessed that this special cargo would have been some sort of weapon, or at the worst maybe a high profile hostage, but when I arrived on location it turned out to be so much worse. These masked bastards had children, I’m talking little kids, lined up execution style. They looked so scared…”

At this point my breaths had become more shaky, causing me to take a moment to gather my senses. Bruce had scooted himself closer in an attempt to comfort me.

“I was so fucking pissed at Fury for not telling me, I just- I wasn’t prepared ya know?”

Bruce nodded and rested his hand on mine as if to let me know that I had his full attention.

“I proceeded with the negotiation, and at first it seemed like it had gone off without a hitch. My partner sweeped the place, and I was told that every child was safe and accounted for. Things, however, went to shit when he insisted the calculations on the blueprints were off. He pointed his gun at me, and without hesitation I blasted him. What I didn't see was the little boy who had been standing behind him.”

My eyes were now filled with tears, and my emotions made it so it was harder to speak.

“I- I killed him. He must’ve been hiding, and they didn’t count him. He was so scared, but there was nothing I could do. I-”

Bruce’s arm had now been gently wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me against his side.

“He was perfectly innocent. So, I guess that makes me a killer.” I whispered.

“No,” Bruce softly uttered. “Catherine, no you’re not-”

I pulled away from his grasp. “I should’ve looked closer, I should’ve double checked I-I”

“Stop, that wasn't your fault.”

I paused for a moment to regain my senses, before turning to look Bruce in the eye.

“Bruce, I killed that little boy, me myself and I. I was in control of my decision making, I did that. So, if that poor boy’s death wasn’t my fault, then how is what happened out there today your’s?”

“Catherine it’s not the same.”

“Your damn right it’s not the same. If anything, I'm at more fault than you are. I, Catherine King, am a killer.”

He looked at me saddened by the words I said, “Don’t associate yourself with that, you’re not that, not you. I’m the monster.” 

I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look me directly in the eye. “Why can't you grant yourself the same mercy you’ve given me?” He looked down, at a loss for words. 

“Bruce Banner, you are no killer, you are no monster. I know what evil looks like, and you aren’t it. Everyday I go out there and find myself met with the absolute worst shit that the world can offer. So, when I get back, I go see you. I go up to the lab, or come find you here because Bruce, you remind me that there’s still good left. You make me feel safe. I couldn’t feel that way about you if you were a monster.”

At first he sat there in awe, at a loss for words. The last few years of Bruce’s life had been ones of fear, isolation, and self-deprecation. His kind nature and mild-mannered disposition, met with violence, scorn and pain. He didn’t deserve to have gone through all that he did, but he didn’t realize that. His experiences were those fit for the monster that he and the world had so convinced himself he was. So, at the sound of my words, he began to tear up, not because of sadness or fear, but out of gratitude. Ever since the accident no one one had ever told Bruce that they felt safe in his presence. That they didn’t see him as a potential threat, a ticking time bomb.

After a moment, I noticed the look on his face grow soft, as he pulled me into an embrace. His chin resting on my head, as his arms wrapped around me. His hold was gentle, but all encompassing. It was as if he was afraid he’d hurt me if he squeezed too tight, but everything within him was telling him to never let go. I tightly hugged him back, carding my fingers through his hair, as I guided his head to rest in the curvature of my neck, all in the hopes of making him feel the truth behind my words, to make him feel human.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

And in that moment, with the two of us intertwined in the others embrace, we felt safe.

[burning-omen]

Break the Rules part 2

Peter Parker x Male!Mob boss!reader

Summary: The next morning with reader, Peter, a unexpected (and unwanted) guest, and an even less welcome anxiety attack....fun, right?

Warning: a little bit of anxiety and a small anxiety attack. OH AND GUNS! I ALMOST FORGOT! Murder threats and mentions too!

Part 1

Word count: 2879

A/n: Writers block is kicking my a*s so part 3 might take longer. Also, there’s a scene that I f*cking hate so much, like reading makes me want to cringe so hard, there’s nothing wrong with it, I just wish I went somewhere else with this chapter.

Oh, Peter also forgets his pants at some point, just a little heads up.

Last time: You settled down in your own bedroom, hanging your coat and tie up by the door before drifting off to sleep.

Now:

The next morning you woke up, only to hear Peter loudly exclaim “what the hell!” From the other room.

You groaned then sat up, still hearing Peter panicking in the other room. You made your way to him, only to see him sitting on the bed with the most panicked expression you’ve ever seen on a human person.

“Peter...relax yourself..”

His eyes snapped over to you. “Where am I?!”

“Fucking Christ…” you groaned. You’d woken up with a headache that felt far too similar to a hangover for you liking. “...you’re in my house. Yours was swarming with police and I wouldn’t want them to see me or you. Understand?”

He nodded slowly.

“Good, so you're done yelling then?”

He flushed red then nodded with a small chuckle.

“Sorry…”

Groaning again, you said, “it’s fine, just come down stairs when you're ready, okay?”

“O-okay..”

“Great..” with that you walked out of the room.

You honestly had no idea why you were being so nice to Peter. You’ve never shown this kind of hospitality to anyone before. So all of this was very new to you.

Maybe this had something to do with the sudden thought you had last night.

You walked down the stairs and to the kitchen. The entire bottom floor had been completely illuminated by sunlight making cooking yourself and your guest a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and sausage a lot easier. You were a little surprised that there was food in the house. Then you remembered that you’d been paying your neighbors to bring in groceries every few weeks.

You heard light thumping from upstairs then saw Peter emerge from the stairway...with no pants. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the sight...he knows he’s not wearing pants, right?

From the looks of it the answer was no, he came and sat on one of the stools on the outside of the counter then folded his arms and laid on them.

“Sorry for taking so long…” he said through a yawn.

You cleared your throat a little then said, “it’s fine.” With a small voice crack. “It seems you’ve made yourself at home..”

He laughed softly and said, “I hope you don’t mind. Your house is just very relaxing to me.”

“I don’t mind at all..”

The house was silent other than the sounds of you preparing both yours and Peter’s plate. He looked up at you suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Just...why are you being so nice to me? Like I understand that you want me to work for you but it seems like it’s…”

“It seems like what, Peter?”

He picked up the fork on the counter and twirled it in his hand.

“I don’t know… To me it looks like you want me to do more than just work for you…” he said, getting quieter and quieter, sinking down farther into his seat as he went on.

Well fuck. You see, you’re not the best with emotional confrontation. Or emotional anything for that matter. You could easily put on a simple “I’m Just A Suave Kind Of Person” act but that just makes you look like a fool because this has gone far beyond just being charming.

“Well...” you cleared your throat, trying to find the right words for the moments. “You see, I’ve just bee-“

You were cut off by the very loud sound of your front door being practically thrown off its hinges by no other than Markus Cane, aka one of the lower level(but not bottom tear) players from your more “private” games. He was very clearly enraged. More than likely about his recent losing streak, an unfortunate occurrence that's bringing him closer to being kicked out of the game permanently. Now he's broken into your house while you have an important guest over, which has just brought him a lot closer to death.

But, instead of letting the growing rage inside you show you spoke to the man in the calmest of tones.

“Markus Cane? What brings y-”

You were, once again, interrupted by him.

“You mother fucker!” He shouted, “You’re the reason my life has gone to shit You and your little games!”

You rolled your eyes at the disheveled man, “Is this about you losing the last few games? Because I can assure you that your...inability to play a proper game has nothing to do with me. I only run fair games, it’s your own fault that you lost.”

“Bullshit!” He pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his pants and aimed it straight at you...Sort of.

It was obvious he hadn’t slept in days, he had dark circles under his red bloodshot eyes. His hands shook and his body swayed as a clear sleep deprivation. He was delirious.

“You’re always pulling the strings in those games! Always behind the scenes telling the croupiers what to do! You set me up!”

“Trust me, I had no interest in your downfall..”

He looked at you with confusion, “‘Had’?”

“Yes Markus, had. I don’t know if you noticed but you’ve broken into my house, throw ridiculous accusations at me and now you're threatening my life, all of this done in front of my current guest of honor. At the moment I want you dead.” You said, your tone never changing.

Markus stumbled backward, the weight of what he’d done crashing down on him. He backed himself into a wall, his hands shaking so hard that he dropped the gun. It seemed as though the safety was still on so it collided with the ground without going off.

Peter, who you hadn’t been too focused on at the moment, rushed to grab it before settling back onto the stool, setting it on the table. All done while keeping his eyes on the man, who was now overcome with the realization that he was more than definitely dead.

“L-listen man, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke!” He stuttered.

You walked from around the counter, placing your hand on Peter's shoulder for a moment before moving forward towards the man.

He was frozen, mouth agape watching you.

“Now, I would normally kill a fool like you who decided to interrupt my peaceful morning, but I have a guest and that would be rude. And the clean up would take hours, hours that I don’t want to waste on idiots like you. So i’ll give you ten seconds to get as far away from here as possible..” Your voice shifted, turning to a lower, more threatening tone.

Markus stared at you for a long moment not moving until you said, “You have 5 seconds Markus..”

He was out of your house immediately, slamming the door behind him.

You turned back to Peter, who was staring at the door Markus had run through moments before.

“Peter?” You said, your tone changing from the anger laced one you used earlier to a much softer, calmer voice.

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide and bright as though you hadn’t just threatened to murder someone.

“Yes?”

You sighed, leaning against the counter next to him.

“I think it’s time for us to go.”

He nodded, hopping up from the stool.

“Okay, I’ll go grab my shoes from upstairs.”

“Mhmm, make sure you grab your pants while you're up there..”

He looked at you with confusion clear on his face, “What?”

Without looking back at him (less in a respectful way and more in a ‘I don’t want to start staring’ way) you gesture downward.

He looked down, then blush quickly took over his face.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” He shouted before running up the stairs quickly.

You went up a little after he did, heading to your own room. Quickly getting yourself ready for the day ahead of you, grabbing your tie and putting on your shoes as you exited the room.

By the time you were done and heading back down the stairs Peter was already there (with pants this time) staring down at his lap, blush still covering his face.

“Are you ready to leave?”

He nodded, more than likely too embarrassed to speak at the moment.

“Alright, lets go.” You walked over to the door with Peter right behind you, grabbing the keys from the small table next to it.

The both of you walked out, the sun was beaming down but a cool breeze evened out the temperature.

You unlocked the car doors, watching Peter slide into the passenger side quickly. You got into the driver's seat and started the car. You drove in silence for 20 minutes, every so often Peter would look over at you like he wanted to say something but would always go back to fumbling with his hands in his lap.

You decided to interrupt his anxious cycle, besides you were almost at your place of business and you wouldn’t be able to talk to him until after he was done with whatever work he has to do today or if he was suddenly brave enough to walk all the way up to your office on his own, which you doubted he would.

“Is there something you want to say, Peter?”

He stumbled and tripped over his words nervously, creating an illegible sequence of sounds.

“I can’t understand you, Peter, you need to relax..”

He stopped, taking a long breath before speaking again.

“If I wasn’t there, would you have killed that man?” He asked, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t want to talk about it but he felt like he had to know. Did he really change your decision that much? So much that you went from Yes Murder to No Murder in a matter of seconds.

“Probably. I don’t usually take any kind of disrespect from anyone, ever… But, you were there and I didn’t want to subject you to that, especially this early in the morning.”

There was a long silence after that.

Peter didn’t know how to respond and you had nothing more to say on the subject.

As you drew closer and closer to the large building both of you worked at Peter felt as though he should say something, you offered him a job, taken care of him while he slept and cooked him breakfast so he figured some sort of thanks was necessary. (You also didn’t murder a guy because of him but what ever.) By the time he figured out what he wanted to say to you, you’d already arrived at your destination but that didn’t stop him.

“I-I…” He started, but all the things he planned to say died on his tongue when you looked over at him.

His internal monologue turned to one word in that moment. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

He gulped, feeling a knot coil in his chest and in a very sudden moment his mind was on fire. Not a single coherent thought ran through his head and he felt his throat close up. So he did what he always did in moments of anxiety, he left. He opened the car door and ran into the building, not really realizing that you had to go in there too. But at that moment it didn’t matter, he had to get away. He had to get away from you, being in that car with you was throwing him into a weird anxious panic. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know why. But once he was away from you it got better.

You were less confused than Peter was, you’d watched him long enough to know that speaking was a problem for him. Especially in situations where he felt he needed to speak but he still felt rude and interruptive if he did. But then he was flooded with the many thoughts of how it could go wrong or how the other person, the other person being you this time, would feel, which would panic him and cause him to leave as fast as possible.

You understood, he was having a hard time speaking, he panicked, he left.

It was a bit rude of him to leave your door open but you could excuse it just this once.

You got out of your car, locking the doors then pocketing the keys. Slamming your door shut before walking around to the other side and closing the door that Peter had left open.

As you walked inside and up the stairs you could feel multiple eyes watching you. Before you disappeared up the stairs completely you looked down at the many low level idiots below, and then you spotted Peter. His cheeks were a dark pink and his eyes were teary, he stared down at his feet, tapping the left with the right every few seconds. He looked so upset, not quite sad or angry just…upset.

Seeing him like that hurt. It hurt a lot.

You made him feel that way, not intentionally, no. You would never, Still, he was feeling that way because of you.

You wanted to help him, to comfort him and tell him that everything was okay but you know that you had piles of work you couldn’t get behind on. They were important and then needed to be done. That had to be done, it wasn’t opsional.

And then you remembered something that made you want to grin like a cat.

This is your business. This was your building. These were your workers.

You were in control of everything that happened here, you chose what was important.

And what was important to you right now was that boy downstairs that was looking like a kicked puppy.

So you walked back down the stairs, cut through the large group of associates that flooded the lowest floor and got to Peter.

You gently grabbed his hand, holding it close to your chest and rubbing his palm slowly with your thumb. He didn’t meet your eyes only staring at your hand clasping his.

“Peter?”

He didn’t respond but you could tell he was listening.

“Would you like to go home?” You asked in a low voice.

He quickly shook his head no.

“Okay, okay...where do you want to go? I’m not letting you stay down here, not with how you are right now.?”

He looked up at you for a moment before slowly pointing to the ceiling with his free hand. It took you a moment to figure out what he meant.

“My office?”

He nodded and squeezed your hand tightly.

“Alright, lets go..”

In seconds you were pulling the shaking boy behind you up multiple flights of stairs. In the time it took you to get to your office you’d become winded, while Peter on the other hand looked almost completely fine. His chest rising and falling a bit faster than normal but other than that there was no indication that you’d dragged him up a shit ton of stairs.

Once you caught your breath you gently guided Peter to the chair he’d sat in the previous night. You leaned back against the front of your desk, your hands on either side of you, keeping you balanced.

“So… Are you feeling any better?”

He didn’t respond for a long while, and for a moment you thought he wasn’t going to.

“A little...I-” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to regain control of his thoughts, “I thought getting out of the car would help but just...being in there with all those people, I-it only made it worse. For a second I felt like I couldn’t breath, it was sudden an-and unexpected.”

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself.

“Honestly I don’t understand why I was suddenly so nerve wrecked back in the car. I’d been fine the entire ride but at the end I just...wasn’t.” He looked up at you quickly. “I’m not always like this, I swear! I just…”

“You’re having a rough morning, I get it. It happens.”

“I-I know, I guess I should have at least tried to handle it a bit more professionally,” he muttered.

You laughed a little, pushing yourself off of the desk and leaning closer to Peter.

“I’ve seen you in your underpants, it doesn’t get more unprofessional than that..”

His face immediately flushed red, stammering he refused to meet your eyes, “Sorry about that…”

“Don’t worry about it, you were tired, it’s an easy mistake to make..”

“Yeah, at home. Not at the house of a man you don’t even know the name of.”

This made you freeze, had you really not told him your name?

You felt you face heat up, visible or not you brought your hand up to your face, shielding yourself from your own embarrassment.

“O-oh crap..” you muttered to yourself.

You cleared your throat, straightening yourself out in a moment.

“You’ll have to forgive me Peter, I hadn’t realized that I never told you..”

He looked up at you with a soft smile and said, “I-It’s fine, honestly. It was a simple mistake.”

“Well then, let me fix my mistake. I’m Y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you..”

[annoyed-galaxy]

One Moment at Sea

Welp no shame. This is pretty old, but some nice bonding moment between Sparrow and Reaver cause why not. Posted this on AO3 so feel free to read it over there as well but I'll also post it here cause why not.

What was she doing here honestly? Out on the seas in Reaver’s stupid prototype ship. No sails, it only ran off of steam produced by coal that would turn some device propelling the ship forward. Honestly though, this could barely pass as a ship. It was barely bigger than a fishing boat. Sparrow guessed it made sense since Reaver had never tried this out before and there was no point in spending a lot of money on something that wasn’t going to work. So far, it was doing pretty good.

Sparrow was actually impressed. She didn’t take Reaver to be an inventor. But knowing him, he probably stole some of these ideas from someone else and just had the money to actually make it. Sparrow kind of didn’t care. It was pretty peaceful. She stood at the front of the boat, leaning against the railing watching the water part in front of her. There was no land around them, just the open sea. It did make her slightly nervous to be around so much water with no land.

Still, it was the most peace she had gotten ever since...well since she was born. It was kind of sad that this was the only time she had ever experienced peace within her life.

“Enjoying the view?” a voice came from behind her.

Well. Peace ruined.

Sparrow looked over her shoulder at Reaver who was wiping soot off his face. “What were you doing?” she asked.

“Oh well, turns out the coal will run out. So unfortunately I had to shovel more into the engine. Now I’m all dirty,” Reaver complained looking down at his clothes.

Sparrow rolled her eyes and motioned to the open water around them. “You have an endless source of water to clean your clothes,” she snorted.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Reaver rolled his eyes. He joined her at the front of the boat and leaned against the railing. His arm brushed against hers, but she didn’t move.

