#in which I throw up because ever since i had to draw space buns for avatrice

[kaisollisto]

avatrice + hair intimacy + learning

AND BEATRICE BEING LIKE "it's not horrible... horrible" in her endearing british accent with a bit of a pause as she takes it all in. It's floppy and flimsy at best, but it's Ava, it's so whole heartedly Ava. And how could Beatrice view any extension of Ava in a bad light??? And Ava's pouting, frustration leaking through but Beatrice, oh beatrice just turns to her and gently grabs her hands and guides her back to the beginning over and over until Ava gets lost in it and is just carding her fingers through her hair.

[wisewidow]

Hello, Your Parents Want Me To Have Your Babies

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

SUMMARY: Melina, my workplace’s neighbour, wants to set me up with her daughter.

I'd only ever hear about Natasha every couple of weeks, when her adoptive father, the mechanic that owned the garage workshop beside my father's cafe slash bar, met up with my uncle for beers one day last year. Ever since then, our families have been loosely intertwined, friendly but not too close. Alexei fixed my mom's wrecked car for a cheap price, in return I let his youngest daughter Yelena have free coffees whenever she pops over.

From what my father told me, Alexei's entire family, including his wife, were all involved in the family business of repairing cars, except for his eldest daughter: Natasha, who turned out to be an FBI agent living in Quantico. Dad says they're proud of her but they miss her.

"(Y/N)," my brother calls from the kitchen. I put down my phone and find him balancing three plates of sandwiches and a salad in his spindly arms.

He opens his mouth to explain the orders, but I cut him off.

"Alexei," I say, pointing to the bacon and egg sandwich. "A salad for Melina. The tuna and tomato roll is Yelena's. Did they want drinks?"

Peter nods. "Four coffees and a large bottle of water, they already have them."

I ruffle his hair to thank him and grab the plates, balancing the third on my forearm until I can place it on a tray. I carry it outside, years of waitressing practice keeping it balanced, and head towards the garage.

"Melina?" I call. Moments later the raven haired woman slips out of the office and smiles. She yells something in Russian that causes Yelena to slide out from under a silver BMW, covered in black grease. Alexei appears moments later wielding a spanner.

They hound me for their orders, gratefully patting my shoulder and carrying their food away to their separate stations. Yelena disappears into the shadows with her sandwich, and her father to his desk, but Melina simply brightens and says, "(Y/N), have you heard? Natalia is visiting."

"Yes!" Alexei yells around a mouthful of bread. "Family, reunion! Grandbabies!"

Melina hisses something in their mother tongue. I laugh, and then ask if Natasha was bringing her kids, though I wasn't aware she had any.

"He means nothing of it, Natalia is focused on work at the moment. Too focused, I think. No babies. No partner."

"Tell her about her penthouse!" Alexei encourages.

Melina flaps a hand at him in irritation. "Yes, well, she has broken up with Bruce, the shy scientist from work. And then Sharon, charming field operative, also from work. And now she refuses to date. Because of work."

I chuckle nervously. "Where are you going with this?"

Melina smiles innocently. "Nowhere. What happened to your last girlfriend, again? Your father mentioned something about . . ."  The look in her eyes is enough to egg me on, though the subject is one I rarely speak of these days.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, "Carol left to travel Europe."

"Shame," she nods sympathetically. "You don't seem bothered. Are you not looking for a relationship?"

"Not actively, but I'm sure another troublemaker will find me. I don't have a good track record of steady relationships," I admit.

"Neither does Natalia!" Alexei shouts.

"Oh!" I say. "Does she want Carol's number? Or my friend Harley, she's not looking for commitment."

Yelena snickers. Alexei frowns. Melina chuckles. "No, no, Natalia needs someone she doesn't work with, and you need someone serious, and we need grandbabies before we die, since Yelena neglects it."

I flush a bright red. "Grandb— I'm— okay, first of all, neither of us have the equipment for that—"

"Neither did Dad," Yelena pipes up, referring to the fact that she and her sister were adopted.

"Hey!"

"(Y/N)!" Peter calls, rounding the corner. "Ned's coming over to pick me up, we need to finish our physics project. Uncle Ben should be here soon, can you manage the bar until he gets here?"

I jump onto the excuse and yell back affirmation, say a quick goodbye to Melina before speed-walking back to the cafe.

Peter leaves with Ned soon after, and Ben arrives at around the same time. I move to the kitchens while he takes over serving our regulars, as he's friendlier with them than me.

I work on making more sandwiches and tapas meals until four, when my shift ends. I kiss Uncle Ben on the cheek and head home.

The smell of paprikash greets me as I unlock the door to my apartment, which I guess means that my roommate is home. I call out a hello to her and head to the shower.

I groan happily as the hot water rains down on my front. I close my eyes and lean my head back, thinking over how strange the day had been, and lose myself in a trance of relaxation.

"(Y/N/N)!" Wanda barges in. I jump and almost slip grabbing the shower curtain to cover my body as I peek out at her.

"I'm naked," I hiss.

She ignores me and holds up two clothes hangers. "Pantsuit or dress?"

I push my wet hair out of my face. "Uh, are you bar-hopping with Vision or going to a family dinner?"

"Get together with some friends," she explains. "Vis, Sam, Steve and some guy named Bucky who I'm informed we're supposed to be pretending Steve isn't in love with, do you know him?"

"Nope."

"Okay, well, he's bringing some friends, so I'm bringing you. Don't make that face, you know almost everyone."

"I don't feel like getting drunk," I complain.

"Good! You can be the designated driver. Pantsuit or dress?"

Grumbling, I tell her, "Dress."

"Okay, thanks, you wear the pantsuit, be ready by seven. May the Force be with you!"

She ducks as I throw my shampoo bottle at her. We bicker and mock and tease as I pat myself dry and she changes into the scarlet dress.  While she braids her hair, I carefully slip into the navy and white striped pantsuit, and we move into her bedroom to make use of her vanity, since the sun's lowering position in the sky shone straight into the window while my room would be encased in dimness by now. I sit in the chair and she leans over me, brushing her eyelashes with delicate mascara.  We fall into our normal going-out-getting-ready rhythm, periodically handing each other different brushes, comparing lipstick shades, and commenting on our days. She tells me about her brother's latest shenanigans and I make the grave mistake of commenting on Melina's attempted set-up earlier today, much to Wanda's entertainment. The two had never met but they both shared the pure ecstasy that came with matchmaking involving me.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Wanda wonders.

"I've seen photos," I shrug. "She's a redhead. Yelena says she changes hairstyles often."

"That doesn't answer my question! Pretty redhead or no?"

"They were baby photos, Wanda! I didn't have an opinion on her looks past the Wonder Woman pajamas."

She hums, and turns to draw a small heart under my left eye with her gel liner pen. "It would be nice if you wound up with her, but if you do fall madly in love with her beautiful red locks and decide to move to Washington to marry her and have her babies, I will murder you. You pay your rent on time and you're fun and please, please do not make me move back in with my brother."

"Why does everyone keep bringing up babies?" I yell.

An hour later we're pulling up to the bar in the back of  a cab arguing about getting a cat. The debate of whose bathroom would host the litter tray is interrupted by Wanda spotting Vision through the window and quickly smacking my arm and hissing at me to hurry up and pay so she can sneak in and scare him. Unfortunately, I can't locate my purse inside my bag.

"(Y/N), (Y/N), go, go, go . . ."

"Wanda, Wanda, going, going, going . . . Aha!" I pay the driver and find myself being ushered inside before I can put my purse back in my bag.

Sam, a friend of Wanda's from college, ends up foiling her evil master plan by pointing her out as soon as she walks in the door. Vision, being a good sport, pretends to be startled when she yells "BOO!" in his ear. As she cackles manically before sliding into the chair beside him, I notice the only free space is by the pretty blonde woman beside a man with brown hair pulled into a bun.

"Oh, look who I dragged out with me!" Wanda exclaims, taking a sip of Vision's drink and making a grand gesture with her hands. "(Y/N)!"

I'm greeted with a chorus of hello's. I bow and grin as I sit by the woman and offer a polite smile. Steve leans over points to the brunet man. "This is Bucky, we were close as friends. As kids. We were close as friends, when we were kids."

Sam snorts into his beer.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly. "And this is his partner from work, Nat."

I get a closer inspection and my eyes widen in shock. "Natalia?"

"Her name is Natasha." Steve corrects.

"I thought her name was Natalie?" Vision frowns.

"She goes by Nat, who cares?" Sam shrugs.

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova?" Wanda yelps. "(Y/N)! You didn't tell me this was the Natalia!"

"The what? I— Do I know you two?" Natasha asks, bewildered.

"Not me!" Wanda says, and then makes a motion for zipping her lips shut.

Everyone turns to me. I chuckle nervously. "I should probably explain. Hi, I'm (Y/N), your parents want me to have your babies."

[sopxhiea]

Rules

Alfie Solomons X Friends with Benefits!Reader

Summary: She’s known as a dancer in a high end club but he’s known her for not so long. She decides the rules, he goes along with them but sometimes, he’s the one making the rules.

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.”

“Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

It’s late. 

Late enough to hear the dogs howling in the groggy streets of London as the black sky decorated the horizon. The room was quiet, only the sound of breathing filling the hollow walls of the apartment. The silence wasn’t unusual and it was more than welcomed. The owner wasn’t home, a familiar body was standing in the spacious entrance.

You weren’t home yet.

Feeling the soft material of the lacy undergarment residing around your upper thighs, you looked around to see who was still in the club. It was close to the weekend which meant that it was getting busier than usual. Men were mostly drunk or intoxicated by the movements of the ladies around. There was no one to entertain in the club anymore so you moved towards the interior rooms to get ready to leave.

The space was decorated with mirrors, make up clutter right in front of them as some of the girls packed the last of their garments to leave. The sun would approach soon, sunlight beaming through the groggy city but you hoped to make it home before then. Slowly gathering your stuff and stuffing them all in your bag, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

The club wasn’t the usual, much like you.

It was a place for rich lads, some aristocracy and the kind of men that had to be served in private rooms because of how high they were up in the pyramid scheme. Most of the work you did was talking, some dancing here and there and you were done. Nothing ever got physical since it wasn’t a brothel, but a place for fine entertainment.

The make-up was off, your natural skin color glowing under the countless bulbs that decorated the mirror. The club was mostly empty now, car sounds no longer audible. It was dead silent outside, the hour when the city would be asleep and you’d walk home on your own. It was a treat to say the least.

The cold weather attacked your skin a bit too quickly as you made your way down the street. Your flat wasn’t too far from the club, just perfect distance for a night walk. It was dangerous in the streets, especially for a lady like yourself but you had a gun hidden in your bag and a long needle that held your bun together and you knew your way around both of those tools.

The night seemed quiet as you walked, no sounds of chatter but a few drunken lads from a couple blocks away. You hugged your coat a little tighter and realized that you were less tired than usual.

-----

The inside of the house was quiet, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked through the corridor. Your dresses were on the floor, a couple mugs here and there sitting on the piles of books. He saw a nightgown and your knickers on the floor and decided that you had gone to the club a little later than usual. As far as he was concerned, everything was normal.

The sound of keys jiggling outside the door made him turn towards the entrance and before he knew it, you pushed the door open with a gun in your hand that was pointed at him. Your breathing was even and the gun in your hand didn’t shake in the slightest.

He greeted you with a smile.

You lowered the gun down in a swift motion when you realized who it was. He was wearing his usual smile, broad as he walked towards you with dense eyes. He was wearing the usual attire but his prayer shawl was missing and you realized it was past saturday.

There he was, the handsome stranger.

He wasn’t so much of a stranger really, not since he’d made you chant his name until the sun was down and you had to go to work. He knew the way your body responded, what you liked in the bedroom and just how to kiss you to make you beg. 

He didn’t know anything about your family, where you’d spent your childhood or the way you’d silently pray each time you saw a shadow. Alfie didn’t know what meals you cooked, how you liked your tea or anything past your occupation and name and where you lived. 

He didn’t need to. 

And he wasn’t allowed to.

“What the fuck happened to sayin’ ‘ello, pet?” he said with an amused face that you didn’t mirror. You were still a bit tired from work and he never came over afterhours.

Those were the rules.

He was allowed to come anytime before your work and never after you’d just arrived home. He would usually call before and let you know. He wasn’t allowed to buy you things or take you out, even though he’d stayed over a couple times before. You knew limited information and about him and he the same, and he wasn’t allowed to break any of the rules.

“Sorry. I’m just a little..” you spoke with a soft tone and he could hear the tiredness seeping from your limbs as he took a look at you.

You looked tired but beautiful nevertheless.

Your figure was a bit slumped, the kind of tiredness that came from working too hard and not because he was the one tiring you out. You weren’t wearing any make-up or fancy clothes, it was his favorite version of you. He didn’t like all the make-up you had to wear for the club or the fancy lingerie but he had no say in any of the things you did. You had made that painfully clear for him.

“Ya’ alright?” he asked while walking towards you, voice a little concerned at your state but you were a bit too tired to care.

And you wanted to hug him, really badly.

Alfie was very rough around the edges, far too rude at first sight for any lady but it would take a split second to realize that he wasn’t rude at all, that was just the way he was. He brushed shoulders with gangsters, people of the underworld who had to do dirty things to get food on their table. He had blood in his hands and for a man of his kind, he was a gentle one.

You immediately leaned a bit closer when his hand came into contact with your shoulder.

“Fine.” you nodded, little bits of your hair framing your face and Alfie leaned in even closer, standing right in front of you with his hand on your hip.

“Do you want anythi-” you started speaking in a softer voice than normal and Alfie felt himself melt a little but his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Nah,’m fine, pet.” he said, in a low whisper. He was very gentle at that moment, almost like in a daze.

He had met you in a very unusual way.

You had crashed into him, face on his chest one day when you were out buying groceries. The flowers in your hand were crushed when you bumped into him and he had no time to apologize before you’d started screaming at him for being so careless. He’d listened you shout while thinking about how lovely you were and then asked you out for tea that very same day.

You had said yes and then somehow ended up on his bed. You’d left without saying goodbye but then bumped into him a couple weeks later. He had talked charmingly the whole time and then it happened again, again and then once more before you established some rules so that he didn’t think this was more than a stress relief situation.

“What are you-” you started talking again with his face closer to yours but he interrupted you soon, speaking softly against your irritated face.

“I had a fuckin’ job, right, jus’ around the fuckin’ corner so I figured..” he spoke but trailed off with a smile and you finished it for him.

“So you figured you’d have a quick fuck-” your smile was less evident as you looked at him while speaking.

“A visit, lass. A fuckin’ visit is what ‘m here for, innit.” he said, interrupting you once more and he saw your blood boil which only aroused him.

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.” your voice was stern as you looked up at the man. He was twice your size yet you did all the ordering around.

He didn’t mind.

He had been with his share of women, mostly in brothels but he’d usually leave out that part. He loved women, that was a given but he had never grown fond of one before. You had seem like the polar opposite of him when you’d first met and all that did was to draw him even further. He didn’t like the warmth that spread through his chest when he saw you, it made him feel young and defenseless again.

“Sorry, pet.” he said, face even closer to yours now. You knew what he was here for but it didn’t fit the rules, you had no problem sending him home.

“You came here for what?” you spoke against his lips, not kissing him just yet but simply teasing. He was a sucker for that.

He smiled when your fingers caressed his cheek and your lips almost touched his. He wasn’t here for a fuck this time, he had simply dropped off. He had business around the corner with a butcher’s shop that was causing him some trouble and realized that you’d be home soon.

He also wanted to ask you a question but that would come later.

“To see ya’.” he said, simple as that while your lips ghosted over his. Your eyes were locked into his and he didn’t seem to be lying from the way his face relaxed.

“Hm.” you said, humming before you leaned closer to plan your lips on his.

The kiss was slow, not the usual teeth against teeth you had with him. His hands were on your waist while yours resided on his chest and cheek. He was savoring the moment since this was rare with you, very rare. You wanted some relief on most days and that’s when you’d see him, not when you wanted a hug or a small chat.

But you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

You broke the kiss, a bit hesitant at first while staring at his lips. He was searching for your eyes when you parted but you wouldn’t look with the fear of him catching something in there. You slowly walked away from him, taking your long coat off and throwing it on the sofa. The house was a mess but that was the usual. All you and Alfie did was fuck anyway so the only place he would be concerned with was the bed.

You sat down on the chair in the corner of the room and looked at him, standing near the entrance with his broad form. He was here for something, you could tell but he wasn’t so keen on giving it to you. It wasn’t like you were dying to know but Alfie was not someone who’d usually ask for anything, let alone anything from you.

All he would ask was a fuck and that was the arrangement.

“You’re gonna talk?” you said, watching as he made his way to the corner you were sitting on and sat on the sofa next to you.

He didn’t speak for a while. His hand tugged at his beard while he looked at you, lost in thought. He wasn’t really looking at you but through you, which was unusual considering he was one of the first people to ever see you for who you were. You didn’t like to think about it, he was good in bed and that’s all you were concerned with.

“Ya’ hear what’s goin’ on in these fuckin’ streets?” he asked, head motioning outside for a split second before he directed all his attention to you again.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you spoke, not a care in the world as he looked at you. “Seeing as I arrive home at this hour, no.” you said, eyes searching for his for a second before finding them.

He seemed uneasy.

“There is a fuckin’ war, yeah, a dangerous one, lass and it ain’t gonna look pretty for ya’ when they realize ya’ fuckin’ know me.” he said, measuring each and every word.

You didn’t know why he cared.

In your eyes, you were just a woman he fucked. There were no strings, no seeing each other romantically or any kind of involvement. You weren’t his, not by any means and he wasn’t yours. You’d speak to him if you saw him outside but there was no other involvement other than being with each other for stress relief. For all you knew, he was still making regular visits to the brothel.

But he wasn’t.

He had stopped right after he had first met you. He still had his needs but you were more than capable of taking care of him if he were to knock on your door. He knew the rules, was very well aware of the lines you’d drawn for him but he’d still protect you. Not because you were his fuckbuddy but because he genuinely cared about your wellbeing, even if that wasn’t allowed.

You smiled at him at first, almost felt like he was mocking you. Why did he care? You tilted your head to the side and spoke with an amused voice as he looked at you with concern in his eyes, not something you were used to seeing. He still listened as you spoke. “Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

He shook his head with an amused chuckle. You really had no idea. The Italians didn’t know of you yet but if they followed Alfie enough times, they could easily make out the equation. He looked at your still form for a moment and spoke, saying what he’d been wanting to say since he arrived and you saw the weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“I can fuckin’ protect ya’, pet, if ya’ come live near me, that is.” he said, word by word and he saw your face change.

It was absurd.

“No.” you said, not even taking a minute to think about it as you looked at him. Before he said anything else, you spoke up again with a shaking head. You were still seated, less angry than he’d expect you to be. “I can’t move away from work and I don’t even know how to find another apartment at this time.” you spoke, voicing all your concerns.

He was a gangster and knew the ropes better than you so you opted on trusting him. If it turned out to be a mistake, you would blame it all on him but you didn’t want to get killed because you’d been fucking some bloke. Except that he wasn’t some bloke and he had his own gang.

“I got that figured ou’, I did, yeah.” he spoke to you while leaning back on the sofa. You looked at him with a curious expression. He was amused at it for a second before speaking up again, hand tugging at his beard. “I got ya’ a fuckin’ place of yer own, near where I fuckin’ live, pet...” he said and watched your eyes burn.

Who did he think he was?

The rules were clear and your blood was boiling because this man was breaking every one of them. He wouldn’t care if you were dead, you had thought but the more he spoke, the more you changed your mind. He had already taken care of everything without even asking you and he heard you scoff while his words still filled your ear.

“I’ll have one of the lads to fuckin’ drive you..” he said, done with what he was saying and you snapped back immediately.

“You’ll have someone drive me in the evening and pick me up at 4 in the morning from a gentlemen’s club?” you spoke, eyes stern as they bore into his.

He just nodded.

You scoffed once more and got up, hand on your hip as you paced through the room. He just watched. He could see the questions forming as you looked at him every now and then as you paced. There was a look of panic in your eyes as you walked through the corridors and realized that he was probably right at having you move, you could easily be killed. Even if you weren’t seeing him, it was common for someone to be killed just because they were living in a dangerous area.

“Will they kill me?” you said, and spoke once more before he could answer. “If I don’t move, I mean..... Will I die?” you said, eyes wide with confusion and panic.

So he spoke up almost immediately, not liking your frantic eyes as he was used to seeing your calm features after a good fuck. “I won’t have that fuckin’ happen-”

“But If I refuse to move?” you said, waiting for him to properly answer the question with hand on your hip. He knew you were measuring all the possibilities.

“I ain’t gonna lie to ya’, pet, ‘s very possible, it ‘s.” he said while looking at you. He was still sitting in front of you.

He watched you nod.

This didn’t change anything in your eyes. It wouldn’t mean that you were dependent on him or that he would have any power over you. You’d just be protected and the chances of you getting killed because of him would decrease. You measured it all in your mind and realized that it was probably for the best.

“Fine.”

------

His movements were fast, feral almost as his skin came into contact with yours every other second. The bed creaked, not too loud while your panting filled the room. Hands holding onto him by the shoulders, you let out a shaky exhale when he adjusted the angle. His hair was messy as it fell on his forehead, moving each time he thrusted into you.

“Fuck.” you whispered against his lips when he started moving faster, hand on his back and neck while his remained on your waist.

He groaned against your neck with each movement, holding your legs up on his knees in the process. A thin layer of sweat was apparent on your skin even though it was freezing outside. You watched him lift his head, facial expression covered in bliss while the morning light hit his face.

It had been a week since you’d moved into the apartment and 4 of those days had been spent with you and him testing the new bed. You had gotten a new one for yourself and he’d joked about how you’d have to break into it so that it was comfortable and you had given him one look and there you were, four days later with your legs wrapped around him.

Your back arched off the bed the faster he became and he was soon becoming erratic, gasping for air and you felt your body slowly tense and give in. Your hands dug into his back as he moved, reaching his climax soon after. He stayed like that for a while while you regained your breath, feeling your body grow tired with each passing hour. You swallowed as he slid out of you and collapsed next to you on the bed.

The rules were still in place.

You stared at the ceiling while he stared at you while laying on his stomach next to you. Your hair was messy, the tie no longer holding it together and tangles here and there. He watched your heaving chest, breath a little lost as you locked your lips. 

And then you turned to him.

His eyes had already been on you but you hadn’t realized. He was staring, not gawking but looking with some sort of softness in his gaze. You didn’t smile as you inspected him and the way he was looking at you. You didn’t do the same to him, feeling yourself grow a bit too uneasy at the feeling of being watched.

And if you looked for too long, you were afraid you’d get lost.

Slowly lifting your body off of the mattress and sitting next to him, you came to realize that most of your lower body had gotten sore in between days of tidying and arranging the new flat and Alfie not wasting a second to get you alone so that he could spend the rest of the day tiring you out even further. 

He watched your hair fall across your back when you got up, messy from the events that had just taken place. You were not wearing anything so you grabbed your cardigan and wrapped it around your body when you got up. The whole time, he just watched as you moved around your new space.

It already felt like home.

He’d spent most of the days either helping you out or making sure that the lads didn’t damage any of the furniture or simply making you pant on the bed. It had been wonderful if he was honest, he wasn’t as angry and there was no feeling of uneasiness in his chest. He still saw dangerous man from day to day but knowing that you’d be home before you left for work, telling the lads how to put the sofa made him feel look forward to the time he’d get to see you.

He didn’t think much of it, or so he convinced himself that he didn’t.

“Alfie.” you said, you had been speaking to him but he was in his head so he hadn’t heard.

“Huh, what, luv?” he said, lifting himself off of the mattress and sitting on the soft material instead.

“You want tea?” you said, licking your lips while standing next to the door’s frame with nothing but a cardigan on. 

“Hm.” he said, nodding as he got up to put his pants on. He didn’t dress himself any further even though it was cold outside, he felt warm after laying on the bed with you.

He walked towards the kitchen to see you waiting for the water to boil. You looked at him when he appeared on the door and you gave him a gentle smile which he returned with a warmer heart. He walked next to you while you poured the water in the tea cups and his hand met your hip, squeezing gently.

This was not something you usually did.

In the last week, the lines had become blurred. It was hard to tell what he was to you. He had found you an apartment and had even picked you up in the morning when you were done. You had joked around with him during the ride and he’d even made jokes to make you smile, he had succeeded, too.

You shuddered a little when his lips met the space between your ear. He knew your body like the back of his hand, no matter how much you’d want to deny it. You kept your eyes on the water that was pouring out to the cups but his lips had your attention.

“Alfie, I’m gonna burn myself.” you said, in a breathy voice and he stopped with a smile. You didn’t even see his lips soften but you knew he was smiling.

After putting the tray on the table that resided in the middle of the living room, you sat on the soft chair you had brought from your previous place. He sat on the sofa on the opposite corner while waiting for the tea to cool down. He wanted to say something, it was hanging at the back of his mouth but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

And you so took it upon yourself to make him.

“If you wanna say something, just say it.” you said, almost a whisper but he had heard since the rooms were silent. You wore an annoyed expression that he often saw but it only amused him further.

He wanted to ask you if you’d work today and he already knew the answer.

He didn’t like it, the sticky feeling in his stomach each time you would go to work. He had no say in what you did, either for work or on the daily and he knew that but it only stirred him further. There was the fear of you getting hurt but he knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself.

And then, there was the other issue that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Other men got to see you in fancy lingerie, things that didn’t cover you up all the way and it made him mad. He didn’t quite know why, just that he was annoyed with the whole thing. He wouldn’t say it but you’d see the relief on his face when you’d be back from work or when he’d come to pick you up. He had been fucking you a little more carefully lately, ever since you’d moved in closer to him. He was almost tender, painfully soft with you when you’d let him show you a good time. It wasn’t the animalistic, rough Alfie you were used to but there was complaint, only curiosity.

He didn’t speak, just hand tugging at his beard and you knew he’d wait until the day was over and you’d be back from work to see him still in the same position. “You’ve been in me, Alfie, I won’t get mad.” you spoke, almost sensing the reason for his hesitation and his eyes locked into yours when you were done speaking. 

He figured he’d trust your word.

“Yer goin’ to work?” he asked and saw your features change.

You knew why he was asking but that didn’t change anything.

You had a vague idea as to why he had been more gentle with you lately, why he kissed you deeper than usual and why he insisted on giving you hickeys even though you’d told him not to on numerous occasions. He was more touchy, almost always around with the excuse of ‘making sure you were settled in’. You were just a girl but you weren’t stupid.

And this wasn’t something you could allow.

Men got jealous, they got protective and thought they had some sort of power over you the moment you’d become ‘ their girl’. You hated that anyway, being someone’s girl and knowing how dangerous Alfie’s line of business could be, you didn’t see sense in pursuing the possibility of anything happening with the man. You shook your head and he watched you lick your lips before you spoke.

“Yes, I am.” you said nonchalantly, as if you were trying to tell him that no matter how much he’d ask, you still wouldn’t want it. “You don’t need to pick me up.” you said, expressionless as he looked at your standing yet somehow small form. You hugged the cardigan tighter as he spoke, he watched you put some things into space. Things he’d knocked out of its place when he had been feverishly kissing you.

“I fuckin’ will, though.” he said, eyes stern as he looked at your face. You were a little taken aback but no evident sign of surprise.

“You don’t have to.” you said again, agitated with his need to make sure you were alright when all you needed him for was a quick fuck.

It didn’t work like this, not with you so you wouldn’t entertain the chance of being with him.

“I want to, lass, yeah, so I fuckin’ will.” he said one last time before getting up to walk towards you.

He would be jealous, you told yourself. He wouldn’t like the fact that other people were able to see you in such little clothing, you thought and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate the little dances you would give. Sure, he was a good fuck but he was also a cruel gangster and the balance seemed almost even.

Almost.

You walked away the moment his breath his your face and made your way to the bedroom to tidy up. There were clothes on the floor and books everywhere, you grabbed one and put it on the shelf and he was right behind you when you turned back.

“Alfie, move.” you said, not able to penetrate through his large form as he blocked your way.

“Tell me.” he said, finger under your chin as he lifted your face so you were looking at him.

“Tell you what?”

“Why?” his voice was a whisper as he looked at your small form, chin still between his fingers as his eyes bored into yours.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the question as he looked at your face, Why what? you thought. The question had so many ways of ending and yet, only one question popped into your mind.

Why were you still going to work? Why, when he was the one keeping your bed warm?

You didn’t answer, you didn’t know if there was an answer. It would not work, he would be a jealous man, jealous of the other ones that got to see you in work and it would get unbearable like it always would with any relationship you had. You didn’t say anything and walked away, he just watched.

He left soon after that, not a word or a forehead kiss like he’d usually give you. He wasn’t hurt or broken by anything, he was just waiting for you to make up your mind. The words had stirred something in you, he had seen that when you had looked at him. He just needed an answer now.

Laying on the bed as you watched the street lights dance on the ceiling, you realized you had the answer.

But it would put you in a lot of danger.

-----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

A/n: Hi!! This was something that had been in drafts for a while now so i wanted to post it at last. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know if you’d like another chapter!!

[hottestthingalive]

a storm in your eyes (lightning and dark skies)

It is then, with Virgil curled up against him, wet hair soaking Logan’s neck and the smell of hot chocolate in the air, that Logan realizes he loves a thunderstorm in human form. 

His best friend.

Oh, god, Logan is in love with his best friend. And also his roommate. And also his favorite person in the whole of the universe.

(He’s pretty sure that if Virgil could hear his thoughts, and if, y’know, Virgil wasn’t the person in question, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Oh my god, they were roommates.” The idea nearly makes him laugh.) 

��

Notes: Thank you so much to @snek-snacc, @smileyzs, @confused-sunflower, @xaimelarks​, and all my other followers for putting up with me ranting about this story, and helping me edit. Y’all are the best!

Edit: After publishing this, I got this AMAZING piece of art from @ent-is-undecisive / @birdsongisland! Go check them out, because they’re insanely talented, and looking at this piece makes me so so so happy!

Two sequels also exist for this now! 

waffles and wedding vows (promises and proof)

songs and stars and silence (of loving you)

Hope you enjoy!

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, background romantic Royaliceit, background romantic Intrusleep/rem^2, platonic drlamper

Words: 6885

Ao3

–

Logan Sanders falls in love with a thunderstorm.

Well, not a thunderstorm, exactly. As far as Logan knows (and he knows quite a lot), a tempest, no matter how powerful, cannot take the form of a human.

