#it should honestly be illegal to pit these two against each other

[niallsgoldhoop]

CHANNING

a harry styles one shot seven thousand words cw - sexual content, alcohol, harsh language, spitting, spanking, choking,

“I can’t believe you almost missed this.” Looking over at me, the dark eyes of my closest friend shine under the overhead lights. “I mean, come on— It’s Harryween.”

Using my pinky to perfect the edge of the color as I look in the mirror, I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Okay well I couldn’t let this costume go to waste.”

“Honestly.” Adjusting the straps of her angel wings, she laughs. “It’s perfect.”

Tucking a lock of wavy copper hair behind my ear, the green foliage sewed to the leather top last minute contrasts against my porcelain skin in the best way.

As soon as the decision was made— the costume just happens to fall into place.

It took me less than a day to buy the ivy from a local craft store along with the needle and thread. Deep in the back of my closet there was a black leather corset, the kind that fastened in a line of delicate hooks up the front, one that pushed my breasts up even higher than normal. Pairing that with the black leather skirt that hit the middle of my thighs seemed like the only option that made sense.

Less than two hours sitting on my couch and watching Succession later and all of the ivy had been sewn into place. After a little maneuvering I even managed to turn the broad, verdant colored leaves to a makeshift garter for each of my thighs.

Standing here in this bathroom and looking at my reflection, the extra ivy twisting from the top of the high topped canvas sneakers on my feet, I can’t help but smile at how good it looks snaking over my toned calves and thick thighs.

Poison Ivy.

“We better get down to the pit before it gets too crazy.” With a wide smile on her face, I laugh along with her as her fingers tangle with mine, pulling me along. “If we’re lucky we can get close to the barricade.”

Staying close behind her, the two of us manage to squeeze through the sea of people, finding a spot in the pit good enough that we would be able to get a decent view.

I’d been to plenty of shows before but it felt like nothing compared to the pit at a Harry Styles show.

Even as the show eventually starts, it’s clear that everyone got the memo to dress up and seeing the man of the hour— I’m so glad this is where I ended up.

The way he looks tonight should be illegal.

The way he’s looking at me?

Criminal.

Up on the stage, I make eye contact with him again as he passes by, my body heating under his gaze for what feels like the millionth time.

“God, he keeps looking at you!” The girl with two boas and a pink cowboy hat next to me says, her eyes wide. “What the fuck?!”

I feel my lips as they turn into a smirk, raising my eyes back to the stage to see him in front of me again.

Being so close to the barricade was an accident. Somehow, someway we managed to make out way closer and closer as the night went on. Dancing with everyone around us all night has been the best part of the show.

Well… That and seeing Harry dressed in the most delicate and detailed costume.

A clown with the prettiest cream fabrics and lace along with the most perfect moon and stars offsetting the lighter colors with their darkness. Even his cheeks have the rosiest hue— complete with little pearl drops along his cheeks and above his brows.

Nothing too scary, but something just sexy enough.

As he plays the song everyone longs to hear, this time when lyrics roll off of his heart shaped lips in front of me, there’s no mistaking it.

‘And when I sleep, I'm gonna dream of how you —‘

Eyes set on mine, he brings the tip of each finger to his flattened tongue, a tease of how he would certainly be able to please between the sheets.

Rolling my eyes as my best friend grabs my arm, her fingers pressing into the bare skin of my bicep, I find his gaze lingering before he moves on — deciding to entertain the other side of his stage before making his exit.

It feels like the scene of a documentary as the end of the show finally unfolds and people make their way from the stadium, a mass of people all looking for something to get them as high as the feeling Harry Styles gives them.

Laughing on the way out, I give the longest hugs that I can manage before slipping out into the night to find the small bar that has always welcomed me on a night like tonight.

A night when I’m not ready to dream quite yet.

Between the way the city never sleeps and the people out for their own version of tricks and treats, it feels like hours before I find what I’m looking for even if it’s not terribly far away from where I started.

Still dressed in the costume I threw together at the last minute, I don’t even find myself caring much about that. People from all across the city are dressed in various Halloween get ups— making it that much easier to blend in.

Even if the majority of my skin feels like it’s on display.

Smiling as I grip the door handle, it’s the large hand that covers mine that makes my heart race.

The anchor tattoo.

The mermaid.

The cross.

Turning on my heel, the same eyes that looked into mine in front of thirty thousand people trace over my face — over my freckles, over my cheekbones… Over my lips.

“It’s you.” Low and raspy, the accent drips off his lips as they turn into a sinister grin.

Rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek, I watch his eyes follow the movement as I press through the door and let him follow.

“It’s me.”

The bar is small and dimly lit, the best place to come if you don’t want to be found.

I’ve come here for years, a product of begging to be lost.

Turning my back on him, I make my way to the bar and sit on one of the stools, smiling as the bartender makes his way down to me. I can feel Harry’s presence as he slides onto the stool next to me, his thigh brushing against the skin of my thigh that my skirt doesn’t cover.

“Hey, babe.” Leaning over the bar and kissing my cheek, the familiar face behind the bar places a shot glass on the counter before filling it with tequila and placing a lime along the rim, sliding it to me. “How was your night?”

My face turns towards the man next to me, his features sharper in the low light as he studies me carefully before I look away from him with a shrug. “It was okay.”

A laugh falls from his lips as he leans into me, his lips brushing against my ear. “Okay? Is that all you have to say about me?”

“Maybe it is.” My shoulders lift in a shrug as I turn to face him, reaching for the shot and taking it, watching Harry as his eyes focus on my lips where I taste the lime. “Why? Are your feelings hurt?”