“Please tell me this thing will get us back to Albion,” Sparrow clucked looking around. “We got this far and there is no longer any sort of land in sight.”

Reaver chuckled. “Of course it will get us back. I calculated how much coal we would need to power this lovely thing and got a little extra. Besides, due to its size, it’s not going to consume much.”

“Yeah about that,” Sparrow started. She pointed behind her to where the wheel was. It was on a deck above what she had assumed was the one and only quarter on this floating hell. There was also a small trapdoor that led to the “engine”. “Why is there only one quarter?” she asked.

Reaver smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Well, to save on space obviously,” he drawled. “Besides, you don’t mind sharing a bed with me anymore do you?”

A blush spread across Sparrow’s face. They hadn’t engaged in any sexual activity, but they had slept in the same bedroll when traveling on the road when it was too cold one night. She had hated that night. Reaver had no problem snuggling up to her, but she was annoyed. Mainly annoyed because she had liked it when he held her. Liked it when had nuzzled his face into her neck. Ever since, they had shared a bed only twice due to similar reasons. Or when there was only one inn room left and it was too small for him to sleep on the floor. She had really hated being in the same bed as him because when he had held her, she didn’t push him away.

A thumb stroking her cheek pulled her out of her thoughts. She blinked a couple times and saw Reaver looking at her with a smile on his face. She frowned, but did not slap his hand away. “Can I help you?” she muttered.

Reaver didn’t say anything, he just moved in closer and brought his other arm around her back. He pulled her into him. Sparrow’s blush deepened and she froze. Part of her screamed to push him away and off overboard, but another part wanted to lean into him.

“Has anyone ever told you you are beautiful?” Reaver said suddenly, his eyes scanning her face. Sparrow had never realized how blue his eyes were before.

“Only when they were trying to get in my good graces or just wanted to throw a random compliment at me,” she grumbled.

“No one has told you sincerely?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. The hand on her cheek moved to her chin.

“N-no,” Sparrow stammered really hating how she liked him now caressing her lips.

“Well, I think despite everything you’ve been through, you are still absolutely gorgeous,” he whispered. “Stunningly breathtaking. I have never met someone as interesting as you Sparrow. You intrigue me so much that I don’t want to let you go.”

“Is that why you kept me around trying to keep me alive?” Sparrow breathed, her breath almost hitching as Reaver leaned in closer.

“Yes,” he replied plainly. “I don’t want to lose my source of entertainment.” He smirked as he said that. Sparrow had half the mind the punch him, but she was still frozen. He was so close their breaths mingled. “I find it interesting how you claim to hate me, yet I have gotten this close and you haven’t punched me or pushed me away,” Reaver chuckled. It seems he had noticed that she was paralyzed and how she liked being held by him.

“What’s the point of fighting you?” Sparrow murmured, looking away. She put her hands on his chest, but she didn’t push.

“So what would you do if I kissed you?” he whispered, gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger and forcing her to look back at him. She was one hundred percent positive that her entire face was red, even the blue Will lines that traveled across her skin could be red with how much she was burning up.

Again, part of her screamed no, but another part of her really did want him to kiss her. He had kissed her only once and that was right after the balverines had attacked her. But that had been just a small peck on the lips that lasted only a couple seconds. It was right before he offered his proposition to her. It had been a crazy year since then, but now she was on the open sea, in his arms with him literally just centimeters away from her lips asking what she would do if he kissed her.

She looked at his eyes but they were on her lips. Only when he realized she was looking at him did he look up. Sparrow had never really looked into his eyes before. They matched the ocean around them.

Her lips parted just slightly and Reaver took notice as his eyes darted back to her lips.

He took it as an invitation.

Sparrow was overcome with so many emotions when Reaver had finally closed the gap and put his lips on hers. Sparrow closed her eyes and hated how her hands moved from his chest to the back of his neck pulling him closer to her. Reaver took that as another invitation and his tongue broke through her lips. Sparrow was lost in bliss as their tongues danced together. Reaver’s arms moved right above her bottom and he pulled her closer. Their bodies were now touching and their mouths were ravishing each other. Sparrow hated how much she loved this.

Reaver had pulled away from the kiss, but he went to her neck immediately with kisses. They had turned so that Sparrow’s back was against the railing. She tilted her head back as Reaver left delicate kisses on her neck. Then her body lit up when he dragged his tongue from the bottom of her neck to her chin. Her breathed hitched and she really hated how it did.

“I didn’t think you’d allow this, Sparrow,” Reaver breathed, his mouth by her ear now.

Sparrow groaned. “Shut up.”

Reaver chuckled, but went back to placing kisses on her throat. As he was kissing her, his hands traveled down her back and cupped her bottom. She had gasped when he pulled her against him, but by some weird instinct, she wrapped her legs around him. Reaver chuckled and pulled away from her neck just to kiss her again. Sparrow’s fingers dug into his hair, messing it up, as their kiss became more and more fiery.

She hated this so much. Hated how much she loved it. Hated the taste of him. Hated how she felt in his harms. She hated everything about this, but that’s what made it better. They broke apart and were panting. Sparrow’s hands moved to Reaver’s cheeks and she just looked at him. She hated how she was falling for such a selfish asshole.

“Tell me one thing Reaver,” she whispered, caressing the heart mole on his cheek, “did you ever care about anyone before? And I mean at all.”

Reaver raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Because the way I see it, there was someone you used to love,” Sparrow whispered. “And you lost them. And to make yourself never feel that pain ever again, you isolated yourself and pushed anyone who got too close away...or well just made sure no one ever got that close.”

Reaver’s mouth parted slightly and Sparrow could see genuine surprise on his face. “W-what makes you say that?” he stammered. Odd. Reaver never stumbled on his words.

Sparrow smiled and slid her thumb across his lower lip. “I found some old journals of yours. I couldn’t read them but I paid someone to read them for me. Don’t worry, I managed to erase their memory so only I know your secrets Reaver.” Sparrow’s smile widened as Reaver’s eyes went wide with shock and disbelief. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve come to realize that you and I are not so different. We lost people close to us and went about that loss in very different ways. You didn’t want to die so you made a deal to live forever. I wanted vengeance but when I found it and lost my purpose, I didn’t want to live anymore. Somehow, I just think that makes us work well together. You don’t have to call it love cause I know you’d claim to be above such feeling, but I just think this was meant to be. At least for a time.”

The entire time she spoke, her thumb ran across Reaver’s lip and her other hand played with a strand of his hair. “Now would be the time to dump me in the ocean and leave,” Sparrow added, her tone suddenly becoming darker. “Or do you sincerely want to keep me?”

Reaver was too stunned to really say anything. Sparrow managed to say things that resurfaced old dark feelings he had refused to acknowledge ever again. She read him like an open book. It made him...nervous. But she was right. He hated to admit it, but he was actually caring for her, beyond her entertainment value. He loved seeing her yell at him, loved seeing her get feisty when people refused to back down, loved seeing her fight. Most of all, he loved it when she kissed him back. When she doesn’t push him away. They were no strangers to giving themselves away to other men and women, but he didn’t think they had ever felt so right in each other’s arms.

He knew he should stop. If he opened his heart again, he knew it would break. Sparrow already gave her life away for him. It wouldn’t be long before she started to wither away. After all, when he saw her on the beach a year later after she made the sacrifice, her hair had turned almost completely white. He knew he shouldn’t let her in, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was too intriguing for him. If he could just ignore the fact that she’d be gone in a few years, everything would be alright.

“Sparrow,” Reaver finally spoke up. “I will never let you go because you are mine. And I don’t like losing what’s mine,” he declared. It was the closest thing Sparrow would ever get to some sort of declaration of love from him, but for some reason, she liked this much better.

She smiled. “Then don’t let me go. Keep me here in this world for just a little while longer.” For once ever since defeating Lucien, she felt at peace, happy. She moved to kiss him and he met her halfway. The loss of Rose would forever haunt her, but she now knew she wasn’t alone anymore. She would stay as long as Reaver kept her here. However, she knew to keep her heart guarded. There was no telling whether or not Reaver would stay true to his word or cast her aside.

But she let herself believe that maybe he would keep her for as long as she lived. When they shared the bed this time, Sparrow let herself cuddle close to Reaver. It was going to be a rocky road from here on out, but she didn’t care. It gave her a new purpose.

[saltys-writings]

Dawon | First [M]

SF9 - Dawon

Smut, Fluff

Friends to Lovers AU

Warning: NSFW

Words: ~2.2k

Desc.: After being teased about your inexperience by your friends, you feel all kinds of bad and ashamed. And the only one who’s there to comfort you is your friend Sanghyuk, who is the exact opposite of you...

“You still haven’t had a boyfriend yet?” - “But you’ve been on dates before, right?” - “Didn’t you confess to someone a while back?” - “And you got turned down?” - “So you haven’t… you know… done it yet either?” - “You’re still a virgin...?”

The things they said to you are still ringing in your head as if it had been just a few hours ago. Frankly speaking, it hasn’t been long since your friends found out about your very dry love life and everyone decided to giggle about you not having any romantic or sexual experience. Honestly, it’s not like you don’t want to experience these things, but you’ve just never had the chance. People have just never been interested in you. And the fact that all your friends made you feel like being inexperienced is something shameful just feeds into your bad and embarrassed mood. Well, all of them except one.

You wouldn’t have expected Sanghyuk, the guy who’s been with more women than you can count on both your hands, to be the one to comfort you. He was the one who told everyone to shut up because it’s none of their business, and he’s the one in whose room you are right now, clutching a pillow he handed you tightly in your arms and on the verge of crying.

“Am I really the only one?” you ask, not looking at him directly. “Am I really the only one who hasn’t had sex yet at my age?”

“I’m sure there’s others too. You can’t be the only one,” he tries to assure you.

“But they’re sure acting like I am. I haven’t even properly seen a guy naked yet.”

“And that’s okay.”

“But I’m not okay with it!” you talk back. “It’s not like I don’t want to, I just…”

“You just…?” he repeats, a questioning expression on his face.

“…I don’t really… have someone to do those kinds of things with.” You bury your face in your pillow and you hear him sigh. The rustling of his blanket tells you he got up from where he was sitting and when you lift your head you see him kneeling down in front of you. Even though he can’t possibly know how it feels to be in your position, you find understanding in his eyes.

“It can’t be helped right now. Maybe you should just try to accept it and see if you can get a boyfriend sometime soon?” he suggests, but you shake your head. You know he’s right, but you’re tired of waiting. And an admittedly stupid idea just crossed your thoughts.

“Well what about you then?”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“You’ve slept with so many girls already, it doesn’t really matter if it’s one more or less, does it?” He looks at you in disbelief for a few seconds. Then he starts awkwardly laughing, scratching the back of his head.

“I mean… you’re probably right, but…”

“But? You don’t want me? I’m not attractive enough? I’m undateable even for you?” you scoff, your tone growing more bitter by the syllable.

“Th-that’s not it,” Sanghyuk stammers. “But I thought we’re just friends.”

“Well we are. But friends can do each other a favour, can’t they? I’m not telling you to be my boyfriend…” you say.

“Look,” he sighs, the air around him feeling serious all of a sudden, “I might make it seem like it, but sleeping with someone isn’t something you just do. I mean, sometimes it is, but it can be a pretty emotional experience, you know?”

“Your point being?”

“I mean…” he looks around the room, obviously at a loss for words. “I… can’t explain it to you. You’ll have to feel it for yourself to fully understand it.” You shoot him a prompting look. “What?” he asks, but you don’t answer, because you’re sure he already knows what you’re trying to convey. And when he sighs and continues speaking you’re certain he got your message. “Do you want me… to show you?”

You nod.

“Are you sure about this?”

You nod again.

“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, I want you to tell me right away.”

“Shut up and do it,” you say. With a slight worry in his eyes he nods, directing his attention to your lips. He puts his hand on yours while you’re still hugging the pillow, and you let him loosen your grip and relax your arms. Leading his hand up to your shoulder and behind your neck, he leans in to place a feathery kiss on your lips. Withdrawing an inch or two, he checks for your reaction, and when you close your eyes it takes but a second until you feel his soft lips on yours again, this time pressing them against your mouth with more force. A tingly sensation runs down your whole body, from your head to the tips of your toes, when his lips start moving on yours, and it doesn’t take long for you to join the rhythm and kiss him back. Soon enough, he pulls away to allow both of you to catch a breath.

“That was my first kiss,” you admit silently.

“Is it really okay for me to take that?” he responds, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Honestly, I stopped caring about that long ago. But…” you pause for a moment, “it was with someone I trust, so that’s nice I guess.” A smile appears on his face along with a slight blush on his cheeks, and he leans in again to give you another gentle kiss.

You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing in this position when his hands find their way under your shirt, soon pulling it over your head in one swift movement. If it’s with him, you realize you’re fine even if he touches places you’re secretly insecure about. Instead of worrying, you just enjoy the sensation of his fingertips against your warm skin, and his lips against your own. Before long, he picks you up off the floor to place you onto his bed, and before he gets in as well to hover over you, he pulls off his own shirt, giving you full view of his trained upper body and his tattoos that you’ve never really seen before up close. Straddling you under him and reconnecting your lips more hungrily than before, you put your hands on his chest and let them glide up to his shoulders and behind his neck, feeling his smooth skin on your palms. A moan escapes you when he starts nibbling on your lower lip, but that only seems to make him want more. You feel him running his hand down your upper body, from your chest to below your belly button and he sits up for a moment to undo the button on your jeans, helping you remove them. As soon as he starts closing the distance between you again, you reach for him and place your hands in his hair, pulling him towards you. It’s as if you’re already becoming addicted to his kisses, or his touch in general, because you squirm under him when his hand starts roaming your body once again, this time reaching behind your back to unclip your bra, and immediately making his way underneath it, to caress the sensitive skin on your breasts. Your lips part again and you feel a sense of deprivation, but soon a new kind of excitement overcomes you when he kisses his way down your throat, collarbones, and to your nipple. As he starts sucking on it, your moans become more frequent, and with his hands at the sides of your ribcage he keeps you in place. You bury your fingers deep in his hair, and when his name falls from your lips, he looks up at you for a moment. You wonder what’s going through his head in that exact second, but your thoughts are wiped away immediately when you feel the warmth of his tongue on your skin again. He soon switches to leaving kisses all over, finally kissing his way back up the side of your throat. He watches you intently as his fingertips brush over your body and along the insides of your thighs, and you whimper his name again. He kisses you in response, and when he breaks contact, you feel his fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties. You reflexively press your thighs together.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and nodding, you relax your body. He starts drawing circles over your clit and you press your eyes shut tightly, exhaling a shaky breath. It doesn’t take long until he slips his fingers under the thin fabric and pushes one of them inside of you effortlessly, then another one, while his thumb keeps massaging your clit. You hold onto his back and dig your nails into his skin, thinking you’ll lose your mind from this already, and you whine when he’s forced to remove his hand to slip off your underwear. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize you’re now lying under him completely naked, aroused, and with no kind of protection whatsoever. But looking into his warm eyes and feeling the way he gently takes care of you, you’re more than okay with that. He kisses the space between your breasts and switches up sucking and nibbling on your skin to leave a mark, working his way down until his tongue licks one swift path down your core. He moves onto playing with your clit using the tip of his tongue and the fast strokes make you moan again. Surprised by how loud you’ve suddenly become, you bite the back of your hand to avoid alerting anyone who might hear through the walls.

“You don’t have to be careful, Y/N. There’s nobody else home,” he assures you, adding while he pushes his fingers back inside you, “Let me hear your beautiful voice.” Obeying his wish, you moan with every movement of his, while your hands clutch the sheets beneath you tightly. It doesn’t take long until you feel your high building up, and as soon as he notices you holding your breath, he picks up speed gradually, and it takes only seconds until you cum, moaning his name loudly as you clench around his fingers. He waits for you to calm down a little until he takes them out and stares you right in the eyes while licking them clean, making you feel a bit embarrassed. Your own gaze wanders down his body and to the very visible bulge in his pants. Still out of breath, you sit up and open the button and zipper on them, but he takes a hold of your hands and you make eye contact for a moment, as if to check that you’re still okay with everything that’s happening. You press a kiss against his chest to tell him that you’re doing this because you want to, and he helps you remove both his pants and his boxers. Hovering over you again, he pushes your back into the mattress.

“Just relax,” he whispers, “and tell me if it hurts.” You nod, and after giving himself a few quick strokes, he pushes into you. You moan from the feeling, and he stops his movements right away, thinking you really are in pain.

“Go on, please,” you beg, sinking your nails into the skin on his shoulders and back. A fire lights up in his eyes, and he starts rolling his hips into yours slowly, but picking up the pace gradually. He starts leaving kisses in your neck, and his teeth graze you here and there. He reaches for your thighs to put your legs up around his waist, and the sensation of him repeatedly hitting just the right spot inside of you all of a sudden makes your head spin. You hold onto him tightly as you cum again, this time muffling your moans by burying your face in the crook of his neck, and not long after you can hear him cursing under his breath as he cums too. Collapsing next to you on the bed, he breathes heavily and waits for you to catch your breath as well. Then he leans over and kisses you again, just softly brushing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he says, looking into your eyes.

“Do you say that to every girl you sleep with?” you ask teasingly and he shakes his head strongly.

“I only say it when I mean it.”

“Then why… didn’t you say something sooner?” you want to know. You put your arm around his upper body.

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same about me… but I don’t feel like I can hide it any longer now,” he explains, averting his gaze. Sanghyuk’s cheeks burn up again and you close in on him, resting your head on his chest.

“Will you go out with me then?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation. You lift your head and place a peck on his lips that turns into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, with his fingers tangled in your hair.

“Then I’ll be yours,” you breathe after you part. “And thank you... for finally telling me.”