Still, the first time the boy with a hurricane’s eyes enters Mugnificent (the coffee shop Logan very reluctantly works at), he swears the smell of ozone fills the air. 

His name is Virgil Foley, and he sweeps into Logan’s life like a summer storm, filling it with wind and chaos and unmatched wild beauty. 

The first time they meet, it is 5:26 in the morning, and he’s considering revolt. Yes, he needs this job to supplement his scholarship, but being up this early is awful enough to warrant mutiny. Besides, customers are few this early in the day, and thus the tip jar is woefully empty. 

The door opens with a ding 

(there is a smell like lightning)

and in walks a person with dark hair tied in a bun under a black beanie, rummaging around in their backpack. Their bag is covered in pins, and Logan notes a rainbow one near the center. 

“Hey,” they say, and he meets eyes the color of stormclouds, a grey bordering on purple and blue simultaneously. “Can I just get a small coffee, please? Black is fine.” 

“Yeah,” Logan nods. “Name?”

They glance around the empty Mugnificent with a raised eyebrow, but reply with “Virgil,” anyways. 

“Nice to meet you, Virgil,” says Logan, and he’s not normally one for small talk, but he also is sleep-deprived, and too tired to have any sort of filter. “I’m Logan.”

Virgil relaxes, and they hold out a hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, too. I use he/him pronouns, by the way.”

“Ah, yes,” Logan nods, returning the handshake. “He/him for me, as well, thank you.”

Virgil pays and waits by the counter as Logan goes to prepare the coffee, scrolling through his phone. There is a comfortable silence as he makes the drink, which Logan spends mentally cursing out Roman, his coworker who was supposed to arrive for work thirty minutes ago. “Here,” he says finally, holding out the cup for Virgil to take. 

“Thanks.” Virgil is wearing fingerless gloves, and his nails are painted a bright purple. They shine in the fluorescent lighting. “Have a nice day, Logan.”

“You too,” he replies, and it seems too little. Logan doesn’t believe in magic, or gods, or destiny, but as he watches Virgil turn, about to walk out the door, something twangs in his chest. Despite himself, Logan opens his mouth, searching for something to say, anything that will make him stay. 

He blinks, about to speak, and Virgil is gone.

A few minutes later, it begins to rain. 

–

The second time he meets Virgil, it is in his psych class. 

Logan has always liked psychology. It’s fascinating how the human brain works, he thinks, and even if he isn’t always so good at understanding emotions, he’s quite good at the science behind them. His appreciation for said science is the only reason he signs up for the class at all, when it has practically nothing to do with his astrophysics major. 

He’s just about forgotten about the boy with eyes of a storm by the time he sits down for the first psychology class of the semester, pulling his computer and textbooks out of his own bag, and setting them before him. Logan cracks the knuckles on each hand individually, a nervous habit he’s had since he was in high school. He’s done his best to break it, but he supposes, as annoying as it is, it’s better than some of the alternatives.

Case in point, the boy from Mugnificent, who walks into the room nervously tapping his thigh while chewing at his lip. There’s a split in it, one that shines a bright red against the chapped surface, and Logan wants to wince just looking at it. 

His eyes flash with recognition as he spots Logan in one of the back rows, and he pauses. “Logan, right? From the coffee place.”

“And you’re Virgil,” Logan smiles, and okay, maybe he hadn’t forgotten Virgil so much as attempted to forget him. 

“Can I sit there?” he asks, nodding to the seat beside Logan. 

It turns out Virgil is smart, and funny, and just a little bit snarky, and a English major minoring in psychology. He’s got all kinds of nervous habits, chewing on his lip and tapping out rhythms known only to him and drawing on every available surface, and Logan often notices a tendril of ink wrapping around one of his fingers from under his gloves. 

They become fast friends, him and Virgil, bonding over a love for space and science and poetry. He starts coming to Mugnificent for coffee more often, and Roman teases Logan incessantly about it. 

“You’re finally making friends!” he pretends to sob, throwing his arms around him, and he has to shove Roman away, rolling his eyes. Virgil is stifling a laugh behind one gloved hand, and Logan mouths “Traitor,” at him, though he isn’t really mad at all.

They fall into patterns -- psych and history and statistics together, always seated side by side, sometimes accompanied by Roman or Patton or Remus or Janus or any one of their expanding circle of friends. The two of them buy each other coffee, edit essays, go out for junk food (that Logan complains about but secretly loves) with their friends. 

Virgil begs to paint Logan’s nails one night as they watch documentaries together in Patton and Virgil’s dorm room. His tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly as he focuses on the tiny white dots he’s adding, and Logan ends up loving the night sky that graces his fingers. In return, Logan styles Virgil’s long hair into a crown of braids. 

“Your Majesty,” he bows as he leads Virgil to the mirror. 

“If I’m royalty now, I demand a feast to celebrate,” Virgil grins, admiring his hair. “Sir Logan, this calls for pizza!”

“All the junk food you consume is going to kill you one day,” Logan sighs, but he’s already dialing their favorite pizza place.

They eat dinner seated on the floor, holding paper plates and drinking soda as they watch Cosmos. Patton returns to the dorm a few minutes later, accompanied by Janus and Roman both, and snags some of the pizza for himself – luckily, they’d thought to order extra, as soon Remus, Remy, and Emile all show up, too, crowding into the dorm room and around Logan’s laptop. The documentary is switched to Big Hero 6, Virgil showing off his hair and Logan his nails as the others admire them. Soon Virgil is breaking out his nail polish again, painting delicate puppies on Patton’s fingers, and Logan is teaching Roman how to do the same hairstyle on Emile’s curls. 

It’s a Saturday night, so they feel comfortable all crashing in Patton and Virgil’s room, squeezing far too many young adults into one small space. Emile giggles that it reminds them of sleepovers they went to when they were in elementary school, and Remus points out that they ought to play Truth or Dare with a manic grin. Virgil quickly puts a stop to that, however, distracting Remus with conspiracy theories and carving marshmallows to look like Lovecraftian monsters, and Logan wants to laugh because Virgil is very much a mom friend, despite his protests to the contrary. Still, as he sips hot cocoa with a marshmallow Cthulhu staring up at him from the mug, he has to admit it was a good idea. They all get into the fun, carving marshmallows with whatever cutlery Patton and Virgil have in their room, and eventually Monster Mallows will become a tradition for all of their friend group. 

When he falls asleep that night, lying on the floor in the blanket fort Patton and Roman had insisted on building, he dreams of rain and lightning, across dark skies that resemble Virgil’s eyes. 

–

Logan realizes Virgil is his best friend in the middle of winter, when he shows up at Mugnificent at the end of his shift, ordering two coffees and taking them as Logan gets ready to leave. “Sorry, Roman,” Virgil says, though he doesn’t look sorry at all as he hands Logan one of the drinks and reaches out to hold his other hand. “C’mon, L, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get there in time.”

“Where are we going?” Logan raises an eyebrow, throwing on his coat and waving goodbye to Roman (who is saying something dramatic about a grievous betrayal) as he sips at the coffee. It’s perfect, his order exactly. 

“Look!” Virgil grins as they leave the coffee shop, and it’s snowing, white flakes falling around them and coating the ground. Some of the cars nearby are already covered in it. “C’mon, we’ve got to get to the park.” 

“Wait, why?” he asks. “Virgil, this looks rather like the makings of a blizzard. We should probably go back to our dorms so we can prepare if we get snowed in.”

“I know it’s a snowstorm,” Virgil rolls his eyes, and his stormy eyes are bluer than Logan’s ever seen them, shining with excitement. “Now, let’s go!”

Logan should probably argue more, but he’s laughing as he gets pulled along, the two half-running towards the park. 

They slow down at the top of a hill already lightly coated with snow, and Virgil reaches into his bag to pull out a picnic blanket. “No,” Logan protests, but he’s cackling as Virgil yells “Snow picnic!” and spreads it over the snow. 

“This is going to turn into a blizzard,” he manages to say, stifling his giggles. “We are going to be buried alive because you wanted to have a picnic in a snowstorm.”

“Oh, shush,” Virgil grins, flopping down onto the blanket and digging into his bag again to retrieve two bagels wrapped in tinfoil. “Drink your coffee and watch the snow with me, Logan Sanders.”

The bagel he hands Logan has Crofters jam instead of cream cheese spread across it, still warm from toasting, and Logan could kiss Virgil if they weren’t very platonic…

Well, it feels like they are a whole lot more than friends, at this point. There’s something about their relationship that feels different from the ones Logan has with their other companions, be it Remus or Emile, Patton or Janus, Roman or Remy. 

Are they best friends?

He asks, and Virgil merely grins and says “I hope so.” 

It’s amazing, lying there as they watch the sky, munching on bagels and sipping at their coffee and pointing out oddly shaped clouds. Virgil is practically covered in snowflakes by the time they have to leave, the wind picking up too much to stay, and Logan is no better. Still, he thinks it was worth it, even when he gets a cold and has to spend the weekend curled up in blankets, sneezing and coughing as he works on his essay for his cosmology class. Virgil gets a cold, too, and they end up on the phone together as they work, Virgil blasting music on his end and Logan parroting his roommate’s consistent reminders to take medicine, and drink some water! 

Emile seems to think it’s cute, for some reason, and they tell Logan to say hi to Virgil for them, a smile playing on their lips that he’s too sick to interpret. 

–

Logan has a crush on a boy in their shared statistics class by March, the one who sits three rows in front of him and two seats to the right, who has green hair and a cheerful grin. Virgil listens patiently about it whenever Logan brings it up, and when they have to pair up for a final project, he pushes him towards his crush, joining Remus instead.

He finds out his crush already has a romantic partner in a strictly monogamous relationship when they’re nearly done with the project, and Virgil shows up to Logan’s dorm room with ice cream and his laptop that night, pulling aside Emile as he comes in and whispering something to him. Emile leaves shortly after, and the two of them are alone.

“What did you tell Emile?” Logan asks later, when they’re sitting on his bed and watching trashy teenage romcoms, because, according to Virgil, “This way, you won’t associate any good movies with this.” 

“Well, Patton invited him for a ‘sleepover,’” Virgil says, eating directly from the carton of chocolate ice cream, gaze shifting from the screen to Logan. “Did the moment he saw your text on the groupchat.”

Logan had texted that his crush has a partner when Roman had begun teasing him about it on said chat. Looking back, it may not have been the best of decisions, but all he wants to do right now is curl into the comforter and watch bad movies, while simultaneously eating unholy amounts of ice cream. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he protests, pulling the blankets closer around him. 

“Listen, L, you’re sad ‘cause the boy you like… well, you know. Anyways, you being sad is a big deal, at least to us.” Virgil isn’t wearing his normal clothes, only a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt (Logan knows he ran over in his nightwear, which makes him feel worse), so he can see the ink covering his hands, smudged in places.

“Why do you draw on yourself so much?” He leans over to look at the patterns of spirals winding their way up Virgil’s arms, tracing them with one finger. “That much ink can’t be good for your skin, pretty as it is, Vee.”

Virgil bats his hand away, blushing behind his curtains of dark hair, and Logan laughs. “It’s just a nervous habit, okay?” he exclaims, and Logan pokes his cheek, cooing. 

“Aw, lookit you,” he smiles, and even though Logan’s heart hurts from what happened with his crush, he doesn’t think he would trade anything for his friendship with Virgil Foley. “So cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Virgil grumbles, pressing play on the computer. “Watch the shitty movie and shush, nerd.”

He gets over the boy from statistics eventually, and gets an A on the project, which Roman insists they celebrate with breakfast at Logan’s favorite diner on campus. (Logan’s pretty sure Roman just feels guilty about teasing him about it, but he goes anyways, pulling his friend aside later to tell him it’s fine.)

–

They return from summer vacation changed. Janus, Patton, and Roman are dating now, for one thing, and it’s disgustingly sappy. Emile comes out as asexual and aromantic a few days after they get back, and Logan helps them hang flags in their dorm room when they arrive a week later. Remy has switched majors, from biology to culinary classes, and Remus tells them excitedly that he’s managed to start a rather popular horror comic online. (Logan reads it, and learns Remus is quite adept at art, writing, and scaring the crap out of him. He never looks at door knobs the same way again.) Virgil, meanwhile, has started wearing far less baggy clothes and more makeup – in other words, people around campus start realizing that Virgil is actually hot, and not just a relatively cute bundle of sweatshirts. 

Logan kind of feels weird about it. He knows how aesthetically pleasing Virgil is, of course – they’ve spent enough time together for him to have figured that out – but… well, Logan had realized while he was away how much he’d missed Virgil, even more so than his other friends. He tells himself it is because of how close they are, and ignores the ugly anger in his chest when people flirt with Virgil, or how his heart pounds and face flushes when they curl up to watch movies these days. 

As for him, well, he’s dyed his hair a dark blue, a color so dark it’s almost black. Roman marvels over it, asking how he managed to not damage his hair in the process, and Logan doesn’t feel like telling him that he had meant to do a brighter shade, but hadn’t realized how hard it would be to get proper color without bleaching his normal dark hair. He does end up telling Virgil later, though, when Remy and Patton drag them and the rest of their friends to a party.

For the record, Logan tended to avoid such events. He didn’t see the point, firstly – he’d never been a fan of crowds, especially not ones where everyone was drunk off their asses, and he generally had too much work to do to bother with parties. Secondly, he simply didn’t care enough to look nice for such a thing, or to go at all. Logan would much rather spend time with his friends if he had to be up in the middle of the night, whether haunting the 24/7 diner a few miles off campus or playing stupid games in the woods or making fun of Disney movies while throwing popcorn at the screen and shushing each other so they didn’t get noise complaints. 

But then there were Patton and Remy, social creatures who liked seeing other people and didn’t mind getting wasted to do so. Roman and Janus typically followed Patton wherever he went, so they were a given, and Remus had developed a raging crush on Remy by then, so he’d probably have tagged along even if Remy hadn’t grabbed his hand and said “You’ll come, right, Ree?” with a grin. 

Well, Remus was lost to them after that, and that left Emile, Logan, and Virgil alone.

Which would have been fine! Except then Virgil had got dragged in by Patton (a difficulty of being his roommate, according to Logan’s best friend, was that Patton was very, very persuasive when he wanted to be) and Virgil had begged Logan to come for “Introvert solidarity, L! Introvert solidarity!”

Then Emile had sighed, said something about being the only responsible one, and appointed themself designated driver. So Logan didn’t even have that excuse to pull himself and Virgil out of it early. 

He finds himself on a couch in someone’s house, sitting besides Virgil. Janus tells him that it is owned by someone who goes to their college but lives nearby, a summer home belonging to their parents or something. Janus says ze aren’t sure who the actual host is, and ze run off to go find Roman or Patton before Logan can ask why all of them are attending a party hosted by someone they don’t know.

Virgil has obviously already had something to drink, or he’s insanely sleep-deprived, as he has started playing with Logan’s hair. Logan’s willing to bet on the former (although knowing Virgil, he can’t be sure – he has an awful sleep schedule) especially since he’s never known the other to be so touchy, even when tired. 

“How’d you get it like this?” Virgil asks, running his fingers through Logan’s curls. He’s perched on top of the couch, and though he would normally be concerned that Virgil might fall, Logan is just glad he doesn’t have to bend over so his friend can examine his hair. 

He tells Virgil, and can’t help but smile as he laughs, perhaps a little more than the story warrants. They sit there in peace for a few minutes, Virgil humming along with any song he recognizes and Logan scanning the room for any of their friends. 

“Your hair is so pretty,” Virgil eventually says, and Logan is surprised he can hear him at all over the noise of the music and other people. He slides down from the couch to sit beside him, reaching up to poke Logan’s cheek. “You’re pretty. You know that, right? You’re real, real pretty.”

“Aw,” Logan grins, hoping the dim lights and Virgil’s addled brain will hide his red cheeks. “What is it you say? Oh, right; you think I’m warm.”

“No, dummy, I think you’re hot,” Virgil sighs. “Get it right.”

“Why, thank you.”

“‘Course. You’re my best friend, Logan Sanders.”

“Same,” he replies, dodging Virgil’s attempt to flick him as he scans the room. “Have you seen Remy or Remus around recently?”

“Oh, they’ve been making out in that closet over there,” Virgil says offhandedly, pointing, and Logan nearly chokes. “You didn’t know? They’re so obvious, Remy’s been whining about it to me for weeks. ‘Oh, Virgil, I’m doomed to be alone forever!’ ‘Oh, Virgil, Remus is so hot, and I’m going to whine about it to you for hours!’ ‘Oh, Virgil, I have a crush on a trash rat man and I won’t stop talking about it ever!’”

“Did Remy actually call Remus a ‘trash rat man’?” he snickers, turning to look at Virgil, who is wringing his hands in mock despair as he imitates Remy.

“No,” Virgil pouts. “Wish he had. Remus would love that.”

“He would,” Logan agrees, rolling his eyes fondly. “Hey, do you want to leave?”

“Why, Logan Perfect-Hair Sanders, are you asking me to ditch a party with you?” he laughs.

“That isn’t my middle name and you know it.” Logan shoots off a text to Emile, standing and turning to grab Virgil’s hand, pulling him upright. “But sure. Will you, Virgil Emo-Nightmare Foley, ditch this absurd party with me?”

“Logan, I thought you’d never ask,” Virgil smirks. “Let’s bounce!”

They get lucky – Logan hasn’t had anything to drink, and due to how large their group is, Virgil had had to drive over Patton, Janus, Roman, and himself earlier. Virgil hands him the keys to the car, and Logan drives them to the nearby McDonalds, where they order fries and milkshakes. “Let’s go somewhere high,” Virgil says when they return to the car, grinning, and Logan obliges, driving them to his favorite stargazing spot near campus, partway up a mountain in a parking lot for an old playground. 

Soon, he finds himself sitting on the hood of Virgil’s car, dipping his fries in a chocolate shake as the two of them stare up at the stars and the moon, pointing out constellations. “Look,” giggles Virgil, his head on Logan’s shoulder as he traces lines between stars. “It’s the glasses one!”

“There is no ‘glasses’ constellation, Virgil,” he points out, but the path his friend is etching into the sky does look rather like a pair of glasses. 

“Well, there is now,” replies the other. “It’s your constellation! You deserve one, y’know, ‘cause you’re pretty, and smart, and nice, and funny, and you’re just the best, Lo, okay?”

“How much did you have to drink, exactly?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow, and his friend punches him in the arm, lightly. “Ow!”

“I’m telling the truth,” Virgil rolls his eyes, pulling the blankets they’d retrieved from the trunk closer around the two of them. “You deserve a constellation. You deserve the universe.”

“Well, now we have to find you a constellation, too,” he muses, ignoring the heat in his cheeks (he seems to be blushing quite a lot lately, talking to Virgil) as he searches the sky. It takes a few minutes, and Virgil is half-asleep on his shoulder by the time he makes his choice, but finally Logan says “I found it.”

“Well, lemme see,” Virgil mumbles, opening his eyes. 

He traces lines between a series of stars. “It’s a cloud,” he explains, “and a lightning bolt. Because you’re a thunderstorm, V.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” He’s biting his lip, suddenly subdued, and Logan feels a surge of guilt, because no one should ever make Virgil look like that, anxious and hurt and scared all at once.

“No,” he answers, fiercely enough that Virgil jumps slightly. “You’re wild, and chaotic, and occasionally a bit destructive, but you also make people feel alive. You bring rain to help things live, you bring the sound of a storm and the beauty of lightning, you simultaneously wake me up and help me sleep. You are beautiful, and inspiring, and so amazingly you, and the best friend I could ever ask for.”

“...And I thought I was the English major,” Virgil says quietly, and his face is bright red. “You have no right to be better at words than me, Sanders.”

“Well, Foley, I’m the astrophysics major, and you’re the one who started making constellations, so turnabout’s fair play,” Logan replies, and Virgil lets out a laugh at that.

Later, when the fries and milkshakes are both gone, they get back into the car and drive back to their dorms. For Logan’s birthday that year, a month or so later, Virgil presents him with a painting of the glasses constellation. He’d commissioned Remus, he explains, staring at his feet, and Logan tells him he loves it. For Virgil’s birthday, he gets a similar art piece from Roman, of the stars making a storm, and Virgil pulls him into a tight hug.

For now, though, the two of them simply sit and gaze into space. 

–

Logan goes on a few dates with someone he meets at the coffee shop, named Andy. They become boyfriends. Virgil teases him about it whenever he brings it up, and eventually he stops talking about his partner to his best friend. The two of them start to pull apart, their friendship strained.

When Logan and Andy separate, Virgil is dating a girl he’s only met a few times, who shares Virgil’s English classes and wears colorful barrettes to hold back her curls.

He hadn’t even known Virgil liked her. 

–

College passes by quickly. They graduate, and Logan tumbles into a job at a rather prestigious observatory. He lives in a small apartment in the city nearby, buys coffee from the Starbucks across the street every morning, settles into a routine.

Gradually, they all start to fall out of touch. It sucks, but things have been off between Virgil and him ever since Logan had dated Andy Michaels, and at the moment Logan sees his ex-boyfriend more than his ex-best friend. Their relationship had ended amicably, but still – he misses Virgil Foley, more than he’d ever like to admit. 

A year or so later, Logan receives the invitation to Remy and Remus’ wedding. 

It is in the fall, and Logan isn’t surprised in the least that they plan to have it in a forest, if only because he knows that the odds of Remus wanting the guests to jump into leap piles with him are absurdly high. At least they’re at an actual wedding site, so they can be inside if needed – Logan half expected, when he found out they’d gotten engaged, for them to drag a bunch of guests to a Starbucks for the event. 

What does surprise Logan is the fact that Remus has apparently sent it early, because Logan is going to be one of the wedding party attendants. 

He calls Remus and Remy that night, certain they’ve mixed up things, but Remy simply laughs. “Logan, you’re still one of our best friends,” he says. “Come on, please?”

“Besides,” Remus adds, “Virge will be one too, and Patton and Roman and Jan and Emile! You can’t break up the team!”

He ends up agreeing, and no matter how much Remy teases him about it later, it was not just to see Virgil again. 

The wedding rolls around. Logan has managed to avoid speaking to Virgil for more than a friendly greeting and a bit of small talk through all the preparations the two of them had had to attend, but the they both arrive early on the day of, and Logan doesn’t know anybody else, and, well, he does miss Virgil. 

“Hey,” he says. Virgil is nearly as tall as him in the heels he’s wearing (Logan had managed to opt out of them, convincing Remus to let him wear flats with his dress), and his green dress offsets his stormy eyes perfectly. Logan doesn’t think he looks nearly as good in the color, but he’d decided not to argue with Remy’s puppy-dog eyes. Besides, he much prefers the dress to the suits Emile and Patton had opted for. 

“Hi, Logan,” Virgil replies. The tension in the air is palpable, and Logan hates it. “How’ve you been lately?”

“I’m good,” he answers. 

“Oh, good,” nods Virgil. He’s gnawing at his lip again, and Logan can see the split in it even through the lipstick. “Me too.”

“I miss you,” Logan says suddenly, because he does. “You were my best friend, and I hate not being close, because you are one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“...I miss you too.” He smooths his dress, looking out the window at the trees, and then laughs. “I’m surprised they didn’t have their wedding in a Starbucks, honestly.”

Logan can’t help but chuckle at that, especially when he spots Remy breezing past them, a coffee cup in hand and makeup only half-done, frantically trying to catch his little brothers and sister, whom he and Remus had appointed flower children. “I thought the same thing,” he admits. 

It’s easy for the two of them to talk, after that, sharing jokes and telling stories and talking about their new lives. Logan feels oddly happy when he learns Virgil is single, and when he mentions how he’s looking for a roommate and Virgil remarks that he is too, it feels as natural as breathing to ask where he’s currently living. Finding out they live in the same city makes Logan feel strangely elated. 

“Help!” Remus exclaims, skidding to a stop in front of them, collapsing into Virgil’s arms and only barely being caught. “I’ve lost my husband-to-be!” 

“Alright, please calm down,” Logan says, exchanging exasperated looks with Virgil, who pulls Remus back to his feet. “Have you actually lost Remy, or are you just being overly dramatic?”

“He has been stolen from me,” Remus whines. “We were kissing, and then he was dragged away by my evil brother!”

“By any chance, was he dragged away to prepare for your wedding? The event we’re attending, so you two can get married? The one that most guests are expected to arrive for in fifteen minutes?” Virgil crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. 

Remus’ eyes widen. “Fifteen minutes?” he asks, checking Logan’s watch, and groans. “Oh, drumsticks. Drumsticks torn right off a chicken. Bloody chicken legs everywhere.”

He darts off, and Logan and Virgil sigh simultaneously.

“We should go help, shouldn’t we?” Virgil asks, and Logan nods reluctantly. “Well, it was great to talk to you.”

“It was pleasant to speak with you, as well,” he agrees. 

As he turns to go find Patton, Virgil grabs his arm. “Hey, L, save me a dance, okay?”

They do indeed dance together that night, after they watch Remy and Remus get married among the colorful leaves, and talk, and laugh, and by the end of the wedding they are good friends again.

Virgil and Logan move in together by the end of November. 

–

They become surprisingly domestic, the two of them, moving into their large apartment that is close to both Logan’s job at the observatory and Virgil’s work at a publishing company. He’s not surprised Virgil has become an editor (he was always the best at it, when they exchanged essays to review), but he is rather impressed when he notes some of the books in Virgil’s room have his full name on the cover. “I write poetry, mostly,” he explains when Logan asks. “It’s… I used to use it like therapy, I guess, and I got some of it published. I’m not famous or anything.”

“That’s amazing,” Logan says sincerely. 

The poetry becomes important, later, but then, it is simply something for Logan to admire, another flash of beautiful lightning in Virgil’s storm.

Saturdays become movie nights, and they order junk food and make popcorn and watch documentaries or horror movies or cartoons together. Occasionally, some of their friends will join them, and every so often, all eight of them cram into Logan and Virgil’s living room. Despite his love for the others, however, Logan’s favorite nights are usually the ones when the two of them are alone, when they curl up together on the couch and make fun of trashy films or contribute their own knowledge to documentaries or sing along quietly to Disney. It is peaceful and lovely and utterly perfect.

Logan doesn’t mean to fall in love with Virgil. It sneaks up on him, mornings of coffee for him and tea for Virgil and memes shared over breakfast, afternoons texting each other with reminders to get groceries and news from the office, nights of cooking together and dancing to the radio. 

One day, when both of them have work off, Virgil pulls him out of bed, waits impatiently while Logan gets dressed, and drags him outside into a storm. They walk through the park together, enjoying the rain on their skin, both of them jumping into puddles and belting the title number of Singing in the Rain and getting utterly soaked. 

They return home for cocoa, each taking a warm shower and then sitting together on the couch to watch old movies with small white krakens bobbing in their cups. It is then, with Virgil curled up against him, wet hair soaking Logan’s neck and the smell of hot chocolate in the air, that Logan realizes he loves a thunderstorm in human form. 

His best friend.

Oh, god, Logan is in love with his best friend. And also his roommate. And also his favorite person in the whole of the universe.

(He’s pretty sure that if Virgil could hear his thoughts, and if, y’know, Virgil wasn’t the person in question, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Oh my god, they were roommates.” The idea nearly makes him laugh.) 

Logan tries to get over his crush (and there’s no other word for it, as juvenile as it sounds). He really does. But it’s so hard, now that he knows it exists, especially when he has to see Virgil every single day. And he can’t just cut himself off, or leave their apartment, because that might ruin their friendship, and that’s the whole reason he’s trying to escape his feelings, because he loves being Virgil’s friend more than anything. 

So he exists in this inbetween state, thrashing in the eyewall of a storm, so close to safety and danger simultaneously, trapped in chaos and uncertainty. 

Logan isn’t quite sure whether he really wants to return to the eye, blissful quiet and the peace of oblivion, or if he can at all. But he thinks entering the storm itself, the danger of telling Virgil how he feels, the potential for a life with him, is equally impossible. 

Eventually he decides that it is best to just ignore his rebellious feelings. It works, sort of – Virgil doesn’t seem to notice anything different, and Logan gets to keep his best friend. Still, every moment together is tinged with a sort of bittersweet sadness, the dancing in the kitchen and cuddling on the couch and meals together a harsh reminder that they are just friends.

He’s not sure exactly how his other friends figure it out, but they do, judging from how Remy and Janus tell him exasperatedly that he really ought to say something to Virgil, how Patton and Roman tell him how cute they would be together, how Remus does his best to shove Logan towards Virgil at any opportunity, how Emile tells him pointedly that repressing his feelings isn’t exactly healthy. Logan does decide that he’ll confess… eventually. 

The problem with eventually, however, is how ambiguous it is. The others have realized as much, evidently, but they don’t force Logan to say something, or tell Virgil themselves, and he appreciates that.

It is a Saturday when eventually finally comes, a peaceful movie night interrupted by a phone call with Roman’s name flashing on the screen. He holds up a finger over his lips as he accepts the call, grimacing apologetically to Virgil as he steps into his own room. “What do you want?” he asks exasperatedly when he picks it up, and winces as the other line fills with noise. 

“Logan, have you read Virgil’s latest book?” Roman practically screams, and in the background Logan can hear Patton squealing with excitement as Janus shushes them both. 

He frowns, closing the door to his bedroom. “I wasn’t aware he’d been working on one.” Normally, Logan knows whenever Virgil is working on another collection of his poetry – he’s often the first person Virgil hands it to for editing. 

“Get on your computer this instant, Pocket Protector,” says Roman, and Logan can hear his grin.

A quick search confirms it; a new book of poetry, just released by Virgil Foley. The revelation is almost painful (does Virgil not trust him anymore? Not like him?) until Janus’ voice comes over the line, hir voice sarcastic and concerned altogether.

“Way to go, love, he’s definitely not overthinking this,” ze sigh. “Logan, listen to me. I need you to go look at some of the reviews for the book, okay? Actually, no, if you can find a sample online, go read that.”

He’s operating in a haze, a robot in human flesh, and what do robots do but obey orders?

Logan barely understands what he’s reading at first, lines of poetry in the sample flashing past him. He checks the reviews, words of praise and admiration flowing through his mind, and it takes a second before he understands any of it. 

Clicking back to the online sample, he starts to recognize the story being told. It is a tale of late nights and hot drinks in the morning, of pining and fear of destroying a friendship older than love.

It is Logan’s story, told through another’s words, a voice speaking of a scholar of the stars, of glasses and storms, of hugs and hand-holding and a cute barista, a boy in psych class, a friendship repaired at another’s wedding, of admiration and hope and love. A love for someone seen not as a storm, but as stars, as the universe in human flesh. 

Virgil is in love.

Virgil is in love with Logan. 