[beauvibaby]

wrong - t.seguin

a/n: this gif has no correlation to the story but it made me smile so

summary: you and Tyler have your first big fight

You were happily working in your own little bubble, occasionally petting Marshall’s head as he nudged your knees. You were sitting on Tyler’s bed, your laptop on your legs as you edited the photos you had just taken, proud of yourself for finally starting to get your own little photography business off the ground, of course you had help from Tyler, but you never asked, he always offered and after being together for over a year you decided you both were stable enough to allow him to help. Never financially though, you refused to let him do that, but here or there he’d mention your name to some people, or post a picture that you had taken, the little things. You heard the front door open and shut, followed by the dogs rushing down the hallway, nearly sliding into each other as they rushed to greet Tyler. “Hey, hey guys.” He cheered, lightly cooing down to the dogs, you didn’t have to see him to know there was a smile on his face. You slid your laptop to the side. Your feet lightly slapping against the hard floors as you made your way to see Tyler, “hey, babe.” You mumbled, he glanced over, smiling softly. The summer was quickly wrapping up and it was time for his training to really step up a notch, and you knew that would mean less time together, you’d been through it once before and you knew when the season started it would also be even harder, with away games and interviews and practice on top of practice. You were prepared for that, both of you were, but you weren’t prepared for how his attitude would start to change over the coming months.

“Hey.” He sighed in return, walking over and kissing you quickly, you hid the small frown at his greeting, normally it was more enthusiastic but you could tell he looked a little tired, a little stressed, so you brushed it off. “You look nice.” You complimented, you knew he had just finished some interviews, hence the reason he was in a button up instead of his usual shirt or hoodie. “Thank you, baby.” He responded, continuing his walk to the bedroom, the dogs following him happily, you in turn, followed them, hoping his mood would turn around once he got a good shower and some rest. “I’m taking a shower.” He paused in the doorway, some of his usual spunk returning, “care to join me?” He teased, smirking at you. Normally you would humor him, although nine times out of ten nothing actually happened in the shower, it was what the showed led to. “I would, but I really need to finish editing these pictures, there was a miscommunication and she needs them sooner than I thought.” You explained, pouting at him. “Alright.” He shrugged it off, shooting you a small smile, you sighed and climbed back into your spot on the bed, quickly getting back to work, only to find yourself angry when you unlocked the laptop to see that it hadn’t saved the editing you’d already done and now you had to start all over. “Damn it!” You groaned, sloppily tying your hair back, annoyance running through you, quickly, you started trying to get caught up, but it just wasn’t the same and you were growing frustrated with how different it was looking than before.

Tyler walked back out of the bathroom, hair a little damp as he shrugged a shirt on, you glanced up at him with tired eyes, “you alright?” He asked, seeing the look on your face. “No, my stupid computer didn’t save anything I had already done, I’m going to be up late trying to finish.” You explained, beginning to move off the bed, “I’ll go work in the living room, I know you have to get up early tomorrow.” You added, seeing the time, it wasn’t that late, but you did in fact know he had to be up extremely early for training tomorrow. “No, you can stay.” He assured you, sitting beside you, “it’s fine, I’d rather know you’re in here working.” He pulled you in for a kiss, silently making up for his slight attitude earlier. “Are you sure?” You questioned, not wanting him to hold it against you. Tyler shimmied down the bed, his head resting on the pillow as he lazily draped an arm over your legs. “I’m sure.” He mumbled, sleepily watching you, occasionally he’d ask a question, you’d give him an answer that would make him laugh, “that makes no sense”. Eventually you could tell he’d fallen asleep beside you, and you smiled down at him, leaning over to kiss his head, he moved a little but didn’t budge, only rolling into you a little more as you continued away.

***

That’s how most nights went, for a while, occasionally you’d be able to get everything edited before Tyler was home, but most nights you’d just started when he got home, most of the people you did photos for wanted them at sunset. You’d been able to start scheduling things a bit better and have more time with Tyler but now as his schedule started to change with the season starting, you could tell he was getting overwhelmed, and quite honestly a little snippy towards you. They had just completed the third game of the season, and they lost, which was never a good thing but he was taking it particularly hard. “Are you almost done?” He snapped, impatiently watching the tv as you finished up your work, you turned to him slowly, raising your brows. “Yes?” You responded, it came out slightly like a question at his sudden attitude. “You’re always on that damn computer.” He grumbled, watching as you turned it off, setting it aside. You sat up from your spot on the couch, looking at him, “I’m sorry, I’m working.” You responded, knowing your words were only going to egg him on. This time he looked at you, “you’re never here anymore, like really here.” He deadpanned. You scoffed at his words, “I’m here, I’m always here, you’re the one who comes home and puts hockey highlights on, trying to figure out what you could’ve done better.” You snapped, not meaning too, but it was too late now as he raised his eyebrows. “That’s my job, Y/N. I need to keep getting better.” He snapped, standing up, you followed, shaking your head, “and that’s mine!” You pointed to the computer. “You’re not the only one who works.” You added with a pointed voice. He rolled his eyes, and the words he said nearly knocked all the air out of your lungs.

“Oh right I’m sorry, because taking pictures is how we’re paying for our life right?” He hissed and the second he met your eyes he realized what he said, “you ass.” You whispered, he started shaking his head. “No, no, you know I didn’t mean that!” He panicked, which on some level made you feel better because you knew he didn’t entirely mean it, but if he said it, surely he’s thought it, or heard it from other people. “I can’t do it? Is that what you’re saying?!” You let the emotion overcome you, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You supported me, you didn’t have to, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to talk down to me like this when I refused to take your help for more than a year of you asking!” You snapped, he fell silent, lips pursed together as he watched you. When he didn’t say anything you shook your head, gathering your things that were scattered around the living room. “What are you doing?” He asked, not moving, you rolled your eyes, feeling the tears run down your face. “I’m going to stay in the guest room tonight, or until you realize how much your words fucking hurt.” You whispered, “baby, don’t cry.” Tyler finally showed some remorse, but you refused to turn to putty again, “no, Tyler. I can’t believe you would say that, and I know I said something‘s I shouldn’t have either, but I would never put down your career choice.” And with that, you did the one thing your mother always told you not to do, you both went to bed angry with each other.

***

Tyler has another game today, and you were already supposed to be going, but when you woke up in the morning he was already gone, all you had was a text that said good morning. Your mind raced with the thoughts of last night, the words you exchanged, the lack of I love you’s. It killed you, and you felt the anxiety rising in your chest, what if this was the end, what if- your phone ringing cut off the thoughts running through your head. You saw Jamie’s name on the screen and immediately panicked, did something happen? “Hello?” You rushed, and Jamie sighed, “I don’t know what the hell happened between you two, but Tyler is like a fucking zombie.” He explained and you felt a little relieved, as horrible as it sounds, but at least you knew he couldn’t rest well after last night either. “I’ll be at the game, I’m sorry if he’s an ass today, we-it was a nasty fight.” You stammered out, biting the corner of your mouth as Jamie sighed, you could picture the way he ran his hand over his face whenever he was stressed, “it’s fine, just work it out, okay? Tyler isn’t the best without you.” Is all he responded with, you both said a quick goodbye and you rushed to your feet, going to get ready.

You took an unbelievably hot shower, wanting to feel as clean as possible, which no amount of water could do as you felt bad to your heart for how things went. You blew dry your hair, putting on some simple makeup, and your signature game day outfit. Skinny jeans and a Seguin jersey of course.

This was the most nerve wracking you’ve ever felt going to a game, simply because you haven’t seen him since last night. You made your way to the seats, and every time Tyler skated by, even during warmups, he didn’t look over, like he thought you wouldn’t be there.

It felt like forever and a day, but finally, finally he looked up and you could see the shock on his face when he met your eyes. You were right beside the glass, like always, you simply smiled at him, and both of your worries seemed to ease up. That was until you were watching him play and he got barreled into the wall. You shot to your feet, nothing but panic filling you when he took longer than usual to get up. When he took longer than this to get up, you knew it wasn’t good, Jamie skated over, helping Tyler to his feet, Tyler’s eyes were squeezed shut in pain, his head hanging a little low as he made his way off the ice. He disappeared down the tunnel, and you anxiously waited to hear them say he wasn’t returning, but it never happened. You looked over and saw him walking back out, sitting with the other guys on the bench like it never happened. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. He glanced over at you at one point, giving you a soft smile, it didn’t quite meet his eyes. And you couldn’t help but hope that was only because he felt guilty about last night.

Katie gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you anxiously bounced your foot against the cement floor outside the locker rooms, “it’s ok, it was your first big fight, it happens.” She tried to calm you but you only grew more worried when Jamie came out and Tyler wasn’t right behind him. “He’s alright, just a little banged up.” Jamie spoke, wrapping an arm around Katie, you nodded, “thanks.” You whispered, eyes shooting up when you heard Tyler’s voice. He appeared around the corner a second later, instantly taking three big steps towards you. Before you had time to react he had you pulled against his chest, Jamie and Katie walking off to give you some privacy. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I’m an idiot, I can’t believe I said that.” He rushed his words, you nodded staying silent, processing what he said. “If you said it, you had to have thought it before.” You stood your ground, slightly pulling away from him. He shook his head instantly, “no, I was reading stupid comments and someone said that and it just pissed me off, it just came out.” He assured you and continued speaking when you blankly stared at him. “Listen to me, I love you, I love taking care of you and I know you don’t need me too, because you could so easily become the best photographer in Dallas,” he paused to wink, sighing in relief when you cracked a smile. “But I want to take care of us, take care of the dogs, take care of whatever little Seguin’s we have running around in a few years. If you’ll let me?” He concluded, growing confused when you looked away with tears in your eyes. “Y/N-“ “I love you.” You cut him off, all but yanking him in for a kiss, he laughed against your lips, before reciprocating the action. “I love you too.” He mumbled against you. “How many little Seguin’s?” You teased when you pulled away and he threw his head back in laughter, “as many as we can handle.” “That’s a good answer.”

Taglist: @literarycharleton @thathockeygirl

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part III: Near & Far

Description: Promising beginnings and a premature end throw you into a tailspin Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: depictions of mild PTSD symptoms, mentions of death of a close family member, disappearances, “breakups,” angst, profanity Word Count: 1882 words (~9 mins of falling in love and wallowing in angst 😱😂) Author’s Notes: If you’re still following this story, please accept a giant (virtual) hug from me to you!  Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart for supporting me and this piece of work! 💖 Without further ado, I present to you part 3 of my slow-burn Shaw fic, written for the lovely @op-peccatori​ as part of my follower milestone celebration.

As always, dear reader, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

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“You can relax, you know.  I won’t try anything funny while you sleep, not my style.  Besides, isn’t this much better than camping out on the floor?”

Nodding your head before you realize that Shaw probably couldn’t see you in the dark, your “Yes” comes out in a mewl so pathetic you wished you could immediately take it back.

His snicker shakes the bed, reverberating across squeaky springs to where you lay beside him, right at the edge of the twin mattress as you tried not to let your hands touch.

No matter how much you wished for them to.

Beyond the window, a neon signboard paints electric shadows on your walls in splashes of pink, flashing in time to a rhythm Shaw tapped out with one foot beneath the covers.

“Is it cool if…if we didn’t draw the blinds tonight?  I can’t sleep in complete darkness.” He had asked you earlier that evening, towelling off his hair as he emerged from your bathroom wearing a shirt your ex had left behind along with your broken heart a year and a half ago.

Snoopy looked much better riding his skateboard across Shaw’s broad chest anyways.

And there, in the midst of an awkward arrangement where sleep would surely prove fleeting, the sounds of the night: the low hum of the refrigerator, the pawn shop’s sign buzzing just on the other side of the windowpane…the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, steady like Shaw’s breath beside you as it counts down precious time—

“I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.”  

Ba-bump.

“No, there’s…there’s no rush.  Honestly.”

“Can you really afford to miss more work because of me?”

Silence.  You couldn’t refute the truth.

“Tell you what, in exchange for putting up with me, you can ask me anything you want.  I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes; surely you must be curious about some things.  Might as well find out before I go.”

Your stomach knotted, clenching tight.  He was right.  For all you know, it was now or never.  “Why did you join?  The triad, that is.”

He is silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to piece together.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

Out of all possible answers, this wasn’t one you were expecting.  Turning onto your side, you study the handsome profile of his face — watching as pink mixed with lavender in the most ethereal way until you were overcome with the sense that in this vast ocean of life, you and him stood on very different shores.  Eyes still fixed on your ceiling, Shaw continues.

“He was an undercover cop, working to infiltrate the ranks of the group I’m currently a part of.  I only found out by accident, and he made me swear up and down not to breathe a word of it to mom.  Then one day…he was gone.  Just...disappeared off the face of the earth.  Mom and I went down to the station every day for months, knew the names and faces of everyone who worked in that building, but it was like Gavin never even existed.

“It was too much for her.  I came home late from school one day — found her on the floor, barely breathing.  It was dark in the apartment…so dark.  She had probably just drawn the curtains.  By the time the paramedics arrived, she was already gone.  Heart attack, they said.  

“I lie awake at night sometimes, wonder how I’m going to tell him that mom’s no longer here — go through the motions in my head, rehearsing every line.  ‘Cus I know that sooner or later, that day will come.  There’s no way he’s dead.  I know my brother.”

A glimmer at the corner of his eye catches yours.  Beneath the covers, your fingers inch towards his, finding courage in the darkness to brush against his pinky as if the sliver of warmth could express what words simply couldn’t convey.

“With mom gone, there was nothing to lose.  I joined the group, worked hard…did what they needed me to do to gain their trust, all while collecting scraps of info here and there — whatever I could get my hands on in the hopes that it’ll lead me to Gav.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Tiny drops of rain speckle your windowpane.  And when Shaw’s finger hooks around yours as if in a solemn pinky swear, the tears burning your eyes finally fall.  You don’t ask him how many years it’s been, the dirty deeds he’s had to sully his hands with.  You don’t question him about the father he doesn’t mention.  All you can do is watch as a solitary drop rolls down the side of his face before soaking into lavender strands fanned out on the pillow, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows back bitterness only he knew.

In spite of it all, he is the one who chuckles when he turns towards you, eyes red rimmed even as his brows rise in feigned exasperation when he says, “Why are you crying?!  I’m the one with the tragic past here!”

And when you start to cry even harder, his soft hushes of “Shh, shh…I’m sorry, that last part was a joke.  It’s all right, everything will be okay, I promise,” burrows deep into your heart and you believe him.

Because when he reaches towards you — the thumb wiping the tears from your eyes calloused yet gentle — you are struck by a sense of overwhelming tenderness:

In the carefulness of his touch.

In the way he regards you with the sincerity of some unspoken emotion.

In the entirety of this man whom the rest of the world has already written off.

And that is when you know…

“I didn’t mean to make you cry by telling you all this, I’m sorry.”

…that you are in love with him.

“I’ll make it up to you.  Ask me another question.  Maybe something less depressing this time.”  

A smile spreads across his face.  You wished there was a way for you to keep the warmth of his hand on your cheek forever.  Sniffling, you try again.

“Wh-why did you keep coming in to my store everyday?  There’s a lot of other convenience stores in the area—”

A flash of panic in those amber eyes, and Shaw is turning over with lightning speed until all you can see is the smooth expanse of his back.

“Changed my mind.  A guy’s gotta keep some secrets!  Goodnight!”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Wrap your arms around the pillow.

“Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.”

Bury your face into its cushiony fill.

“Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

And inhale deeply.

Shaw’s scent on your sheets is faint now, so much so that you can’t be entirely sure you’re not imagining it, having gone through this ritual countless times since the day Shaw left your apartment…

…and stepped out of your life.

                   *                                         *                                          *

“Is there…any way I could stay in touch with you?  I-I just…just want to make sure you’re okay…”

Voice trailing off, you watch as Shaw gingerly shrugs one arm then another through the sleeves of his leather jacket, still wearing the Snoopy t-shirt he had slept in the night before after you told him he could keep it.  His own was torn beyond repair, stubbornly dyed in blood regardless of how much you scrubbed at it.  And when he hesitated still, you said he would just be doing you the favour of taking out the trash.  

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, Shaw glances at the phone in your hands — eyes tracing along your eager fingers, poised to type.  The expression on his face is unreadable, as if the man you had spent the night sharing secrets with was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

“It’s better if we don’t.  I’ll be fine, just laying low for the next while — boss’s orders.  And I don’t want the cops coming around to your place again.  Detective Whatshisname looks like he could be really good at hounding pretty girls like you.”

That smirk again, so familiar to you by now.  And in the compliment that would’ve made you blush bright red before, nothing but a smokescreen.

“Shaw, I don’t mind—”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?" The force in his voice cuts, and you barely breathe to feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting up your face until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.  Those eyes are dull, like molten gold frozen beneath a layer of impenetrable ice.  “Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.  Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

The shiver that runs electric down your spine makes the hairs on your skin stand on end.  It was like looking at a stranger.  Heart racing, your palms grow clammy with sweat, unsure of exactly when your phone had dropped from your hands, slipping away like…

“I don’t care about the cops!  I’ll deal with them—”

“DEAL WITH WHAT?!  You think that just because you managed to turn them away at the door that it makes you a hardened criminal?!  WE are not the same, okay?  My life is worthless.  I’ve already signed it away a long time ago, I’m ready to give it up without a second thought.  But you…you’re different. Y-you’re kind, innocent.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.  One day, you’ll make someone the luckiest person in the world, be a beautiful mother to beautiful children.  Don’t sell yourself short…not for someone like me.”

The silence that descends is thick, suffocating.  You don’t speak, afraid to open your mouth because it takes all your concentration just to keep the tears from spilling from your eyes.

Finally letting go of your chin, Shaw reaches behind his neck to undo the clasp on the thin gold chain he wore, the jade disc pendant that hung from it still warm from the heat of his skin when he places it in the palm of your hand.