“I’ll call you back,” he hears himself say, and drops his phone on his bed in his haste to get back to the living room. 

“Logan?” Virgil’s voice pierce the haze of his thoughts, his eyes 

(a storm, wild beauty) 

shining with concern, and he sits up from where he’s lying on the couch. “You okay? What happened?”

There are many things he wants to say, questions and explanations and promises, but in the end, all he says is “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” He doesn’t expect Virgil to look quite so flustered, but then again, Logan did just storm into the room, looking desperate and probably a tad deranged, and ask to kiss his best friend. 

“Roman told me about the new book,” Logan says first, and Virgil’s eyes widen even further, and he can sense the incoming apology, but he isn’t done, not yet. He begins to crack his knuckles, a habit he’d thought he’d finally lost, full to the brim with nervous energy. “I’ve read some of it, and as far as I can tell, you are romantically attracted to me. Which is good, because I also harbor such feelings for you, and have for about a year now. So. Can I kiss you?”

“Isn’t it ‘May I kiss you’?” Virgil grins, playing off his feelings with humor, as always. Logan opens his mouth to apologize as his world comes crashing down, because oh, he’s messed up, oh no, but then his best friend’s expression softens, and he whispers “Of course, Logan Sanders.”

“Thank you, Virgil Foley,” he says, and abandons the eyewall for the storm. 

They don’t watch any more movies that night. The two of them kiss, and talk, and kiss some more, and Virgil grabs his author’s edition of the new book from his room, and they read it together on the couch. 

The next morning, they sit with their coffee and tea and talk some more, about labels and boundaries and dreams. Their friends come over for movies the next Saturday, and Virgil and Logan hold hands as they tell them they are dating. 

(Roman choking on the popcorn in his excitement almost makes up for the money Logan spots being exchanged between Emile, Remus, and Patton.)

Eventually, Virgil’s latest book will gain fame, and they will end up with quite a bit of money between the two of them, especially after Logan gets a promotion. Eventually, they will move to a larger house, one a bit outside the city, one where they will have two cats and a dog and a son named Thomas. Eventually, they will get married in the spring, and when it starts to rain as they say their vows, the two of them just laugh. 

But that is eventually. In the now, Logan Sanders is in love. In the now, Virgil Foley is in love. 

They are glasses and hoodies, poetry written and spoken, dancing in the kitchen and cuddles on the couch. 

They are thunderstorms, and they are stars.

[2018shawn]

Baby M

Request: Can you write about y/n waking Shawn up in the middle of the night because she’s uncomfortable due to being 8 months pregnant?

A/N: hi, I hope u all enjoy, dad!Shawn makes me feel week ahahah quite short so I'm sorry if it’s crappy!!! like/reblog/message me if you enjoyed any feedback is really appreciated 🥰

Ice cream. All you wanted was ice cream. But thanks to the continuous growing bun in your oven (or baby bump, to put it normally), you’d consumed every last little spoonful of Ben and Jerry’s and Häagen-Dazs left in your house. You were glad you checked the important matter of ice cream quantity before you’d headed to bed, otherwise you’d be attempting to waddle down to the kitchen any minute now, which would be an absolute waste and a torturous challenge in itself to get back up the stairs.

You picked up your phone, the screen automatically illuminating the room and almost blinding you as you checked the time. 2:54am. 14 minutes after you’d last checked. Sighing, you pushed yourself up in bed, letting your back fall against the plush velvet headboard. You stared down at your blossoming bump, a smile creeping on your lips as you notice and begin to feel the tiny movements happening inside of you. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You sarcastically giggled, your hands stroking over the bare skin of your stomach, receiving a solid kick in return to your sarcasm. This baby already had the reactions of Shawn, who would instantly scowl at you for your sarcastic attitude in any given situation.

The pains hurt, but it had grown to become bearable. You were once told that pregnancy would be one of the happiest, greatest moments of your life – you however, thought that waking over a carpet of nails would be even greater. 8 months had passed – the first, approximately, three months being bearable, the rest were just a downward spiral from there. With constant visits to the emergency department, because Shawn wanted it for his own piece of mind just as much as you, and countless phone calls to your midwife, it left Shawn feeling absolutely useless over this period of time; even going as far as to say, ‘I wish we were seahorses, because then I’d be able to do it, and you could carry on living your best life’.

What else hurt at this moment in time, was how peacefully asleep Shawn was next to you. His wild hair a was contrast to the pleated white pillows, his light snores filling the sound of the room along with your groans and moans. More than anything, you wanted to wake him, share your pain and restlessness and you also know that Shawn would want that too. ‘Your pain is my pain’ he’d often told you, and you solemnly swore you’d always come to him with anything.

Deciding he’d had too much of a busy day to be woken at what was now 3:01am, you shuffled uncomfortably on your bum until your legs were hung over the edge of the bed, your body now upright and head floppy. “Baby M, you’ve tired me out before you’re even here”, you had to laugh again, hand still caressing your bulging bump. Baby M had become an ongoing nickname between you and Shawn, when you decided you weren’t going to find out the sex of the baby, you settled for Baby M, short for Mendes, and it stuck ever since.

You felt Shawn shift behind you, and your movements came to an immediate halt, determined not to wake him. Breathing a sigh of relief when you heard his faint snores again, you managed to stand yourself up from the bed, your ankle instantly feeling like a balloon that’s been blown up with too much air.

“Y/N?” Shawn’s voice was groggy, and you rolled your eyes at thinking you’d get away without waking him. No matter how many times you got up for a pee during the night, he’d always be awake with you. He did what he would normally do and click the bedside lamp on, knowing how clumsy you are, even before you were pregnant you’d usually send yourself flying over a slipper you’d left in the middle of the floor or the jumper you’d ripped off yourself because you over heated in bed.

“Sorry bub, I’m just going for a pee. My bladder is a trampoline, apparently” You declared, not exactly lying. You’d only been just over an hour ago, long gone were the days of you sleeping the whole night through without waking up once.

“Okay, well hurry, wnt-a-duddle” He mumbled, barely audible as he sunk his head back into the plush pillow. Luckily, you’d mastered Shawn’s sleepy lingo and just about made out “I want a cuddle”.

You did your business, with a struggle of course, before returning back to your sleepy boyfriend who was laid across the majority of the bed with open arms as a welcoming for your return. “I swear I’ve grown since I woke up like, an hour ago. I actually just had to use all my energy to push myself off the toilet” You groaned, switching the en-suite bathroom light off behind you. Shawn chuckled at your theory, throwing the covers back to leave an empty space on the bed for you to return to. “I’m seriously gonna squish you to death if I come over there and lay on you,” you raised your eyebrows, arms tucked over each other in front of your chest as you looked down at the bed.

“What a good way to go” he smiled, reaching over and tugging one of your arms from their stern position. Reluctantly and slowly, you crawled over the bed, resting as close to him as you could. Your head lowered down to rest on his chest, his arm wrapped firmly around you with his fingers drawing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

A sudden shooting pain through your stomach caused you to flinch, groaning automatically for when felt like the 1035th time. “Remind me why I let you trick me into sleeping with you that night after the Grammy’s?” Shawn became immediately concerned at your uncomfort, attacking you with a million and one questions about the type of pains you were having and how long they’d been happening, because he’d been reading up about things like this as the due date got inevitably closer. It took a good 10 minutes for him to finally settle back down, with you reassuring him it was just because you fell asleep in a funny position and now baby was apparently awake, meaning he or she was attending a gymnastics lesson in your womb.

“And because I looked incredibly sexy and you kept telling me all night you couldn’t wait to get me home… hardly think it was a trick darling.” He smiled, answering your previous question before kissing your temple as his other hand came up to your bump, rubbing gently across the surface. “Is there anything I can do?” He began wriggling, doing some sort of weird manoeuvre to shuffle down the bed so his head became level with your stomach. You rearranged your positioning, so he was in between your legs, and not for the reason you’d normally think, arms propped up over your thighs. “Baby M, you need to stop bugging your mama” He tapped your belly delicately with his pointer finger, as if he was knocking on the door to your womb.

“Yeah, sure, that’s gonna work” You rolled your eyes, still however grateful for the gesture. “And in terms of anything you can do… can you produce ice cream from that incredible talented body of yours?”

He laughed, shaking his head and you stuck your bottom lip out. “I know it’s been a long…” looking at his watch for the reference of time, “8 hours since you last ate any, but I’d also like our baby to live of something other than dairy when he arrives.”

“Well, Einstein, when she arrives, she’s gonna be living off milk so that statement doesn’t really stand” You looked down at him as he peppered kisses across your stomach, fingers stroking the skin of your hips.

He rolled his eyes as he crawled up from his position, backing up until his legs fell off the foot of the bed and he could stand up straight. You watched as he slumped off to the bathroom, taking a little longer than what he normally would if he was going for a pee. He shortly returned, heading for the wardrobe where he pulled out a pair of sweats and his baggiest jumper. “What the hell are you doing?” You questioned, eyes furrowing at your apparently very awake boyfriend. Instead of an instant reply, he sauntered back over to your, leaning down and pressing a loving kiss to your lips, the taste of fresh toothpaste making your tongue tingle.

“Going to get you ice cream.”

[spacestationdaedalus]

Happy late Christmas to @malevon!! I might not be able to throw you a party but at least I can give you a fic to read to celebrate the last day at your job. This is the longest single piece I’ve written in a long time and my first time writing injury/whump, so I hope it’s comprehensible, at least. It was SO much fun to write, thank you for the lovely prompt <3

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435182

...

She's coming apart, now. 

I’m not scared of you.

Helen...was that...a lie?

Once he heard it, Saw it, Jon knew it was over. Her doors and hallways bend and creak under the weight of the Watcher’s gaze, and she herself is twisting. She’s always twisting of course, but this is different. It’s uniform, too comprehensible for the incarnation of lies and deceit. She’s screaming, crying out-

- it’s me, it’s Helen -

Channeling the power of the Eye comes a bit easier each time, which Jon registers in the back of his mind as vaguely concerning. The corridors are crumbling, colors blending into each other as Distortion and Spiral become indistinguishable. Jon staggers as the walls and floor shift, disorienting still even with the Eye staring down at them. It reaches out, then, a last-ditch effort to save itself. Stretching and warping with hands, sharp fingers that don’t belong to Helen or Michael or anyone with a name. Jon doesn’t stop talking.

He registers a pain, vague and far-off. Everything warps into red and a million colors all at once, and then he's nowhere.

Dry grass crunches under his feet, and icy wind cuts through him. He can’t actually hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he can definitely feel it, bracing and whipping the dark strands that had come free from their bun. There’s a ringing in his ears; it travels into his jaw, rattles his teeth. There's a coppery taste in his mouth and warmth trickling down his face. Another nosebleed. Great.

"Christ, Jon!"

Martin's voice comes from behind, and Jon sags with the relief of it.

"Oh, Martin! Good." Jon turns to greet him. His words sound strange to his own ears. Slippery and lopsided and wrong. The ringing in his ears is replaced with the dull roar of rushing blood. Accented by a rhythmic thud - his heartbeat, surely. Was it always so loud? He can feel it behind his eyes, and with every beat it hurts just a bit more.

"Wh-what happened? There was the hotel and then..." Martin's voice trails off, eyes widening.

Jon laughs, bringing a hand up to wipe his face. His fingers are cold. Which is strange because the rest of him is light and warm. He shivers. "Oh calm down Martin, it's just a nosebleed." He can taste the copper, still.

Martin rushes toward him. He's saying words that Jon desperately wants to hear, but he can't. Not over the roaring in his ears, or the blur of color and static. He can feel Martin's hands on his arms, his shoulders. Jon reaches up, tries to grasp one of his hands. Has his arm always been this heavy? He feels a pulling, sudden and deep - his abdomen. And it hurt.

He blinks. He's on the ground, half kneeling. Martin's arms are around him.

"-my god, what happened? Oh god Jon-"

His head is heavy, eyes tired. He looks down. And there's blood. His blood?

Oh.

He opens his mouth to tell Martin that it's alright, it's ok, it's not as bad as it looks. He makes a sound, he thinks. He hopes, desperately, that Martin understands.

A wave of dizziness overtakes him, followed closely by darkness.

Without himself to talk to, the dismal weather is a bit distracting.

Martin braces himself against the wind and the light pattering of rain. There’s hardly a way to tell if he’s walking in the right direction, or if there even is a right direction to begin with. He’d simply picked the way that felt right and began the trek, hoping he’d meet Jon along the way. Which isn’t an outstanding plan, sure, but Martin has a hunch that wherever the fog of the Lonely ends is where he’ll find Jon. Or, where Jon will find him - not that there’s much of a difference. Regardless, Martin hopes it’s sooner rather than later. His other self had slipped away into the fog long before, with all the fanfare of a breath dissipating into cold air. At the very least he’s walking with the wind instead of against it, though it doesn’t stop the minuscule droplets from painting his glasses. He’s already given up on cleaning them, resigning himself to the rivulets that form and drip down the smooth surface.

When the rain lets up and the fog clears just enough to catch a building crest over the horizon, the relief marginally outweighs the apprehension. The sight of something other than gray mist and dead grass is promising that he’s reaching the boundary of his domain.

Hidden horrors beyond comprehension aside, at least he can get a break from the damn wind.

It’s a hotel, Martin realizes, one of the old kinds you see in travel magazines and history shows. It’s weather-worn and outdated in a way that might have seemed charming at one point, but now practically oozes terror. The wind dies down as he approaches, for which Martin is grateful.

And in a matter of moments, it’s gone. 

Although "matter of moments" might be pushing it. One second it was there, and then Martin blinked, and then it wasn’t.

And Jon is there.

"Christ, Jon!" Martin says, half startled-fear and half relief. The wind picks up again in the hotel’s absence, but it seems more tolerable, now.

"Oh, Martin! Good." Jon turns, a dazed look on his face to match his tone. There's a thin trail of blood dripping from his nose. Overusing his powers again, Martin realizes with a bolt of apprehension.

"Wh-what happened? There was the hotel and then..." Martin looks to the space the hotel once occupied, and back to Jon, who’s facing him now. His voice trails off as slow sinking horror creeps in its wake.

Jon's shirt is ripped open, tatters fluttering like wind chimes in the frigid breeze. Four gashes, deep and red, run diagonally across his torso, from mid-rib cage to just above the waist. Blood is coating his stomach, his clothes-

Oh, god

Jon's wiping the blood from his face and laughing - why is he laughing? - as Martin closes the gap, heart lodged and hammering in his throat. He grabs Jon with shaking hands, holding him, steadying him when he sways back. Martin’s vaguely aware that he’s speaking, words and half-formed questions rattled off rapid-fire.

What happened where were you when how oh god fuck fuck-

Jon's knees buckle. Martin brings him into his arms, supports his weight as he lowers them to the ground. Jon is dead weight at this point, head falling to rest on Martin's shoulder. He brings a shaking hand to Jon's hair, then his neck. He can feel his pulse against his palm, light and fast and as frantic as the beating of Martin's own heart.

 He lays his down, gently, as gently as he can with how bad his hands are shaking. He rips the backpack open and grabs the first piece of cloth he sees. It's an old t-shirt, one of the few Martin brought with him from the safehouse. A faded band logo adorns the front. Jon had been pleasantly surprised to find Martin wearing it, since he was a fan of the same group. They’d laughed and sang their favorite songs together-

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you could sing!”

“I can’t really sing, Martin, it’s a functional skill more than anything-”

“Bullshit! You’re good! Like, actually good.”

“Is now a good time to mention I used to be in a band?”

“What?!”

Martin crumples the old shirt and presses it to Jon’s bleeding stomach.

That pulls a low moan from him, eyes closed and face screwed up against the pain.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," Martin placates, high and strung thin. Out of the grab-bag of work experiences Martin had gathered over the years, anything tangentially related to health care was nowhere to be found. Everything he knew came from corny 90’s job safety trainings and overly-dramatic television shows. 

He wants desperately to check the wounds - how deep are they? Will Jon be able to heal them before he, he bleeds out or something?! - but his arms are locked at the elbows, fists clenched in the white fabric ever-so-slowly seeping with red. He fears that if he were to move even a millimeter, everything would slip between his fingers.

A touch, feather-light on his arm, feels like a shock. It’s Jon’s hand

"I-it's fine, it's ok-" Jon's voice is soft and ragged.

"It's-it’s really not, actually," Martin replies, and it might have come across as playful if it didn’t crack so deeply through the middle. He sacrifices a hand to grasp Jon's. It's ice cold and small and thin.

Martin uses his other hand to gingerly lift the shirt. The bleeding is slowing now - thank god - and Martin is sure the edges have closed ever so slightly. Not that he had gotten the best look before. He remembers how quickly Jon’s leg healed after Daisy-

It wasn’t a miracle though, his mind supplies.

He throws the bloody shirt aside and digs through the backpack once more, Gauze, some tape, a knife, a bottle of water. There’s only a half-roll of the gauze left, and it’ll have to be enough. With a jittering determination Martin uses the water to clean away some of the blood, cutting away the remains of Jon’s shirt as he goes. As the red washes away, the wounds don’t look quite as deep, quite as awful as they did before. He feels the smallest sliver of panic leave him and he draws in a deep breath to calm himself. Martin notices, really notices the wind for the first time in minutes - or hours, how long has it been? It burns the tips of his fingers numb, slicing through him like the knife in his hands. They don’t have anything in the realm of antiseptic, because of course they don’t, and Martin desperately hopes that Jon can heal himself before it becomes a problem. He gently wraps Jon’s middle with fumbling hands, placating as best he can when Jon winces against the movement.

They aren't in the Martin's domain anymore, technically. Just on the edge between Lonely and god-knows-what. But the open, gently rolling hills and vestiges of fog sends his spine tingling. Like a rabbit with no cover, and a hawk circling overhead. Not to mention the wind - now that Martin’s brought attention to it, he can’t stop shivering.

There’s a cobblestone wall, maybe twenty meters away. Left over from the perimeter of the hotel, if Martin had to guess. Wedging themselves into a corner to block out some of the wind is probably their best - only? - option.

Martin leans forward, brings his hands to cradle Jon's face. For as frozen as his fingers are he can still feel the chill against Jon’s skin, which isn’t the most comforting sign. He caresses his thumbs against Jon’s cheekbones in an attempt to coax the barest bit of attention out of him. Jon hums as he opens his eyes, slowly, foggy and unfocused. Whether it’s blood loss or pain or the after-effect of using his powers, Martin isn’t sure. Probably all three.

“There you are,” Martin whispers, and as small as it is he can’t hold back the relieved smile. He presses a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead. “We need to get out of the wind, love. I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

“I can walk.” Jon murmurs, almost lost in the air between them.

Idiot man .

“Not a chance.” Martin kisses his forehead once more, the comfort at the sound of Jon’s voice, ragged as it is, bringing tears to his eyes. He re-positions the backpack and slips his arms under shoulders and knees, rising to his feet with only a slight stagger. Jon cuts off a cry with his teeth, and Martin whispers apologies once more.

The stone wall on both sides makes more difference than Martin had dared to hope. He sets Jon down delicately on the grass, followed by the backpack with a bit less care. As he rummages through it once more - he’d packed that blanket, hadn’t he? - Jon shifts, raising himself on shaking arms.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Martin starts as Jon leans himself against the cobblestone, arm wrapped gently against the new bandages.

“It’s ok, I can manage it,” Jon replies in between deep breaths. He’s shaking, Martin can tell, pale and drawn. Martin grabs the blanket from the bottom of the pack at last, crawling to kneel next to Jon.

“Alright, alright, just stay there now, will you?” Martin chides as he leans against the stone, dragging the blanket over them. He was starting to think they’d never need it, but with the cold air still biting against them he was more than grateful they’d kept it around. “It’s not like we can give you, y’know, stitches or anything, so try not to move around so much while it’s healing.”

Jon leans his head - and most of his weight - against Martin’s shoulder with a hum, eyes sliding shut. They sit in a not-uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Martin takes a breath to ask-

“I killed Helen.” Jon speaks, soft and half-muffled by the sleeve of Martin’s jacket.

“...oh.” Martin says, quietly, because what else is there to say? Then, louder: “Wait, did- did she do this to you?!”

“Not her fault.” Jon takes a breath, slowly. Martin thinks he’s about to fall asleep. Or pass out, but he certainly hopes it’s the former. “It was self-defense.”

Oh.

Martin’s not exactly sure what to do with that, and by the time he figures it out he’s sure Jon won’t be conscious anymore. Jon’s breathing evens out into something resembling sleep - or rest, at least, since he can’t really sleep anymore - and Martin resigns himself to his thoughts and his still-slowing heartbeat. The feeling of Jon’s breaths against him are enough to dispel the last dregs of his panic, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

Jon couldn’t have been asleep, because he didn’t dream.

The sensation is similar though; the lost time, the panic, the awareness that comes back to him with all the subtlety of a freight train. The headache isn’t exactly new, but the deep ache that sinks its teeth into his bones is an interesting touch.

He’s against Martin, still - Martin it’s Martin he’s safe you’re both safe - who’s breathing is slow and deep. He’s not dreaming, though. The last dream he had, at the safehouse, was about his mother-

Jon sits up, sudden, fast. He didn’t know that. Not before. But now he Knows.

Knowledge; a familiarity, awareness, or understanding of something-

Stopstopstop

The knowing pushes against him, against the back of his eyes that throb in time to his heartbeat. It’s hard and fast and it hurts -

Fever causes and increase in heart rate, breathing rate, and blood circulation to the skin-

Temperature is considered elevated when it is higher than 38 degrees Celsius, or 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit-

(32°F − 32) × 5/9 = 0°C

He brings his hands up, foolish to think he can force the onslaught back with the heels of his palms against his eyes. His hands are frigid and damp against his face, or is it his face that’s burning against his hands? The movement of his arms tugs against his chest, his stomach, and folding in on himself only makes it hurt more but he can’t stop-

You think you could be saved without paying the price?

T̶h̵i̷s̴ ̵i̷s̷ ̷h̸e̶l̴p̵i̴n̸g̶ ̶y̸o̵u̴.̴

Ỳ̶̧̮͎͔̇̑o̷͚̖̬͈̙̽̅̆̕u̷̢̙͍͙̅̽̌̂́ ̸̯̈̓͠ͅs̵̙͇̗͠͝ȟ̸̩̝̗͚͓̈́͒̈͑o̸̢͉͎̯͒u̸̬̩̯͇̿̿̍͛͝l̶͇̗̮̦͒̾d̴̠̪̰͉̉̃̈́ ̵͍̙̺͖̮̒̊b̵̡̯͕͕̘̑e̶̫̹̒͊ ̴̬͑̓g̸̟̝̻͕̣͊͠ ̶̞̰̯͍̟͌̑̌ṛ̶͍̹̀ ̴̲̭̚͜ã̸͎̼̥̜̦͆͝ ̵̝̺̈̿t̴̢̛͗͝ ̶̺̝̂͛e̴̙͆̆̉̚ ̶̜̦̮͓̱̓̒f̶̢̗͓̥͗ ̷͓̾͜ụ̵̭͋͛ ̵̝̪̃̋͗͘l̶̨̥͈̼̝͂͘͝

He tastes copper again. Copper and static and paper and magnetic tape pooling on his tongue. He clenches his teeth against the need to vomit every bit and piece of knowledge and horror he’s ever known. The door in his mind is cracking now, buckling and splintering with the pressure and the weight of it all. 

It was a small, unremarkable door, painted dark yellow, with a matte-black handle.

Something touches his shoulder and he would scream if he could open his mouth. The same something - hands hands two hands - touches his face, his hair-

And he had long, straw-coloured hair that fell onto his shoulders in loose ringlets-

“Jon,” someone says, and it’s Martin because of course it’s Martin. He’s kneeling in front of him, blessedly cold hands cradling his face. One hand brushes his hair back - had it come undone again? - resting against his forehead. It’s so soft and cool and comforting Jon can barely hold back the sob against his throat.

I felt the cold night air on my face and, and wet tarmac under my hands and knees.

“Good lord, you’re burning up!” He sounds frantic and Jon wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how. Martin starts on about medicine and things they don’t have and things that Jon knows, Knows can’t help him. He Knows it’ll pass and he Knows it won’t kill him, but in the moment that doesn’t feel like the mercy it should.

Jon shakes his head against Martin’s hands and tries, really tries to tell him it’s ok -

I decided to come to you and tell you my story.

“ I- ” The one syllable is jagged and dripping with compulsion and tellmeyourstory . Jon clamps down on it with a whine, shaking his head again. He brings a shaking hand to touch Martin’s on his cheek. He meets his eyes for the first time, wide and searching. Jon realizes he must look as wretched as he feels for Martin to have that look on his face.

I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry

“Oh, Jon.” Martin must understand, at least some of it, because his face softens. He pulls Jon to his chest - Jon would put his arms around him if they weren’t so heavy-

-held up my arm for a handshake, but he just looked at it, and laughed-

-but he settles for burying his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, eyes shut.

...felt like I couldn’t trust my eyes.

Her statement echoes in his ears and on his tongue. He remembers her face, her real face, before Helen twisted it into endless, sickening spirals. The bounce to her hair, the odd way she held her pen, the bags under her eyes that mirrored his own. He wasn’t mourning her. He certainly wasn’t morning Helen . She didn’t deserve that. He wasn’t mourning the woman he’d never known, a woman he probably wouldn’t have liked anyway , a woman that he let walk through that fucking door -

There has never been a door there, Archivist.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his next breath catches in the middle. It’s silent because he makes it silent, because the second he opens his mouth the words will come spilling out and they’ll never stop. So his shoulders shake and his chest heaves from the force of it, and it hurts . His tears drip down the collar of Martin’s shirt, and Martin - god Martin - has one hand on his back and another in his hair, making soft circles with the pads of his fingers. He’s talking to him, and Jon can’t hear the words over the static and statement pulsing through his eardrums. But the vibration of his voice is gentle, comforting, and it makes breathing just a bit easier. His face is hot and he shivers against the chill creeping up his frame, but Martin is here and warm and safe and Jon hopes that he never has to leave.

“Here,” Martin says - and Jon hears - after who knows how long, shifting slightly but never taking his arms away. He repositions himself, back against the wall, and lowers Jon by the shoulders until his head is pillowed on his lap. The motion hurts, Jon knows, but it’s muted and far away against the burning of his skin and how cold he is in spite of it.

Later they’ll talk, when he’s better, about Helen and friendship and other things. Jon will say I’m sorry for worrying you and Martin will say it’s ok and they’ll both say I love you . But for now, Jon drifts off to Martin’s hand resting on his head, his whispered reassurances reminding him that he’s safe.

“Rest, love.” Martin presses a kiss to his forehead and brings the blanket over him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jon can’t stop himself from Knowing that, not now, but he doesn’t need the Eye to know that it’s true.

[def-initely-soul]

hi there and happy spooky season! 🎃 can I have a smol fic with jimin and the prompts "please don't touch the human remains" & "of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let's go there" from the supernatural list? thank you!!

hey to you too!! of course baby, hope you like it 😊😊

pairing: jimin from bts x reader (f.)

prompts: "please don't touch the human remains" & "of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let's go there"

genre: supernatural au; f2l au; fluff; PG-15

warnings: mature language; suggestive themes

words: 2.1k

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“Come ooooon, we’re gonna miss it and then it won’t work!” you pout at your best friend as you drag him deeper into the dead of night. It’s Halloween, too late for anyone to be out at this hour and you bask in the stillness of the dark. It brings an almost serene smile to your face, knowing you’re about to show your best friend the one thing you could never tell him until recently.

You’re a witch.

Jimin didn’t know, obviously, and you never told him as one young witch should never reveal herself to a human. But just a week ago, he stumbled upon you practising a spell. Not much could be told from your part to convince him it was all fake. Not when he saw you floating.

And now, after escaping an extremely boring Halloween party, you promised him you’d show him your powers one more time. For good measure.

It’s the perfect setting for you; in the middle of the night, under a new moon and on holy grounds.

That’s why you’re headed for the cemetery.

“You know, when I said “of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let's go there”, it was sarcasm, I didn’t actually mean it,” Jimin explains slowly as if talking to a child and you roll your eyes. His ass is so uptight.

“God, you’re such a scaredy-cat, you wanted to see some spell-casting and that’s what you’re gonna get!” you turn to throw a wink to his direction, one that has him choking on whatever smartassery he was about to spew. Satisfied by his lack of response, you begin walking again.

Finally, the graveyard comes into view and you can barely conceal your squeals. You see, you’re not simply gonna perform any kind of spell to make him believe you, no.

You have a plan. A plan which if successful could change your lives.

“Okaaaay, sit here…” you instruct him towards an empty spot between the graves and Jimin’s wide eyes are dancing through the space, shaking ever so slightly as he pierces his lips. Something that really is in contrast with what he’s wearing.

He came as Geralt of Rivia, dressed in a black shirt with the arm, neck and shoulder pieces, the matching vest, gloves and black leather pants. Of course, his blonde hair isn’t long enough as the character’s but it’s just long enough to be gathered in a makeshift bun.

Honestly, he looks mouthwatering and you can’t stop imagining what he’d look without the assembly on the top.

“Hey, wake up,” Jimin snaps his fingers on his face and with slight embarrassment, you realize you were lost in your thoughts. Thoughts about the contents of his torso.

“Right, yeah…” you resume as your eyes fall to your satchel bag, once again urging him to sit down.

Jimin cocks an eyebrow at you, but does as you say nonetheless.

“Okay, so what are you gonna do? Float again?” he jokes but his wavering eyes show you he’s not quite comfortable yet.

So you reach out your hand to cover his palm as his stare returns to you in surprise.

“It’s gonna be fine, okay? I’m here…” you comfort him with a kind smile and his eyes gleam with something before he releases a heavy breath.

He chuckles nervously, drawing his eyes away from you but his hand doesn’t abandon your own. “Okay, yeah…” he replies before taking another breath. “I trust you…” his eyes are once more on you, but they’re steady and certain as his plump lips give you a soft smile.

It’s your turn to swallow down your nerves.

“Good!” you say, entirely too cheery to be considered normal but Jimin doesn’t comment on your demeanour, thankfully. After realizing your hands are still touching you drag yours away quickly, mentally cursing yourself as you turn around to go through your bag for what you need.

“No, wait!” Jimin yelps, the sound too alarming in the calm silence stretching over the cemetery that it makes you jump in your spot. You turn to look at him with furrowed eyebrows and at least he has the decency to appear sorry.

He points his finger behind you and you see you almost let your hand fall through the hole to an open grave.

“Please don't touch the human remains…” he cautions and you giggle at his adorable demeanour. You thought you wouldn’t be able to find him cute and hot at the same time, but well. There’s a first time for everything.