“It’s not much, but it was a gift from my mom and the most valuable thing I own.  You saved my life, so it’s yours now.  Maybe…maybe one day, you can give it to your own child.”

Lump in your throat, you can barely breathe, let alone tell him there was no way you could accept something that precious, something that priceless.  That you didn’t drag him home that night, broken and bleeding, in the hopes of gain; not for money, not for love.

He curls your fingers around the heirloom, gentle thumb pressing on index, middle, ring then pinky in turn before your fist finds itself held tightly within the press of his much larger hand for one…two…three seconds…

…before those purple Chuck Taylors take him to your door…

Slam.

…and just like that, the man with the lavender hair is gone.

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Forgive me for trolling, but there really was only one bed LOL!  Hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter, and please stay tuned for what may be the final instalment in this Shaw saga! - XOXO

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

Thanks so much for reading! 💕 Check out more of my work here! 📚(Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are a-ok and much appreciated! 👍🏼💖)

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 7

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers

Summary: Wei Ying has a panic attack upon waking. Jiang Wanyin makes an unpleasant discovery.

Notes: Life has been busy lately and it might take me longer to write. I get my second Pfizer shot on Wednesday, and I’m expecting it’ll make me useless for a couple days. It’s also nearing the end of the semester, so I’ll be busy with that, too.

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

AO3 link

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It took a few moments for Wangji to remember where he was when he woke, and then a moment more to place what had woken him before mao shi—quiet sobs and a soft voice murmuring soothingly.

He had taken the bedding on one side of the bed, and his eyes adjusted to the dark quickly. Wei Ying was curled against Jiang Yanli, who had taken the last shift. It was close enough to morning, then. 

“We’re here, A-Xian, and you’re safe,” she whispered, then noticed him sit up. “He had a nightmare.”

Wangji wished his guqin was here instead of the jingshi, that he had asked xiongzhang to bring it last night, that he could play calming music for Wei Ying; instead he levered himself to sit on the bed and hummed ‘WangXian,’ hoping it would remind his zhiji he was loved. 

Wei Ying’s trembling eased slowly, and Wangji kept his movements slow as he reached forward to take his hand, squeezing it lightly. He was relieved when Wei Ying squeezed back.

“S’going on?” Jiang Wanyin murmured blearily, sitting up. 

To his credit, he immediately moved beside his sister when he realized the issue. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, trying to be comforting, patting Wei Ying’s shoulder. 

Initiating unexpected touch wasn’t the best idea for someone in the throes of a panic attack—Wei Ying couldn’t quite mask a flinch, and Jiang Wanyin’s hands fluttered in a helpless way before clutching the bedsheet hard enough his knuckles turned white. 

Wangji continued to hum through it, not stopping even when his heart clenched at Wei Ying’s gasped apologies for the reaction. 

“Not your fault,” Jiang Wanyin whispered insistently, clearly trying to keep his own reaction in check for fear of hurting his brother further.

“Not yours,” Wei Ying returned, equally insistent.

“Neither of yours,” Jiang Yanli cut in. “Neither of you should blame yourselves.”

Wei Ying’s breath hitched.

“I hate it,” he whispered. “I hate being afraid all the time. I hate that I can’t stop.”

Wangji couldn’t abide him blaming himself, and paused in humming, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of Wei Ying’s hand. . 

“The past few days have been stressful. Too many events too quickly. Too overwhelming.” 

“And some were unexpected,” Jiang Yanli added, clearly thinking of his talk with Madam Jin and the last minute ceremony. 

“We should have just ditched the banquet,” Jiang Wanyin muttered. “The food sucked. A-Jie’s was better.”

Surprisingly, Wei Ying giggled at that, helpless in his laughter for nearly a minute. 

“Jiejie’s food is way better,” he said when he caught his breath. 

Wangji was relieved that his voice wasn’t tight and shaky anymore. The familiar joke among the Jiangs about Gusu Lan food, and particularly the food in the Cloud Recesses, had eased the panic attack.

Honestly, having enjoyed Jiang Yanli’s cooking, Wangji knew they had a point. 

She reached forward and smoothed Wei Ying’s hair, down and mussed in a way that was unfairly attractive, then poured him a glass of water from the ewer the healer had brought before hai shi. He drank  obediently, likely needing the hydration and something to rinse the taste of stale sick from his mouth. 

When he finished the glass, she poured him another, and then maneuvered him until she could reach his hair. She carded through the tangles gently with her fingers before quickly braiding it and tying the end off with his red hair ribbon.

“How are you feeling, A-Xian?” she asked when she was done. 

Wei Ying’s eyes had fallen shut during the process, and he hummed contentedly in response.

“Better,” he said after a moment.

He seemed to hesitate, as though he was about to say more. 

“Wei Ying?” Wangji asked.

Wei Ying ducked his head and bit his lip. 

“A bit hungry,” he admitted. 

He knew Wei Ying often downplayed his needs, so Wangji translated that to mean he was very hungry. 

“Well, you were sick,” Jiang Wanyin said, frowning. “It’s like you didn’t eat dinner, kind of.”

Jiang Yanli tutted softly. 

“You’re still so thin, A-Xian. I can go ask the healer if they can provide something… Or I could go get something from our quarters.”

She started to rise but was stopped by Jiang Wanyin.

“I’ll go, a-jie. I wouldn’t want you to go alone in the dark, and one of us needs to chaperone.”

The Jiang sect heir turned to Wei Ying.

“I’ll stop by your rooms and grab fresh robes for you while I’m at it,” he said gruffly. “You were sick in those.”

Wei Ying smiled brightly, and Wangji wanted to thank Jiang Wanyin for bringing that light to the surface through his courtesy. If he did, it would undoubtedly fluster him, and he could almost see why his zhiji enjoyed teasing people so much, imagining it.

It was near enough to mao shi, and the purpose of Jiang Wanyin’s break of curfew was to help his brother and would be excused, so Wangji said nothing when he left. 

Jiang Yanli fussed softly over Wei Ying after his departure, helping to straighten his sleep-skewed robes. 

When he shifted on the bed, he nearly knocked Suibian off. Wangji kept the sword from falling and handed it to Wei Ying, who laid it against his thigh. The sword, he knew, was a comfort, despite having been made by the Jiang sect—it represented his ability to protect himself. 

Wangji was content to watch Wei Ying as his sister doted on him, their gentle teasing—Xianxian is three; hmm, I think that’s too old—and the blessed calm that had found his beloved. 

Jiang Wanyin’s expression, when he returned, was stormy. He placed a tray of fruits and osmanthus cakes on the end of the bed.

“A-Cheng?” Jiang Yanli asked. 

He shook his head but looked at Wangji and gestured to the hall. Whatever had him troubled, he didn’t want to say in front of his siblings, which was immediately worrisome.

“Someone put lotuses in our rooms,” Jiang Wanyin said after the door was closed. “Ripped the petals off some and threw them all over.”

Rage filled him, icy and terrifying in what it might lead him to do. 

This confirmed those delivered to Wei Ying’s quarters, the entire reason he had to spend the night in the infirmary due to the fear of qi deviation, the reason he was ill and had panic attacks… It had been intentional. 

The culprit had likely expected them to take Wei Ying to the Jiang quarters in the morning, not expecting… 

“I will wake shufu and xiongzhang,” he said, his voice more forceful than he meant it to be. “The mess will be removed.”

Jiang Wanyin let out a soft sigh, almost one of relief that it’d be handled immediately. 

“I didn’t go to A-Xian’s quarters for fresh robes. And you might want to make sure they didn’t hit your jingshi.”

The rage he had felt dwarfed that which he felt now at the thought of his home being violated, the very place he had finally reached Wei Ying, whose well-being was now threatened by an unknown source. 

That they had dared to harm Wei Ying… He knew not what he would do if he caught the betrayer. 

“I will take care of it,” he said. “Protect Wei Ying.”

Jiang Wanyin blanched a bit, and he wondered briefly if his anger had shown in his face or voice, but he swept that aside, channeling his emotions into energy. 

When Xichen answered his knock at the hanshi, the sleepiness fell from his expression immediately, and he knew his own expression revealed his turmoil. 

“What happened, A-Zhan?”

It took him a moment to find his voice. 

“Sabotage. Lotuses in the Jiang quarters.”

Xichen’s quick intake of air was almost a gasp, and he closed his eyes as he often did when emotionally overwhelmed.

“I will wake shufu,” xiongzhang said after a moment. “Please meet us there.”

Wangji tried to bow, but was kept from doing so by his brother, who instead pulled him into an embrace, one that left his eyes stinging embarrassingly, the emotions that were overcoming him threatening to escape in a way he didn’t want. If he gave in to it, he didn’t know if he would stop until all the grief and anger and helplessness he had felt over the last year was expelled.

It was a relief when Xichen released him.

“We will protect him, didi. We will make this right.”

He could only nod, turning to walk to the Jiang quarters, glad for the dark that hid the emotions he could feel roiling within him.

The Jiang quarters were worse than Jiang Wanyin had let on, though Wangji could now see the reason behind his near-wordless rage. 

A large bouquet of lotus flowers dwarfed the table they had eaten at only hours before. Lotus blossoms were strewn about the room, petals on nearly every surface, and the smell was more than could be accounted for by the blossoms. It smelled as though far too much lotus incense had been burned. It was entirely possible the scent would prove difficult to remove, that the idea of Wei Ying staying with the Jiangs would now be impossible.

Knowing now how lotuses impacted Wei Ying, the smell made Wangji nauseous in sympathy. Had he come with them for breakfast in the morning to encounter this, after his own rooms had been similarly violated… 

They had been here all evening, until shortly before curfew. This had been done after they left, purposefully. 

Which made it clear neither this nor the bouquet left in Wei Ying’s quarters were innocent mistakes.

He dared not touch anything, lest he destroy evidence that might lead to a culprit. 

Wangji felt the decorative silverwork on Bichen’s hilt start to cut into his fingers and forced himself to loosen his grip. He left the rooms, standing on the small patio, breathing in the cool night air and listening to the chirp of crickets in the dark until he felt some semblance of calm.

His uncle and brother arrived shortly thereafter, and the thunderous expression on shufu’s face told Wangji he had reached a similar conclusion.

“Wei Ying is being targeted,” he said, knowing it was unnecessary.

“Return to him, Wangji,” shufu ordered gently. “This will be investigated and dealt with, and he needs you more than we do.”

Truthfully, Wangji was grateful to leave it in their hands.

He felt as though he had been contaminated by the smell and stopped by the jingshi to change lest the odor upset Wei Ying. His home was undisturbed, and he was able to change without incident. He even ran his comb, scented with sandalwood, through his hair a few times to ensure it would replace any scent that had taken root there. He took Wangji with him when he left so he could play for Wei Ying.

He stopped by Wei Ying’s quarters on the way back to the infirmary and was relieved they had not been further adulterated. He selected a set of robes, one with some blue in them, then checked to be certain his hair oil had not been tampered with—still the scent of orange and cinnamon—before taking both it and the comb he had gifted with him.

Wei Ying’s smile was weak when he returned, his face lined with new tear-tracks, and the Jiang siblings were hovering over him. Jiang Wanyin had not kept the discovery from him, and though it hurt him to admit, it was the correct decision. As much as Wangji wished to protect him from this, Wei Ying deserved to know, to make his own decisions. 

“Xiongzhang and shufu are investigating,” he told them as he hung Wei Ying’s fresh robes over a chair and set his guqin down.

He handed the comb and hair oil to Jiang Yanli, though he wished he could comb Wei Ying’s hair himself. It would be improperly intimate, and the courtship was important to show his value. 

He did not offer platitudes, knowing it would not change the way any of them felt. That this had likely originated from his own sect rankled him, and even kowtowing didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough penance. He had been unaware of negative sentiment toward Wei Ying, had been blindsided by this act of violence against him, had failed him… 

“It’s not your fault, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered, as though he could sense the guilt he felt.

His zhiji’s words, the love in his voice, saved him from the downward spiral of his thoughts. Wangji sat on the bed and took his hand. 

Though he had not committed the crime, he felt responsible for his failure to protect Wei Ying again. 

“We will be more vigilant,” he said, in lieu of worthless apologies.

Wei Ying offered a sad smile, then shifted closer and hugged him, leaning against his chest and tucking his forehead against his neck. 

Wangji brought his arms around him, held him close, basked in the warmth of his presence, and was grateful when the Jiangs said nothing against it, allowing them this simple comfort.

[ptolomeia]

Rhymes With I Love You

Summary: Thomas realizes he is deeply in love with his friend Janus. Luckily for him, it turns out Janus loves him back.

Pairing: Thomas/Janus

Rating: T

Tags: Human Au, Fluff, Mutual Pining

Words: 1802

Read it on AO3

It was the laugh that undid him. Loud, unrestrained, belly laughter. Tears in the corners of his eyes and little sounds that Janus would never admit were snorts escaping. Janus unabashedly, dorkily, loudly happy, for all the world, but most importantly, for Thomas to see.

Thomas knew then and there that, not only did he love Janus, he’d loved him for a while. He didn’t think the words “I love you so much” would have come so close to falling out of his mouth like an armed, friendship destroying bomb if he hadn’t been in love for a while.

And could anyone really blame him? This was Janus he was talking about. Brilliant, beautiful, eloquent, funny, sharp—Thomas could go on all day. And had. The less said about the contents of the margins of his notes (kept carefully tucked away whenever there was a change of seeing Janus) these days, the better.

But more than any of those things (and they were great things!) Janus was kind. You’d never guess, when you first met him, but under all that snark and swagger, Janus was one of the most considerate people Thomas had ever met. He was always willing to go a little out of his way to help, and he never forgot to make Thomas a cup of tea when he made himself one.

Yes, Thomas was deeply and irrevocably in love with Janus, and had been for who knew how long. There were only two problems with this.

The first one wasn’t so bad; Janus didn’t love him back. Which was fair, honestly. Thomas was an anxious mess of a human being, barely able to keep on top of his master’s work. Thomas might be able to listen to Janus talk for hours about the philosophers he loved and studied and analyzed, but it’s not like Thomas had ever been able to really get any of it. Why wouldn’t Janus want someone who was his intellectual equal? Someone who could at least appear to be as put together as Janus was?

So yeah, Janus didn’t love him back, but that really wasn’t the real problem. Thomas was happy just being Janus’s friend, spending time with him just as he always had. No, it was the second problem that was the real problem.

You think a man who’d spend over two decades in the closet would be better at hiding things, but nope. Apparently he’d used up all his secret keeping abilities in those years because now, every time he saw Janus, every time Janus made a quip, or smirked, or breathed, Thomas was overcome with the desire to tell Janus about his unreciprocated feelings.

In retrospect, letting Janus serve him wine when Janus had come over for dinner had been a bad idea.

He hadn’t actually said “Janus, I love you, please pass the salt”, but it was a close run thing.

No, it wasn’t until after supper and another glass of wine was finished and cleaned up from, after Janus had made them both a cup of tea and was sitting with Thomas on his small, busted up couch in his small, student apartment, talking in depth about the idiocy of some famous philosopher, as Thomas watched Janus’s elegant hands so eloquently illustrate what Janus was saying, that the words he’d barely managed to keep behind clenched teeth for the past few weeks fell out into the world.

“I’m in love with you.”

Janus froze. Thomas froze. Oh shit. He wanted to believe he hadn’t actually said that, but Janus’s entirely unreadable expression said otherwise.

“What?” Janus hissed, his eyes searching Thomas’s face.

“Oh God,” Thomas said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Too late to pretend he hadn’t said anything and they could ignore it. Now he just had to try for damage control and hope he hadn’t managed to destroy his friendship with Janus completely. “I’m sorry, Janus—I don’t know why I said that. No, I mean, I do, but I know you don’t return my feelings—which is totally fine! I just hope we can—”

“I hate tea,” Janus interrupted Thomas’s frantic and pathetic attempt to explain.

“What?” It was Thomas’s turn to say.

“I hate tea,” Janus said, putting down the mug of tea he made himself, and leaning towards Thomas. “I always have. I’ve spent years trying to find a blend I could stand—you have no idea how many samplers I’ve gone through—before realizing no such blend existed and stopped bothering. Black, Green, White, Pu’er, Herbal, Rooibos, Oolong, Chai—I’ve tried them all to no avail. It doesn’t matter how long I steep them, or if I use the right temperature of water. It doesn’t matter how I try to doctor it with milk or sugar or lemon or honey. Wine, Coffee, plain water, even milk are more to my taste than tea. Hell, I’d rather drink beer.”

“But���But that’s ridiculous!” Thomas managed, unable to reconcile the words coming out of Janus’s mouth with the hundreds of mugs of tea he’d seen his friend drink. “You’re literally drinking tea right now! You made it yourself 20 minutes ago! I was right there watching you! Besides, I’ve seen you drink hundreds of cups of tea over the years and never seen you even touch a beer. I swear, every other time we’re at one of our places you say you were thinking of making yourself some tea and would I… like… some…” Thomas felt his eyes widen. No, that couldn’t be it… could it?

“Yes,” Janus said, leaning further forward, eyes bright and intense and overwhelming. “Very early on after meeting you, Thomas—After falling so deeply in love with you I knew I’d never be able to find my way out if I ever wanted to, not that I ever have—I realized you are the most stubborn person on the face of the planet when it comes to letting other people take care of you. You once mentioned that you find a cup of tea soothing, but later, when I wanted to make just you one, you absolutely refused to let me. So, even if I couldn’t stand the stuff, the simplest way for me to offer you the comfort I so desperately wanted to give you was to learn to choke down the stuff myself. I may hate tea, Thomas. But you don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because as someone once said ‘how can I help rhymes with I love you’ and I didn’t think you’d let me say either. Thomas, I would drink a thousand mugs of tea to see that soft, relieved smile of yours when I make you one when you’re stressed. I love you, Thomas. I have loved you for years.”

“But… but why?” Thomas asked, knowing he was repeating himself, but way too overwhelmed to do anything else. Janus loved him?

“Why?” Janus said, head jerking back. “Thomas, I knew you had issues knowing your own worth but—” Janus bit back his words and narrowed his eyes before starting again. “While the fact that you are physically stunning is what first attracted me to you, it’s not the reason I love you.” Breathing. Thomas had to remember that breathing was a thing. “No, I fell in love with you for other things. First of all, that brilliant mind of yours. Not only can you retain and easily access the truly astounding number of facts and how they relate to each other than you need for your engineering work, you have an astonishing way of coming sideways at a problem and developing an elegant solution no one else would imagine. There’s also the fact that you’re hilarious. I don’t think anyone has ever made me laugh as hard or as often as you have. But most importantly, Thomas, the real reason I fell so inescapably in love with you is that you are kind. You look at a world filled with casual cruelty and callousness, where injustice runs rampant and stupid rules let people day for no reason at all—and you say ‘Yes. All this is true. And I will do what I can to change that. I will be kind’. And you are. And you make the world a better place for it. Thomas, I’d have to be an idiot not to fall in love with you.”

And Janus was no idiot.

“You really love me?” Thomas asked, not quite able to believe it.

“I lie about many things, Thomas. You already know that about me. But I would not, will not, lie about this.” There was more honest vulnerability and emotion in Janus’s eyes than Thomas had ever seen there, and if possible, Thomas fell even deeper. Not that it mattered, because apparently Janus had been waiting to catch him all along. “I love you, Thomas Sanders. And I cannot possibly express how happy I am to hear you love me too.”

Janus loved him. Janus loved him.

Janus had also lied to him, but Thomas had known Janus’s flaws when he’d fallen in love, and had fallen anyway. And now that he knew what Janus was willing to do to make him happy?

“At some point,” Thomas said breathlessly (he seemed to have lost his breath somewhere deep in Janus’s eyes), “At some point we’re going to have to talk about the fact that apparently you’ve been lying to me.”

“Agreed,” Janus said, quick and so certain that Thomas didn’t doubt for a second that they would.

“But until then,” Thomas managed. “Until then, can I kiss yo—”

He didn’t manage to finish the sentence before Janus’s lips were pressed against his own.

“My love,” Janus said with a faint, almost disbelieving reverence, pulling back just far enough to look into Thomas’s eyes. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever we want,” Thomas corrected gently, reaching up to lovingly cup Janus’s cheek. “From here on out, we both tell each other what we actually want, instead of dancing around it, okay?”

“In that case,” Janus more purred than said, turning his face slightly to press a kiss against the pad of Thomas’s thumb, while never taking his eyes of Thomas’s face, “I would very much like to kiss you again.”

Thomas swallowed. Thomas swallowed again. “Agreed,” he just managed to say.

With a soft laugh—a laugh Thomas thought he loved just as much as the belly laugh that made him realize the truth—Janus leaved back in and kissed him again.

Later, they would talk with each other about all the things they still needed to. Later, they would be honest and communicate and build something that let both of them feel heard and loved. But that could wait til morning. For now, there were better things to do.

[houseofhurricane]

Bloom & Bone (1/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: I haven't written fanfiction in a decade, but this idea wouldn't let me go, especially once I got to thinking about Elain. And Tamlin. And then I fell in love with Lucien and Vassa. This is a long ride but everything's outlined, and I hope you'll join me on this journey. You can find all chapters here. You can also read this chapter on AO3.

Elain cannot look at her sister when she describes the vision: the spark in Tamlin’s green eyes, Feyre’s anguish, the press of his fingers into her wrist. The Crown on his head and his talons hovering just above the blue veins that are so stark against her younger sister’s milk-pale skin, a sickly shade that Elain has never actually seen on Feyre in life, not even in the cottage, in the dead of winter.

Instead, while she addresses the Court of Dreams, Elain makes herself look at Rhys, his rage-dulled eyes, at Mor, who moves toward Feyre as if magnetized, wanting to protect her friend. Even Amren is easier to watch, her face revealing no emotion but a certainty bordering on arrogance. Elain glances only occasionally at Azriel, the force of his glance a blow in her gut. Though the pain, in its own way, is useful, giving her voice a wobble that could be understood as horror or incomprehension. Mostly Elain angles her head so that she studies the swirls of marble on the floor. They are used to believing she is diffident, cowed, and honestly she often feels this way, in spite of her Fae body and her powers, no matter what new rancor stirs in her lately.

She recounts the vision’s grand finale: Tamlin and Feyre on the thrones in the ruined Spring Court, the Crown the only spark of light in the gloom, the room empty and covered in thorns.

“Azriel told me once,” she says, once the words have had sufficient time to settle, “that he thought my powers were not the visions alone, but the ability to change them.” 

Elain allows herself, then, to turn from the floor to Cassian, the first person she’d saved knowingly, applying her fingers to Truth Teller, the knife to the king of Hybern’s throat. She’d seen his death in a vision, but not her father’s, and a kernel of her hates him for this, all those easy smiles. She had only ever told Azriel the details of the vision. At the time he was the only one who’d believed what she was seeing, who thought she might have the power to change things. The one who’d put the knife in her hands. Now she does not look at him.

Instead, she keeps her eyes on Cassian. Not because she needs to read the expression on his face. His reactions to her vision would have been audible even to her human ears, the horror at the mere possibility of a future for his High Lady. Cassian, who she knows will relay the story directly to Nesta, the sister who grew up entwined around her and can read the nuances behind each of Elain’s gestures, the timbre of her voice, and instantly detect a lie. She’d bided her time until Nesta was occupied with the Valkyries, a training exercise that could not be rescheduled, occupying her sister and also Gwyn, of whom Elain prefers not to think.

From the heavy silence in the room, she knows they all believe her. 

“Then what should we do?” Feyre says, finally, her High Lady voice its own armor. She looks toward her mate, not even glancing at Elain. Her job, it seems, is to supply the visions, then return to her garden. For once in her gods-damned life, this is not Elain Archeron’s plan. 

“I would like to go to the Spring Court,” she says, working her hands into fists. She waits for Azriel’s growl, but there’s only silence, Feyre’s mouth working silently, trying to determine the right words. As if her sister has suspected that something vile is brewing inside Elain, acrid and corrosive, that now she wonders why, unlike the other times, Elain could so calmly recount the details of her vision, a power mastered seemingly without training.

Instead her sister says, “There is no chance I’m letting you within Tamlin’s borders. Do you remember how you ended up in the Cauldron?” The words spit themselves from her lips.

“Who else do you suggest we send?”

It surprises them, the steel in her voice. For a moment, they are all silent, trying to determine what it means, Elain snapping at her sister. She watches as Rhys reaches out for Feyre, and the weariness overcomes her, the weight of the lie suddenly laid on her. That she could become a creature against whom her sister needs protection. 

She clenches her fists tighter. Her fingernails dig into the callouses left by her gardening tools.

“Nesta could--” Feyre begins.

“Nesta could summon the Crown right to Tamlin,” Amren cuts in, before Elain can get the words out herself. Amren, who knows Nesta’s powers better than any of them.

“Nesta would never do that,” Cassian growls, and Elain bites her lip to keep from smiling. Of the entire Night Court, she can always predict Cassian’s responses most easily.

“If you were threatened?” Elain says, her voice low, concerned. “Nesta has her own duties. I can detect the Trove but not summon it. I couldn’t be used so easily as bait.”

“You are still--” Rhys starts, but Elain cuts him off, continuing as though she does not hear him, you are still one of the Cauldron-blessed Archeron sisters, the words a curse that will not leave her, the facts of her existence that have taken everything away from her, every choice she’d once thought to be her own. Hoping he’ll forget that until now she always has been bait, the soft and useless sister who could best be used to harm the others, the ones with real value in and of themselves.

“Send Lucien with me, if you like,” she says. Feyre’s eyebrow’s raise, and Mor’s, and though Elain is afraid she’s said too much, she allows the blush to rise to her cheeks. Let them think, now that Azriel’s found his mate, that she’s considering Lucien with renewed interest. 

“I’ll go with them,” Mor cuts in.

“You’re needed in Valhallan,” Rhys says, fingers splayed under his chin. He’s all languorous consideration and sparkling violet eyes but Elain knows his mind is whirling, that the pleasant veneer is mostly for her benefit. After three years in the Court of Dreams, everyone still thinks she’s going to shatter. Even if they’ve given her ample reason to fall apart. “Would Vassa join your merry band, do you think? I’d like to keep an eye on her, given what we’ve learned about Koschei.” Thanks to Azriel and Gwyn, Elain knows, but Rhysand does not say.

“We shouldn’t leave Jurian unattended.” Cassian cracks his knuckles, his armor shifting.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Azriel says.

“Then it’s settled. Elain will act as our emissary in the Spring Court,” Rhys says, and when Elain finally does look into Feyre’s eyes, she doesn’t want to read her sister’s expression, only knows it’s one she’s never seen before.

Then again, Elain has never told such an incredible lie in her life. She’s not entirely sure what kind of creature that makes her.

“You don’t have to try and save me,” Feyre says later, standing on the threshold of Elain’s room with Nyx on her shoulder. The baby is almost asleep, his wings making languid circles that catch Feyre’s cheek in a sigh. Nyx is nearly too big to need holding, but Feyre is holding on to these last moments before he’ll be off and running or flying, a brilliant and holy terror.

“I know you can fight against Tamlin. But I’d like to see if that can be avoided. And... I’d like to have something to do. To be useful.” Elain busies herself with her dresses, selecting those which most resemble her favorite blooms, the pale azures and pinks that herald spring and the rich yellow that shows that fall is on the horizon.

“Is it Azriel?”

For a while now, Feyre has been dancing around this question with a poise that reminds Elain of Nesta’s skill in a ballroom. She invited Elain to sit for a portrait last month and began a hundred soft questions that Elain demurely did not answer.

Elain continues sorting through her dresses. This orange makes her look sickly, and of course the black gowns have no place in the Spring Court, would only serve to advertise her status as an outsider.

“I know that he and Gwyn were unexpected,” Feyre begins again, in a voice that she must use when meeting with her public, a voice that’s low and soothing and guaranteed to make them proud of their High Lady, “but I did not realize that you were so attached to him.”

Elain has turned, now, to her jewels. She grits her teeth against the scream that curdles inside her. You did not see Rhysand at the top of the staircase at the Solstice party the year before last, she does not say, because the words are too ridiculous for all that’s inside her. Azriel could have kissed her anyway. She could have reached for him. Instead they gazed at each other across rooms, let their fingers brush, until he stopped meeting her gaze. Two weeks later, Gwyn showed up at the house on the river, a faint blush on her cheeks, standing too close to Azriel for there to be any question as to the reason for her visit. And there was Nesta, taking a fighting stance at her friend’s side, the expression on her face so familiar to Elain that she could practically feel the grime of their old cottage on her skin. Between the two of them, Elain could hardly have approached Gwyn if she’d wanted to, if she’d had anything inside her head but roaring and emptiness. When she’d spotted the rose necklace Azriel had fastened to her own neck on Gwyn’s throat, Elain had excused herself from dinner before dessert. 

That had only been the first dinner, the first hint of a smile she’d never seen before on Azriel’s face. Soon Gwyn appeared at all kinds of court affairs and family gatherings, and Elain has found herself seeking corners, wanting quiet. The roiling inside her grew stronger, a twist in her stomach and acid in her muscles, so that even a small group could feel overwhelming. Her gardens have never been more beautiful, or her hemlines so streaked with dirt. Nuala and Cerridwen sometimes tease her, wondering if she has found a lover in the gardens, and Elain laughs to keep them from asking questions. She schools her expression to be pleasant, never demanding, never petulant, never angry.

When she was human, which seems so long ago already, Elain had been the beautiful sister, the one her parents anticipated would marry well, enrich their family or establish them as aristocracy. They had told her always to be sweet and gentle, never creating a reason for a man to fall out of love with her. The instructions were not a burden for Elain, not the way they would have been to her sisters. But now, her character finely honed, she would never have expected to be without a husband, without the love and affection she sees between her sisters and their mates. She’d worked too hard on being loveable to be forced to end up with a mate for whom she has no regard.

Now, Feyre sets Nyx down on Elain’s bed and comes over to the jewelry box, untangling the pearls from the emeralds and rubies. Elain has always favored delicate jewels, nothing too large or ornate, and the golden chains seem to catch no matter how carefully they’re arranged. 

“I always thought you were better suited to the Spring Court than I ever was,” she says, picking up a diamond earring and clasping it to its mate. “I wish you could have seen the gardens the way I first did. Though I think they would have a hard time competing with any of your gardens.”

Elain breathes a laugh through her nose. “You always try too hard to flatter me.”

“Only because you can never take a compliment.”

For a moment, they are girls again, in a funhouse mirror of what their adolescence could have looked like: Feyre always more self-assured than anyone would expect for a girl her age, Elain seemingly serene, allowing herself to be led down pleasant paths. 

“You know that the Spring Court is dangerous.”

“I’ve been to the Court of Nightmares and lived to tell the tale.”

“The Court of Nightmares has a ruler.”

“Tamlin knows what would happen if he harmed me.” Elain runs her fingers over a set of combs shaped like branches that know winter is ending, emerald leaves unfurling. She will have to pack these in her trunks.

“Not according to your vision,” Feyre murmurs, and though the tone is pitched to be soothing, an acid knot forms in Elain’s stomach. “I know that Rhys will make things clear to him, but you can’t let Tamlin walk all over you.”

“He needs to trust me somehow.”

Feyre puts down the bottle of perfume she’s been toying with, releasing a puff of peony and rose. She pulls on the end of her plaited hair, not so much thinking as gnawing on her memories.

“I used to think that Tamlin only told his secrets to Lucien, or perhaps Ianthe, but now I don’t think… I think he is very alone. And he never trusted me with very much of anything.”

“He was wrong about you, Feyre.”

“I only mean, I think that a beautiful maiden would not necessarily inspire Tamlin to confess anything of interest. He will only trust, and grudgingly, the people he sees as his equals.”

“I am not some damsel, sister.”

It’s only when she catches Feyre’s wide-eyed look that Elain realizes the sharpness in her tone. The kind of tone her sisters both wield so well, but which no one expects to emerge from between her own lips.

But Elain does not want to ruin the moment, maybe the last in which she and Feyre will be so close, so she takes her sister’s hand and listens to her sister’s stories of the Spring Court, drying the occasional tear, until neither of them can talk for yawning. Before Feyre goes to her own bedroom with Nyx, Elain pulls her into a close embrace, taking in her sister’s scent of lilac and pear, until she’s sure that nothing could pull these memories out of her mind.

Alone in her darkened room, though she’s exhausted and worn, Elain does not sleep. This is a common side effect of her visions, she would say if anybody asked her. The futures she sees always haunt her to a certain extent, their texture real and yet unhinged, the world mostly nightmarish.

Elain has never seen herself in her visions, though. Not before this last one. Because she had lied to the Court of Dreams. She herself has been the Archeron sister sitting next to Tamlin in that ruined court. And she, not that High Lord, had been wearing the Crown.

Even more than that vision of herself, the haughty set of her chin and a glint in her eye that matched this newfound roiling inside her, the expression on Tamlin’s face drove away all possibility of sleep. His eyes were not alive, the green gone cold and deep, like the dying moss on an overturned stone, but the features of his face were calm, and, even unpracticed as she is in the analysis of her own visions, Elain could swear that she’d seen the hint of a smile on his lips, that in spite of the compulsion of the Crown, the joy was real.

She hates that she would be so desperate, even in the small room of her own mind, that she would look so closely at a prisoner’s face to find this kind of affection. Already, in the two days that passed while she tried to figure out how best to resolve this situation, she’s wondered if she could simply claw out the part of her brain that generates these nightmares. She would scoop out the part of herself that is evil, too, if only she could identify these horrible parts. 

Elain isn’t sure if it’s the Night Court that is making her a monster, or if it was a gift from the Cauldron. Perhaps the Spring Court will change her, or maybe it was losing, twice already, the possibility of love. 

All she knows is that she needs to leave before her sisters witness the transformation. She will die before she sees her monstrous self reflected in their eyes.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Dignity & Disposition

(Author’s Note(s):  I struggle publishing Sherlock fics because as a Christian I blatantly disagree with his statements about God on the show and find it insulting actually.  I love Jesus!  He has saved me and worked in my life as well as those around me! 

 I otherwise enjoy the show Sherlock and enjoy writing fics with his character.

Someone told me they appreciated my last fic, and not sure if they’d like to be named, but I hope they enjoy it!  You know who you are!

Just a warning, this is kind of a long fic.  About six pages in my doc, soooo be prepared! It is riddled with Pride & Prejudice references, hence the title.  Also, side note, I could see Benedict playing a pretty good Mr. Darcy...  Enjoy!)

  His piercing gaze filled you with warmth as his lips parted to recite the words you were so ready to hear.  “I love you, most ardently… Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”  His voice was deep.  It had a calming effect, and yet was still unsettling in such a good way.

  Your eyes remained locked with his as you responded.  “Sir,” you stated, breathless.  “I appreciate the struggle you have been through, and I am very sorry to have caused you pain.  Believe me, it was unconsciously done.”

  His brows furrowed. “Is this your reply?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Are you...are you laughing at me?”

  “No.”

  “Are you rejecting me?”

  Just then, the moment you had so persistently rehearsed was interrupted by footsteps up the stairs.  It was none other than John Watson who entered the room, looking rather bewildered.  He looked at you, then Sherlock.

  “Am I...interrupting something?” he inquired, brows raised incredulously.

  “Yes,” you and Sherlock chorused.