He sends you a deadly glare at your giggle, staring at you through hooded eyes and, yes, cuteness is all gone.

You clear your throat before taking what you need out of your bag and assemble them on the ground between you. You don’t need a cloth for the ritual as the ingredients need to be in touch with sacred ground. You simply begin mixing your oils into a wooden bowl, adding a bit of the earth bellow you and some sage as you recount the spell you’ve come to know by heart.

Jimin’s stare on you is indecipherable, eyes intense and curious as your palms rise above the bowl. Your energy flows through your body, from where it touches the ground, up to your hands and into the bowl, making your hair move on your shoulders even though there’s no wind. Jimin’s eyes gleam as they stare at you in awe but you don’t let his stare distract you.

You recount the spell one more time and then everything is silent.

Which means it worked. 

“What was that?”Jimin asks breathlessly as you take the bowl in your hands and dive your fingers inside to gather some of the concoction to your fingertip.

“It’s a truth salve. It’s used either to reveal occasional health problems by applying it to any part of the body, as a magic detector by applying it on the lids, ears and palms or as a simple lie detector,” you answer him, showing him the thick liquid on your finger. He swallows the lump in his throat as he stares as if bewitched.

“And where do you apply it for it to act as a lie detector…?” he asks cautiously, eyes finding yours immediately and you smirk as you stand on your knees.

“On the mouth…” you almost whisper as you wipe your finger on top of your bottom lip. Jimin’s breaths turn heavy as he watches the movement with the utmost attention, instinctively licking his bottom lip.

“Do you wanna try it…?” you ask innocently.

He nods dazedly.

You drag your knees forward slowly, deliberately as you don’t let your eyes abandon his. Jimin watches your every movement entranced as if he physically cannot take his eyes away from you. Instead, when you crawl on top of him, he makes more room for you, removing his hands from his lap as your legs rest on each side of his own, trapping him beneath you.

Your knees are digging into the ground, your flimsy dress doing very little to ease the pain but you don’t mind at all. Not when the look in Jimin’s eyes only encourages you further, not when his palms are rising to rest on your thighs, dragging your dress in their wake.

You suck in a breath, as your eyes finally rest on his feature that needs the most attention.

His lips are plumpy, soft-looking and shiny, and when he bites his bottom lip in what seems like anticipation, you can’t help the shaky exhale that escapes you.

You gather yourself immediately, gathering more liquid on your fingertip before raising it towards his mouth. Jimin’s eyes seem to ignore the digit, instead focused on you, making your heartbeat rise.

You let your finger rest at the corner of his mouth for a second. And then you drag it slowly, tenderly across his plush bottom lip. His mouth opens slightly to help you but then his tongue peaks out. You can barely see it, just barely, just enough to see the tip of his tongue run across his upper lip.

You swallow down your nerves as you reach the other corner of his mouth and then you drag your finger away.

Now that the salve is applied there’s no reason for you to remain seated on his lap and yet you make no move to abandon the warmth of his body. Jimin doesn’t push you away either and if it’s possible you feel his grip on your thighs tighten.

“Okay, so...” you whisper, momentarily distracted by his lips pressing together as he tastes the salve. “I’ll ask you something you haven’t told me and you’ll be forced to tell me the truth…” you continue and you practically see him bracing himself.

You take a breath.

“Why did you punch Johnny Martin?” you ask quickly, not wanting to ask him something that’ll make him lose his trust in you. He’d told you it was because Johnny Martin picked up a fight with him cause he was drunk, but you didn’t believe him. Because at that time, you and Johnny Martin had just broken up because he was jealous of your friendship with Jimin. You’ve had an inkling it was about that and not some stupid drunken fight.

“He called you a slut because of me,” Jimin replies quickly and he’s eyes widen before he curses, his grip on you tightens.

Your heart makes a funny thing at his answer but you push that feeling aside for later.

“Okay, now that you know that this spell is no joke, I have to tell you something and you can’t, in any way, doubt the sincerity of what I’m about to say…” you say with resolution and severity. Jimin’s brows are knitted in a frown but nonetheless, he nods.

You take a long breath, although if you’re honest with yourself you’d want it to be a longer one.

Okay. It’s now or never.

“I think I’m in love with you. No, scratch, I definitely know I’m in love with you cause I’ve been thinking about you that way ever since we met in high school. And it’s driving me insane when you talk about other girls, or when you kiss other girls because I want to be them but I know I can’t, or I think I can’t? There’s some confusion over it and I really need to hear your thoughts on this so I can finally put my “what if” thoughts to rest,” you say rushedly and out of breath as Jimin stares up at you in shock.

“So…” you catch your breath, eyes wide and full of equal parts dread and hope. “What say you?”

Jimin stares back stunned, eyes glued to yours and blown wide in astoundment. His hands don’t leave your hips though and for some reason that makes the hope grow.

He swallows slowly, and you see the calculations running through his mind.

But then his eyes fall to your lips.

And then his lips do too.

You close your eyes once you feel the gentle touch of his mouth on yours. You abandon the bowl to wrap your arms around his shoulders as his fingers guide you forwards until you’re entirely seated on his lap. His lips are soft on yours, moving tenderly in sync with your own as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. For what you’re certain is that you’ll certainly do it for a hundred times more.

You’d expect his kiss to be rough, judging by your position, but it’s anything but. It’s soft, warm and loving, the way his lips move across yours, the way his tongue swipes at your bottom lip to taste you, the way he moans when your grip on his shoulders tightens.

You want to stay like this forever. To kiss him endlessly until he’s the only thing you can taste.

After a while, he stops to breathlessly rest his forehead against yours as his fingers draw circles on your back. You didn’t even remember them moving, the only thing you felt was his lips.

He opens his eyes to look at you through his eyelashes and then he licks his lips to savour your taste.

“Me too…” he replies softly and it takes all your willpower to not smile like crazy right now. Although judging by his joyous matching smile you’d say you were unsuccessful.

“Now, can we please go somewhere else so we can finish what we started...?” he mumbles, his tone entirely different now as his words sents shivers down your spine while he presses an open-mouthed kiss below your ear.

You smile wickedly at him before you nod.

[cloveroctobers]

CHELSEA ELLE HODGSON —

IG info/Bio: @/chelseaaahodecor | 109k followers | hi babes! welcome to my life lovelies, please get comfy with this Prosecco im serving thru this screen! xx here’s my site if you need some light in ur life: ichelseahdgsondesigns.com 🏝💕

24 (25) years

From Buckinghamshire, England

Comes from a wealthy family

her father’s side of the family founded, “Hodgson investments” their company is built off of financial services

Her papo (grandfather) was arrested on tax invasion & served some time for doing so

Her father, Alistair now manages the company but under a different name

Her mother’s side of the family comes from old money...something about horses?

Her mother, Connie holds many events and seems to make $ from them but Chelsea isn’t quite sure what the woman does or if it’s fully legal

The family is all about protecting their image & if you don’t cut it, there will be repercussions

Feels a little like dynasty (I’ve only seen 2-3 episodes & never finished but get the point?) , maybe that’s why Chelsea & her sister enjoy watching it so much

Parents forsure held courtship events or either went to courtship events with their children (even Albie) & found suitors in hopes of marrying their daughters off (& finding Albie a new wife, only on Mrs. Hodgson’s part— mr. Hodgson seems nicer/easy-going)

Has older twin sibs: Albie-Crispin & Dolly-Georgiana

Often referred to as “the triplet” in the press

Well-known in their city

They’re all called by their first & middle name in their family household even tho their parents do not have middle names

Has a love/hate relationship with albie, he is selfish & has proven to do anything to drag others down to make himself look better

He’s a lawyer & has been married to his wife for about 7 years

Mrs. Hodgson, Dolly, & Chelsea all agree they do not like her but Chelsea puts on a smile whenever her sister-in-law is around while Mrs. Hodgson makes it known that she dislikes the woman, she thinks she’s beneath her son since her family does not make nearly enough $ put together between her & Mr. Hodgson

Dolly has a bf who’s a dental hygentist that she’s been dating for about 3 years but they’re both cheating on each other, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be married

She’s in office management

Chelsea fell in love with interior decorating from the moment she played with doll houses. Her grandparents made sure to send her the biggest doll houses they could find every Christmas. She’s always been in love with rearranging and picking certain items and best putting them into a space that works

She shit at drawing (she’ll leave that to the Architects) but she knows her furniture & patterns quite well

Has asked a few architects out on dates, some she worked with or stumbled across, only one seemed like it could have truly worked...I imagine him to look a bit like Henry Cavill with light facial hair (told you I’m a sucker for it, & Chelsea probably can tolerate just a bit not too much)

Yet Chelsea always has a wondering eye, she gets curious quite often which makes you wonder, is she really ready for love? To fully commit? One day she will be

It’s a competitive field and when she’s ready to battle she will but there are moments when she gets let down & has to pick herself up again

Has ADHD, goes to therapy for it & hates taking her meds. She’d rather stick to therapy sessions since it’s always nice to talk to someone

When she was younger she probably stole a friend or two’s bf & would definitely get mad if they did it back to her but they somehow still end up being friends in the end? Yikes

Hung out with the popular kids, was always at the parties making sure everyone was having a good time. Filling up the cups, directing where furniture should be moved, where the kegs should go, how many people should be there, etc...She doesn’t seem like the stuck up type like her mother but she is privileged & doesn’t realize it as much

Was a cheerleader & ran track, quit track to commit full-time to cheerleading since that kept her in shape enough

Dated here & there, had one bf where they would scream at each other and wouldn’t allow the other to leave or would be upset that the other didn’t come after them...yeah one of those couples

Broke up with her goth bf because he didn’t tell her he wasn’t coming to school for about a week; he had the stomach flu

Canon: Took a computer course in high school & in uni & found out she was at the top of her class for typing the fastest, she now loves the sound of her short pink ombré nails on the keys

Canon: Wanted to be a show jumper due to her mother’s side of the family & their history with horses

Goes to the stables every now & then, there’s one horse there that she’s absolutely in love with & loves to ride. Her father always offered to buy it for her but it’s not a animal she wants to own

Canon: loves finger foods + will get full off them at events quickly. She also doesn’t mind the tiny portions of food at expensive ass restaurants, it’s just enough for her

Takes hair supplements. Probably had long hair growing up that she always kept up in a bun or ponytail but decided to start chopping her hair off & getting layers & highlights which damaged her hair

Approves of plastic surgery

Is part of the itty bitty titty community & got a lift for them

Gets lip fillers for her bottom lip but isn’t a fan of needles + overlines her top lip

loves going to the dermatologist, the spa for facials & whatever else she’s willing to try & finding new skincare to buy

Tans & loves tropical hot summers

Buys an overload of bikinis even in the winter

Hates the rain, it messes with her mood

Loves a good lipstick & lipgloss combo, nudes & pinks are her to go to’s

Fav color is pink

Got herself a guinea pig after the show & named her “bubbly” after her baby in the villa

I feel like she would eventually get a tiny dog too

Has her own flat, that’s quite far from all of her family. She loves her dysfunctional problematic family but Chelsea likes her space from them too

Since buckinghamshire’s culture is more of a Middle Ages style, Chelsea made sure her home wouldn’t hold much of that style inside. It needed to be lively! Her family home was filled with dark wood & she can’t stand that

She loves going to the markets tho. She always seems to leave with something & either finds herself not liking it months later and ends up selling whatever item caught her interest

Her family tends to pop in whenever they want, especially her mother

Canon: talks about cat cafe’s when she’s drunk, says its her version of the chocolate factory + she’s the dancing drunk

Always down for a girls night out, girls trip & girls sleepovers

Probably goes to bed early around 10pm or earlier m if she’s not out having the time of her life, which makes her regret her choices the next morning

All her closest friends back home are a group of girls

Hangs out with Priya, Marisol, & Hope from the villa whereas the rest she’ll mostly communicate with them through socials or gatherings

Will host gatherings & expect them ALL to show up

Is dramatic when things don’t go her way

Loses focus more than gets bored in relationships? She’ll find other things or people to occupy her time which she doesn’t realize can be hurtful to others

When she does realize she hurts someone, she immediately wants to fix it

Canon: Is a blabbermouth. Cannot hold a secret for shit, also cannot tell a lie. Her body language gives it away first if she doesn’t spill it

Retail therapy is the best therapy if she doesn’t have a office appointment

Any spice girl song will be her karaoke song, she is always baby spice

Loves her Prosecco (me too sis!) & keeps plenty bottles in her wine fridge. She originally wanted a space with a wine cellar but got creeped out at the thought since it’s just her & bubbly living in the home

Has high cell phone bills, the girl loves a good chat

Cannot cook no matter how hard she tries. She’s been to cooking classes with an ex, watched videos, order from those food delivery sites to prepare food & it just never turns out well

Will spend hours in furniture stores, she’s had to be escorted out pass closing hours by security guards before & manage to make friends out of them. They all know who she is in majority of the stores she enters

Throws a party every time her following goes up. There’s never not a reason to throw one

Was upset that Carl unfollowed her once and figured Hannah made him do it. Which wasn’t true, Hannah was sure of herself now & doesn’t feel the need to be jealous, the man could follow whoever he wanted—she knew he barely stayed on IG in the first place. He thought it was too shallow

So when Chelsea called him one night sobbing he was utterly confused, he didn’t understand why a follow meant so much

He reluctantly followed her back

Thrilled to know Elijah, Lucas, & Carl all keep up with her. Oh & the rest of the boys ofc!

Chats with Jakub! They also hang out. They’re a bit of a odd pairing but they get along well, he’s basically another big brother to her but she actually likes him—

Afraid of the dark, keeps fairy lights lit throughout the night in her bedroom, keeps scent infused night lights in her hallways

Believes in feng shui

I feel like her voice is soft like jennifer Tilly’s?

Idk what her sun sign is? Is she a sag far as daydreaming cause she does that. I KNOW she has Leo in her chart, she’s dramatic, warm, likes to be admired & appreciated. Sun sign I need help? Maybe she’s a Sagittarius sun? + Leo moon + libra rising

Has a collection of celeb gossip magazines that she keeps on a stand next to her pink velvet chair beside her bow window

I think she will be the first islander that gets pregnant tbh & it’s by an architect (the guy I mentioned/envisioned that’s been waiting on her to realize he can give her the love she needs or prove he can balance her out) or firefighter or someone “manly” she wouldn’t end up with a islander I don’t think

she has a girl & names her, “adore”

Canon: Still wants 5 kids but we’ll see how that goes & if it’ll change, it’s been a bit difficult not drinking Prosecco but she’s got a lovely baby out of it

Crushes? Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Alfred Enoch, Alex Pettyfer, Joe Cole, Gregg Sulkin, Frank Dillane, Charlie Rowe, & Hero Fiennes Tiffin

Can listen to anything that’s got a good beat. But we all know she’s a pop & folk genre lover. She listens to: Astrid S, Maty Noyes, Cher Lloyd, Bebe Rexha, Allie X, Poppy, POST MALONE, etc.

Anthem? Gabrielle Aplin — Until the sun comes up

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

The Intern | Part Two

Summary: You move to New York to focus on your art but end up working as an intern at Stark Enterprises

Chapter Summary: you get an surprise visit on your day off

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1600 and something (kinda short but i’m already half way through writing part three)

A/N: for the purposes of this story Stark Enterprise is set out like an office building in New York and the story does not follow the same timeline as the movies. Reader does not know Peter is SpiderMan. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Masterlist   Part One

- - - - -

It had been a week since your meeting with Tony and since then the two of you had become quite good friends. Tony would make sure he came to the desk everyday or found you at lunch with Peter to catch up with you both.  

Today was your first day off in a while and it was much needed. You’d spent the day in your loungewear, doing some painting and listening to old 80’s rock music. In the evening you decided to order pizza, and do some baking while you wait for it to be delivered. You were just getting the ingredients ready when someone knocked at the door. ‘Pizza is early’ you thought as you put down the flour and headed to answer the door. 

“Wow that was quick- oh” you said opening the door surprised to see Tony on the other side. 

“Sorry were you expecting someone?” He asked.

“No no, just thought you were the pizza guy” you laugh awkwardly. 

“No pizza here I’m afraid. Just me. Wanted to check in, see if you’re okay? Didn’t see you in work today”

“It’s was my day off. I’m back in tomorrow”

“Ah right. Good. Well, that’s great then” he turns and goes to leave. 

“Would you like to come in for a drink, and maybe some pizza? Seeing as you came all this way.” You ask, surprising yourself with your sudden confidence. 

“I don't want to intrude..”

“you wouldn’t be. Ive been on my own all day, it would actually be nice to have some company.”

“Thanks” he smiles and walks past you. You shut the door, silently cursing yourself as you realise that your boss, THE Tony Stark, has now seen you in your paint stained loungewear. You follow him into the open plan kitchen/living room of your apartment and wish you’d cleaned up first. Your paints, brushes and sketchbook still all over the coffee table from earlier and the kitchen messy with baking stuff. 

“Sorry about the mess” you apologise, fiddling with the messy bun you’d thrown your hair into this morning, attempting to tidy it up a bit. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad”

You raise your eyebrow at him.

“no really, I’ve seen rooms in much worse states than this after some of the parties I used to have back in the day”

You both laugh and Tony walks over to look at one of the paintings hanging on your wall “this is nice” he says pointing at it and you walk over to stand next to him. The painting is of a beach with the sun setting over the ocean, the orange glow reflecting off the waves and ripples in the water. 

“its the beach I used to visit every summer when I was a kid. Some of my favourite memories happened there” you stare at the painting daydreaming about the past. Picnics with your parents, playing fetch with your childhood dog, swimming on really hot days. Tony watches you out the corner of his eye, smiling when he notices the content smile that has appeared on your face. When you suddenly take a breath and snap back into the present he turns his attention back to the painting. 

“this is actually one of the first paintings I ever did-“

“you painted this?” Tony interrupts, turning to look at you and you give him a shy nod. “wow, you have a real talent. When you said before that ‘painting didn’t pay the bills’, I presumed that just meant you weren’t very good”

You burst out laughing his blunt honestly which takes Tony by surprise. 

“no, no what I meant was, the art world is a hard one to get into as an unknown artist. I couldn’t risk waiting around for that big break.”

Tony nods, looking at you thoughtfully.

“can I see some more of your work?” He asks.

“yeah sure, I’ve got some stuff in a folder in my room” you say as you run off toward your bedroom. When you come back out carrying the folder of paintings you notice Tony sitting on the sofa looking through the sketchbook you’d left on your coffee table. 

“these are really good y/n, really I mean that.” He says, turning the pages and you take a seat next to him “you’ll have to paint something for me to hang in my office, that place needs brightening up a bit-“ he stops when he reaches a pencil sketch of Steve Rogers and you feel your whole body cringe. “this guy? really, you drew this guy?”

“what, I, uh..” You stutter “..he’s got a good jaw line. It’s very satisfying to draw” you shrink down into the sofa wishing it would swallow you whole, then theres a knock at the door.

“ah that will be the real pizza guy” you say jumping up to walk to the door but Tony stands in your way.

“no let me get it. You get us some drinks. I’ve been here a full five minutes and you’ve still not got me one” he winks at you and you roll your eyes playfully.

As you get glasses out the cupboard and put them on the counter you notice Tony is acting suspiciously. He walks slowly and carefully toward the door, and takes a long look through the peephole before finally opening the door. You presume he’s just always on high alert because of who he is. Being a high profile business man and one of the best known superheroes must mean he’s used to having dangerous people lurking around every corner. 

After pouring two drinks you move over to the sofa and place the glasses down on the coffee table and hiding your sketchbook under the sofa. Tony appears with the pizza and you quickly move your paints off the table to make space for him to put the box down. 

“thanks for grabbing the pizza, you’ve saved me the embarrassment of anyone else seeing the state of me right now” you say gesturing to your clothes, as he takes a seat next to you and you hand him his drink.

He looks you up and down, shrugs and says “I’ve seen worse” and winks at you. He holds his glass up for you to toast and you hold your glass up too.

“to you, and your weird fascination with Captain America’s chin” he teases you and you shake your head at him.

“I am not toasting to that” you laugh

- - - - -    

An hour later you’d both got through the whole pizza and almost a whole bottle of wine, talking and laughing the whole time as Tony told you about some of the things he used to get up to pre Iron Man. You get up to carry the empty pizza box over to the bin in your kitchen and refill both your glasses. 

“hey what’s for dessert” Tony shouts over to you.

“well I was just about to start making brownies before you arrived”

“I was only kidding about dessert but actually I would kinda love some brownies right now” Tony says, getting up and walking over to join you in the kitchen.

“well I guess we could bake some?” you say half joking but Tony grabs your apron off the hook on the wall and ties it around his waist which makes you laugh.

“what are you laughing at, I'm ready to learn”

“wait, you’ve never made brownies before? Not even as a kid?” You ask in disbelief and Tony shakes his head.

“my family weren’t really into that sort of thing” he shrugged. 

“well then Mr Stark, I am about to change your life” you say, handing him a wooden spoon and he smiles at you. 

Tony mixed together the melted chocolate and butter with the eggs and sugar while you measure out the flour into a bowl. You handed him the flour to add into the mixture but as he poured it in he dropped some of the flour onto the arm of his suit and you laughed covering your mouth with your hand. 

“oh you think thats funny do you?” He says and he takes a hand a handful of flour and chucks it at you, laughing. You gasp and wipe some of the flour off yourself before grabbing a handful and throwing it back at him. He grabs your hand mid air and pulls you slightly but you trip over your own feet and stumble into him. He catches you and the laughter dies down as you both look into each others eyes, faces dangerously close to each other. His eyes flicker down to your lips and he moves in slightly. But then he stops, and lets you go. Clearing his throat and taking a step back. You take a deep breath and brush some flour off yourself. 

“well, uh, this was fun” he says, slightly awkward “but, I should probably be going now”

“yeah, yeah..” you agree walking him to the door “it’s getting late”

He stops at the door and turns around to smile at you.

“thanks for the pizza, and for the baking lesson”

“no problem” you smile “i’ll bring some of the brownies in to work tomorrow” 

“Good night y/n” he says walking out the door

“Good night” 

You close the door behind him and press your forehead against it, replaying what just happened in your head. Did you really just almost kiss your boss? And did he almost kiss you back? Did you overstep your boundaries even inviting him in tonight? Would things be awkward tomorrow? 

You let out a frustrated sigh and go back to the kitchen to finish baking and tidy up the mess from your flour fight. You know there’s no point thinking about it tonight but you also know that you won’t be able to think of anything else. 

Part Three

Taglist: @brownbuble​ 

[shamefullymadethis]

The Mess You Made

Part 1/?

Todoroki x Reader

Art College AU

Word Count: 1671

Summary: Y/n has had their life under wraps at all times. They give little room for things to mess up what they’ve built when they have the control over it. So what happens when the new student, Shoto, indirectly starts to unravel the carefully crafted life Y/n has built for themself?

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

If you guys wanna see more parts of this lmk and I’ll continue it. This has just been on my mind recently. (Update! I’ve decided to add another chapter. Check it out if you’d like! I’ll continue to post chapters if you are all interested :) )

Next Part

Good day sunshine

Good day sunshine

Good day sunshine

You hear a familiar tune play off your phone laying on the dresser beside your bed. You slowly open your eyes and grab your phone letting the song play out, but turning it down. The time reads 7:30am, you groan and roll out of bed. You connect your headphones to your phone and place it in your pocket as you get ready for your 8:30 painting class. As you get up you see your other 2 roommates quietly sleeping. You stretch, put on some clothes, and head to the kitchen. On the counter there’s a plate of cinnamon buns wrapped with plastic. Judging by the crumbs, one has already been taken. A note beside it reads: I made these last night! Feel free to take some -Ochaco. You smile as you grab one, wrapping it in a napkin, then placing it in the pocket of your portfolio. You head to the door and grab your keys, as you open the door you hear your one of your roommates alarms go off.

This is a normal morning for you. Everything is always perfectly timed and plays out the same each morning. You take comfort in the routine you have made for yourself. You head to the elevator and go through your playlist deciding on what best fit your mood for today. As the music starts to pick up, the elevator doors open and you wave to the guard at the front desk of your building. She gives you a tired smile and quietly says, “Have a good day, y/n.” You nod your head as you go to open the door, allowing the next guard to come in and relieve the current one from duty. You give a polite nod as they walk in and thank you. You walk down the street and around the corner, and everything couldn’t have gone more smoothly. You normally left for class 30 minutes before it started. With that time you are able open the door for the guard, go to your favorite cafe, grab some coffee and draw some of the regulars, then head to class given that it’s right next to the cafe.

Looking at yourself now versus who you were before you came to college, you wouldn’t even recognize who you were before. Most things had been out of your hand, and you hardly had control over the things that happened to you. But since getting to college you started to have more of a grip on the things around you. You have become a master of your own life, to a fault. You have carefully constructed the path you are on right now, down to every minute and breath. With that, it is a very delicate balance. But you have made sure to keep a guard up at all times, so as to not disturb the plans you have made for yourself. You are well known within your school and have many “friends,” because they admire how put together you seem. But there are only a few people who you actually trust within your life or plot. It is important to you that you maintain this distance with most people, as people tend to make things messy. You are happy with the neat life you have constructed, and it will stay that way as long as you have control over that.

You head to the coffee shop beside the building your class is in, and right on que you hear the owner call out to you as the small bell rings signaling your entrance.

“Y/n! Good morning, the usual I presume,” he asks while he already starts pouring syrups into a cup.

“You know it, thank you!” You reply as you stride up to the counter. You place a five dollar bill on the counter, and another barista, who you know as Mr. Sasaki, comes to put it in the register and hands you change. You take the change and place it in the tip jar. You make idle conversation with the owner and Mr. Sasaki. The owner’s name is Mr. Yagi, he is small in stature and one of the kindest people you know in this city. He spends time outside of work doing volunteer work and creating safe spaces for people. As Mr.Yagi hands you the cup he gives you his signature smile, and takes the next customer. You take a seat by the window and watch as people walk by. Your college is an open campus, so your school’s buildings blend in with the city around it. When you look outside you see every type of person from tourists, other students, and people heading to work. You grab a small sketchbook and pen from your bag and sketch out some of the passerby’s. As you do these gesture drawings, you notice another student with a portfolio headed towards the building your class is in. You don’t recognize this student, which would normally not bother you, but this person sticks out like a sore thumb. You freeze for a moment as you feel your brain trying to slow down time to study this stranger. His hair is dyed half white and half red, he was well dressed, and for a moment you thought you caught sight of blue eyes. You sit there for a moment, engraving this person’s face into your memory. You quickly turn to your sketchbook and sketch out what you could remember. You check the time, and jump out of your seat as you read the clock: 8:25am.

“Shit,” you hiss quietly.

You throw your sketchbook back into your bag, drink the rest of the lukewarm coffee, and bolt out the door giving a brief goodbye to Mr. Yagi and Mr. Sasaki. You grab your school ID from your pocket and flash it to the guard quickly as you enter the building. You walk down the hall to wait for the elevator. There are a few students, some which you recognize from your class, and of course the stranger who had distracted you in the cafe. You know that you shouldn’t blame him for your faulty timing, but a small part of you feels misguided resentment towards him. As the elevator stops on the floor you pile in with the other students. You reach to press the button for your floor, but at the same time the boy with half-and-half hair reaches for it as well. As he presses the button, you find yourself drawing your hand back a bit too late and accidentally brushing against his hand. You quickly turn your head to him and find yourself locked in eye contact with him as you both say apologize. Looking at him up close you could confirm that he has blue eyes. Eyes that are so startlingly blue that you almost feel cold. You find yourself getting lost for a moment, and then realize that you have spent an odd amount of time watching each other. So you quickly break eye contact and watch the numbers on the elevator climb.

Once it reaches your floor you excuse yourself through the people and realize that the blue-eyed person you had shared a brief moment with has also exited the elevator. Logically that makes sense given that you were both going to press the same floor, but you still found yourself feeling a bit more stiff than usual as you process to your class with him close behind. You get to the door and as you open it you realize that he is entering with you. Your classmates are all chatting and you see your friend Mina from across the room. She excitedly waves at you, “Y/N GOOD MOOORNING!” You smile and walk over to her, feeling the tension in your shoulders relax a bit. As you settle down at the table next to her you see the stranger stand idly at the front of the classroom, almost looking a bit lost. A few moments later your professor, Mr. Aizawa enters the room looking tired as ever. He stands at the podium placing a bag down on a table by the podium which immediately grabs the attention of the room.

“Settle down everyone, we have a new student today. Would you like to introduce yourself,” he asks while looking at the boy standing by the door.

The boy nods, “My name is Shouto, I just transferred here.”

“What’s your major,” Mr. Aizawa inquires.

“I’m a painting major,” Shouto replies shortly.

Mr. Aizawa nods in acknowledgement, and points to the empty desk next to you.

“That desk is open next to y/n, feel free to set up there.”

Without meaning to you held your breath as he walked towards the desk next to you. He quietly places his things down and starts to set up brushes, paint tubes, and charcoal on his desk. He looks over to you which then makes you realize that you’ve been staring this whole time. You look up quickly to try and play it off, but from an outsiders’ point of view it would have been obvious that you were staring. Your gaze moves to your other side to look at Mina. She raises an eyebrow in confusion, then gestures for you to take a breath by raising her hands near her chest and then lowering them while exhaling. As you finally breathe out Mr.Aizawa starts to explain the new assignment.

For just a second, you felt your perfectly crafted life start to crack. You decide to brush it off, thinking that it’s nothing but a bothersome thought. You never thought of a plan for what to do if it should fall apart, and you don’t feel like that is something to worry about as of right now.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

we’re collecting dust (but our love’s enough)

Have a little bittersweet Pepperony & Ironfam fic. As always, thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading!

_________________

And here’s the thing about getting old: it’s marked by an ever-rising contrast between the good days and the bad days. On good days, Tony can still spend hours tinkering in the garage or playing ball with Peter’s eight-year-old son, Ben, down by the lake.

But on bad days, when phantom pain is hijacking all of his senses (despite the fact that two decades have passed now since that final battle), putting on the prosthesis is out of the question—as is getting down the stairs from the master bedroom.

And on the really bad days, his joints are so stiff that he’s barely able to lift his one remaining arm high enough to bring his migraine medication up to his lips.

“Pep?” Tony croaks, hating the weakness that’s echoing back at him. He’s not sure if she’s even close enough to hear him, but he trusts FRIDAY to relay the message that his wife is needed.

It takes her longer than it used to, but then Pepper is by his side, putting an arm behind his back in a practiced motion to help him sit up a little more. He bites back a groan when the change in elevation only increases the stabbing pain behind his right eye.

“Open your mouth,” she directs, firmly but warmly, before placing the pills on his tongue and bringing the water glass to his lips so he can take a sip. He loves her for the lack of pity in her eyes, for her focus on the practicalities of caring, for the calmness masking her worry― although none of that is surprising. Hell, they’ve been through far worse than the thunderstorms in his head.

Pepper adds a heating pad to the collection of pillows propping him up and pats it with an inviting gesture. Wincing, he lies back down, then curls onto his side, pulling his legs up to his stomach.

“Here, just in case.” Pepper puts a trash can next to the bed, freshly lined in order to avoid the smell making his nausea any worse. Tony really hopes he won’t throw up the pills he just took, but the possibility is definitely there.

“You’re the best, Miss Potts” he mumbles, and only then realises that this particular nickname is already a few decades too old.

“Get some sleep, Tony.” She brushes a kiss on his forehead and gently shuts his eyes with her palm. He opens them again the moment she’s left the room, unable to find rest just yet.

With difficulty, Tony turns onto his other side so that the photos on the nightstand come into view. Morgan and her girlfriend Riri with their surfboards at Malibu beach, the sunset bathing them in a warm, almost otherworldly light. Peter and Ben, who is sitting on Rhodey’s lap in the wheelchair and laughing at someone behind the camera. Happy and May, arm in arm and a little drunk on the evening of their tenth anniversary.

Tony keeps looking at the photos until the drugs kick in and they turn blurry in front of his eyes while he finally drifts off.

*

It’s early evening when he wakes again, his head still throbbing and his body tired, but feeling miles better than earlier. The house is quiet and Pepper is nowhere to be seen. Tony lies still for a moment, marvelling at the simple fact that he is able to form comprehensive thoughts without feeling like his brain is being eaten alive.

After a while, he’s able to sit up on his own and slowly make his way to the bathroom. He uses the toilet and brushes his teeth to get rid of the stale taste in his mouth. Then he has to hold on to the basin for a while because he starts to feel lightheaded from being on his feet for a phenomenal five full minutes. Finally it passes, and he washes his face with cold water to get his blood pressure back to a more reasonable level.

When he looks up, there’s an old man staring back at him from the mirror, rumpled grey hair and an even greyer beard. He bears a vague resemblance to Howard Stark―Howard Stark if someone had tried to melt away half of his face.

The snap has left a long-term toll, and not just in the gruesome scars all over his body. Tony had a stroke last summer, after which he’d temporarily lost the movement in his one remaining arm and was drooling for weeks, and he’s already on his second pacemaker this year. Not that he’s complaining―better to be old than dead, thank you very much―but some things really just suck. He stares at the mirror image a moment longer and then sticks out his tongue at it, content to see that this makes him stop looking like Howard.

“Tony?” He flinches when he hears Pepper’s voice from downstairs, though she doesn’t sound like Pepper at all. Her tone is scared, almost desperate. “Where are you?”

“Hon-” he stops to clear his scratchy throat and tries again. “Honey, I’m up here!”

Her footsteps run up the staircase and he turns around to see her enter, dressed in her favourite light blue summer dress, the long hair cascading down over her shoulders.

“Tony?” she asks again, breathing hard. Then she takes him in and relief blooms on her face. He registers the tears on her cheek and automatically raises his good hand to wipe them away.

“What happened?” he asks softly. But he already knows.

Closing her eyes, she leans into his touch. “I was in the garden,” she starts. “I was, I think I was watering the sunflowers, and then, for a second, I―I didn’t know. Where I was. Where everyone was.”

“Oh Pep,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. It’s not the first time this has happened, but all the other times she’s been inside the house where FRIDAY could help her make sense of the situation and get back to reality quickly. “How long were you out there?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper mumbles. “I thought―I thought it was a park, maybe? That I was back at my parents’ place and went out for a walk. But then I saw Morgan’s little house and remembered.” She takes a shaky breath. “God, Tony, it’s all such a mess.”

“You’re alright,” he whispers, and then, knowing it’s not herself she is scared about, he adds, “I’m here. Morgan and Riri are flying around the world somewhere. Peter is in Queens—it’s his weekend with Ben. They might be visiting Happy and May just now. Rhodey is… I don’t actually know where Rhodey is right now, but he’s fine. Everyone’s doing okay.”

“I know,” she mumbles, pulling away. “Now I remember.”

“Good. That’s good, Pep. It was just―a glitch. A tiny glitch in your memory.” He forces a smile and shifts a bit of his weight against the doorframe, his legs suddenly feeling weak.

Pepper, of course, catches on to that. “How's your headache?” She seems to have caught herself, but he wonders whether she remembers his migraine or just guessed it from the situation. “Why are you up?”

“Had to pee. But I’m better, promise.” She looks at him critically, and he adds, “Just won't be up for anything demanding for the rest of the day.”

“That’s fine.” She runs her hands through her hair, combing it with her fingers before tying it up in a bun, her way of reasserting control. “You should go back to bed. I’ll fix us something light to eat.”

Tony doesn’t like the idea of leaving her alone right now, but making it down the stairs to the kitchen seems... challenging. But he’s already got a better idea. “Actually, I was thinking of taking a bath. Getting a little ripe,” he jokes. “Will you help me wash my hair?”

It's always good to give her something easy to do when the dementia is playing tricks on her, something to busy her hands and distract her mind.

“Uh-huh.” She looks right through him, then sighs a little. “Sure. Why not.”

There used to be a time after Afghanistan when Tony couldn’t have set foot in a bathtub if an army had forced him to. He avoided them the same way he avoided caves and, later, endless night skies or Sci-Fi movies with wormholes. It was only Peter’s immense disappointment over not being able to watch the fourth Star Trek movie together that finally pushed him into seeing the counsellor who helped him get a grip on some of this.

(Almost starving in space, Peter’s five-year disappearance and Pepper’s pregnancy might have also played a role, but hey, saying you started therapy to be able to watch Leonard Nimoy in a bathrobe saving whales makes for better dinner table jokes).

Either way, he’s glad that his bath-o-phobia is mostly cured now, because their lakehouse tub is plain amazing, and not having to stand to shower on days like these is a blessing.

The hot water and the essential oils Pepper added to it do wonders for Tony’s aching body. He breathes in the steam that reminds him of expensive spas on New York’s winter days. Pepper has turned her back towards him, organising the already neat collection of tubes and bottles on the counter. Unimpressed with the solemnity of the scene, he playfully splashes some water at her. She turns towards him and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Tony could tell from a mile away that she’s still shaken.

Time for plan B.

“Will you join me, honey?” Drawing out the last word, he blinks his eyelashes up at her seductively, which finally makes her laugh for real.

“Well, Mr Stark, if you’re asking like that…” The dress slides down her shoulders and collects around her feet, and her undergarments quickly follow. She glides inside the tub more gracefully than should be legal for anyone over sixty, and, copying him, flicks some water onto his nose.

Ignoring the perfect opportunity for a water fight, Tony extends his arm and pulls her close to his chest, taking in her wrinkled skin and the roots of grey in her ginger hair where the dye has grown out. She intertwines her legs with his and lets her weight, minimised by the water, be borne fully by his body. Her cheek comes to rest on the soft spot between his collarbones. She is moving up and down in rhythm with his breaths, creating tiny ripples on the surface of the water, and he holds her tighter, ever tighter.

Pepper readjusts her position and runs her hand down from his neck, to his stomach, and back up again. He responds with a kiss to the top of her forehead and then starts tracing the outline of her breast with his index finger. She stops to look down at them critically. “Not really what they used to be.”

“Still better than what I have to offer,” he deadpans. At this point, his chest is basically one big scar tissue. “And personally, I’m still a fan of them. It. All of it.”

He can hear her smile in the way she lets her breath out through her nose.

They stay like that for a while, Tony feeling the tension bleed out of his body, the pounding of his temples ease a little, and his eyes slowly falling shut again.

“I was so scared,” Pepper suddenly admits into his collarbones. He feels drops of water trickle down his neck and knows she’s crying even before she sniffles quietly.

“I know,” he says quietly. “But it will be alright, love.”

“Will it, though?” she asks, ever-critically, ever-questioning. Too many of his promises have shattered before her eyes for her to blindly believe him now, so he doesn’t make her any new ones, doesn’t talk about the world-renowned team of scientists he already hired when the first symptoms showed themselves, about the devices he’s working on down in his garage. She already knows all of that. It’s not what she needs to hear right now.

Instead, he swallows hard and says, “Pep, listen. We’ll get through this too. And if… whatever will happen. I'll be there.” What he doesn’t say out loud is what she already knows from how tight he’s holding on to her:

I won’t give you up without a fight.

“I know,” she whispers. Then she takes a deep breath before untangling herself from his embrace. “So, are we going for the anti-dandruff shampoo or can I use something that won’t make you smell like coconut?”

Tony positively purrs while Pepper massages the shampoo into his scalp. “Close your eyes and mouth,” she commands when she tilts his head back before starting the shower. And a laugh bursts out of Tony, because this is the same tone she used to use on Morgan when washing her hair, and in response their daughter would screw her eyes shut and bite her lips so tight in such concentration that her whole face scrunched up with it.

“What’s so funny?” Pepper asks, so Tony, not one to admit to nostalgia, just twists the showerhead out of her grasp to point it back at her, finally getting himself that water fight.

*

After drying off and pulling on a fresh pair of pajamas, Tony is put back to bed with his tablet and a promise that Pepper will join after making pasta. He checks his email, then sets the tablet aside and gets back up to open the window. He lets his eyes wander to the garden and lake that are just visible in the last rays of daylight.

Sometimes, on bad days, he cynically wonders what will give out first: his broken body or Pepper’s battered mind. But on good days, that's not what counts. They might have months, or years; if things go great, they might even have another decade. Tony has long, long ago started to regard every additional day in his life as something he doesn’t have a right to, and sworn to himself to use them to the best of his ability. That’s what it comes down to, in the end. He and Pepper will do what they have always done―simply keep going as long as they can.

“Hey, old man.” Pepper is standing in the doorway, holding out a bowl of blueberries. “I picked them earlier in the garden―forgot all about them. You want some?”

“Sure.” He turns around to fully look at her. “I'd love to.”

_________________

I hope you liked it! Credit for the idea of Riri Williams and Morgan Stark getting together goes to @fuzzydeergirlart‘s wonderful art (or at least that’s where I go the idea from). 

All my fics

[ahatintimestorybook]

A Royal Problem Chap. 19

I’m excited to share this chapter!! I quickly worked on this when I saw Shane Frost share some of his AHIT lore that he was showing off and soon got inspired to work on the chapter right away!!

And yes, this was my longest fanfic chapter I wrote outside of my Pretty Cure fanseries (which I need to work on again!) About this many pages!!! However, that’s what you get for working on an idea for a chapter you have been anticipating since the day this fanfic was being created.

T/W there is abuse and violence in this chapter so be warned!

Enjoy!!

Many, many years ago…

So many years ago before Vanessa was even born, the kingdom of Subcon was just a small little village with a few houses and a few new buildings that were currently being built. A young princess, with blonde hair tied into a braided bun, blue eyes, and wearing a blue dress was watering the flowers in the manor garden. She looked like Vanessa, but it wasn’t her.

The princess smiled seeing the flowers enjoy the shower she was giving them from her special watering can. “Perfect.” She said. The princess put the watering can down, and picked up the shovel. She looked around the garden where she could dig, and smiled finding the perfect spot. Walking over to the spot she started to dig that spot. Once the hole was big enough, she quickly pulled out a small seed to put inside the hole.

“Hi there!” The princess gasped and turned to see a young boy looking through the other side of the fence. The young boy wore a red and blue outfit, had dark brown hair and maroon colored eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, h-hello.” The princess replied. “I’m just gardening. It’s spring now, so I thought of doing gardening.”

The boy chuckled. “Of course. Princesses love gardening and cute things.” He commented, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” The princess shouted, glaring at him. The boy laughed harder, which made the princess throw some mud at the young boy. The latter blinked in surprise seeing mud splattered on his face, which made the princess laugh.

The young boy glared and wiped the mud off his face, but his glare lifted as he started to smile at the young princess’s laugh and soon he started to laugh as well.

Seeing the boy meant no harm, the princess walked towards him. “I’m Princess Catherine, just call me Catherine.” The princess introduced herself, as she did a little curtsy.

“I’m Artemis, but everyone calls me Artie.” The boy introduced himself. Catherine smiled and blushed at the young boy. In return, Artie smiled and blushed at her back. The two stood there smiling, blushing, and being nervous around each other until Catherine's father called her name.

“Catherine!” He shouted. Artemis gasped and quickie gashed off, as Catherine went back to her gardening. Catherine’s father, the King ran outside and just saw his daughter continue gardening, even though he heard Artemis talking to his little princess.

“Yes father?” Catherine asked.

The King, named Victor, looked around his garden seeing if he could find Artemis, but saw he wasn’t there. Well, he was but he was hiding inside the bushes. Seeing that the intruder was nowhere to be found, he shook his head wondering if he was just hearing things or was there really a commoner talking with his little girl. “I could’ve sworn I heard a voice.”

Catherine giggled. “What? Can I say hi to passing villagers?” She asked.

King Victor sighed and smiled ruffling his daughter’s hair. “You're such a sweetheart, Catherine.” He said, which made Catherine giggle. “Well, finish up with your gardening and then wash up for lunch.”

“Right!” She replied, giving a nod. The King gave a light chuckle before leaving his daughter to finish her gardening. Once he left, Artemis came out of the bushes and smiled at the princess, which made her laugh. “You're a sneaky one.”

Artemis chuckled. “Well I’m well known in Subcon sneaking and hiding in places.” Catherine laughed as she placed the seed inside the hole. “Are you planting a Serene Tree?”

Catherine nodded. “Yeah, sad those hunters destroyed all of them a few years ago.” She frowned. “I was glad my father stopped them, and we saved a few seeds. So, I’m planting one of them now so it can grow in the manor.” She explained.

“Make sure you always water it every day, and in the winter water it twice so it can survive.” Artemis told her. Catherine was surprised Artemis knew all of this knowledge of the Serene Tree. The princess was about to ask, but Artemis answered why he knew. “I read a lot about plants.”

“Well glad you do, because now I know to make this tree thrive and live in Subcon for generations to come!” Catherine beamed.

“If you need any more info on plants let me know. I’m just around Subcon doing my thing.”

“Okay!” Soon Artemis waved goodbye and sprinted off from the manor. Catherine smiled and rolled her eyes finishing up with her gardening before heading inside the manor to have lunch.

By nighttime, Catherine was already in bed reading a fantasy novel before she went to sleep. While she read she heard a tap on her window. Folding the page of her book, she got out of bed and saw a paper ball on her window. Carefully, opening up the window she unraveled it and read what it said.

Want to hang out tomorrow? I’d like to get to know you more.

-Artie

Catherine smiled and looked out the window to see Artemis waving to her with a smile. She nodded, which told him “yes I’d love to hang out with you!” Artemis smiled and gave the princess a thumbs up before running off. Catherine sighed before closing the windows and heading to bed for the night.

The following morning, Catherine woke up early and met with Artemis outside the manor. She told her butlers that she was just going out for a morning walk and we’ll be back soon. When she saw Artemis, she smiled at him. “Well good morning, early bird.” Artemis beamed.

“Morning.” Catherine giggled. “So what do you have planned for this hang out?”

“Just a walk around Subcon Forest and get to know the princess more.” Artemis replied, giving a smirk to the princess. Then Catherine did something that surprised him, she held his hand, and in turn gave him the biggest blush Catherine has ever seen in a person. The boy gulped, and held Catherine’s hand back.

The walk around the forest was a relaxing one. The trees and the flowers blew in the wind and no clouds were in the sky as the sun shined through the trees. Catherine has never been this far in Subcon in her life, and yet seeing this far into Subcon was beautiful.

“Wow.” She said in awe. “Everything here is…” Her voice trailed off.

“Magical? Marvelous? Sublime?” Artemis asked, throwing different words for the princess.

Catherine giggled at the words Artemis was throwing out at her. “Beautiful.” She answered.

Artemis chuckled. “Doesn’t every princess call everything beautiful?” He asked.

“Maybe.”

Artemis and Catherine laughed as they stopped at a very large tree with a giant hole carved into it. The hole was big enough to be a small living space, or a hideout. Surrounding the large tree was a small pool of water surrounding it.

“Did you do this?” Catherine asked.

Artemis shook his head. “No! I mean if I did I’d brag about it.” He explained. “The tree was like this for who knows how long! I use this tree to be alone with my thoughts.” He explained. Catherine walked in and saw all the drawings inside the cave. “The drawings though, I did myself.”

“You're an amazing artist, did you know that?” Catherine asked, her eyes sparkling with joy.

The young boy blinked in surprise and blushed a little bit. Never in his life he was told his art was amazing. “Y-you’re the first person whoever said that to me.” He mumbled, but loud enough for Catherine to hear.

The princess was surprised and blushed a bit herself. “Well, it’s true. Does anyone say anything good about your work?”

Artemis frowned and shook his head. Catherine gave a small gasp as she saw Artemis walk away from her. “I don’t have anyone. My parents died a month ago, and it’s been me and my teacher.” He explained.

Catherine frowned and walked towards Artemis and put his arm around him. “I’d lost my mom about a month ago too.” She told him.

Artemis nodded, remembering hearing about the Queen’s death. The queen was on a trip with the king and caught some sort of bug and died two weeks later. After that the king cut every kingdom off from Subcon till further notice.

“I remember hearing that.” Artemis whispered. He put his arm around Catherine and pulled her in close.

The princess felt comfort in Artemis’s arms. She snuggled in closer to the boy and let out a happy sigh. Catherine needed this for the longest time since her mother passed away. As she snuggled with the boy she started to feel tears in her eyes. Some of the tears had fallen from her eyes to her dress.

At that point, Artemis and Catherine had started a relationship, though a secret to her father. The two would have picnics or walks in Subcon forest, sometimes they’d go inside the tree hollow to draw and doodle and Artemis gave the princess planting advice so the princess could grow more beautiful flowers.

Days turned to months, and months turned to years till the time where they were 18. At that time Catherine grew into a beautiful princess and was loved by everyone in the kingdom, even her boyfriend, Artemis. Speaking of the young boy he was offered to be an assistant by a local artist who was well known to the royal family. King Victor still didn’t know anything yet about the relationship, but he did grow suspicious of his daughter a couple of years ago seeing her leave the manor early, coming back for lunch or dinner and running out again.

“Happy 10 year anniversary Catty!” Artemis cheered, bringing over a cupcake for the princess. The two were sitting under the same tree house they’ve been drawing, and hanging out since they met.

Catherine giggled and took the cupcake from her boyfriend’s hand. “Thanks Artie.” She said, giving a smile. Artemis smiled, as Catherine split the cupcake in two to give one to Artemis. The young boy chuckled as he ate the half of the cupcake, which caused some icing to appear on his face. Catherine looked up, seeing she had icing on her face as well, and laughed.

“Hey princess, I don’t think it's polite to have frosting all over your face!” Artemis laughed back. Catherine blushed in embarrassment. She touched her face and saw she did have frosting on her face. The princess giggled herself as she wiped some of the frosting off her face.

“Here.” Artemis chuckled, “Let me help.” Soon he leaned in and kissed Catherine on the lips to remove the frosting from her face. The princess giggled, as this wasn’t the first time Artemis pulled her into a kiss.

“Thanks.” Catherine said.

Artemis, who had even more frosting on his face thanks to the kiss. “You’re welcome, my princess!” He replied, giving a beaming smile..

Catherine gave a light giggle as she and Artemis just sat down under the tree, as the breeze blew on the trees around them. The princess stretched and leaned on Artemis’s shoulder, which the latter then wrapped his arm around the princess. “So,” Artemis started. “What does the princess get to do on her 18th birthday?” He asked.

The princess gave out a loud sigh. “This is the time, where my dad, the king is going to look for a husband for me, and once he does we marry and he leaves the throne and makes me queen.” She explained.

“Is it me?” Artemis asked.

“I wish.” Catherine replied. “Because my father wants me to marry a prince, not some painter.” She groaned.

Artemis chuckled and pulled Catherine in for a hug. “I’ll prove it to him.” He said.

“How? You know how my dad is?”

“I’ll show him I’m capable of running a kingdom with you.”

Catherine chuckled. “I wish it was that easy.” She sighed. “When I’m queen I’d make it a rule where my children and grandchildren could marry whoever they want. As long as they treat them like how you treated me all these years.” She explained.

“That’s amazing.” Artemis sighed. Catherine smiled proudly. “You're going to make an amazing queen.”

“Doubt it.” Catherine replied.

“You are! You're kind and nice to everyone in Subcon, and have a goal you want to set!” Artemis listed down, which made Catherine look up at him. “You’d be the perfect queen.” Catherine smiled, but quickly frowned and turned away. Artemis frowned and went quiet, but stood by Catherine.

The rest of the night was quiet, the sun was going down but Catherine didn’t want to head back to the manor just yet; she wanted to spend as much time with Artemis as she could before being separated with him forever.

And that’s what they did.

What they didn’t know was someone from the manor was watching them, giving a glare and rushing back to the manor to tell the king the news.

King Victor was sitting on his chair reading a book, as heard the door open he didn’t bother to look up on who entered. “Is it true?” He asked.

“Yes sir.”

The following day, Artemis was back at his art studio painting a cute portrait of Catherine. He smiled and blushed after the time they had last night, and hoped no one in the manor would find out. Soon Artemis heard a knock on the door and he quickly ran to answer it. However, his expression dropped when he saw who was at the door.

Two guards and King Victor.

“So you must be Artemis?” King Victor asked, glaring at the young man. Artemis was horrified and was ready to close the door, but the guard held onto it and broke it down. “Get him.” The guards then grabbed Artemis as he yelled and struggled to break free from the guards grasp as he was dragged to the manor’s dungeon to be locked up for good.

Back at the manor, Catherine was in bed, looking out the window. Since coming home from her birthday night with Artemis, she could feel something was terribly wrong. She heard the door open, but didn’t bother to look who came in. “Catherine.” Her father spoke up, having the look of “sorrow” on his face.

“What father?” She asked, not looking up at him.

“Did you ever have a friend in the kingdom, who was a painter?” He asked. The princess gasped and looked up at her father. She better hoped he did nothing to him. The King walked closer to his daughter. “Now I didn’t harm him, but something happened over at the paint studio he worked at and well,” He paused to let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but he went missing.”

Catherine felt her heart drop. “N-No. No!” She yelled. Catherine hugged her father and cried into his arms. “H-He can’t be gone! He can’t be!” She cried. She just saw him, spent time with him, even had the night of her life with him. How could he just go?

“I’m sorry honey, but the guards went to look at the paint studio and saw it destroyed. Someone might have tried to rob it or he got mugged.” King Victor explained.

“I hope he’s alright.” Catherine whimpered, hugging her father closer. Her father gave a cold glare to the boy. How dare his daughter, dated a painter. He’d scold her right now, but she didn’t want her to be more in an emotional mess and decided to comfort and lie that something happened to him. It’s better this way.

What the king didn’t notice was Artemis, who was chained up and dead started to glow a moonlight blue color, as a smile was forced onto his face.

Soon afterwards, Catherine married a prince from another kingdom. Sure the prince was nice, but she didn’t feel the same spark she did with Artemis. What’s worse, Catherine found out she was pregnant with Artemis’s kid. This feeling horrified her, especially King Victor.

“They’re never going to rule the kingdom.” King Victor growled.

Catherine stepped back in fear, shocked at what her father just said to her just now. “B-but father, they’re my child! I’m the next ruler of Subcon and they can’t be a princess or a prince of Subcon?” She asked, angrily.

“They don’t have 100% pure royal blood, Catherine!” King Victor yelled back. “In order to rule Subcon they need royal blood!”

“Why is royal blood needed to rule a kingdom?! They're still my child!” Catherine yelled. It was a non-stop yelling match between the two, none were backing down from the offer. “Please let me raise my child.” She begged.

King Victor stood silent at his daughter, and soon turned away and walked off. Catherine breathed heavily, and sat on her bed in tears.

Months passed and Catherine successfully gave birth to a healthy baby girl. However, King Victor didn’t want his granddaughter to be raised by Catherine in fear of some scandal, however despite not wanting to give up her child she came up with an offer.

“I’ll do it, but on one condition.” Catherine said. “She stays at the manor and works as a servant, and is treated with kindness and respect.”

King Victor nodded slowly. “Deal.” He said before leaving the room.

Catherine sighed and frowned looking at her daughter. “You’ll be alright, Elizabeth. I may not be with you, but I’m here for you.” She whispered hugging her baby close to her.

So, with keeping her promise Elizabeth was raised by one of the maids. While in their care, Catherine married a prince from another kingdom, and gave birth to another daughter, Marie.

However, the promise Catherine made with her father was broken. As Elizabeth grew up her father and Marie treated her horribly. Even Catherine’s own husband saw the abuse, and each time she scolded them or tried to stop them, it fell on deaf ears.

Catherine however, cared for her daughter despite the separation. One day after another wave of verbal abuse the princess went over to her 9-year old daughter to give her a cupcake, the very same one Artemis gave her on their last meet up.

“F-For me?” Elizabeth sobbed. Catherine nodded in reply. The young girl sniffled and wiped away the tears from her eyes, “T-Thank you, princess.” She then took the cupcake and bit into it. The sweetness overwhelmed her mouth and smiled. She then devoured the rest of the cupcake, and sighed enjoying the snack.

“Feel better?” Catherine asked. Elizabeth nodded, which made the princess smile and pulled her into a hug. Elizabeth didn’t know why, but the princess’s hug felt motherly to her. With a smile she hugged the princess back. Elizabeth wanted this hug to last forever, never in her life she felt love like this and she wants this love to last forever.

“Mother?” Elizabeth and Catherine looked up to see a girl younger than Elizabeth with blonde hair and blue eyes like Catherine came in looking confused as to why her mother was hugging the servant. It was Catherine's other daughter, Marie. “What are you doing, hugging a servant?”

Catherine quickly, yet gently let go of Elizabeth. “Sorry, Elizabeth was having a rough day and she just needed some comfort.” She explained.

Marie rolled her eyes in disappointment that her mother was giving love to a maid then her own daughter. “Whatever.” Marie mumbled. Catherine got up and left the room leaving the two girls alone, and once she was gone Marie went over to Elizabeth, and pushed her down to the ground. “You leave my mother alone, you're a maid, you don’t deserve her love.” She said, smiling evilly at the maid, before stepping on her back. Elizabeth screamed in pain, she struggled to get the other girl off of her.

“P-Please let go!” Elizabeth whimpered. Marie did what Elizabeth told her too, but then kicked her on her side, which let out a painful scream from Elizabeth. The girl cried as Marie, still smiling, walked away from the crying servant.

What she didn’t notice was Catherine saw the whole thing and cried. She didn’t know what to do at this point. All she could do was cry.

Months later, Catherine went over to Elizabeth who was finishing up cleaning one of the rooms. “Elizabeth?” The young girl looked at the princess. “I want you to run an errand for me. Could you pick up some flowers and fruit from the market, for me?” She asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “Alright.” Before she could leave, Catherine grabbed her arm and handed the young girl a letter.

“This is for you. I want you to read it at some point today.” Catherine told her. “It’s good news don’t worry.” She reminded her.

Elizabeth looked at the letter, before putting it in her pocket, and leaving the manor in a flash. Running errands for Princess Catherine was one of her favorite things to do as she could get away from the manor and could be at peace with herself.

Once she was gone, Catherine sighed and looked out the window to see Marie playing with the kids of Subcon. She quickly smiled, but frowned seeing she wished both her daughters could live this happy, but sadly no. Catherine was tired of all the abuse Elizabeth was going through, her father whom she loved broke the promise he made with her. She couldn’t stand her husband, who was an arrogant narcissist. With a snap of her fingers, a flame lit up in Catherine’s hands and soon the flames surround the floor.

Elizabeth was heading back to the manor holding a bouquet of purple and white flowers and a basket of fruit. She was scared going back to the manor, but like always she took a deep breath and kept marching forward. However, a scream and a large crowd started to run towards the manor.

“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked herself, following the crowd. As she got closer she saw a cloud of smoke near the manor and the manor itself was engulfed in flames.

Elizabeth’s heart dropped and her eyes widened at the sight of the manor, her home in flames. Marie, a few maids and servants were outside, some were crying. However, she couldn’t find the king, Catherine or her husband.

“What happened!? What happened?!” Marie screamed, running over to the scene.

One of the maids cried and went over to the princess. “It’s horrible! It’s horrible!” She cried.

Elizabeth ran on over to one of the maids. “Marcy, what happened?” She asked.

The maid, Marcy wiped the tears from her eyes. “It's the princess! She, her father and her husband are still in there!” She cried.

“Mother is still in there?!” Marie asked. The maid nodded in reply. “Then get her out of there!” She demanded. Marcy shook her head, before she could speak, a part of the roof fell. Everyone screamed seeing the manor burned to the ground.

Elizabeth dropped the flowers and fruit she bought for the princess and cried loudly that this happened. The one person in the manor who gave her love, friendship, and cared for her like a mother was dead.

Once the fire cleared, the bodies were removed from the debris and were soon buried by the surviving maids and servants of the fire. The funeral for the deceased royals was a sad one, as Catherine never became queen like she wanted to be. Elizabeth was depressed after the whole ordeal, and never spoke the entire service.

After the funeral, the manor was being rebuilt and many of servants, Marie, and Elizabeth were living in a guest house that Catherine and her father owned. Elizabeth distanced herself from Marie, not wanting to interact with the princess, now future queen, after losing her mother.

During that time, Elizabeth looked at the letter Catherine gave her and decided to open it and read it, since she didn’t due to the fire. She opened it and pulled out the note, and read it. Her heart dropped seeing what the princess wrote to her before her death.

Dearest Elizabeth,

I have a secret to tell you. I didn’t know how to tell you this because I promise my father I’d keep your identity a secret. Or I should’ve said grandfather. That’s right, you're my daughter, my firstborn. You’re grandfather didn’t want you around me because your father was a comonor, a painter named Artemis, who I called Artie. Sadly, he went missing before you were born and since then no one has found him. However, I have to believe your grandfather did something to him. Because of you not born with 100% royal blood, I couldn’t take care of you. Not only that you can’t rule Subcon, even though the law states the firstborn has to rule the Kingdom.

I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but I couldn’t. I had no idea what to do, I couldn’t bear to see you being treated by my family like this! I begged for it to stop, but no one listened to me or just outright lied to my face. With that, I’m going to make it stop.

I hope you're reading this before the fire started, because I’m going to end it all right then and there. No one would hurt you ever again!