  “Is this what I think it is?”  He shifted his stance. 

  “I was cast as the part of Elizabeth Bennet for a Pride and Prejudice short film that a friend of mine is working on,” you informed him with a smile.  “Sherlock was helping me rehearse.”

  “Oh,” John stated.  His mouth opened wide as he gave a nod of understanding.  “Right, I thought this dialogue sounded familiar.  For a split second there, it looked like…Nevermind.”

  You rolled your eyes, though felt warmth in your face at the implication that this could have been an actual confession of love from the consulting detective.

  As if, you thought to yourself.

  It was true, you were merely rehearsing.  However, the part of it that you couldn’t believe was that Sherlock actually volunteered to assist you after you entered the flat worrying aloud about your performance later.  There’d be a camera crew and everything, though a small one.  Sherlock claimed that your worrying was distracting from his latest case, so he agreed to go over the lines with you a few times until you felt more comfortable.

  As much as you wanted to read into the thoughtful gesture, you decided to just take his word for it: he was just trying to get you quiet to refocus on the case.  He was Sherlock Holmes, after all.  He was no romantic like Mr. Darcy, swooping in to save your honor and gain your affection.

  John’s confusion seemed to be replaced with an amused curiosity.  He took a seat and looked at you, smiling.  “Well, go on then.  Don’t stop on my account.”

  You looked at him and sighed.  “Really, John?  I feel awkward as it is.”

  “You’re doing this for a film, right?  Why not do it in front of a friend first?”

  You sighed again, but turned your eyes back to the script in hand.  “Okay, well, Sherlock, if you don’t mind.  Let’s move onto the next section.”

  “Indeed,” he nodded, flipping the page.

  As you picked up on the next conversation between Elizabeth and Darcy, you couldn’t help but notice how well Sherlock played the part.  He could be awkward and quiet and appear prideful.  He was arrogant like Mr. Darcy seemed to be at first, but just like the book character your friend was often misunderstood.  Only when one got to know him did they realize that he was merely socially awkward.  Okay, and also still a tad arrogant.

  After the scene was complete, John clapped. "You're going to be great, ___________."

 "I sure hope so," you replied. "I just hope I don't freeze in front of the camera."

 "Stage fright is quite common," Sherlock muttered.  "You've faced many strange situations and villains while working with me and John.  I am sure you can overcome this.  If you should feel overwhelmed in the moment, imagine you are rehearsing here in 221b."

  Sherlock Holmes giving you a pep talk?

  He set down the script and returned to the table where his case files were scattered about, just as he had left them before.  You looked at John questioningly, and he only returned with a pointed look and amused smile. You had both known Sherlock for quite some time, but even so he could be confusing.

               ----

  Later that day, you met up with your friend to begin the filming process. This was only part one of four, each part being filmed on a separate day.  By the end of the week, she'd have everything she needed to edit it together for her university project. It was more of an educational film for younger students to better understand the themes of Jane Austen's story, with you acting out major scenes to show character development and to demonstrate these themes.

  So far, it was going well. There were a few times where you feared you'd forget a line or got distracted, but you pictured in your mind reciting the lines to Sherlock instead of the stranger in front of you.  It wasn't that the man playing Mr. Darcy was doing anything wrong. There was simply a lack of chemistry.  However, you didn't want to dwell on that too long because it brought up the possibility of you feeling chemistry with Sherlock. There was no way. Anything you felt had to be because of how surprisingly well he got into character. You'd seen him do it on cases when he was undercover. He could throw on a different expression and speak in a tone to feign emotion. It was important to remind yourself that when you started to get swept away with these strange feelings that you'd been fighting long before this project.

  "____________?" The Mr. Darcy actor in front of you (what was his name? Brody?) waved his hand in front of you.  "Everything alright?"

  "Oh um yes," you nodded. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

  "Actually, we're about to wrap things up!" Your friend, Emma, interjected.  "Go ahead and get out of costume, Brady." She turned to the rest of the people in the group.  "Thanks everyone! It's been a good day."

  You waved at Brady as he walked away, and Emma came over to give you a knowing look.

  “What?” you asked.

  “I know that look.  You’re smitten.  I’m honestly surprised because Brady doesn’t seem like your type.”

  You shrugged.  “Well, that’s because he isn’t.  It’s just that Mr. Darcy’s romantic tendencies would make any girl swoon.”

  “For sure,” she agreed.  “But really, ___________, who were you thinking about?  Is it that dreamy detective you work with?”

  You glanced around as if he would be standing right there.  When the coast was clear, you gave her a look.  “You can’t say stuff like that.  He could be anywhere.  And trust me, there’s nothing developing there.”

  “Oh, _________, you need to relax.  It’s okay to have feelings.”

  “No,” you sighed.  “It’s not.  Not around someone like him, someone who notices everything.”

  “Ohhhhh,” she raised her brows.  “I get it now.”

  You glanced at a clock across the way.  “Wow, would you look at the time?  I need to get back to the flat.  Talk to you tomorrow?”

  She laughed.  “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook this time.  See you tomorrow for filming!”

  You waved and hurried off to call a taxi. 

  There you sat, in a stylish yet comfortable nightgown.  John was sitting across the way typing up a blog entry while you indulged in a book.  It was a relaxing night in the flat.  Sherlock was out, most likely gathering information for a case.  It was nice to catch up on some reading since there hadn’t been much time lately.  John excused himself to the loo.  With the click-clack of his keyboard absent, the room was silent for a few minutes.

  Suddenly, the door flew open.  Sherlock rushed into the room, causing a gust of air to rustle some papers on the table next to you.  You had learned not to pay him any mind when he was running around solving cases, but his entrance was more abrupt than usual, so you peeked up from your book to see him standing there a few feet away.  He was already looking at you, and so your eyes met.

  “Hey, Sherlock,” you greeted with a smile.  “How’s it going?”

  He was silent for a few moments before finally responding.  “Fine.  It’s going fine.”

  You gave a slow, confused nod.  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  He shook his head.  “No.”

  “Should I ask Mrs. Hudson for some tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Okay…”  You watched him stare at you for a good thirty or so seconds before he turned and headed to his bedroom.  He flew past John who was emerging from the restroom looking rather bewildered.  Sherlock’s door slammed shut behind him.

  “What did you do to poor Sherlock?” John joked, knowing full well it was more likely the other way around.  You shrugged, turning your attention back to the book.

  “I have no idea.”  You felt John’s eyes on you for a while longer, prompting you to give him a look.  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he replied.  “It’s just that Sherlock’s been acting strange lately.  Well, strange for Sherlock.”

  “I can’t say I’ve noticed.”

  “Really?  Because I notice it mostly happens around you.”

  You put the book down, curious.  “Like what?”

  “He’s been staring at you an awful lot.  It’s only for a few seconds, but for Sherlock, that’s ages.  He normally pays no mind to the people around him, just evidence.”

  “I don’t know,” you mumbled.

  “Here’s a thought,” John leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands.  “And it’s a crazy one because Sherlock has this no-sentiment rule, but...what if he likes you?”

  You fought the warmth that rushed into your face.  “I think you’re right.  That is a crazy one.”

  “Hear me out.”  John cleared his throat.  “He helped you rehearse for your short film.”

  “He told me he did that so I’d quit worrying and let him work.”

  “Well, think about it.  What does he usually do when people are talking and he needs to think?  He usually just tells everyone to shut up.”

  You nodded.  “He used to do that to me too when I first met him.”

  “But he hasn’t in quite some time.  Instead of telling you to shut it, he went out of his way to help you.”  John chuckled.

  “So, what?  Am I supposed to swoon because he doesn’t tell me to shut up?”  You laughed.  “This is ridiculous, John.”

  “I’m just saying,” he continued.  “I think he has grown to like you, even if he is terrible at expressing it.”

  “Well, I guess I do appreciate it.  Even a little.”  You leaned back in the chair.  “It’s still silly.  He’s probably got something else on his mind.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded.  “Maybe give it some time and things will return to normal.”

  The question was; did you want it to return to normal?  John seemed to assume that you didn’t have any interest in the consulting detective, but the fact of the matter was you still had feelings...

  You thought back to how Sherlock appeared to you when you first met him.  He really did seem arrogant.  After getting to know him better, you realized a lot of his conduct was due to being clueless on appropriate social etiquette...Although, some of it was indeed due to arrogance.

  Eventually you warmed up to him, and he seemed to be less obnoxious toward you.

  Was it possible there was more?

  A part of you hoped it was the case, and the other side wanted to bury the thought out of fear that he’d notice and have something to say that you didn’t want to hear.  

-----

  Sherlock seemed to go back to normal.  Or at least, as normal as a crew like that could be with all those cases.  Two days after your conversation with John, you received an upsetting text from Emma.

  “Oh my goodness,” you gasped.  “I cannot believe this.”

  Sherlock’s violin playing ceased, and John poked his head around the corner.

  “What’s wrong?” John asked.  “Was it another theft on that street we were talking about?”

  “No,” you sighed, dropping your phone onto the chair.  “That guy, Brady, who was playing Mr. Darcy decided to quit out of the blue.  We only had a few scenes to go, and now we need to find someone else quickly to re-shoot everything in time for Emma’s project.  We were already set back a few days from unexpected complications.  Emma’s such a good student, and a bad grade would screw up her class.”

  “That’s awful,” John shook his head. 

  “That must be frustrating indeed,” Sherlock agreed quickly, setting down his violin as if he couldn’t care less.  “I am going out.  Hope all works out for you.”  His footsteps disappeared down the stairs, and you sighed.

  “I’ve got to start looking for someone, or else Emma’s grade is in trouble.”

  “Good luck with that, then,” John sympathized.

  You took a look through your contacts to see if there would be anyone else suitable for the role who would have the time to help out.  The search resulted in dashed hopes, and you briefly considered putting out an ad.

  Not minutes later, you received a phone call.

  “Emma?  What’s up?”

  “Hey!  I’ve got a volunteer for the role of Mr. Darcy.  It turns out, there are some shots we took of you alone, so we’ll only need to add a voiceover to those.  There are still a few scenes I need with you and the new Mr. Darcy, so please get your butt down to the square in an hour while we still have light!”

  “That’s great news!”  You exclaimed.  “How’d you find someone so fast?”

  “I’m not supposed to say…  He says he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Oh, I wonder who that is.  Could be Harry.  He made a joke about wanting the role a while back, but I didn’t think he was serious.”

  “I can’t say~” she practically sang into the phone.  “Just get down here!”

  You explained the situation to John and gathered your things with plenty of time to call a cab.  By the time you arrived, Emma and a few of her classmates were getting things set up.

  “Hey,” you said.  “Where’s this replacement?”

  “He said he’d be here any minute now.”

  “I’m here.”  Your heart stopped at Sherlock’s voice joining the conversation.  There he stood, hands in the pockets of his big coat, gazing at you.

  “Thank you for volunteering on such short notice!” Emma told him gratefully.  “We don’t know what we’d do if you hadn’t stepped in.  _____________ and everyone else has been working so hard, and it would have been a shame to cancel or switch projects so quickly.”

  “Yes, well,” Sherlock sighed.  “What do I need to do?”

  “If you’d get in costume, that would be great.”

  Sherlock took the bundle and disappeared in the tent Emma’s classmate set up for costume changing.  You were frozen to the spot as you waited your turn, processing what was happening.

  “But...Sherlock...He…”  You blinked and turned your attention to Emma who shrugged with a huge grin plastered on her face.  She giggled and set to work getting everything else ready.

  When all was taken care of and the actors were lined up, you began filming what scenes were left and re-filming a few shots that Emma needed to complete the video.  You were lost in reciting your lines, and thoroughly impressed by Sherlock’s take on Mr. Darcy.  He really did fit the part well.

  Things became strange when you started filming Mr. Darcy’s second proposal to Lizzy after he rescued her family from humiliation by the younger sister and the awful Mr. Wickham.  Sherlock’s tone softened, and something in his eyes was different.  There was a certain intensity you hadn’t noticed before.

  “...My affections and wishes are unchanged. But one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

  Before you could say the next line, Sherlock did something unexpected.  He cupped your cheek and brought your face closer to  press his lips to yours.  It was firm, but his kiss was soft.  You were utterly shocked, but instantly reacted to the gesture, bringing your hands up to grasp his shoulders.

  “Wait,”  Emma said.  You heard the sound of pages turning quickly.  “There isn’t a kiss in this scene- oh…”  She giggled.  “Well, well, well.”

  Sherlock pulled away, eyes traveling from your lips to meet your gaze.  Still dazed by his unanticipated actions, you said nothing.  Instead, he spoke first.

  “____________, let me explain.  I set aside sentiment to pursue my work.  It was very easy because I worked alone.  Then, you and John came into the picture and insisted on becoming my friends.  You both saw past my exterior.  Beyond the machine to the man inside.  But you specifically, I feel something different for you.  My old self has been trying to block it, but it’s something I can no longer ignore.”

  You were in disbelief, but glad.  “I have feelings for you too.”

  “I know,” he said quickly, and you raised a brow.  He cleared his throat and uttered a quick and quiet, “sorry” before starting again.  “I mean, there were signs that indicated you felt similarly, but I did not want to assume.”

  “So where does this leave us?”

  “Perhaps we can socialize, and not while on a case.  Dinner?”

  “It’s a good start.”  

  You exchanged glances, and you could have sworn you saw the slightest hint of a smile on his face before Emma spoke up.

  “So,” she began, clasping her hands together.  “As happy as I am for you, _____________, we still have to finish this last scene.  You guys up for it?”

  “Oh right,” you nodded, putting some distance between you and Sherlock.  “Sounds good.  Ready Mr. Darcy?”

  At that, he cleared his throat.  “Indeed.”

[burnedbyshoto]

Usagi and Hito

Kinktober Day 31 ~ kink: seduction

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warning: cussing, smut

word count: 5,544

a/n: so this is a prequel to Attraction, you don’t have to read attraction to read this!!!! just know that reader and shouto are bitter rivals. sorry its... 8 days late BAHAHAHA. shit forgot to mention usagi means bunny and hito is short for hitokuchi which means bite (NO ITS NOT HITO AS IN MAN ALTHOUGH IT IS HILARIOUS IT WAS NOT INTENTIONAL)

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

There were too many fucking people in this house.

Shouto’s eyes scanned over the crowds of people that were all dressed up in various costumes and disguises. He shifted as a girl in a “sexy” Danny Devito costume fell into his chest, her delirious and drunken giggles were like nails on a chalkboard to him.

“Whoops, sorry there sexy dark vampire,” she purred as her fingers trailed down his torso.

Yes, Todoroki Shouto showed up to a college costume party wearing a vampire costume. Not being one that interested in college parties, or buying a costume to wear only once, he had a very interesting costume designed. He wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt, the first few buttons were undone teasing his toned chest for wandering eyes. The shirt was tucked into black slacks, the material fitted and tight, as this was his typical formal outfit. He even sported a black cape that Tokoyami happened to have in the back of his closet as well.

Due to the nature of the party, and the fact that Kaminari and Kirishima refused to let him leave the house just like… well… that, his make up was done too. Fake fangs were pressed to his canines, using some of Kirishima’s red hair dye, they had made the white half of his hair red. It was slicked back except for a few locks that fell into his vision. Mina had come over to cover his scar, she had also added a sullen and tired look to his eyebags, contouring his cheeks for the heightened vampire look. They had even given him black colored contacts to make him that much more mysterious. More secretive. Fake blood dripped on the sides of his mouth, and there were puncture wounds on his neck.

All in all, his last-second costume that was arranged from what was in their apartment went rather smoothly. If anything was a testament to that claim was the fact that there was always some new girl grabbing him during every passing song.

Shouto, who was forced to attend this college party on the promise that his friends would drop their teasing about his terribly hidden feelings for y/n, was ready to leave. With a firm grasp, Shouto pushed the girl off of him as he yelled at Midoriya that he was getting a drink.

Pushing his way through the thicket of people, Shouto found himself finally in the kitchen. His eyes looked over the bowls filled with jungle juice, straight up soju, or bottles of other types of alcohol. Was there no goddamn water at this party?

Sliding his fingers against his gelled back hair, Shouto sighed as he made eye contact with a girl dressed in a plain oversized white shirt that read “costume.”

Her face turned red as she was caught staring and her eyes turned back onto the bowls of drinks.

“I like your costume,” Shouto tells her, hoping that maybe he could be lucky and not have to be around weirdos this entire night. Honestly, why was Halloween such a transformative night? Why did people have to take on a whole other alter ego?

“Oh, uh, thanks?” She squeaks looking down at her costume. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m sort of the bartender here.”

“I’m not sure if serving cups counts as bartending…” Shouto admits as he looks at the ladle in her hand. “I’m okay, I was wanting water.”

“Oh!” The girl waves her hands as she laughs. Shouto watches her curiously as she places the ladle down and motions for him to follow her. “I’ll show you where they are so that you don’t have to ask.”

Grateful to get some water in his body, Shouto followed after her.

She walked into a closet and Shouto raised an eyebrow as he followed in after her. He didn’t really need to know where it was, he would be fine after a single water bottle.

The closet door closed heavily behind him, and Shouto’s eyes widened as her body was suddenly pressed against his. Her mouth immediately over his own as she kissed him. Her lips were drenched with the taste of alcohol. Reacting immediately, Shouto pushed the girl off of him, “What the hell was that?!”

“I know you’re Todoroki Shouto, right?” Her mouth whined, and Shouto groaned as he rolled his eyes.

Of course, just another girl interested in his family name, in his physical appearance.

“No. I’m not.”

“I saw you walking in with Midoriya-kun you are, but you don’t know who I am…”

“I’m not Todoroki.” Shouto insists. He wants to get out of this fucking closet, but the closet is too tight for him to move without him hurting her.