The downside, I will spare whoever makes it out of the manor alive and your sister, Marie. I know Marie treats you horribly, but I couldn’t kill my own child which is why I had to spare her. Yes, you can tell her the truth about this, and even if things don’t change for you two it's best that the two of you know.

I’m sorry I gave you up, I’m sorry for how my family treated you, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you who you are! I’m sorry I ended my own life just because you were in so much pain. I hope you understand, and that somewhere in your heart you love me.

I love you!

-Catherine aka mom

Elizabeth teared up reading the letter, hugging it close after finishing reading it. The princess was her mother, and despite the separation she still gave her the love and care a mother should give her daughter.

“What are you crying about?” Marie asked walking over to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wiped the tears out of her eyes, and handed Marie the letter. “Read it.” She whispered. Marie glared at the girl, but took the letter in her hands and read it herself. When she read it her eyes widened and turned to face Elizabeth.

“We’re sisters?” Marie asked. Elizabeth nodded in reply. Marie read the letter again not believing it. “And you're supposed to be queen?” She asked again. Like with the previous answer, Elizabeth nodded in reply. She had to read it a few times till her mind clicked. She then turned to Elizabeth, and soon…

SLAP

Elizabeth stood there in shock slowly putting a hand on her cheek where Marie slapped her. She trembled, looking up at her younger sister. “You're never going to be family to me.” Marie said as she walked away from Elizabeth. The girl sighed, knowing what her mother’s letter said. “Also,” Marie spoke up again. “If you do plan on telling the kingdom, I will kill you.” She said as she walked away leaving Elizabeth defeated.

“Poor, poor child.” A voice whispered.

Elizabeth gasped and looked around where the voice was coming from, but saw no one there. It was probably the wind, or today’s events caused her to hallucinate. Whatever it was, it meant for Elizabeth to get some rest.

Years later, the manor was rebuilt and Marie became queen of Subcon. Elizabeth had to watch in the distance seeing her sister being crowned queen. During this time, the two girls grew up into beautiful young women, like their mother wanted them to be. The physical abuse was over, but Marie still treated Elizabeth horribly.

“Hey servant, you’re in my way!” Marie shouted, shoving Elizabeth out of the way as she walked away from the crowd below. Elizabeth gave a small glare at her sister, but quickly dropped it and sighed.

There wasn’t really anything she could do, right? She couldn’t tell the entire kingdom, right?

In her bedroom, Elizabeth was writing in her journal about her sister’s coordination. She started writing this journal not too long after the letter her mother had given her as a way to write how she felt about everything that happened since it was revealed she was Catherine’s daughter. To her, this journal was the only way she could speak her mind about Catherine’s truth without Marie finding out.

A knock came to her door, and quickly Elizabeth stopped writing despite messing up one of the words. She put her notebook away in the drawer and locked it up. “Come in.” She said. Soon the door quickly opened and it was Marie, marching in with a glare.

“Where is it?” She asked.

“Where is what?” Elizabeth asked back.

Marie glared and slapped her sister. “You know what I’m talking about!” She snapped. Elizabeth went quiet, trying to think of what Marie wanted from her, as nothing came to mind. Marie growled seeing her sister playing dumb and slapped her again. “Are you dumb?! I’m talking about the letter from mother!”

“Oh that letter.” Elizabeth groaned. Of course she has it, but she didn’t want to give it to Marie. The truth needs to be revealed or kept somewhere safe. Not destroyed and forgotten about. “I-I threw it away.” She lied.

Marie glared and grabbed Elizabeth by the throat, squeezing it tight. Elizabeth gasped and struggled to get out of Marie’s grasp. “I know you're lying to me, Elizabeth. Tell me where it is now!” She growled.

“I told you,” Elizabeth paused to let out a cough. “I threw it away.”

This got the newly crowned queen upset. She slammed Elizabeth to the wall and squeezed her throat. “You're lying!” She shouted. Soon she threw Elizabeth and let out a gust of wind from her hands, which slammed the girl to the wall.

“W-what was that?” Elizabeth asked slowly getting up.

“Subcon royal powers.” Marie replied. “Grandfather told me about them. Only those of royal blood are born with powers..” She explained.

“L-Like a curse?”

“Well, not a curse. It’s special for those born by royalty. Which means you don’t have royal blood.”

Elizabeth glared and stood up in front of her sister. “I do have royal blood!” She snapped. “We have the same mother!”

“Yeah, but your father was a peasant! My father was a prince!” Matie snapped back. “You’ll never be seen as royal to anyone of Subcon!” She shouted before using her wind powers and slamming Elizabeth to the wall, harder this time. This attack knocked Elizabeth out and gave Marie a chance to find Catherine’s letter and destroy it before anyone else finds out.

Marie went through her sister’s drawers, cabinets, and even her bed looking for the letter. She then found it in her notebook, sticking out inside. “Found it.” Marie said, smiling as she found the letter Catherine wrote that told the secret about her other daughter. Now she could destroy it in a fire, like her mother destroyed herself. What the queen didn’t notice was Elizabeth, slowly getting up and following her.

Marie made her way towards the living room and started up a fireplace ready to burn the letter. Elizabeth quietly sneaked up on her sister, holding a candelabra in her hand and in a flash hit her sister multiple times over the head with the candelabra.

Blood splattered over the wall and floor as Elizabeth brutally over and over again. She kept on going until Marie’s body stopped moving. Dropping the candelabra, and covered in blood Elizabeth stared at Marie’s deceased body. She then walked on top of the corpse and grabbed the letter putting it in her pocket before locking the doors to the room.

It would’ve been days till the rest of the servants found Marie’s corpse and went to address the kingdom of the queen’s untimely death. No one knew who murdered Queen Marie, but there was no sign of a break in or struggle, and they couldn’t think Elizabeth, or any of the servants did it. Because of this they kept how Marie died a secret till someone spoke up. When that happened, Elizabeth knew this was her moment to tell the kingdom the entire truth.

“May I have everyone’s attention!” Elizabeth spoke up. The maids and servants looked at the young woman as she stepped in front of the crowd holding Catherine’s letter in her hand. She then read the letter in front of everyone, which let out a bunch of gasps and murmurs from the people of Subcon.

“Princess Catherine was in love with a painter?” One villager asked.

“What does this mean for Subcon?” Another asked. This got the crowd worried about if Subcon is done for.

Elizabeth sighed, “I guess since I am Princess Catherine’s daughter. I should be queen.” She suggested, which made everyone look at her. Elizabeth gulped and rubbed her arm, “If you don’t see me as your queen that’s fine.” She sighed.

Everyone in Subcon looked at each other and smiled looking at the new future queen of Subcon. The kingdom cheered and chanted Elizabeth’s name, making the young girl smile seeing now she was going to be the new queen of Subcon.

Weeks passed, and soon Elizabeth had become the new queen of Subcon. After being queen, a prince named Nathaniel, who heard of her courting came by and the two soon fell in love. After spending a year together they wed and soon had Vanessa.

When Vanessa turned 3-years old her ice powers started to show, which were ice powers. No one in Subcon saw ice-powers in years, and yet Vanessa had them.

“You should be lucky your majesty.” One maid said, as she saw the young princess forming a snowball into her tiny hands.

“Yeah.” Queen Elizabeth said, as she watched her daughter play with her ice and snow powers. Soon the young three year old saw a spider hanging from the fireplace. She tried to reach for the spider to grab it, but soon her ice powers functioned and freezed the spider. The frozen bug then fell and shattered all over the floor.

The queen and her maid shrieked seeing what just happened and turned to face the young princess. “Sowy!” Vanessa apologized.

Queen Elizbaeth sighed and shook her head. “Stop making messes Vanessa. I know you have ice powers, but you can’t keep making them clean up your mess.” She scolded. This in turn made the young princess look down.

“Sowy.” Vanessa apologized again.

“How about you clean up the mess Vanessa, and give the maids and servants a break.” The queen then stormed off, with the maid right behind her leaving the young princess to look down at the mess she just made.

“Did you have to be that harsh with her? I mean she’s three.” The maid asked the queen, seeing what she said and how she treated her wasn’t how you treat a three year old.

“She needs to learn, if she doesn’t she’ll be relying on you and the servants.” Queen Elizabeth replied, before walking away to her room shutting the door to be alone. This was just the starting point of Elizabeth’s path to mold Vanessa to the person she is today.

During that mold, Elizabeth read the history of her family's history and understood how these powers work. Once the king and queen or prince and princess marry their child will be born with powers. Like Marie told her, before her death Elizabeth was born before her mother married Artemis, and with the latter not being royal she wasn’t born with powers of her own, but her daughter did.

What’s more was the servants were right; Vanessa’s powers were rare, but very dangerous. The earliest known relative was King Victor’s Great-Grandfather who used his ice powers to stop a war, which ended up killing everyone including his own army.

Even though Subcon isolated itself from the other kingdoms, and was peaceful there were still crimes in the area, and most were quickly imprisoned or killed by the guards. However, if she could teach her daughter to freeze intruders it would give the guards a break from their work too.

It would be perfect!

Two years had passed, and Elizabeth knew Vanessa was finally ready to use her powers. “Mama, do I need to do this?” A 5-year old Vanessa asked as her mother led her to the cellar, where criminals are sent to be punished.

“Yes, my darling, this is a training for your ice powers.” Queen Elizabeth lied.

Vanessa looked at her hands and then up at her mother. “I don’t know if I should do this.” She whispered.

Elizabeth then put her arm around her daughter. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” The two made it to the door of the cellar, and Vanessa gulped seeing a shivering prisoner, who was arrested for stealing food from the marketplace.

“P-Please your majesty! I-I didn’t mean too! I was so hungry, and my daughter needed to eat!” The prisoner begged.

“Alright. I forgive you.” Elizabeth said. “However, let’s see if my daughter does.” She then gave Vanessa a little push, getting her closer to the prisoner. The princess looked at her mother, before giving a gulp, shaking her hand out ready to freeze the prisoner.

Vanessa was nervous about doing this, she was only five! How could she kill a person at that age? She gave her mother one more look to see if she would change her mind, but Elizabeth was getting annoyed at her daughter stalling.

“Now, Vanessa!” Elizabeth growled.

Whimpering Vanessa’s hands slowly turned cold as her ice powers started to form from her hands as the man shivered in fear more. “P-please, m-my daughter. I need to see her. I-I promised to take her to the flower garden.” He begged.

Vanessa teared up listening to the man’s story and in a flash a shard of ice came out, but instead of hitting the man and freezing him, it just launched an icicle to the wall missing him. Elizabeth growled and looked at her daughter.

“You missed!” She shouted. “How can you miss!”

“I’m sorry mother!” Vanessa begged. “I-I can’t kill anyone!” Elizabeth growled and grabbed Vanessa’s arm dragging her to her room. The young princess screamed and cried begging for her mother to let her go. “Please mama! Don’t! I’m sorry!” She yelled. Queen Elizabeth ignored her daughter’s plees and just threw her into her bedroom, and blocked the door with a chair so she couldn’t get out.

“When you're ready. I’ll let you out.” Queen Elizabeth said walking away and ignoring her daughter’s plea for help.

Hours had passed since what happened, and Elizabeth’s husband, Nathaniel was worried for his daughter and wife. “Dear, did you have to punish her like that?” He asked. “She’s five!”

“She needs to learn, dear. Her powers are useful for this kingdom.” Elizabeth replied.

“How? What if her powers are a danger to Subcon?”

“They won’t. She’ll just freeze the bad from the good.”

Nathaniel sighed, “You were never like this Elizabeth.” He whispered. Elizabeth heard what her husband said to himself. “You promised you would treat our child with love and kindness like your mother did to you!”

Elizabeth glared and faced her husband. “I am! She has something we don’t! Magic!” She yelled back. “She needs to learn how to use her anger on those who did wrong then those who did right? She needs to clean up her mess then letting the servants clean them up for her!”

The king was disgusted with what his wife was saying. This wasn’t the woman he married. “Wouldn’t this hurt Vanessa, more than help! What if the worst case happens?”

Elizabeth went quiet and thought for a bit. She wondered what’s the worst that could happen with the training she was giving to Vanessa. “I’ll make sure it won’t happen.”

“And if it does, I’m bringing Vanessa back to my kingdom!” Nathaniel threatened before marching away from his wife, slamming the door. The queen’s eyes widen over her husband’s threat and with a glare she followed after him.

Vanessa was asleep on the floor after crying for so long. Suddenly, she was woken up by a loud bang. She heard screaming coming from her father and she quickly got up. “Daddy! DADDY!” Vanessa screamed as she struggled to open the door. After struggling to open the door, Vanessa started banging on the door screaming, “HELP! MOMMY! SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH DADDY! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!” The young princess continued to scream as her father’s yells echoed through the manor.

Soon the screams stopped, and Vanessa stopped crying. She backed away from the door as footsteps came towards her room. The princess backed herself to the corner of her room as her door opened to see her mother covered in blood, smiling as she held a knife in her hand.

“Daddy is fine. I promise you Vanessa.” Elizabeth said.

Soon, Snatcher and Vanessa were done reading the journal. After that incident, the rest of Vanessa’s life was left quiet. Snatcher looked at the princess, who was crying after reading everything. She remembered everything that happened, and hearing what her family went through made her realize that everyone was crazy, and evil like her.

Snatcher frowned and put a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder. “I understand.” Snatcher spoke up. The princess turned around and saw her prince, holding the book close to him as he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

-------------

A few facts: Yes Vanessa’s aunt and grandmother are named after past queens. I thought if Vanessa’s mother was going to be named Elizabeth it would be nice to name Vanessa’s relatives after other queens.

Before I get questions, yes the man imprisoned is the Florist’s father.

[liquor-and-intellect]

Clouded- Part 7

In which Jules might or might not have feelings for her best friend, Harry, who is getting engaged to another girl and everything just becomes… more complicated.

or

friends to lovers to enemies to lovers- it’s complicated

previous parts

PART SEVEN

The next morning when I woke up I found my limbs tangled within Harry's. The sight of where one stopped and the other began was lost and the heat of skin against skin giving me the most incomparable feeling in my tingling chest.

With a sigh and careful movements, I silently picked up his arm while I slid out from underneath it, sorrow heavy on me at the sight of the beautiful sleeping man within the comforts of my bed, his closed eyes and steady breathing almost begging me to go back to sleep and forget the things that I had to do today. I padded quietly into the kitchen, starting a kettle of tea before I went to get dressed.

In my closet, I pulled on a tan sweater and dark jeans, hoping it was enough to shield my body from the chilling temperatures outside. In the middle of pulling my hair up into a bun, I poured the steaming tea into a lidded cup, pulling a mug down for Harry in the chance he would want some when he wakes.

There was thirty minutes until my class was scheduled to start when I pulled on a parka coat and scarf. It would take just a couple of minutes for me to walk around the corner and get to the science health building that was just a couple blocks away from my apartment. I grabbed my boots by my bed and walked over to where Harry was snoring lightly under the white comforter.

“Hey, Harry,” I whispered, nudging him gently with my hand.

The change in his breathing was enough for me to know that he was starting to wake. His eyelids fluttered open sleepily to reveal the most vibrant shade of green I had ever seen, his irises rising up to meet me above him. I could just live off the way Harry looked in the morning, his hair askew and the heaviest layer of innocence laying on him thick like clouds. It was mesmerizing.

I laid my hand on him when he moved his arm underneath him to sit up. “No, you don't have to get up,” I told him, feeling bad for pulling him away from the warm bed. “I just wanted to tell you that I was leaving for class.”

He shook his head, brushing me off to sit up fully in the bed. The comforter fell from him, exposing his ink-scattered chest. “No, let me drive you,” he mumbled, his voice groggy with the morning.

I shook my head like he did. “No, it's okay, you can go back to sleep. It's just around the corner anyway.”

He pulled himself slowly out of the bed standing up to his full height and pushing me out of the way. “Shut up,” he muttered. “it's too early to argue with you. I'm driving you, just give me a minute.”

I took a step back out of his way, shocked by the sassy tone he had used. Harry disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him when I said a simple, “okay” drawing out the word as I gathered my thoughts. He was becoming less and less a morning person the older he got.

I grabbed us two cups of tea in the kitchen, while I waited for Harry to get ready. The sun was streaming through the blinds as I balanced my bag on my shoulder, my keys hanging on my finger. When Harry walked out of the hallway with a gray hoodie pulled over his head, I said, “You ready?”

“Yeah.” He walked over to me and grabbed my bag. “I'll carry this,” he breathed as he threw it over his shoulder.

We walked out into the chilly air and down the stairs to his black sports car. Harry hurried and shoved the keys into the ignition, warming up the leather seats almost instantaneously.

“I got you some tea,” I told him, placing it in the cup holder between as he expertly pulled out of the parking space.

He gave me a small smile. “Thank you,” he said tiredly.

I gave him the directions to the building, around the corner, arriving there within five minutes of getting in his car.

“Now I have twenty minutes until I have to be there,” I groaned, leaning against the head rest and letting my eyelids fall shut.

“What time does it start?” he asked.

“Eight.”

There was a silence that fell comfortably between like the car’s heat. Behind my closed eyelids, I could see the peaks of orange as the sun rose a bit higher into the morning sky, as if telling me how fast time was moving.

“Are you sure about telling our parents tonight?” I murmured, opening my eyes and looking at him.

After a second of thought, he nodded slowly. “Yeah...” he replied. “Yeah, I am. I guess this is just the part that sucks, though, having to admit everything we did.”

I knew exactly what he meant. There was this unspoken understanding that had passed between us last night when he mentioned it the first time: everything was so much more complicated than people would want to see.

“I'm afraid that their judgment is going to be too quick before they have a moment to hear us out,” Harry continued. “I know now that no one is going to understand- no matter how I tell the story.” He dropped his face into his hands. “I cheated on my fiance' and got my best friend pregnant. No one is going to want to know about how Elaine flirted with every guy she met or how she coincidentally would come over when she wanted something. It's black and white to everyone else.”

I reached across the console to lay a hand on his leg, I wanted him to know that he wasn't alone in this. Whatever people were going to say— they would say to us. “I'm going to be there every step of the way, Harry,” I told him. “We are done pushing ourselves away from each other, I thought you knew that.”

He lowered his hands from his face to meet my steady gaze. “I do know that,” he whispered. “I'm almost afraid of what they will think of you.”

I furrowed my brow in astonishment. “Of me?” I asked, not hiding the look of shock on my face. “Why does it matter? I can handle that and you know it.”

A small smile brought up the corner of his mouth. “I know,” he breathed, then he shook his head to look out the windshield. “I just don't want anyone to think that... You know, that you're a... uh...”

“Home-wrecking whore?” I laughed although my heart clenched a bit at the thought.

He winced. “Yeah...” he breathed. “that.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “It doesn't matter because I know I'm not,” I told him, trying to soothe the tense muscles in his forearm with my hand. “So, who cares what people think?”

He looked up at me. “You say it like it's so easy.”

Glancing at the clock, I reached down and grabbed my bag. “Because it is,” I said. “I better head inside before I'm late. Where do you want to meet later? I get done around 12:30.”

“I'll pick you up here,” he said, reaching down to hand me my cup of tea that sat between us. “Don't forget this, it's cold.”

I mumbled a thank you and reached for the door when he grabbed my arm to stop me. Turning to see what he wanted, he placed his hand across my cheek to gently push my lips against his, allowing his soft mouth to suck on my bottom lip for a couple of seconds before he pulled back to look me in the eye.

“I'll see you later, be safe,” he said as I pulled away, a bit dazzled, and opened the car door.

I gave him a smile, hoping it would ease his nerves. “You too.”

***

I attended two of my classes that morning and found my mind was anywhere but where it should have been- which was typical, as of late. With my coat wrapped tightly around me, I walked around the corner, no longer under the safe shelter of the awning to be shielded from the cold. I buried my hands deep into my pockets as the wind whipped my hair across my face.

I was anxious to hurry and get to Harry in the parking lot, that I had just shoved my papers into my black messenger bag, not even taking the moment to close the leather opening at the top. With the impact of the wind from around the corner, and my fast walking pace, a couple of papers shimmied loose and found themselves flying through the wind away from me.

I cursed as I turned quickly around to see them tumbling across the grassy commons area.

“No,” I groaned as I jogged to keep up with them. Somehow, I managed to step on the corner of one as it got caught on a higher piece of grass, pulling it out from underneath my foot to look around for the other piece of my psychology notes.

“I assume this is yours,” a voice said to my right.

Pivoting, I recognized Elaine’s cousin, Charles. I remember the last time that I had seen him and he had pretended to be my date for the engagement party before I had stormed out after crying to Jeff.

“That is mine,” I sighed and took it from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

He nodded and pulled his backpack up his shoulder. “I haven't seen you in a while. How's it going?” he asked.

For a second, I was almost answered honestly. That answer would be too complicated and I didn't feel like getting into the mechanics of everything happening in Julia's world today, so I settled with a simple, “just fine, you?”

He nodded, smiling. “Good. I haven't heard much from you since the engagement party.”

I grimaced. “Yeah... don't remind me,” I muttered.

He laughed, running a hand through his blonde hair. “Yeah, it was pretty tacky.”

I laughed at his reply, not expecting him to have said that, and found myself nodding along as well. “It was, wasn't it?”

He nodded, looking around as the awkward tension settled loudly between us. “So, where you headed?”

I jabbed a thumb in the direction of the parking lot. “I have a ride waiting for me, then we're driving up to see my parents,” I told him.

He looked over my shoulder. “Oh, well that sounds more fun than what I have. Physics...” He bounced on his heels.

I laughed and started to walk away. “Have fun, Charles,” I yelled back at him before I continued walking to Harry's idling car.

Harry sat behind the tinted window, his sunglasses pulled over his green eyes and a different shirt and jeans from this morning hugging his body, I assume he had went back to his place and changed.

“Hey.” I said, pulling the door closed and throwing my bag at my feet.

“Who was that?” Harry asked, his voice trying to sound casual, but higher pitched than normal.

I chuckled at his subtlety. “Charles, remember Elaine’s cousin?” I said.

A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Yeah, the one she was trying to hook you up with,” he muttered.

As Harry pulled out of the parking space and onto the road, I proceeded to peel off my scarf and jacket feeling the warmth of the heater that Harry must have cranked up. “Yup,” I relied, popping the p. “that one exactly.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, I knew he was biting his tongue.

“Just go ahead and ask what you want to,” I told him, smiling at his flustered state. “and no we never dated or did anything.”

“I don't want to know,” he muttered stiffly.

I smirked and reached over to turn up the radio. “Okay, suit yourself.”

A familiar pop song played through the speakers as his hands became whiter against the steering wheel.

“You're adorable when you get jealous,” I stated.

He rolled his eyes. “I'm not jealous.”

“I'm not jealous,” I mocked back in a deeper tone.

He shot me a glare.

I laughed. “Lighten up,” I sang and reached over to grab his arm, pulling it into my lap. “it's a long drive and a brooding Harry makes it longer.” I playfully patted his hand that I had grabbed between my own.

He intertwined our fingers, his defenses falling. “Brooding Harry?”

“You're brooding.”

“Am not.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “And now you're acting like a child.”

He fake gasped. “What?”

I brought his hand to my lips, placing a single kiss onto the back of it.

“We're both children,” I told him. “what did you expect?” I meant that in more ways than one.

…

What a strange coincidence that tonight Harry's sister, Gemma, happened to be in town. When I had called my mother earlier that day, she had made a point to warn me that Gemma was in for the weekend and her and my father had been planning to go over to the Twist residence for a big dinner.

“Kill two birds with one stone, right?” I let out a shaky laugh when I told Harry this as we entered the city limits of Holmes Chapel.

I noticed that his knuckles had turned white next to the black leather of the steering wheel. “Right,” he muttered under his breath.

I pursed my lips and turned back to face the road.

When we eventually pulled into the driveway of Harry's house— behind two other familiar vehicles— I heard Harry release a long unsteady sigh.

I reached across the console to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “We're in this together,” I reminded him. “it'll be fine, they'll understand.”

After a moment's hesitation, he finally nodded. As his hand reached for the door handle, he spun back around as if he forgot something.

“Did you-?” I began to ask, but I was cut off as his lips met mine aggressively, bruising into mine with a quick heated passion. His hand rose up to tangle itself behind my neck and into my messy hair from the car ride.

Impulsively, I reached up to clutch his bicep, letting my fingers make their way underneath the sleeve of his shirt as his lips made their way to the corner of my mouth.

He let out a sigh of relief into my lips before pulling away slowly and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I don't know how long it will be until I can do that again,” he whispered against my temple, referring to the bombard of family that was waiting for us and how they still thought that we were platonic best friends.

I nodded. “Okay,” I breathed. “let's go.”

And we did.

The moment we walked through the threshold of his family home, we were shoved right into the familiar hugs and greetings of love. As I kissed my father's cheek and buried myself into my mother's neck, I knew that there was no way Harry's family could not understand. They loved him just as much as my parents loved me. And they would stand beside him through this time.

“I love what you've done to your hair,” I swooned as I ran my hands through the dark locks of Gemma’s hair. While I had never had a sibling, she had always felt like a sister to me. I do wish we were closer, the move to London made it hard to keep in touch sometimes.

“Thank you,” she smiled widely back to me, her eyes glinting in the same shape of Harry's. She turned away from me to where Harry stood beside us, his smile reaching his eyes as well. “Look at my baby brother,” she sighed and pulled him to another tight embrace.

I couldn't help the lift of my mouth at the sight of them together. Harry was such a family person and he often struggled to find time for them in his busy schedule. He was finally at home again.

“Julia,” someone sighed and I turned to Harry's mother pulling me into a tight hug. “how are you? You look so beautiful- just as you've always been.” She brushed her hand through my ponytail to smooth it out.

“I'm good, Anne.” I gave her a smile, simply warmed at her kind heart that had obviously been handed down to Harry. “And I always tell you to stop telling me I look beautiful when I have the worst case of bedhead.” I laughed as she shook her head lightly.

“Yeah, Mum,” Harry said, joining in beside us and inspecting my hair. “Julia's trying to start this new hair trend. It's along the lines of model gone barbaric.”

I gasped and slapped him playfully in the arm.

“Ah,” he sighed, wrapping his arm around my neck to pull me roughly to him. “you see, it's oddly endearing at the same time.” He placed a quick kiss to my temple before pulling quickly away, a blush rising on his cheeks.

His mom smiled, not noticing the tension he had created. “You two have always been the best of friends,” she pinched his cheek. “it's so lovely how it has lasted for all these years.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth, puppy eyes wide. He was a mommy’s boy and I knew this secret was killing him.

“Yeah,” I muttered, my voice a whole octave higher.

My father joined the commotion, strolling into midst of loving greetings and clapping his hands loudly. “Let's eat before the food gets cold,” he called and turned on his heel to walk into the kitchen.

Everyone nodded and smiled, following his lead, the soft padding of feet against the plush carpet filling the room.

As Harry turned to go, I grabbed his elbow in my hand, waiting until everyone disappeared around the corner before I whispered in a low voice, “Let's do it after dinner,”

His steady eyes stayed on me as I saw his Adam's apple bob against his throat as he swallowed. He took a deep breath and then nodded. “Okay...” he murmured. “yeah, okay.”

I pressed a kiss to the back of his hand and gave him a tight smile before turning to the doorway where the joyful noise of conversation and silverware was deriving. As I grabbed a plate on the side of the counter, I felt Harry behind me, his body heat radiating to me as he looked over my shoulder at the fresh rolls of bread.

As I grabbed a steaming piece of bread, I rested my hand on the small of Harry's back as he stepped forward, an attempt to comfort him because his whole body was rigid and stiff.

We sat down next to each other in the dining room, the crystal chandelier lighting up the creamed walls.

“Julia, would you like some wine?” my father asked me, holding up a bottle of expensive red wine that I was usually a sucker for.

I shook my head politely, giving him a tight smile as my stomach churned with knots. “No, thank you.”

My mother took a deep breath from her end of the table.

Harry's hand gently touched my thigh.

The ruby liquid slid down the edges as my father poured Harry a glass of wine and I took a small sip of my water.

“How's school going for you, Julia?” he asked from the other end of the table.

I took a bite of the baked chicken on my plate. “It's actually going quite well at the moment, I study pretty often, though.”

“Psychology, right?” Nicola asked.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

The conversation was in a positive direction and for that I was glad. As I continued casually answering their questions with ease, I felt Harry's hand brush my thigh again under the table, causing my voice to squeak mid sentence.

“I assume you're making a lot of friends on campus,” my father stated. “you've always been quite good at that.” He took a bite of mashed potatoes.

I nodded, giving him a smile and shooting Harry a glare from the corner of my eye as his hand traveled further up. “Yeah, of course,” I told him. “Although, school keeps me-” I cut off and cleared my throat when I felt Harry's finger deviously skimming down my leg- what has gotten into him? “busy,” I croaked the last word and hoped no one noticed me shifting in my seat.

As I was taking a sip of my glass to hide my blush, my mother took this initiative to speak up. “And Harry, where's your lovely fiance'?” she asked.

I choked on my water.

Harry's hand removed itself from my leg to pat on my back, his brow furrowed as he looked at me with an alarmed expression. I gulped and shrugged minutely. How the fuck was I supposed to know what to say?

“She's uh-” he stuttered. “We aren't exactly... um...”

Anne set her fork down, a worried expression on her face. “What do you mean, Harry?”

Harry gulped as everyone's eyes immediately landed on him- even I was waiting for what he would say next. He looked as if he was trying to push himself into the furthest part of the chair and disappear- which was quite difficult for someone his size.

“Mum,” he begged, his eyes wide. “let's not talk about it right at the moment.”

One thing about Anne is that she was extremely protective of her children, always coming to their aid. But she was also quite nosy and would never stop until she has heard every detail of the story.

“Harry Edward,” she scolded. “Are you and Elaine in an argument at the moment?”

Gemma joined in, “They argue quite often, mother. I'm sure everything's fine.” She was trying to help but it made things worse.

“Do the two of you argue a lot?” Anne demanded, her voice sounding a bit hurt.

Harry's eyes were wide. “Mum, really-”

“Wait, what is going on?” Gemma asked.

“Is everything okay, son?” My father was now confused as well.

Harry looked cornered and miserable as they started to pound him with questions, his eyes wide as they pleaded for me desperately to do something about it.

“They broke up,” I stated loudly as the whole room quieted in shock. I almost couldn't believe I said the words myself as I sat back and watched the aftermath.

Anne looked as if she was about to cry as she covered her mouth with a dainty hand. “Oh, Harry...” she murmured and was about to stand up when Gemma’s hand landed on her arm, urging her down back into her seat.

“Mum, he doesn't look too hurt right now, does he?” she murmured to her, but I could hear it.

This confused her even more. “Why aren't you... But the wedding…?”

I met my mother's eyes across the table as Harry buried his face into his hands, there was this unspoken conversation between us as she pursed his lips. In that moment, I watched as she put the pieces together.

“We called things off, Mum,” he sighed, lifting his head as he placed his hands formerly in front of him as if he was at a business meeting. “Julia and I needed to talk to you all as a family tonight.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I thought it was impossible that this table could get any more confused, but by the looks of every one, I knew this was now proved untrue.

Harry didn't give us a heads up or even a drum roll, but rather he jumped straight to the point and stated, “Julia's pregnant.”

My father stood up.

Anne gasped loudly, unable to hide her shock. And I get it—I really do. They had just found out that the wedding they had expected to attend was no longer happening and now this?

I swallowed.

My father's eyes were now cutting daggers to me, the vein in the side of his head prominent. This was the most inappropriate time to realize that this was where I had gotten my firecracker anger. “Julia, please tell me this is not true,” his voice wavered with the sound of a thousand drums that shook me to the core.

I shook my head. “I can't, Dad.” I dropped my eyes to my half-eaten meal that I knew I now wasn't going to be able to finish.

“I need an explanation from the two of you immediately,” he demanded. My mum gave him a warning look that caused him to sink back into his chair.

Harry looked at me as I turned to look at him, both of our mouths hanging open in an obvious attempt to form words. With my eyes on him, I enunciated every single syllable slowly, as if asking his permission to say them. “Harry and I have learned that... We have feelings for each other and...” This was getting worse by the minute. “I'm pregnant...” I repeated Harry's words again.

He finished my sentence, realizing that I couldn't do it myself. “We've maybe have made some poor decisions, but we are owning up to them right now. We understand the consequences perfectly.”

I nodded in agreement.

Anne let out a sob and her hand reached up to stifle it.

“Julia, you are in college. How do you think you will raise a child?” my father bellowed, his voice shaking the twinkling chandelier. “You are obviously incapable of making rational decisions because you are sleeping with an engaged man!”

The abrupt sound of Harry's chair scraping the hardwood pierced my ears as he abruptly stood up. “Please don't talk to her like that,” Harry begged, I could tell he was struggling to keep his composure with my dad. “it's a lot more complicated than that.”

My dad turned to him; his eyes wide with shock that Harry would talk back to him like that. He didn't realize that he wasn't the skinny nervous boy that used to sit in that chair years ago. He also didn't realize what I had been through in the past couple of weeks- months, even- I wasn't his little girl anymore.

“You, young man,” my father zeroed his anger onto Harry. “don't know anything either. You barely find time in your busy schedule to visit your family, how do you expect to be a father?”

My vision blurred with red dots.

He pulled out one of Harry's worst weaknesses just to throw it in his face.

“Don't ever say that to him again,” I mumbled, but I knew he heard me. I pushed my chair out from underneath me and walked out of the tension and down the hallway to the living room.

Gripping the back of the couch I felt my heart constrict with a zip tie, my breathing growing shallow as my lungs shook.

Panic attack.

Who did they think they were to pull judgment onto us like that? Dump it all on our heads like water without knowing the whole story? They didn't know that I couldn't be a good mother. They didn't know that Harry couldn't ever find time for this baby. They didn't know anything.

My ears were ringing as I felt my thoughts closing in on me. I recognized all of the signs of the panic attack but I was shaking too hard to do anything about it. Their words were closing in around my neck, suffocating me so I couldn't control my breathing.

I didn't know if I would ever be good enough— for Harry, for the baby or my parents.

I didn't know if Anne and Gemma would ever accept me in the way they had accepted Elaine.

“Julia,” I could hear Harry calling from down the hall, or maybe he was right behind me- I couldn't tell. “Jules.” Then his voice was frantic and by my ear and I felt his arms around me in only the way he could.

“Is she okay?” My mother's voice.

Harry answered immediately, his hand pushing my head to his chest as his arms held my body firmly against him. “She's having a panic attack. Can you grab her pill bottle out of her bag? It’s in the side pocket.” His voice was this steady low calm that I clung to like a lifeline.

“Listen to me,” he murmured again by my ear. “Focus on my breathing, don't think about anything else.”

I tried to, I really did. But my heart was beating too loud in my ears to allow anything else but doubt to creep in.

A second later there was a pill pushed past my shaking lips and water following suit. “Breathe,” Harry instructed and I remembered then that I had a choice over my lungs.

We stood like that for a couple of minutes until my heart rate was under control and I could physically support myself without leaning too heavily on him.

“Do you want me to take you back to your parent's house?” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded. I was exhausted.

He grabbed my hand and lead me back to the dining room. “Julia's going to bed, I'm going to walk her home,” he said, his eyes not meeting anyone's but the patterns on the walls past their heads.

My mother spoke up. “Do you need anything, dear?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “No, thank you though.”

“Goodnight, love,” she said.

Anne let out a long breath. “How do you expect to have a baby when you're constantly having panic attacks?”

I felt Harry's hand tighten around mine unconsciously. “Mother, this is really not the time for that,” he snapped and the room became quiet. “Goodnight,” he muttered and pulled me behind him as he exited the house.

…

I stood under the stream of water from the shower, the steam rising up towards the ceiling- a constant dead end with no escape. Droplets ran down my nose, over my chest to glide down the curve of my belly, the new bump that resided and seemed to grow everyday it seemed.

As the scalding water seemed to relieve my tense muscles, I couldn't shake the way our parents had reacted to the news. Harry's mother had been crying.

Well, so had I when I found out.

I shut off the water, the creaking pipes groaning as the soap suds gathered around my feet towards the silver drain. It had been quite a while since I stood in this shower, I had been a different person at the time.

Wrapping a faded blue towel around my body, I opened the door that led to my childhood bedroom, not startled at all to see the man that sat on my bed.

Harry glanced up when I walked out, my body still dripping from the shower as his eyes traveled down my long legs and up to the cloth that I had loosely gripped under my arm. I could see them darken for a split second before realizing what a night we had both had.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

I pulled my lips into my mouth. “Better.”

Looking down, I noticed he had brought my bag in from his car, it laid at his feet.

I walked to my old dresser and pulled out my grade 11 athletic shorts. These would have to suffice for now.

“You need to give them time,” Harry said. “If you remember, I didn't take it very well either.” He gave me a pained smile at that memory.

I swallowed and gave him a small nod before walking back to the bathroom to get dressed. When I exited with my teenage clothes on, Harry desperately tried to catch my eye, but I was too exhausted to hold his gaze.

“Talk to me, please,” he whispered when I sat next to him on the bed. The desperation was too clear in his voice, he didn't want me to shut down like we so often did to each other.

I leaned back, letting my arms land above my head as I stretched out on the bed, my shirt rising over my small bump. “I don't want them to hate me,” I murmured, hoping he wouldn't hear me. I felt too vulnerable and too helpless. People were going to judge without knowing the whole story, but I was hoping to spare our families.

Harry collapsed next to me at my words, as if it was such a relief I had replied that he was physically thrown backwards. “They won't,” he reassured me. “they just need time.”

I snorted. “Well, they've got a whole seven months ahead.”

Harry reached over instinctively, drawing me to him so I rested on his side. “Things have to get worse before they get better, right?” he mumbled as his lips brushed my hair.

I let my hand travel the expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and rhythmic pattern of his breathing and willed my lungs to follow his lead.

“Hey look,” I said as I poked him in the nose, a playful tilt to my voice. “there goes Happy Harry.” It was a nickname the boys in school used to sing at him.

He grabbed my hand from his face. “Wow, can't believe you just went there.” There was a smile in his voice.

I pushed my legs in between his, wishing to tangle up every piece of us.

“At least my name doesn't sound like a porn star.”

I gasped and pulled my hand from his to slap him on the chest. This was something I had always been told during our school days. “Too far,” I laughed, not able to keep a straight face.

He turned on his side, wrapping his muscled arm around me like a safe cocoon until I was hidden under his wing. His leg came over my hip, surrounding me in purely Harry.

His lips brushed my forehead and I knew that the banter was over. “I love you,” he whispered.

I breathed in the words, loving the way they sounded rolling off his tongue. It was something we never really said to each other- always implied- but there was this invisible barrier that lifted now that they were there in the open, soaking up every bit of my will power.

My lips puckered to press against his chin in a small kiss. “I love you too.”

Harry inhaled and pulled me tighter to him.

Harry's P.O.V

I knew Julia was asleep by the way her breathing had evened out.

And her arms- which had been clutching me tightly- loosened around me, lazily draped over my body like a blanket.

I knew I couldn't stay in here- there was too much to deal with in between the two houses- so I pulled myself from her and wrapped her up in her bright turquoise comforter, hoping that would keep her warm until morning.

“Goodnight,” I breathed, pressing a kiss to her forehead, careful not to wake her, before I walked out, closing the door as quietly as I could.

“How is she?”

I spun around on my heel, startled that there had been someone else in the dark hallway. Julia's mother had her thin arms wrapped around herself, her silk pajama pants touching the tips of the shaggy carpet.

I swallowed. “She's okay,” I told her, feeling the need to be honest. “she blames herself.” Which in return makes me blame myself.

She nodded, tilting her head down to the end of the hallway, indicating me to follow her.

“And Richard?” I asked as we walked into the lit kitchen, thinking of Jules' father and how enraged he had looked tonight.

Margie leaned her hip up against the counter, pursing her lips as Jules so often did. “He'll get over it. It's a big pill for someone to swallow.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

She put a finger to her lips. “I do have to say,” she began, looking at me in wonder. “I was just a bit surprised that you were the father.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Just a bit?” I asked.

She looked at the ground, a small smile forming on her lips. “You know, me and your mother used to always think that the two of you would end up together.” Then she shook her head, glancing up at the ceiling. “There had always been that chemistry between... Even when you were both tots- the two of you were inseparable.” She then gave me a pained smile, meeting my eyes for a brief second.

“That's why,” she said. “we shouldn't really be surprised. It was bound to happen, I guess I didn't realize it would be like this.”

I took a deep breath, letting my head fall back as exhaled the weight of the world. “If I could spare everyone who happened to get tangled into this- I would do it in a heartbeat,” I mumbled.

Margie reached over and ran her hand soothingly up and down my back, just like my mother used to do. “I know you would, love,” she whispered. “we all do.”

After a brief dismissal to go talk to my family, I left Julia's mother in the kitchen making hot tea for herself, I walked across the yard to the back door of my parent's house. The light was still on, even though it was already past ten and my mum always went to bed early. I knew they were waiting up for an inevitable explanation.

“Hello,” I greeted quietly as I hovered in the door way to the living area, where my mum and Gemma sat on the couch, both of them looking up at me expectantly.

“How's Julia?” Gemma asked.

I sighed, thinking of her sleeping alone, bearing this weight on her thin shoulders. She was head strong, brave, determined. If anyone was built to handle this- it was her.

“Sleeping,” is what I ended up saying.

They blinked up at me, not knowing what else to say.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a brief moment of darkness before opening them to the fireplace crackling and the lit Christmas tree in the corner.

Time was passing too quickly.

“I know that this was just thrown onto you,” I said, addressing them while keeping my eyes on the twinkling Christmas tree. “And I am sorry, if there could have been any better way to tell you... you have to know that I would have done it. But, Julia has so much on her shoulders that she is dealing with at the moment and if my own family is going to react negative towards her... I have to ask that you must not be present during this time.”

I took a breath and looked around, taking time to meet each of their eyes individually. “We are dealing with this the best way we possibly can, we are also taking full responsibility for this- our- baby.” I cleared my throat. “I want my family to be there for us. But I understand if you can't.”

My mother gasped and stood up, quickly walking over to me and wrapping her arms around my tall frame. She pulled me in for a tight hug, squeezing me until I was sure she couldn't much more. “This child will have the best parents,” she whispered, holding my cheeks in between her hands as I saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “If you're happy, I'm happy,” she breathed.

I saw the sincerity in her light eyes and I knew that I should never have doubted this faithful woman. “I'm getting there,” I whispered to her. “It was difficult road, but I'm getting there.”

Before I knew it, Gemma was up and wrapping her small arms around my mother and I.

“I guess that means I'm going to be an aunt!” she squealed.

This was my family and I was glad it was going to be expanding.

…

The next morning when I opened my eyes, I was acutely aware of the fact that Harry was not lying next to me like he had been when I fell asleep. I assumed he had went to have a talk with his family and for his sake- I hoped it went better than the dinner.

Walking down the hallway to the kitchen, I could smell coffee brewing and the sizzle of bacon on the stove, my mother's familiar humming following.

“Morning, love,” she said, noticing me standing in the doorway with my arms wrapped around myself. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

I poured myself a cup of the steaming tea. “Fine,” I mumbled. “where's Dad?”

“He got called into work, he sends his love.”

I pursed my lips. I was sure he was avoiding me.

I grabbed a slice of the bacon, pushing it into my mouth and savoring the crunch it made when I bit into it. My mother always made amazing breakfast food.

“Where's Harry?” she asked, glancing at me as she pulled the pan off the stove, sliding eggs onto a white plate with ease.

I shrugged. “I assume he slept at his house last night.”

She looked at me over her mug. “Yeah, I talked to him after you fell asleep, he was on his way over.”

I nodded, knowing he'd probably tell me about it later.

At that moment, the back door opened that lead to the kitchen and Harry walked in, his jacket wrapped around his broad arms over plaid pajama pants.

“Hi,” he breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of us trying to gauge the weight of the conversation.

I gave him a small smile. “How did it go?” I asked.

He nodded. “Good, actually... They're better.”

I was glad. Harry needed his family at this time and I felt horrible as if I was the one taking them from him. He needed all the support he could get.

After a filling breakfast and plenty goodbyes, Harry and I got in his car to go back to London. I didn't want to leave the safety and comfort of our childhood homes, but we had accomplished what we had came to do— and also Harry had to be at the studio tonight.

When we got to my apartment that evening, I gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek before pushing him out the door before he was late to the studio. The last thing he needed was to get in any trouble before he drops the baby conversation on his team.

That night I got a call from the doctor's office, scheduling a date in the next couple of days to go to an ultrasound technician in London. I was so completely inexperienced in this area that I didn't even realize that I was reaching my six-week mark already.

I quickly texted Harry.

Are you going to be in London this Wednesday?

Only to have an immediate reply.

Yes, why?

I smiled, wondering if he was sitting through another boring lecture before the recording session, in which he always spent on his phone.

I have an appointment for an ultrasound at 2

do you want to come?

Right as the three dots indicated he was typing back, my phone began ringing only to see it was Harry.

“Yes?” I greeted.

“I told you I wanted to be there for everything.”

I chuckled. “I just thought I'd ask, Harry.”

His voice was low when he replied, “I made a promise to you and I'm going to fulfill it.” I could tell he was trying not to be overheard.

There was loud laughing in the background before I heard a familiar voice rumble, “Harry! Where did you go?”

“I'll be right back, Mitch, I'm on the phone!” Harry yelled back before turning his attention back to me. “I have to go, but do you want to come over tomorrow night— for dinner?” he asked.

“Yeah, that sounds lovely. Now get back to work,” I scolded before hanging up and feeling my heart flutter at the fact that just maybe he might have asked me out on a date.

Later that night as I sat on the floor of my apartment with my research papers scattered around me, there was a knock on the door. I hadn't been expecting Harry at all tonight- or anyone for that matter.

Without a second thought, I opened my front door to see a smiling Jeff bundled in a wool coat on my front porch, a bag in one hand.

“Hey...” I greeted. “I was... unaware you were coming over.”

He rolled his eyes at me before brushing past me and into my apartment. “I was as well up until about an hour ago.”

I pursed my lips before closing the door and watching him set his things down at his feet and peel off the heavy coat. I didn't really know what to say so I just quickly offered, “want some tea?”

He sent me a bright smile. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

I was still a tad bit confused as I scurried into the kitchen where I already had a kettle warm on the stove, the aroma floating up around me as I poured him a mug. “So,” I yelled back from my spot on the counter. “can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said, I could hear him shuffling around. “you actually can.”

I handed him the warm cup when I walked back into the living room, taking in that he had unpacked his bag he had first brought in.

“Christmas is next week,” he stated.

I pulled my lips into my mouth to hide my smile at the sight of wrapping paper and a big box. “You need help wrapping a present?” It was hard to bite back the grin I was trying to hide.

He put his hands on his hips. “No,” he snapped. “I just need a little guidance.”

I rolled my eyes at his attitude and sat down on the floor where he had set up a station. From the looks of it, it seems that Jeff had hit the essentials when it came to wrapping presents: bringing multiple scissors and tape and plenty of different wrapping papers.

“What's this?” I asked, taking the box from Jeff and looking over the rim inside.

He reached inside and pulled out another box, handing it to me to be wrapped. “Glenne’s presents,” he murmured.

This time I did beam up at him, not bothering to hide the smile that hit me at the cuteness of how smug Jeff was being. “And what did you get her?” I sang while cutting a strip of paper.

“Birth control. Now stop looking at me like that,” he replied.

I laughed while folding a corner and securing it with tape. “Such the romantic,” I smirked.

He leaned against the back of the couch, his legs stretching out in front of him. “I got her vacation tickets to Greece, she's always wanted to go there. And a couple of her favorite artist on vinyl- it was hell to find those, though.”

I smiled to myself at the simplicity of it all. I hoped that one day Harry and I would be like that.

“She'll love it,” I told him sincerely.

“I hope so,” he murmured. “Have you got Harry anything yet?”

I shrugged. “It's been a bit of a whirlwind recently. Up until two weeks ago, I didn't even know if we would be seeing each other for the holidays.”

He smirked up at me, spinning the roll of tape around his finger.

“What?” I groaned.

He shook his head. “Nothing.” But there was obviously something or the idiot wouldn't be looking at me so cheekily.

I nudged him with the pointy end of the scissors. “Spill,” I threatened as he easily pushed me away, directing the utensils at the present in front of me.

“He just went and looked at a present for you today. That's all,” he murmured casually and grabbed the finished wrapped gift from me and slapped a sticker on the front.

I pushed my face in my hands. “Now I have to find something to get him...” Harry and I usually got each other things every year, but never anything serious... Maybe like every season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or last year I bought him a box of kiwis for laughter sake, but we had never been one for sentimental.

“Was it a serious present?” I asked him, wondering if now I would have to change my whole strategy of gift shopping for Harry.

He gave me a short nod. “Yup.”

I groaned.

“What do I even get him that he can't just buy himself?” I asked as I continued taping another box.

“You know Harry. What wouldn't he buy himself?” He cocked an eyebrow as he pointed a finger at me.

I sighed. “Good point.”

He took a long sip of his tea, making a point to look at me over the rim.

“I'm full of good points,” he stated simply.

I nodded, because it was completely true. “I know,” I sighed.

A/N: sorry for the long amount of time it took me to get this up! I know the drama was a bit strange, I was super young when I wrote this and I tried my best to edit what I could. I hope you guys like it!

taglist:  @harryspirate @hope-its-worth-it @ednaofearth @whipthemcurls @1d-tommo5 @mellamolayla @lmk12310 @nhhsltlpzm @juliassgem @backoftheroomandnotbelonging

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[wewillwriteyou]

Nobody likes a cold dinner || Ben Hardy (SMUT)

Summary: Ben comes home after a tiring day at work and finds Y/N dancing half-naked in the kitchen; Ben's POV 

Pairing: Ben x fem!reader 

Word count: 3.8k+

Warnings: SMUT!! , 18+, oral sex (female receiving),  language blink and you'll miss it,  protected sex (always stay safe folks) 

A/N: sooo yeah, here it is our first SMUT One Shot; this one is about our Benny Boy thank me later for this inside joke and we really hope you'll like it! As specified in the warnings this One Shot contains explicit contents, so please read it only if you're 18+. Love you folks, enjoy!  xxx 

It had been a hard day at work. I couldn’t even keep my eyes open, as I was sat down on a dirty seat in the subway. The only thing that kept me awake was the idea of finally getting home.

The tube carriage was full of people and, if someone was claustrophobic that place would have been the least favourite one to attend. Luckily I didn’t bother and the crowded place around me seemed distant as I was fighting against my heavy eyelids to not fall asleep then and there.

Eventually, I reached my stop and I got up faster light, exiting the train and getting lost in a flood of people. I moved smoothly, perfectly knowing my way and in a moment I was emerging from the underground. The colourful lights of London welcomed me as I stepped outside.

I ran to cross the street and let out a sigh of relief when I spotted the imposing figure of the building where my flat was. I searched for the keys in the rear pocket of my trousers and opened the front door.

In spite of the tiredness, I opted for the stairs but regretted it when, after reaching the first floor and realizing I still had two more to go, I felt my feet already screaming for justice.

As the king of the losers, who recognized his defeat, I stopped in front of the elevator and happily stepped in, pressing the button with the number three just before the doors closed themselves.

I walked down the hallways lazily and, the more I got closer to my apartment, the more a tasty scent of food reached my nostrils. And my hungry stomach, already grumbling and getting emptier by the minute, started to make even weirder noises.  

When I stopped in front of the door I smiled noticing it was open because I knew who had come home earlier than me.

I tried to be as quiet as possible while I entered the flat and immediately found myself surrounded by loud music and a pleasant sound of food sizzling in the pans. I shook my head as I let the shoes hit the pavement and adventured myself towards the kitchen. I stopped near the entrance to spy the situation.

There she was, dancing with a spoon in her hand as she was cooking God knows what kind of delicacy this time.

Me and Y/N had been dating for a while and, since she had stumbled into my life, she had changed it for the better. Every day. Giving her my spare key was the best idea that ever crossed my mind, because it was starting to happen more often that, after a tiring day at work, I came back home to find her settled in my environment.

Seeing her getting comfortable around the place I lived always warmed my heart and made me wish the day we would have finally gone to live together would have come faster.

I abandoned my shoulder against the wall, near the door and observed her: her hair was tight up in a messy bun or something like that, her body was covered only by one of my shirt, hitting all her curves in the right spots. She was freely dancing and singing, moving the spoon then and there in the air, while she was cooking what it looked like some sort of chicken steaks with vegetables.

She was swinging her hips and to my eyes, she was the most perfect thing that had ever stepped in front of my sight.

I coughed a little bit to recall her attention and, caught off guard, she dropped the spoon on the floor as she turned around. I gasped noticing my shirt was open, revealing a yellow bra and blue panties. Not coordinated, as usual.

“Ben!” she sighed in relief, putting a hand on her chest as she lowered herself to recollect the cutlery “You gave me a heart attack, honey!” she then added giggling, as she stepped closer to put herself on her tiptoes and kiss my lips.

I let my hands disappear under the light material of my shirt to caress the soft skin of her lower back. She smiled on my lips and I started to feel her little fingers drawing patterns on my neck and in my hair. Then she mumbled something, so I lazily pulled away, passing my thumb on her lower lip.

“Don’t get me started, unless you want to see your kitchen on fire and all the amazing food I was cooking all burned” she joked, her palm pressing on my cheek.

“No thanks” I laughed back at her and let her go, not before she had pecked my lips one more time before going back to cook.

I forced myself to look away, as I walked towards the fridge to grab a cold bottle of beer. I opened it and sat down on one of the chairs, abandoning my elbow on the table and occasionally sipping the iced drink I had in my hand. My eyes finally enjoying the sight of her again.

“Do you really need to stare at me like that?” she asked giggling, giving me the view of her back, because even without turning her head she well knew I was admiring her.

“Absolutely yes. Weren’t you putting on a show a second before I stepped in? Well, now you have your first spectator” my voice echoed as I finished the sentence, being the only sound in the room since the song ended in that very moment.

Love On The Brain by Rhianna soon filled the air and Y/N, after turning off the stove and putting down the spoon, mischievously turned around and abandoned her back against the counter.

“Is that what you want? – her tone lower and way flirtier, than the sweet and goofy one she used when she first welcomed me a few moments before – do you want a show?” she added, slowly walking in my direction.

I swallowed, maybe a little bit too loud, when she startled my lap, throwing her arms behind my neck. Her hand reached mine to remove the bottle from my fingers and put it on the table. My palms instinctively fell on her butt.

“Maybe, but I thought you were too busy cooking since you threatened me to burn down my entire house” I assumed a suggestive attitude as well. If she wanted to play she had to know I was keen to follow her plans.

Her thumb traced my lower lip, while with her left hand she massaged the back of my neck. She brushed her nose against mine only to let her lips ghost just an inch away from my open mouth.

“I was in fact cooking, because I was sure that, when my Benny boy would have come home, he would have been very hungry” she whispered in my ear and then nibbled my earlobe, a move that caused a hushed groan to vibrate inside my throat.

“I am hungry. And I hate this nickname” I shivered under her touch when she let her nails travel down my chest.

She smirked and got up before I could wrap my arms around her hips to stop her. She looked down at me and I observed how she let her hands disappear behind her back; she fidgeted a little with the closure of her bra, until she unbuckled it and tossed it on the floor, with smooth and slow movements that were literally driving me crazy.

I couldn’t stop my eyes that fell on her now exposed chest. Seeing her perky, soft breasts and her stiff nipples made me extremely hard and I knew she was letting me admire her for a while, aware of what effects that sight was causing me in that moment.

“I know you’re hungry, but – she stopped and got closer again; she started to caress my hair and I put my arms behind her thighs to encircle her legs and keep her standing between my knees – something tells me it’s another kind of hunger” she cockily said, putting her index finger under my chin to raise my head.

I kissed her tummy, starting from the exposed skin near the elastic band of her underwear and gradually reaching the space between her breasts. She inhaled sharply when I let my tongue swirl around her right nipple, while with the other hand I cupped her left boob.

Her grip on my hair tightened and her head fell backwards, while I was pleasing her with just my mouth. I knew very well which areas of her body were the most erogenous and I proudly smirked when I heard her moaning softly.

I couldn’t stand it anymore: I sharply got up from the chair and, pressing her body against mine, I leaned my head down to kiss her. Her mouth was already opened, ready to welcome my tongue. Her hands were restlessly travelling on my chest, on my back and on my hips, as she was eagerly kissing me.

“Sorry, who is hungry here?” I joked when I felt her fingers tinkering with my belt. She rolled her eyes and suddenly pulled away.

“If you intend to be this mouthy, then I guess you’re not getting any” she sassily announced, walking again towards the stove. When I saw she was about to light up again the fire under the pan, I took her from behind and lifted her off the ground.

An amused, tiny squeak escaped from her lips, as I stumbled heading to the bedroom. I harshly opened the door with my back to push it close a second after with my foot and let her fall against the mattress. She bounced a little and her laughter grew louder, making me smile.

“Damn, Benny boy, you must be starving to act like that” her teeth biting her own lower lip, while I quickly removed my t-shirt and threw it somewhere on the room’s floor. My socks followed it immediately, before I crawled up the bed to position myself on top of her.

I towered her body and attached my lips to hers, receiving a smug moan in response. Her hands caressed my back and I hummed as I moved my mouth from her lips to her neck.

“Could you blame me?” I mumbled on her skin, before sucking on the soft flesh under her ear “I came home and found you half naked in my kitchen dancing and singing. An irresistible sight, to say the least,” I added, lowering myself on her body to leave a series of open-mouthed kisses.

She locked her lips, but a trembling moan left her mouth, as she firmly tugged at my hair when I deposited a kiss on the inside of her thigh. I smirked and looked up at her, who smiled back. It was a shy smile, completely in contrast with the previous flirty attitude she used with me in the kitchen.

“Look at you, Y/N, getting all coy after a couple of kisses” I flirted toying with the waistband of her panties.

“Oh shut up!” she replied blushing and rolling her eyes. Her hands desperately trying to pull me up to face her again, but I shook my head clicking my tongue against my teeth.

“I have something to do in this precise area right now. If you’ll be patient, you might get a kiss later” I joked, sitting on my knees as I started to caress her hips with my fingers.

The little smiled that had grown on her face soon disappeared when I lowered myself. My face just a few inches away from her clothed core.

“Ben…” her voice trembled, echoing in the sudden silence that surrounded us. The playlist’s songs were nothing but a muffled and hushed sound, a distant melody on the other side of the door.

“Let me take care of you” I whispered, slowly pulling down her panties; she arched her back a little when my hot breath grazed her wet folds. I parted her legs, leaving a thread of small kisses on the inside of her thigh. Her fingers entangled in my hair.

I finally laid down on my stomach and tried an experimental touch, letting my thumb pressing a little on her clit. She moaned out loud and I instinctively buried my hips against the mattress searching for some friction.

“God Ben, don’t tease” she muttered between her teeth when I lightly touched her again, this time with my middle finger. I smirked and kissed her skin right under her belly button.

“So eager, my dear Y/N” a cocky smile painted all over my face. Before she could comment or say something I pressed my lips on her centre. She hissed and her back bent once again.

I encircled her waist with my arms and, after another little and quick kiss on her core, I pulled my mouth away and started to tease her again with a series of little pecks on her legs.

“Weren’t you hungry?” she tried to sound pissed or resolute, but her tone was so desperate that I found myself groaning against her skin. My guttural sound caused her to follow me with another loud moan.

“You’re fucking right” I mumbled and, unable to hold on anymore, I attached my mouth on her wet folds. A whimper of relief left her lips and she trembled a little under my touch. I grinned and let her tighten the grip on my hair.

Her palm was keeping my head closer to her core, while she was struggling to move her hips as I kept her steady against the mattress. I knew she wanted more than my slow licks, I knew she needed more friction, but teasing her and having her squirming like that under my touch was turning me on so much.

“Ben… pl-please. I need more” she stuttered, her voice interrupted halfway by a loud moan.

I started to move my tongue faster, taking my time then and there to suck at her swollen clit. Y/N arched her back and a thread of hushed whimpers left her mouth.

I was pushing my groin harshly against the bed, feeling my erection getting harder by the minute, as she kept gripping at my hair while she moaned my name repeatedly.

My nose was brushing against her clit when I started to tease her entrance with the tip of my tongue. A loud fuck drew itself on her pink lips and her hands left my hair for a moment to cup her own breasts. Looking at her from that angle was what I considered something heavenly.

Seeing her massaging her nipples gave me a rush of adrenaline and I started to lick her fast and sloppy, stimulating her inner lips with my thumb.

“Don’t stop, please” she shouted and since one of my hands was now working between her folds and I was holding her down just with one, she could move her hips freer and she didn’t waste no time to rock them against my lips.

The temperature in the room was unbearable and I was so hard I thought I could have come just eating her out. Not that I would have complained since it was one of the hottest things I had ever seen in my life.