“You’re so obsessed about that one girl, y/l/n… do you even know that I have had almost every class with the two of you, and yet… you have only ever focused on her?! The two of you hate each other too!”

“Please let me go.”

“Promise you’ll talk to me in class then! Stop arguing with y/l/n and pay attention to me!”

“I don’t know who you are.”

Shouto manages to get his hand onto the doorknob and he stumbles out of the closet. The girl stumbling after Shouto as he walked away.

That was it, Shouto was done.

He was going back to the dorm.

Shouto stormed pass Ice Princesses, devils, sexy cowgirls, and Sailor Moons.

This “holiday” was a fucking joke, and he was never wrong for hating it.

Shouto’s eyes scanned the crowds of people for Midoriya’s green hair, for Kirishima’s red hair, for the blond hair of Kaminar i— anyone he knew! He couldn’t find them. Taking one last sweep of the faces in the crowd, Shouto’s eyes flickered over a girl by the opposite wall.

Long white hair that fell to the small of her back, y/e/c eyes staring at him through a lacey mask that covered her eyes. Dark red lips paired the brightest smile Shouto had seen this entire night, her makeup looked done. His eyes swept up to see black bunny ears in her hair. Looking down and even though there were crowds of people, he noticed the iconic black playboy bunny outfit. It hugged her body, accentuating the curves of her waist, pressing against her breasts in a way that was only suitable during Halloween. Fishnet tights lined the curves of her legs, and high heels on her feet.

Shouto blinked as he watched her head tilt and quickly realized that he had been caught staring.

He, however, did not panic as he blinked again. There was a red cup in her hand, and Shouto watched as she handed it to a friend of hers as she began weaving through the crowd. Now, Shouto wanted to leave, he really did, but for some reason, he felt trapped where he stood as she drew nearer and nearer.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You had been enjoying this party so far. Despite the large crowd that came to what was supposed to be a small party, you and some of your other friends (who were surprisingly not your roommates) had found solace in a corner. Each of you had been waiting for the perfect guy to come around, and well, it was your turn. Most guys who approached you throughout the night were not people you wanted to ever try to get at. So you decided to play a little game.

Chicken.

You’d approach the first guy you caught staring at you who didn’t look away.

This redhead was the first to not look away the entire night. Most guys did return their gazes after the fact of being caught, but not this guy. So with a small “wish me luck!” you handed your untouched drink and walked over to this mystery man.

The sounds of hundreds of people talking, on top of the blaring music, by the time you approached this stranger you found yourself raising your voice to speak to him.

“I like your costume.” You said as you stepped close enough to him that your body ghosted against his own. “Where’d you get it?”

“My closet.”

Your eyes looked up at him, with a grin you nodded. “Yeah, I had this in my closet as well, ya know? Trying to not spend too much money.”

Your grin only widened as you watched the man roll his eyes as he too grinned. It was a good fucking look on him as your heart hammered the smallest of bits faster.

“Well, I have to admit it looks good.”

“Damn right you do!” You giggle as you press your hand against his chest. “Now, I don’t think I’ve met you before. Do I get a name?”

“You approached me, bunny,” He smirks at you, and your tongue swipes at your painted lips. “I think you owe me your name first.”

“I only approached you because you were giving me the bedroom eyes.” You tease as your finger pokes against his exposed chest. You stared at his face, there was something oddly familiar about him, but you couldn’t put your finger on it given the terrible lighting.

“Well, I guess you don’t get my name.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Too bad,” you pout, but it’s broken by the grin that overcomes your features again. Leaning in closely, you chuckle as you see him bending in closer so that your lips brush against his ear as you whisper. “I really wanted to have something to moan when I get you in bed tonight.”

You giggle as you watch him stiffen and you pull away. Your eyes glisten in your increasing joy at the fact that his eyes are swimming with emotions that looks like he wouldn’t deny you.

“You’re a bit cocky.” He tells you, and you shrug as your arms wrap around his neck. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip as you feel his arms wrap around your waist.

“You’re a bit into it.”

He laughs and you can feel his body moving against your own, it’s a pleasant sound to your ears, a sound you want to hear more. God, maybe if you actually got him to fuck you tonight your friends would leave you alone about their theory about you and Shouto needing to fuck for you to be less stressed.

“I actually was on my way out.” He informs you as your hips slowly begin dancing in time with the bass of the song. You feel his hands grip around your hips, his hands repositioning where you were and thus increased the friction.

“Is that so? Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” You wonder aloud, your face centimeters from his own.

“Well, there is one thing.” He mumbles into your ear, his hot breaths raising the skin where it hits.

“Mhm?” You whisper, your heart hammering.

“I really want water.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream, but the soft laughter that hits your ears causes you to smile.

“You’re an idiot.” You sigh as you pull away from him, “Come on! The water is outside. Have you never been to Nejire’s parties before? She thinks that having water in the house kills the party mood!”

Your hand was in his as you pull him outside.

“You’re not taking me into the closet in the kitchen are you?”

You look at him strangely, but only shake your head as you continue walking and sure enough, the water was out there.

You watched in the chill of the night as the man drank the water, your eyes training on his jaw and how it moved with every chug. The costume you had was hot but definitely not practical as your body trembled in coldness.

“You cold?” The man asks you, and you giggle shaking your head.

Being outside you could hear the low timbre of his voice, something that sounded so familiar but you couldn’t place your finger on it. Then again, you didn’t know anyone who was a complete redhead except for Kirishima!

“A true hoe never gets cold.” You say without thinking.

His quirked eyebrow sent you into a series of laughter as you tried waving off what you said.

“And here I thought what we had was special.” He sighs as he hands you his almost empty water bottle. “Want some water?”

“I can be a hoe and a prude,” You retort as you take the water bottle, you take a sip before returning it with a grateful smile. “Besides, Dracula, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be this eternal being who kidnaps virgins who don’t even get demon dick. Just their necks punctured.”

“Wow, that was prejudiced. Just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I’m Dracula.” He teases.

“Well, you’re no Edward Cullen.”

“Are those the only two vampires you know?”

“...maybe it is.”

“That was one more than me.”

You shake your head as you giggle, “Fine, I apologize, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you ready to go back inside?” You ask tilting your head back towards the party. “You owe me a dance.”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to give you a dance.”

“I brought you to the water!”

“Fine.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Shouto’s never once thought in his life he would be in this situation.

Yuuei was not a party school, but it was still a university. Parties happened, but in his now third year enrolled in Yuuei, Shouto found himself at the biggest party ever thrown in campus history. But now there was a girl he didn’t know grinding into him as the music of the party drummed in his chest.

Her hands traveled up and down his chest, trailing against his exposed skin. Her hips made soft and wide movements against his crotch. It made no sense to Shouto, she should be off of the beat with how languid she was moving, but somehow — someway — she was in sync with the music and it was making his skin crawl in the best of ways.

Shouto stills against her dancing body as he feels her fingers graze his cheeks.

Eyes wide, he watches as with the pounding music she pulls him down.

He can’t hear her.

Not even a sound.

But he can read her lips clearly.

“Can I kiss you?” She mouths, and Shouto isn’t sure what’s louder right now.

His heart or the music.

But Todoroki Shouto was not a second-place type of man, he wasn’t one to let another choose for him. He pressed forward, his lips connecting with hers.

There was something insatiable about kissing her.

Her soft lips moving in tangent with his.

Her body pressing even closer to his as her arms wrapped around his neck.

Tilting heads, gasping breaths, dancing tongues.

Shouto’s fingers dug into her hips, her soft moan vibrating into his mouth.

Her body was soft, her taste was addicting, and she was making his head spin.

Fueled by lust and a raging need to get laid, Shouto found his hands lowering down further down her ass as she ground her crotch into his own.

But as quickly as he kissed her, she was off him.

Her eyes fluttering open, there was a confident and almost sadistic smirk on his face. Her fingers sat on his chest as she kept him at an arm's distance. As Shouto felt himself moving forward towards her, she was already three steps ahead.

Shouto stared at her as she slipped through the crowd, her head turning back around as she beckoned him with her eyes.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You watched over your shoulder as the mystery man followed you through the thickets of people. Planning well in advance, you slipped through people the man would need to push through. His body demanding, his eyes never leaving yours.

In the kitchen you paused by the sink, it was empty except for a girl who was passed out drunk by the sink. Your eyes fall lazily onto the man as he barges in, his pupils blown as he looks at you. You tilt your head to the side, your arms stretching onto the countertop as he walks over to you.

His steps are long and quick and he has you trapped between his body and the counter. Your head tilts to the side as his lips press against your neck.

His kisses are hot, overwhelming, and dizzying.

His plump lips are sinful against your flush skin. The fake fangs on his teeth only adding to the stimulation he gives you.

But this isn’t it.

You want to drive him crazy even more.

Your hand travels to his pants, palming him softly as you moan at the sensation of his mouth on you.

He’s sensitive and jumps at your touch, and in the two seconds he takes to recover, you’re already on the move.

You don’t walk that fast, but you manage to leave the kitchen before him. The party seems to move in slow motion as you move your way through crowds of people. Twirling around at points when the bass of the song pounds in your blood. Your eyes fall back behind you, and the red-head is still following you.

Climbing the stairs, your hands trail against the banister.

His hand touches yours, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of the fact that his three steps below you.

You don’t quicken your pace, however, choosing instead to stop and turn. Your face is level with his, his eyes concentrated on your lips.

“You planning on fucking me right now, vampire?” You drawl, your fingers pushing against his gelled hair.

“I might be… do I get to know your name?” He murmurs, his lips teasing against yours.

“I think I like you better without a name.” You sigh as your hands rest against the back of his neck.

“Really?”

You don’t answer him, choosing to instead kiss him passionately. Your lips give your answer as you take a step up the stairs backward. Your hand clenches the rail, and his right hand gives you balance as you two climb the stairs like that.

“It’s Halloween,” You whisper as you steer him towards the bedroom. “You can be anything you want to be that isn’t yourself, and you want us to be ourselves?”

Your back slams against the door as he has you pinned to the door. Your lips are denied his as his mouth trails down your neck,

“Call me, Usagi.” You purr as his tongue pressed against your neck.

“Cute,” He mumbled into your skin. Your eyes flutter as your hand grasps the doorknob finally, his dark eyes locking on yours. “Call me, Hito.”

The two of you pushed through the door and it slammed closed behind you. His lips are back over yours, and your hands immediately shoot towards the knot keeping his cape into place.

Hito groans softly as his fingers trace the corset lining to your costume. His hands are hot, the heat bleeding through the fabric as you feel your knees hit the mattress.

His lips are passionate against yours, your jaw drops and your mind spins from the intensity pouring into the kiss. Your gasps seem to stir him on as his hands grasp your ass without fear, your body melting into his grasp as he lifted you up. Your breathing is shaking, your feelings and nerves overload as you put in the same amount of intensive passion into the kiss.

“Fuck.” He mutters as your hands manage to undo his shirt. Your whines escape your mouth as you feel his rippling muscles underneath your fingers. His hands trail down your fishnets, the sensation of his hot fingers against the tights sent shivers down your spine as your hips grind against his. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, begging for entrance. When you manage to once again roll your body against his increasing bulge, your mouth opens up as you let him in.

Tongues crash in the middle, they move together in a clumsy yet passionate dance. Neither one of you entirely placing dominance on the other. Moans escape your mouth as he presses your back against the mattress. Your fingers clenching into his hair, his hips grinding more intently into your heating core. Synchronized groans are exchanged in this maddening exchange, his body very receptive to the hair-pulling.

His hands trail down onto the swell of your breasts, they squeeze firmly around the flesh, and you arch into his hands. His tongue furthers into your mouth in your brief distraction, and he trails his tongue everywhere in your mouth. Your increasingly satisfied moans make him chuckle. You watch with heavy lids as he pulls away, his face deliriously close to your own as you pant.

From this distance, you can see that he’s wearing contacts, but the thought disappears as his mouth attaches onto your neck. The fake fangs press softly against your skin making you cry out. It’s the weirdest sensation, but it makes your hips buck up against his. Your body wanting more friction.

The fangs continue tracing against your skin, your vocal praises only seeming to stir him on. You wanted more though, you needed more.

“Oh shit!” You gasp as you feel the costume loosen around you, and you watch as he pulls the black fabric off of you. The cold air hits your body, and you feel on edge as his eyes rack your body.

You still have the bunny ears on, the cuffs on your wrists, the tights on your legs, and the black lacy undergarments you wore with the costume. Yet you feel as if you were bare by the way he looks at you. Huffing you push the white wig from your shoulders as you sit up, “Don’t just watch me!” You snap as you remove his shirt, and quickly unbuckle his pants.

“You’re a little bit desperate for someone who was giving me a hard time in the beginning.” Hito chuckles as he helps you remove his clothes.

Your nostrils flare as you don’t try to deny this fact, but as he now remains in just his boxers, your breathing nearly stops.

You really got fucking lucky…

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He teases you, and he captures your lips with his own again.

You gasp sharply at the feeling of his toned body pressing against your flush skin. Your hands sliding down his muscular back as were intoxicated with the way his body felt.

“I don’t need a picture of something that I can memorize.” You shudder as his fingers graze the pool of heat in your panties.

“You’re a bit of a brat, Usagi.”

“You’re the one not fucking me, Hito.”

You watch as he hums. His fingers trailing over the curves of your breast and into the valley between them. “So you just want my dick in you? Nothing else?” He asks you, his hands on your panties applying a greater pressure against your pooling heat.

“I can go get someone else.” You tease as your hips pathetically grind into his fingers. He watches as you shift to remove your bra, your breasts spilling free as you stare up at him. He chuckles as he pulls your tights off, and pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, his finger teasing your building heat.

“Such decisive words from a girl who looks ready to fuck herself with my fingers.” He mutters as he sinks two fingers into your unsuspecting heat.

The helpless and needy scream that pours from your mouth makes him laugh.

“Tell me, Usagi.” He says as his fingers slowly pump within you.

Slowly.

Teasingly.

“Do you want my dick in you?”

Your harsh pants keep you from speaking as Hito increases his speed. His fingers curling within your walls stretching you out in a mind-blowing way. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re vastly affected by his intruding fingers, your body violently trembling with his curled appendages.

“Yes, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, oh my god Hito!” You shriek as your hips slam against his fingers with every crashing movement.

“Look at you, you don’t even need my cock in you!” He muses as his teeth come to bite against your exposed nipples. The neverending noises of approval expelling from your mouth silences at the new sensation. Your fingers gripping onto his hair in silent approval. “And you were going to try and find someone else.”

“P-Please fuck me!” You cry as you try squirming away from his fingers. Your hands desperately stretching out to remove his tented underwear. You watch gratefully as he slips it off, and his cock springs out.

A satisfied and slightly horrified moan escapes your mouth at the sight of him. His fingers removing from your sopping wet cunt as he licks you clean from his fingers. “Maybe I’ll have some dessert later,” He mumbles as he slowly fists himself. “Now lay back and legs out, Usagi.”

He accentuates every word, and you feel yourself heeding his command. Your hands quickly get rid of your panties as you watch him draw near your spread legs. The tip of his hard cock teasing your entrance.

“Fuck me, Hito.” You snap as he continues to only coat his cock with your juices.

He looks up at you, a smirk on his face as he shrugs.

“Okay.”

A shriek crashes through your mouth as he pushes his cock completely into your awaiting cunt without mercy. His girth stretching you out in an unimaginable way. Stretching you out in ways you were not prepared for. Your walls rippling as they attempt to relax and grow used to his size. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so fucking big!” You cry as your body trembles as Hito leans forward.

His own head is buried within your neck, his breathing trying to reign back in.

“What never had a big dick before.” Hito cockily rasps, but his words feel powerless as he is obviously affected by the tightness of you around him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

You mewl as the painful throb in your pussy lulls and you writhe your hips against him, “N-Now fuck me right. Don’t fucking make me regret not looking for another guy.” You command as his eyes lock on yours.

There’s something strangely familiar between the two of you, it’s unsaid and you can’t place your finger onto it. But it makes this weirdly comforting.

Hito smirks, small and knowing, and rightfully so as he adheres to your demand. His hips position to a better angle and you can only watch behind clenched eyes as he begins slamming into you. Your hips move in time with his. Both of you desperate under your nearing orgasms and this heightened state of pleasure brought by the mystery of this all. Hito’s hands grip your waist. His grip will for sure leave bruised marks as he slams your body faster against his. He’s stretching you out with every move, and by god does he know how to use his cock. His hands shift as they drag out under your ass, clenching your supple flesh as this difference stretches you out in unimaginable ways.

His hips crashing into yours is uplifting, and your cries only fuel him on.

Your body feels as if it is turning into jelly as he shifts your two legs over his shoulders. His cock bottoming out into you making your back arch off the mattress as you wail out his name. Hito’s heated fingers press against your throbbing clit. You suppress a wail as he rubs harsh and delicate figure-eights onto your puffy nerve. Your pussy is clamping down on his hammering cock, not at all slowing him down, and yet he still grunts and increases his speed and strength.

Your noises of pleasure silences as his cock hits the back of your walls, your legs thrashing around as he drilled into you the same way.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Harder and harder.

His cock smashing against your walls until he tilts his angle and crashes down hard against your g-spot.

“HITO!!!” You scream as he continues pounding into your g-spot. His alias a prayer on your lips as he continues fucking your brains out.

You shoot up off the mattress, your screams muffled through a kiss as you wrap your arms around him. Even though your legs were on his shoulder, you held on. The angle allowing Hito to drive his cock against your g-spot over and over again. Your body bouncing with every single slam. His body is giving you exploding sensations, your tightness making Hito moan and curse.

“I needa – fuuuuck, baby do that again – I needa come!” You squeak as your body rocks against his own.

“Come for me, Usagi.” Hito sighs into your mouth. “Come around my cock.”