When I fingered her, she started to shiver and I knew she was so close that she would have come undone in less than five minutes. She was still moving her hips, as I kept licking her up and down this time with a quicker pace, when she said something that almost made me sigh in relief.

“I want you inside me, Ben!” her voice higher than usual, as her fingers started to massage my hair again.

I pulled away and what sounded like a desperate whimper left her mouth, because of the sudden loss of contact. I rested myself on my knees, as I looked down at her.

“Are you sure? Don’t you want me to make you co- “I started, but she cut me off sitting on the bed to cup my face with her hands to drag me into a passionate kiss. We both almost fell on the mattress as she propped herself on her knees as well to wrap her arms around my neck; my hands instinctively fell on her lower back.

My lips were still glistening with her excitement and I knew she could taste herself on my tongue. This made both of us even hotter and bothered, assuming it was possible to be more turned on than what we already were.

In a moment her hands found their way towards my trousers and, without breaking the kiss she goofily tried to take them off. Reluctantly, but with an amused smile painted all over my face, I pulled away from her lips.

“Do you need some help? I see you’re struggling” I joked, taking off my belt and starting to unbutton my jeans. She rolled her eyes.

“Asshole” she then replied with a smirk and I saw her arching her shoulders a little to remove my shirt that she was still wearing. I stopped her, wrapping my fingers around her wrists.

She raised an eyebrow and sat down on the bed, while I blushed and struggled to take off my pants. Her sight fell on my prominent erection when I tossed the jeans on the floor and remained with only my boxer on.

“Could you keep this on?” I finally asked her, as I stretched my arm to slightly touch the hem of the opened shirt. Y/N bit her bottom lip and a cocky smile lighted her face up.

“Sure, you kinky boy” she mischievously replied before kissing me again. She guided me on top of her as she laid down on the mattress. I couldn’t help but smile on her lips, while I cupped her face with my hands.

Soon her fingers found the waistband of my boxers and she quickly pulled them down, her palms gently caressing my butt as I finally freed myself from the last piece of clothing that was still covering my body.

I started to kiss her jaw and her neck, letting the tip of my cock brush against her entrance. Y/N sighed in pleasure and her nails pressed themselves into the skin of my shoulders.

“Condom” she mumbled on my lips when I kissed her again. I frenetically nodded and stretched my arm towards the nightstand, quickly searching for one inside the drawer.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I finally grabbed the silver pack between my fingers. I fidgeted with it a couple of times, before finally extracting the condom, while Y/N was caressing my abdomen with her fingers, sincerely smiling up at me.

I rolled the sheath on my length and adjusted myself again between her legs. I kissed her left cheek, then her nose, her right cheek and finally her lips, making her giggle softly.  

In a moment I was inside of her and we both let a moan of relief escape from our mouths, as I started to thrust harder.

We were both panting, being already overstimulated from the intense oral-session I gave her just a few minutes before.

Her legs entangled themselves around my waist, to keep me as close as possible; her hands threw over my shoulders, moving up and down the muscles of my back; her mouth searching, both, for air and for my lips, to eagerly kiss me.

My hands firmly pressed on her hips; my forehead buried in the crook of her neck or leaned against hers to let my tongue slip inside her mouth; my thrusts becoming sloppier by the minute.

The only audible sounds were her loud groans, followed by mine, and the slaps of skin against skin. The songs still playing in the distance were covered by our excited moans, knowing that probably all our neighbours were hearing everything. But in that precise moment, with my cock buried inside her wet pussy, nothing mattered to me.

“’m so close Ben!” Y/N admitted, letting her legs fall spread on the mattress giving me more access. When she clenched her walls around my dick, I let out a very loud moan that surprised both of us.

“Fuck!” I hissed, hardening my grip on her hips and thrusting harder inside her now throbbing cunt. She fisted the sheets and arched her back when she felt the tip of my cock twitching against her sensitive spot.

A moment later she was moaning from the top of her lungs, as the orgasm hit her body and she hugged me tighter, lacing her arms up my shoulders. After a few more erratic thrusts I followed her, chasing my high with lazy pushes as my head fell between her breasts.

I completely abandoned myself on her body, with my now softened member still inside of her. Her fingers were caressing my hair and my sweaty forehead, while I let my arms slip under her back to encircle her hips.

When I pulled myself up, sustaining my weight on my stretched arms, I slowly pulled out of her. We both sighed before I leaned down to kiss her lips. A chaste, sweet kiss, before I rolled on my back and laid down next to her.

We soon started to giggle, as she covered her eyes with her arm and I turned my head to admire her.

“We’re disgusting! We didn’t even wait after dinner!” she commented between the laughter, as she met my gaze. I pulled her closer to kiss her again, but she shook her head.

“Nope. Not again, Hardy. Now we get up, you clean yourself and I warm up the food” she said, sitting on the mattress and giving me her back, before she stood up and started to recollect her intimate apparel from the floor; the shirt still fluttering open, hugging her curves.

“Nobody likes a cold dinner” she then added, walking towards my side of the bed where I was now lying with my arms crossed behind my back.

She bent down to kiss me on the lips and I hummed in response.

“Well, I’ve already had my hot meal, so I won’t complain” I cockily commented when she pulled away.

She opened her mouth and blushed a little, before friendly punching me on the arm.

“Get dressed, you doofus! And don’t follow me into the bathroom! I’ll quickly get changed and then we’ll eat!” she commanded, approaching the door.

“At your orders, Captain” I replied, with a goofy tone and I heard her laugh as she exited the room.

I laid there for a couple of minutes but instantly got up from the bed when my ears captured the water of the shower roaring in the bathroom.

Dinner could have waited.

-

A/N: We’re gonna tag our usuals cause this is something new and we’d very much like your opinion on it, lovesies 🖤 You can absolutely ignore it if you don’t feel like reading it, but let us know if you do!

Tag list: @littledarlingwellaway @its-nxt-living @bohemiandelilah@onevisionliz@misshystericalqueen @loki-lover095@deakysgurl@inthelapofthe39 @starsoflovingness-wq@minetticatinwonderland@cairdes20 @friendswillbefriendsblog @o-holynight @trash-record-collection @please-stop-me-now @theappleofmybri @marvelsbunch@imgonnabeyourslave​  @babygotblueeyes @mi55chanandlerbong

[cilldaracailin]

A Kind of Magic

Here is the next part. Thanks again for all the lovely love :)

5

“It's in those quiet little towns, at the edge of the world, that you will find the salt of the earth people who make you feel right at home.”

Snuggling deeper into the squishy softness under his head, Taron exhaled deeply as he felt so comfortable and content. His body had melted into the mattress under him and the duvet that covered him was silky and warm and sleep which had been so hard to come by since Sunday, finally caught up with him. Taron inhaled, the freshness from the pillow making him smile, his smile growing more as he remembered that he was in Robyn’s bed and it was one of the most luxurious he had slept in although that could have been because he hadn’t slept in a plush bed in days.

He stretched but quickly recoiled back into himself as his body protested after lying so still despite the comfort of the bed. He winced as he tried to stretch again, his upper body objecting, taking it slower this time as he rolled onto his back, throwing his left arm over his face as he slowly woke up. Robyn wasn’t lying when she said she liked complete darkness when she slept as when he opened his eyes the room was dark, apart from some light that shone in the bedroom door to his right. Using the palm of his left hand he rubbed his eyes, wincing again when he rubbed his right eye, the movement chaffing grazes at his temple that still hurt and stung. As he fully woke, he wasn’t feeling as relaxed as he had been and more like he had almost run a marathon and his body ached with the effort of it, feeling like he did as he as he lay in the hospital bed after his pain medication had been reduced.

Taron then realised that he hadn’t taken any of the tablets he had been given since he got on the flight to Dublin and that was probably why he was feeling so achy and very sore. Groaning, he wasn’t looking forward to trying to make a move off the bed as he knew it was going to hurt but in order to get to his pain killers, he had to move and he also desperately needed a wee.

Deciding it would be easier to get up from his knees, Taron rolled to his left onto his stomach and then using his left arm to take his weight he pushed himself to his knees, took a moment to steady himself as he sat back on his feet, taking a breather to counter the pain that rippled through him. As the wave passed, he shuffled off the bed and got to his feet and it was then he realised that he wasn’t wearing his shoes.

“Robyn.” He said quietly, knowing she was the one who had made sure he was comfortable, feeling how nice the temperature was in the room, despite the heat outside, remembering she had said something about having air conditioning in her room too.

He made his way, as Robyn had shown him, through her closet and to the bathroom, his eyes blurry with the light from the window. He had absolutely no idea of the time but as it was still bright outside, he was guessing late afternoon. After washing his hands, he looked in the circle mirror that was above the sink and groaned as he looked at his reflection. It was going to take more than a couple hours sleep to get rid of the horrible dark circles under his eyes and he was still very much getting used to the marks and bruises on his face. He cupped some cold water and threw it on his face, hoping it would help to wake him up.

“Ugh pain killers.” He whispered as he brought his hands to his head, trying to rub the pain away from behind his eyes. He hadn’t felt this bad on the airplane or even in the hospital and as he walked back into the bedroom, he was desperate to find his tablets. With some medication, Taron hoped he would start to feel somewhat more human but with the blackout curtains it was still very dark in Robyn’s room and he didn’t want to fall over anything so he walked around the bed to the curtains and pulled them back closing his eyes as the sun blinded him. Turning around, he blinked a few times as his tired eyes got used to the new light in the room. He looked to the bed and towards the pillow’s he hadn’t slept on and saw three folded up pieces of paper. He picked the nearest one up with curiosity.

‘Hey Taron,

You have finally gotten your chance to have your cosy bed sleep and I cannot wake you from that so….

I have nipped back to work to finish my shift. I will be home at four thirty but here is my work number 6287777 and my phone 087 9055555. Just call me if you need anything.

Wifi code is XY7H8MN77.

I was serious when I said make yourself at home. Alexa is around if you need company and the key lime pie in the fridge is yummi.

Robyn xx’

Smiling at Robyn’s letter, he felt comforted by this one and not at all panicked as he did with her last, enjoying the smiley face and picture of the fish she drew. He picked up the next letter and opened it.

‘Hey Taron,

I’ve gone back to work but same rules apply as before. You have both my numbers so just call me if you need too.

The lemon meringue pie is also quite tasty and Alexa is hooked up to Spotify so your music wish is her command.

Robyn xx’

Another grin filled his face as he laughed at her drawing of a stick man in a rocket and picked up the last letter.

‘Hey Taron,

The preschoolers were asking me where ‘my boyfriend’ was. I have left a picture on the bedside locker that one of them drew for us. I shall let you try and decipher it yourself.

The white chocolate chips cookies on the counter won me second place in the Kilcreen bake off, so they must taste good.

Don’t bother asking Alexa about the weather. It’s so fecking hot, Ireland could give Florida a run for its money and Emma has finally caved and said my air conditioning was not a stupid idea after all.

Robyn xx’

Taron moved and picked up the crayon drawn picture that Robyn had left on the locker and squinted as he tried to make out what the circles and lines meant but decided he was going to need Robyn’s help with that one. The letters made him smile but he was confused by why she had written three for him. With the brightness of the sun, he was convinced it was the afternoon and couldn’t fathom how she had been to work so many times in the space of a few hours.

Leaving the letters and picture the children had drawn back on the locker, he walked slowly around the bed and pulled open the door of the bedroom and walked out into a brighter light, which only hurt his head more. Taron had loved the glass when he first walked into Robyn’s apartment but now as the light caused his headache to worsen, he wasn’t too sure. He could feel a light breeze and when his eyes had finally adjusted to the light, he looked up to see that the glass doors had been pushed all the way back and Taron got his first glimpse of Robyn’s garden. A level wooden deck led straight to a large green grass area and he could faintly hear the sound of running water. Within the apartment easy piano music played and Taron looked for Robyn and saw her sitting on the couch, in the corner she had told him was her favourite, with her back to him. Her hair was out of her messy bun and fell straight down her back and she was wearing a blank tank top so he could see the corner of a white dressing peeking out of the left sleeve. Taking some wobbly steps before he found the strength in his legs again, he walked around the side of the couch.

“Hey Robyn.” He said as he delicately sat in beside her, a sigh leaving his lips as sank gloriously into the couch. “Jesus, is every piece of furniture you own this comfortable?”

Robyn smiled as she quickly saved the word document she was working on and closed her laptop, placing it to her right on the couch. “I did extensive tests before investing.” She moved to sit cross legged beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” He turned his head to look at her. “Everything hurts but I know that has something to do with the fact I have missed a pain killer. Last one I took was before I got on the plane to Dublin and your bed is stupidly comfortable too so I just conked out.”

“I did tell you it was going to be your cosy bed sleep.”

“It was a nice few hours, until I woke up achy and stiff.”

“Taron, it’s been more than a few hours.”

He let his body sink further into the couch. “What?”

“Taron it’s Friday. You have been asleep for about fifteen hours.”

She smiled at the look of shock on his face. “What?” He asked again.

“You went to sleep about twelve yesterday. It’s five eighteen on Friday afternoon, the next day.” She smiled some more as she watched his facial features move from shock, to confused to a small smile. “You were exhausted Taron and once your head hit the pillow, your body was going to sleep and I’d imagine it’s not done resting yet. You could do with at least another five or six rounds of fifteen hours sleep straight.”

“That’s why there were three notes on the pillow.” It finally made sense to him. “Thank you by the way for them. They made me smile when I read them. I especially liked the picture of the stick man in the rocket.”

“Thought you might.”

When she came back from work yesterday afternoon, Taron was in the same sleeping position as she had left him in, looking completely at ease and relaxed. As he slept, Robyn kept herself busy listening to music, reading and spending some time outside in her garden, enjoying the late evening sun but checking Taron ever hour or so, making sure he wasn’t too cold or warm as he slept.

She had spent many a night sleeping on her couch so did not mind spending another but she didn’t sleep. She was constantly checking Taron and even more so after another nightmare woke her from a dreadful restless sleep, tears on her cheeks, her breathing laboured. It seemed that having Taron in her apartment was not making her dreams any less horrific and she had to double check her hands twice to make sure they weren’t really covered in blood. She sat with Taron for about an hour just watching him before she moved back to the couch and put Netflix on to pass the rest of the night until she had to get ready for work in two hours. She had written him another quick note and ignored the look she got from Emma when she arrived in the office at seven.

“Seriously? I told you to take the day off.”

“He’s asleep.” Explained Robyn simply as she put her phone, keys and purse away.

“Still?”

“I told you he was exhausted and I’ve been doing sleep checks on him.”

“You need to sleep too. Robyn! Don’t walk away from me!”

“I need to do these room checks.” Robyn picked up her clipboard and walked out of the office ignoring her manager who called her back.

Robyn’s day had started out with the preschoolers giving her a picture they drew of herself and Taron at the playground and she was touched that they had asked about him but as the morning drew on, Robyn found herself on the phone with a very angry parent who had been told by Valerie that their child was not ready for school. Once Robyn had calmed the parent down and reassured them, Robyn had called Valerie into the office to talk to her about what had happened, offering her advice and guidance, genuinely wanting to help Valerie but the young staff member wasn’t impressed and Emma had to step in when the conversation turned nasty on Valerie’s part, bringing Taron back into the discussion as well as insulting Robyn along the way. Robyn took the conversation with a grain of salt, keeping her cool and still offering to help Valerie but her attitude towards Valerie changed once she came back from lunch as the new staff member had been telling all the other staff that she had been hooking up with a man in the office yesterday in front of a group of children.

The office door was only closed for five minutes as that was how long it took Robyn to enlighten Valerie with the truth, Emma present too to make sure the conversation didn’t get too heated but there was no need. Robyn was as cool and collected as always in tough situations.

“It is something that you have no right to talk about with others, especially when you have no understanding of the circumstances of what you saw and now that you have made up such rubbish, I have to go and speak to each of the girls to explain something that is nobody’s business expect mine and Taron’s. You cannot comprehend what you have done and how you have twisted something so simple as a hug into something that is full of malicious intent and sabotage. It’s disgusting how you spread rumours. We are a small setting with an incredible reputation to uphold and with some spiteful gossip you have put that reputation on the line. I have been very patient and tolerant of your behaviour and I will continue to treat you with respect as a co-worker because at the end of the day, we are a team but if I hear you speaking about this to anyone else, outside of this creche, I will be taking this further. It’s not only our reputation but mine and seeing as how I have been here for eleven years, it’s a considerable reputation and not too mention Taron’s too. Now if you excuse me, I need to go and fix the mess you have made.”

Thankfully, the rest of the staff in the building had known Robyn for a number of years, some before she was promoted to supervisor and would never believe any of the lies that had been spread about her and Emma had immediately issued Valerie with a warning, making sure she had apologised to Robyn.

It had left the atmosphere in the creche tense for the remainder of the afternoon, and even though Robyn was annoyed beyond belief she kept her annoyance to the side and continued on with her day as normal, ecstatic when four thirty came around and she could go home.

Taron was still asleep when she arrived home and she threw on the air con to cool the heated apartment down. Her bedroom was lovely and cool for Taron and he still lay on his left side so she figured she could risk taking a shower, one that was desperately needed to wash five-day old hair. She tried to use the falling water to ease the built-up tension in her shoulders but as the water hit her hurt shoulder, the relief lasted about a second before she gave up trying and turned the water off. She dried her hair and pulled on a black tank top and pair of demin shorts, the day still incredibly hot and pulled open her glass doors to let the fresh air in, hoping it would clear her head and pissed off mood better than the air con would. She sat on her couch, got Alexa to play her favourite piano playlist, pulled out her laptop and started to work on some policies she never got the chance to finish that morning with all the chaos in work. As she typed, she heard the toilet flush and gathered that her guest had finally woken up and she felt the couch sink as Taron eased himself in beside her, her smile wide as he was finding it hard to believe had been asleep for so long.

“That air is nice.” Commented Taron as he lay his head back and closed his eyes. “Fifteen hours.” He said quietly.

“You needed it. Also, you haven’t taken any pain killers since yesterday? No wait, since Wednesday?”

“Hmm.”

“Where are they?”

Taron opened his eyes. “In my bag. Somewhere in my bag.”

Robyn hopped to her feet. “Do you mind if I look for them. They will help take the edge of that pain your in.”

“I can help you.” Said Taron as he started to move and sit up but he stopped, his hand going to his side.

“Take it easy.” Robyn hunched in front of him. “You are still nursing some injuries. Nice and slowly.” Robyn took his left hand and helped to pull Taron to his feet, her hands going to his waist to steady him. “You good?”

“Yeah.” He answered but Robyn could see he was lying through his gritted teeth.

“It’s been nearly two days without pain relief. You are bound to be feeling a lot of pain, especially after being so still while you were sleeping.”

Together, they walked over to the island in the kitchen where Robyn had left his bag and hadn’t touched it since. She pulled out one of the stools from the breakfast bar and put it beside Taron, holding him until he was settled, pushing his bag over to him and then stood beside him.

“Thanks Robyn.” Taron pulled the zip on his duffle and routed around in the mess in his bag for the three small plastic brown bottles that held his pain killers. He stopped routing and pulled out the charger to his phone and sighed. “My mam is going to kill me.”

“What? Why?”

“My phone died on the bus yesterday as I said good bye to her and I promised her I would ring her back once I got to you.” He lifted his left hip a little from the stool and pulled his phone that was still in his pocket of his jeans, dropping it on the island. “It’s very much dead.”

“Your mam is not going to kill you Taron. I have only spoken to your mam twice but I can tell she is a very lovely lady who loves you dearly and will understand that you haven’t rang her back because you were sleeping. Let’s get your phone plugged in now and charged and as it is charging you can call her.” Robyn took his phone and the charger from him that he still held in his hands and plugged it into a socket at the side of the island and left the phone on top of the counter. “Now keep looking for those pain killers.”

With another route, Taron found two of his three bottles of painkillers and pushing all the clothes to the other side of the duffle, found the third. As he searched, Robyn had gotten him a glass of cold water from the fridge and placed it beside him. He opened each bottle and took the required number of tablets out.

“Do you need to take any of these with food Taron?”

He looked to Robyn with a blank face and she picked up the bottles and read the labels. “’Take with food’.” She read. “Cookies count as food, right?” She asked as she walked a little into the kitchen and picked a cookie from the plate she had left on the counter. She handed it to Taron who was smiling. “Well I think cookies count as food.”

“Second place in the bake off?” He asked taking a bite, remembering the little note she had added in the letter about the cookies. “You sure you didn’t buy this from M&S?”

“Absolutely not. Home made.”

“They are good. Second place good.” He grinned. He quickly took the four tablets from the counter, drinking the whole glass of water. “Two are antibiotics for my shoulder and two are pain killers.” He explained taking another bite from the cookie. “These are really good.”

“Thank you. Once they kick in, you will be able to move a bit easier.”

“Yeah I know. Doctor Hart said they were pretty strong. They definitely work. Don’t think I would have made the plane journey without them.”

“I haven’t thanked you yet for coming, have I? It was such a journey to make Taron, especially after you left the hospital early.” Robyn filled another glass of water for him, after he had polished off the first one.

“I was given the all clear by Doctor Hart but to be honest, he wasn’t completely happy. It was your doctor, Doctor Keane that helped sway him. She was your doctor, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Told me she gave you some stitches of your own but she also persuaded Doctor Hart that discharging me early was going to help us both. You…” Taron hesitated a little. “You don’t mind that I came here, right? I mean I just appeared and…”

“And I am very glad that you are here. Thank you for coming. Really thank you. I am…” Robyn couldn’t get the words out but she felt Taron’s hand on her right shoulder and gave her a supportive smile. “Do you want to give your mam a call?”

“Do you know, I have a feeling that conversation is going to be a long one, because I know she will want to talk to you and as much as I want to call her, I am desperate for a shower. I have been in these clothes for God knows how long and I feel gross and hot and just yuckiness all over.”

“Yuckiness? That a technical term?”

“I learnt that one from you Robyn.”

“Oh, shit you did.” Robyn laughed, remembering she had actually used that word in front of him and Richard in the 7/11. “Will you be ok to stand in the shower by yourself?”

“Robyn Quinn!” Laughed Taron faking shock. “I have only been in your apartment for less than two days.” He enjoyed the blush that rose to her cheeks.

“Stop that.” She scolded. “I only meant it from a safety concern Taron Egerton and how on earth do you know my surname.”

“Doctor Keane gave me your name and address. She broke hospital protocol to do it too and I know you are only thinking of my safety. It’s what you do for me and yeah, I think I will be ok. The pain killers act quickly.” With the easy conversation and bit of sugar running in his blood, Taron could already feel his headache lifting. “I will be fine.” He assured her when he saw the concern in her eyes.

“Ok well if I have to rescue you from the shower, I don’t want any complaints about you being in the nudey nudes, alright?”

“Nudey nudes?”

Robyn loved hearing Taron laugh and this one seemed to come from deep inside him. “Learn a new word every day Taron!”

“Alright, nudey nudes but seriously, no. I will be ok.”

“Ok well let me take your bag into my room for you and I will get you some fresh towels too.”

Robyn zipped his duffle back over and lifted it onto her right shoulder and carried it into her room, Taron getting off his stool much more easily then getting on it and followed her. She dropped his bag on her bed and walked out of the bedroom and to her closet near the front door and picked out a large fluffy blue towel and a matching smaller one. She walked into the bathroom through the door in the closet and hung the towels on the silver towel warmer on the wall and turned it on. She walked into the closet and opened the door to her bedroom. Taron was routing in his bag on the bed, pulling out clothes and throwing them on her bed.

“I have left some towels on the warmer in the bathroom for you. Shower is pretty self-explanatory to use. Take as long as you want or need. You won’t run out of hot water.”

“Thanks so much Robyn.”

“No worries. You hungry?” She asked as she sat on the bed.

“Too be honest, my appetite has not been great since before I went to Florida and I haven’t really been eating much since, apart from cookies it seems.”

“Ok well how about something simple like eggs and toast? Mine hasn’t been great either, apart from cookies too. We can sit in the garden and just chill with something really simple.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Great. Ok well I will leave you to it but Taron please shout if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Robyn got up from the bed and went to leave but turned back to him. “There is actually an Alexa set up in the bathroom too, so if you want some music, just ask.”

“Seriously? In the bathroom?”

“Yeah seriously.”

“Ok well I think I might take advantage of that.”

“I think you should.”

Robyn walked out of the bedroom and closed the door before moving to close the door to the bathroom in the laundry room, closing the closet door too, giving Taron complete privacy. She then made her way to the kitchen to start prepping some simple food for the two of them.

[textbookmobster]

it all begins with a rebellion

This is inspired from a drawing made by the lovely lesbina in the moraghid discord server.

Pre-relationship, fusion fic. Maybe I’ll write more someday.

It’s strange how easy your life might change in just under a day.

It all begins with a rebellion.

It’s one that’s been brewing for a while now, ever since the young Emperor refused to go to war with the Gormotti for a piece of their land. They had underestimated how unhappy the civilians of Mor Ardain were. With the Senators stirring unrest, and the military fractured underneath its various generals, it was only a matter of time before the tide of dissatisfaction turned against them.

Mòrag had been paranoid in the final days leading to the collapse of the Empire. She had studied maps of Mor Ardain and its many trade routes. She had befriended friendly ship captains where she could and squirrelled away coin and physical assets in foreign banks under the guise of long-forgotten Ladair relatives. When the opportunity to audit the Royal Treasury had presented itself to her, she had quickly taken two of Mor Ardain’s most precious Core Crystals, knowing how easily such things could be turned into weapons.

She had not anticipated using one of them herself.

They’re helping Senator Stulc and his wife board the small salvaging vessel Mòrag’s second had acquired when a contingent of soldiers close in, having been alerted to the location of the smugglers’ cove.

Niall, running on nothing but worry and adrenaline, stumbles in front of them, throwing his arms up defiantly. “It’s me you want!” he shouts. “Let the others go. Please.”

He’s brave—braver than Mòrag who is all too happy to throw some other stuffy, well-meaning Senator under the line of fire.

“Get back inside, Niall!”

“These are my people, Mòrag! I won’t let them die.”

“Who the fuck cares?” she all but screams. “Idiot brother!” This is all for you, don’t you understand?

But of course he doesn’t. Because he’s never had to face his mortality as intimately as she had faced hers.

She picks him up by the scruff of his shirt and shoves him into the direction of her second-in-command. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Sir!”

With her back towards her brother, she takes a deep breath and rushes for the swarm of advancing soldiers. She doesn’t notice the soft blue light that begins to emanate from her brother’s haversack, which had fallen in the chaos.

"Mòrag!"

She's a whirlwind of death, her rapier snaking into joints and cracks with pinpoint accuracy. The buckler that she had taken from her second-in-command slams into a nearby foot soldier, redirecting a spray of bullets away from the ship. She's careful to stay within melee range, their eagerness an advantage: with too many bodies between her and the Ardanian gunners, getting a clear shot on her would take skill and a lot of luck. She only hopes that she can prove to be adequate distraction for her fleeing countrymen.

Blue light begins to trace the outline of her figure, curling along her arms and across her torso. Some of the soldiers scramble back, alarmed at the ghostly aura that begins to manifest around her. It's a short respite, however. A brace of gunners take advantage of the clear field, emptying a clip at her general direction.

Mòrag grimaces and braces herself against the small buckler, barely large enough to cover her sword arm. Pain drowns her other senses as she falls to her knees, darkness slowly consuming her vision. The last thing she sees is the Ardanian salvaging vessel flying westward towards freedom before everything goes dark.

- - -

It's a different woman who steps out of the steaming body of Mòrag Ladair.

She is made brilliant by the bright blue flames that outline her body. A wingtip steel visor hides much of her face beyond the curl of smug lips, emphasizing the eerie flicker of blue along her black stresses. Though she wears the uniform of an Ardanian officer, there’s a provocative quality to the sway of her hips and the transparent cloth that covers her lower torso. Behind her, a long wisp of a man falls to his knees, offering a double-bladed katana with easy reverence. “We’ve work to do, it seems.”

“Pity,” the woman says, adjusting her grip on the katana, watching her brother-in-arms dissipate into her form. “A full body resonance—and I get to spend what time I’ve been given fighting against impossible odds.”

She cracks an exultant smile. “So be it.”

Death follows her wake like a wildfire left unchecked. She cleaves into the soldiers with frightening speed, revelling in the body that she has been gifted. It’s not often that a human succeeds in awakening the Jewel of Mor Ardain, let alone one that has had a taste of battle.

In a matter of minutes, she has decimated the incoming force of foot soldiers.

Aegaeon reappears by her elbow, the exertion of maintaining a form evident from the sweat of his brow and his fading smile. “She won’t have the energy to keep both of us.”

“I’ll send her your regards.”

“My thanks.” He returns to his Core Crystal which the woman quickly scoops up and pockets.

She heads to the wharf in search of a vessel.

- - -

Mòrag wakes to the gentle press of heat against her skin, the warmth of the morning sun like a heavy blanket. She aches all over and feels the world around her teeter when she tries to move.

The creak of wood and easy sway of the ground underneath her startles her. If not for the sudden arm that wraps around her, she would have fallen on her side, just below the crude cot from where she rests.

“Easy there,” a mellifluous voice murmurs from beside her. “I’d hate for you to undo all the hard work that I’ve done so far.”

Her senses sharpen, pinpricks of light fading into dark, muddy browns that hint at her whereabouts. “Let go of me,” she demands, straining against her captor’s hold.

“Will you behave?”

She grits her teeth. No, she wants to say, but knows that she will have a better chance of escaping if some slack is given. So she relaxes her limbs, focusing on her breathing to stabilize her senses.

"Good girl," the woman murmurs, leaning into her space to reveal strands of bluish purple hair escaping a pair of braided buns. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. My Drivers tend to be feisty little things.”

“I’m not little,” Mòrag sputters.

“I’ve had taller Drivers.”

It’s an awkward conversation: one that starts out accusatory before meandering into the territory of expository with a dash of flirtatious. Mòrag knows about Crystal Cores, Blades, and Drivers, but she had never been interested in the specifics until now.

Because it isn’t every day that you get to awaken a Crystal Core, one that’s so attuned to your soul that you get a fully-formed Blade instead of the less visible spectres that Mòrag is familiar with. Brighid is shockingly solid—a presence that Mòrag cannot so easily ignore—and it unsettles and invigorates her in equal measure.

She’s in a strange boat with an even stranger woman by her side, an empire crumbling behind her, and a brother, lost, waiting to be found again.

It feels like the beginning of something good, something exhilarating: a promise whispered in the dead of night, the thrill of numerous possibilities racing along her spine.

It feels like a start.