The built-up pleasure in your belly is profuse, it’s built up so fast, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure. You can’t handle it anymore, the pleasure being too much.

Your orgasm slams through you, your vision nearly turning white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent. Hito’s mouth continues to move against yours, kissing sloppily against your teeth as he chases his own orgasm. His fangs digging into your bottom lip as his jaw slacks.

His hips continue slamming into you. They’re brutal as they slam over and over again. He’s chanting your name as your stimulated cunt continues clenching around his length. His pace is making you grow numb in his arms, although your hips still continue to desperately roll against his. His breathing is heavy and tense. Panting as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Come inside me…” You whine into his ear, desperate to feel his hot seed within you.

His cock stretches you out in a new way as he presses your back onto the mattress again. The protruding veins on his cock creating insane friction against your walls. Hito fucks you mercilessly, his fingers clenching your ass as you come apart for him. Hito curses loudly as he finally loses himself within you. His hips drilling forward one last time as a heavy load shoots into your throbbing cunt.

Shaky breathing fills the air as he pulls out of you.

You whine at the lack of him within you, and your body relaxes as he falls beside you. You whimper as you feel your combine cum seeping from your clenching pussy.

“You were amazing.” Hito chuckles as he leans down next to you.

“You were too…” You whisper as you look at him.

You don’t remember how the night ended for the two of you, only that you let him fuck you three more times.

Bonus!

“You look like goddamn shit,” Todoroki states as he passes by you on his way to his assigned seat. You watch tiredly as he sits down, and you notice the grey beanie covering his weirdly two-colored hair.

“Great, I was hoping you’d say that.” You smile while taking a chug of the sweet, sweet coffee in your hands. “Unlike you, I had fun last night.”

“Were you scaring kids for money?” He deadpans. “Oh wait, you do that for free and normally, huh?”

You roll your eyes as you simply flip him off.

Your body was way too sore, and your mind was way too tired to handle this verbal war.

“I was up having sex.” You say with a tight smile. “Ya know? Sexual intercourse? In my case where a man and a woman come together to place the penis inside of the vagina? I’m assuming, of course, you’ve only been able to see those pictures from A and P… do you need legit pics?” You taunt.

Todoroki rolls his eyes as he lays out his notebook, “Haha. Besides, I had sex last night too, but I don’t look like shit like you.”

“Don’t worry Todoroki,” You sigh as the professor walks in. “Me looking like shit is a rare occurrence. You looking like shit? That’s an everyday thing, babe.”

Bonus bonus!

“I don’t think I can ever top my costume from last year.” You moan as you snuggle into Shouto’s chest. Your phone in your hands as you look at the never-published photos of your Halloween night. “What’s sexier than a playboy bunny? Literally nothing… OH EM GEE! Shouto, can I be you, but like a sexy female version?!”

Shouto, who had been reading a book, blinked as he looked down at you. “...it’s March… why are you thinking about Halloween costumes?”

“I got a five months ago on this day notification.” You laugh as you show him your costume. “I looked super hot, too bad you couldn’t have banged me that night.” You shift as you feel Shouto freeze underneath you. “You okay?”

“That… that was you?” He asks as he looks at the picture.

“Right?! I was so fucking hot.” You pout as you retract your phone.

“N-No!” Shouto shakes his head as he sits up, thus so do you. “You’re Usagi?!”

Your eyes stare intently into his eyes, and slowly you begin picturing your boyfriend with only red hair, his scar covered, and with dark eyes. “YOU’RE HITO?!”

[slywrites]

Best Two Out of Three (CH. 1)- Leon Kennedy/Reader

Here it is my first Leon Kennedy fic!!! You can read chapter one below or on AO3. (I’ll be posting chapter two later on this week or early next week)

Set right after the ending of RE2 Remake you, Claire, Leon, and Sherry come across a lone motel with a generous owner who gives you two rooms for the night. One for Claire and Sherry, one for you and Leon. Only there's a single bed and a lot of emotions to overcome...

Based on the imagine from imagineleonkennedy on tumblr "Imagine Leon making love at 21, not super experienced yet, he gets shy and is a little clumsy. But very respectful and honest, and a fast learner."

Warnings: Strong Language, Cannon typical violence

A motel was a fucking blessing after the hell you, Claire, Leon, and young Sherry went through. The outside wasn’t too shabby, a lot better than what you expected in the literal middle of nowhere.

Really anything was better than Racoon City.

The lady at the front desk was more than understanding considering you all were covered head to toe in blood, guts, and smelled like a sewer. She also heard that you were from Racoon City and her eyes went wide. It was on the news, she said, that there was a terrorist attack. A pipe exploded. Many excuses and no one could confirm nor deny those allegations. It was too early to tell what exactly happened, or why. It was only a few hours ago you left the city on foot. The sun was just setting then and now the moon replaced it as you stood in the lobby. All you knew was you had to kill many infected people, but you weren’t about to tell this nice lady that.

She just handed you the keys and said it’s on the house. As you left towards your two rooms, she mentioned she’d bring you some extra clothes and towels. It was hard to believe that there were good people in the world after what you all went through.

Sherry and Claire took one room and you and Leon in the other.

A single king bed in each room, with a door in the middle to join the rooms together. For the moment it was left open.

Neither you or Leon acknowledged the single bed in the room.

You all were exhausted, but the thought of a shower powered through the intense need to pass out at this very moment. To be clean again, to wash away the horrors. It sounded magical.

A light knock on the door startled you. Instinctively you raised your pistol to the door, adrenaline pumped through your veins. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leon do the same. He nodded to you, and you returned the gesture. You both moved together, guns pointed at the door. Leon peered through the peephole and saw the lady from the front desk. You watched Leon relax and unlock the door.

He mumbled a thank you and closed the door. A pile of fresh clean towels and what looks to be sweatpants and shirts in his hands. Leon held them at a distance to not get them dirty against his blood-soaked police uniform. He set the clothes on the table.

“Who gets to go first?” He asked.

You holster your pistol, put the chain lock on the door and slide the deadbolt, “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Leon let out a little laugh, “Fine. But , best two out of three.”

You two squared up in the middle of the room. You leaned into a pose, as you tried to be as dramatic as possible. Leon mirrored you, as he extended his balled fist resting in his palm. A smile spread across your face at how stupid you two looked being this dramatic over a simple game to take a shower.

You won back to back. You did a victory dance and laughed at the pouty face Leon put on.

“I can’t wait to be clean! As for you , sit at one of those chairs. Can’t have you dirtying up our bed.” You sing-song as you skip over to the bathroom.

“I’ll make sure to lay all over your side while you’re in there,” he smirked.

“Leon Kennedy, don’t you dare ! Don’t make me get Claire to watch you like a hawk.”

Leon put his hands up in defense, “I won’t do anything.”

You shot him the meanest look you could, and all he did was stifle a laugh. You watched as he took a seat at the table and started to remove his boots, just to make sure he was going to keep his word.

You shut the bathroom door. You sat on the edge of the tub to strip your shoes and socks. It felt like years since you last showered, which in reality was only a day ago. Your feet were covered in a slick layer of grim, probably from the foot or two of sewer water you and Leon waded through. Honestly, you wanted to toss the shoes, but the front desk lady didn’t give you an extra pair. You’d have to survive till you got back home if there was still home .

That’s when it hit you. At the most inopportune time. There was only one bed in the room. It was the last thing on your mind. The sweet call of the shower drew the realization out of your mind. That would mean you’d have to share. You could always pop into the other room with the girls. It was a king bed and you were sure all three of you would fit.

I’m being ridiculous, you chided to yourself.

You continued to strip from the blood-soaked and torn clothing, the reality of what you experienced came to the forefront of your thoughts instead. Your mind went into autopilot as you turned the water on to the hottest setting and waited for it to heat up. A particular corner of the shower caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but focus on it. The day's events replayed in your mind like a fucked up horror movie.

It was just a normal day, then all of a sudden it wasn’t . The screams from outside the precinct, as you helped lock the gates. You couldn’t help those people who you swore you would protect. Watching as they were being attacked by other people with some crazy bloodlust you’ve never seen or heard of before. Then the precinct .

Fuck .

The steam from the shower made it hard to breathe. The hand that was under the water started to turn red from the heat. You didn’t even register the pain till it was too late.

You adjusted the water and stepped in. The dirt, blood, and God knows what washed away from you. You watched as it spiraled down the drain. Once the water finally became clear as it washed over you, you grabbed the travel size shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You lathered up your hair first, trying to not go back down the rabbit hole you were in moments ago.

But the rabbit hole was the only thing you could see in your mind. You’d have to face the reality of what you did. What Leon and Claire did. What happened to Racoon City, a place you just started to call home. What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

Tears spilled out of your eyes and blended in with the water that cascaded down your face. You brought your hand to your mouth and choked back a sob that shot through your whole body. The shock made your knees wobble sending you crashing to the cool porcelain of the tub. Your back collided with the wall and the air left your lungs in a gargled gasp.

Instantly, there was a loud knock on the door.

Leon’s voice was muffled by the water and the door but it was the only thing you could focus on, “ Are you okay? What happened? ”

You sat up, light-headed. You were barely able to shut the water off.

“ Yeah ,” your voice shook, “I’m fine, just tired and ...and I slipped.”

“Do- do you need help…. or …” Leon left the question hanging awkwardly, “I could get Claire..”

You laughed, “No I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

You curled your knees up to your chest. You just needed a moment. The tears still fell, silently. Sooner or later you’d have to get up. You’d have to keep moving forward.

The bathroom started to feel suffocating as you absentmindedly stood and wrapped a towel around your body. You were greedy and wrapped your hair in another. You pushed your dirty clothes onto the ground and just left them there too tired to give a shit about it.

The cool handle of the doorknob brought you back to reality for a second. You turned to look at the mirror that was still fogged over. With a swipe, you looked at your eyes to see if they were as bloodshot as you imagined. Fuck , they were. Oh well.

Your eyes gazed over the bathroom. Shit, you left your clothes on the table. You shook your head, you didn’t want to try and get Leon to get your change of clothes. With a sigh, you’d just have to go out there.

You pulled the door open and walked out. Leon sat at the edge of the single chair in the room and shot up as soon as he saw you. A deep blush flushed his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

What a cute boy, you smiled. You held the towel closer to your body.

“It’s all yours,” you smiled.

You stepped towards Leon and he immediately froze. He stood in front of the table where the extra set of clothes laid.

You bit your lip to hide the smile. You feared if he saw it he’d turn into a tomato. With a step, you grabbed the clothes and sat at the edge of the bed.

Leon let out a strained cough and mumbled he was going to shower.

Once he closed the door you let out a small laugh. He’s too cute for his own good.

You shook your head and looked at the pile of clothes. An oversized plain blue t-shirt, black sweats, and some holiday socks. It wasn’t ideal, and not your size but it was way better than the alternative. No underwear though.  

You’d have to see if the hotel had a laundry room. Though your old clothes were more than likely trash, if you were to face…those things again you didn’t want to get caught because of your oversized shirt.

A shiver shot through your spine as flashes of fighting and surviving  came to the forefront yet again. More tears brimmed in your eyes and you let out a shuddered breath. Before a tear could drop your attention was brought to the bathroom door. Your brows furrowed as you heard Leon singingin the bathroom. You didn’t recognize the song, you weren’t even sure he was saying any real worlds. But it was the change in his voice that brought you back . Leon was more wholesome than you’d ever expected from the rookie cop.

You smelled the clothes and they were divine. The fresh linen scent was so foreign to you it felt almost illegal to smell something this nice. You stood. Your body is freshly clean and dry from sitting on the bed. You dropped the towel to the ground, slipping into the sweats and shirt. This felt like a lazy Sunday attire as you laid out on the bed.

A light knock on the adjoining doors made you turn. Claire stood in an outfit similar to yours and you laughed. Though her hair laid damp on her shoulders, finally being free of her ponytail.

“Look, we’re twins,” you said.

“Not a bad look, right?” She smiled, “How are you holding up?”

You gave her a flash of your teeth in what you hoped was a smile, “I’m okay. I could sleep for a week!”

Claire nodded, “I was just coming in to say goodnight actually, Sherry’s already in bed fast asleep.”

“Oh, good idea. We’ll probably do the same, Leon’s still in the shower.”

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Tell Leon I said goodnight.”

“Will do Claire, night.”

Claire gave you a small wave and shut the door with a silent click.

You stared at the closed space and moved to lay back down on your back. The shower just turned off meaning it was closer and closer that you and Leon would have to share a bed. It wasn’t a big deal right? You both were exhausted, both needed some rest. And the bed was a king, plenty of room for both of you to stretch out and not touch each other.

Why were you thinking about touching each other?

You couldn't rid your mind of that thought quick enough as Leon exited the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his waist. Water still dripped from his hair as it cascaded down his bare chest drawing your eyes to how toned he was. Your eyes were drawn to the bruises that peppered his torso and the large wound on his left arm that needed to be rebandaged. The old one is still tight on his arm, though wet now.

Leon clearly flushed at you blatantly staring at his chest. He moved his weight from one foot to another unsure what to do, then he coughed and moved towards his clothes on the table.

“I-I forgot these, um I’m just going to-” He didn’t finish his sentence as he turned back to the bathroom.

You wanted to smack yourself for staring like an idiot. Now it was going to be awkward , great!  

You sighed and quickly called the front desk to ask if they had a first aid kit. The lovely lady who gave you the clothes said her son will be up in a minute. And she wasn’t wrong. The knock was light and you jumped up to get the door. You quietly thanked him and bid him goodnight.

Leon was still in the bathroom probably dying from embarrassment as you had moments ago. You sat at the edge of the bed and laid out the contents of the first aid kit. After a few more minutes, Leon peaked his head out of the bathroom. He saw your attention was on the bed and made his way out.

You looked up, “We need to change that bandage, Leon.”

He looked down at the yellow bandage that Ada had put on.

“You’re right.”

“I try to be, come sit,” you smile and pat the open bed next to you.

Leon obliged and sat down. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt just like you. He pointed his left shoulder towards you.

You rolled up the sleeve and started to undo the bandage. “You could have taken this off you know, and cleaned the wound while you were showering.”

“I didn’t want to mess with it…” he replied quietly, almost unsure of himself.

You bit your lip, you wanted to scold him but decided against it. You let the rest of the old tattered bandage fall to the floor. Dried up blood and dirt-stained his skin. Poor thing.

“Stay here,” you got up and moved to the bathroom.

You grabbed an extra washcloth and soaked it under some warm water. You rang out the extra and walked back to the bed. As carefully and gently as you could you cleaned up the area around the wound first. Leon winced a little when you got too close to the bullet wound.

“You’re lucky it went all the way through,” you mentioned, “I don’t think we’d find a good doctor back in Racoon City.”

Leon hummed his lip stuck between his teeth, biting down to not make a sound. You finished with the washcloth then moved to the alcohol and cotton swabs that were necessary for the actual wound. You doubted Ada was able to clean the wound before wrapping it, especially in the sewer. Leon only briefly talked about it when you brought it up. You two got separated. You were alone, trying to find your way to either Leon or Claire. You couldn’t even imagine the horror he faced down there, even though you saw the same disaster yourself.

You dampened one cotton ball with some antiseptic and started cleaning around the wound. Leon held back a cry of pain as his body tensed up.

“ Sorry ,” you murmured.  

“It’s not your fault,” he breathed.

“I know, it won’t take me long. Promise.”

Leon nodded his head and you kept your promise. You quickly cleaned the entrance and exit of the wound. Luckily it stopped bleeding long ago. Leon would have to see a real doctor at some point, but you could easily stitch the wound together for now.

You threaded the needle that came in the first aid kit. You set the needle on the bed and grabbed some numbing cream. First, you snapped on a glove and ripped open the packet to rub the cream around the wound.

“This will help,” you reassured him.

Once you were done, you let the cream settle in first before starting. You gathered the gross bandages, and trash from the bed to throw away in the trashcan across the room.

“How are you doing?” You asked as you took your position back on the bed.

“I’ve been better,” Leon looked at the wound then to you and tilted his head to the side, “I think it’s working.”

You picked up the needle and pushed it into his skin and threaded the entrance shut. You were not about to tell Leon that this was the first time you’d ever given someone stitches. You had practiced once in a medical class a long time ago but that was on fake skin, never a real human. Though you only practiced, you still were able to stitch him up well enough to last until you could see a real doctor. You did the same with the exit and it was all done. Not expert craftsmanship by any means, but he’d survive and his arm wouldn’t need to be amputated.

You took out a large bandage and removed the sticky backing to cover the front, and did the same to the back. He wouldn’t need his arm wrapped like before, the two large patches should suffice.

“ And… All done,” you smiled at your handiwork.

Leon glanced at it, his fingers ran over the stitches beneath the bandage. Then he rolled the sleeve down to cover it easily.

“Thank you,” He smiled.

“Anytime,” you nodded.

Slowly you packed up the first aid kit. You got up and sat it on the table.

“Are you ready for bed?” You asked.

Leon’s eyes moved from his newly patched shoulder to you, and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, you?”

“Yup,” you smiled then you looked to the bed.

The dread from your shower started to rise in your chest.

“Uh-Do you care what side…?” Leon asked he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

You forced a laugh and walked up to the left side, “I guess I’ll take this one, it doesn’t matter to me. Does it matter to you?”

“No! No , not at all,” he pulled the covers back.

You nod and do the same. You both lay down in your respective sides and pull the covers over yourself. Before you fully laid down, you leaned over and turned off the light on the side table.

“Goodnight,” you said as you laid your head on the soft pillow.

“Goodnight,” he replied, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

You faced the wall, away from Leon acting like you were some school girl instead of two consenting adults sharing a bed after surviving literal hell only hours ago. You wanted to slap yourself over your reaction but you were too tired to even care. You snuggled into the pillow and willed yourself to sleep.