Catching the attention of the person behind the bar, those mossy eyes hold mine as he orders. “Can I please have four shots of tequila?”

“You alright with this guy, Chan?” Looking between the two of us, his eyes narrow in Harry’s direction.

I laugh. “We’re good. You can pull your best friend shit somewhere else.”

Rolling his eyes, he pours the shots out for the two of us. Leaving a small bowl of salt and limes before making his back to the other end of the bar.

“Chan?” Harry’s voice is rich and smooth, just like you always hear about. “Is that short for Chandler?”

I shake my head as I bring my hand up and flatten my tongue before running it across the back of my hand, eyes locked on his. “No, it’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me?” Watching my every move, his green eyes watch as I pinch salt between my fingers and let it fall to my skin.

“Should I?” Once again, I flatten my tongue across the same spot and taste the salt before picking up the small glass of liquor, tipping it back and letting it burn down my throat. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

Tension unlike I’ve ever known settled between us.

Somewhere my brain tells me to be careful, but the reckless part of me says that sometimes things are just meant to happen.

The odds of running into a man like him are practically zero. Yet here I am with flushed skin from the warmth of his proximity.

I reach for the lime but Harry beats me to it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and pressing the acidic fruit to my bottom lip, eyes begging for me to open for him.

“Suck.”

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I flick my tongue across the broad side of the lime before wrapping my lips around it and following the simple instructions.

“So you do know how to listen.” Harry pulls his hand away from me before dropping the fruit back into the empty shot glass.

Tilting my head back, I laugh.

Pressing my hand on his thigh and leaning forward, this time my lips brush against his ear. “I only listen when I feel like it.”

“Hmm.” He hums as he leans back, eyes looking over my body. “Do you feel like listening tonight?”

I shake my head as he reaches for my hand and pulls me in close, his eyes burning through me as his tongue darts out and presses to my skin along my forearm. Holding me in place and using his other hand, he easily sprinkles the salt along my heated skin before flattening his tongue and tasting it.

My breath hitches in my throat as his fingers tip the glass back, taking the lime and holding it out for me. Taking the hint, I bite onto it and lean towards him letting him take it from me with a smug grin on his face. His lips brush against mine for only a moment before he leans away from me, sucking the juice out of the fruit to chase the bitter taste of the liquor. “Come on, tell me your name.”

“I’ll tell you on one condition.” Squeezing his thigh, I brush my lips against the base of his throat, smiling when I feel him swallow thickly.

“And what’s that?” Gripping my chin, Harry tilts my head backwards and grins at me, his notorious bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

I roll my tongue along my bottom lip, watching as his eyes drop to my mouth. “You keep staring at my lips like you want them to do something.”

“Yeah?” His grip on my chin tightens. “What if I want to put them to work?”

I lick my bottom lip as my breathing shallows, giving Harry the opportunity to press his thumb into the small bowl of salt and brush it along my bottom lip. “I’d say you talk a lot for someone who hasn’t made a move yet.”

Harry’s eyes darken as he leans in, flicking his tongue along my bottom lip and tasting the salt. Reaching for one of the last two shots that he ordered, I watch as he pours the liquid into his mouth before using his thumb to pull on my bottom lip in a silent request.

Running my tongue along my lower lip and opening my mouth for him, I can’t even be bothered to be surrounded by other people or the sound that comes from the back of my mouth when he spits the liquor onto my waiting tongue.

Grabbing the lime and holding it against the skin of my throat, I’m almost embarrassed by the whimper that falls from my lips when he squeezes the wedge and his warm tongue catches the juice as it rolls down the column of my throat as I swallow.

“That’s right… Swallow for me, pretty girl.”

I can barely register his words before his lips are on mine and I can taste the flavor on his tongue as it finds mine, one of his hands sliding back into the waves at the nape of my neck and the other slipping just under the hem of my skirt and past the dark leaves of my costume.

He kisses me hard and with no abandon, as if he wants nothing more than to devour me. Leaning closer to him and hooking my finger into the waistband of his pants, I moan lightly when his teeth drag across my bottom lip.

“I need to get you alone.” He mumbles, his hand sliding along the inside of my thigh as his fingertips dance across my skin. “Need you on your knees while I watch those lips wrap around me.

I gasp when he drops his lips to my neck, nipping and sucking my skin. “There’s a private bathroom in the office— fuck, down the hall.”

Leaving the last shot, Harry takes my hand and pulls me towards the hallway that leads us in the right direction. With his arms wrapping around my body from behind, once we stop just long enough for me to punch in the code for the keypad I can feel him hard and ready behind me.

“If you don’t hurry, I’m going to take you right fucking here.” Nipping my earlobe, Harry plays with the hem of my skirt as his hand grips my throat and turns my head to the side, giving him more access. “How many ways are you going to let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“Fuck.” Punching the last number into the keypad, when it beeps twice and I turn the handle, it opens easily.

We barely make it into the room and slam the door before Harry turns on me, pressing my body into the door and pressing his thigh between my legs, pinning me in place.

His mouth is on mine in a messy and hungry kiss all while his hands take their time exploring my body. From my breasts to my ass, not one place goes unnoticed by his skilled hands.

“This fucking costume.” Bringing the skin at the base of my throat between his teeth only to soothe it with his tongue, I shiver when he drags his finger along the top of the ivy, digging behind it enough to trace my skin. “People think that it’s so bright on stage and that I can’t see, but I do — I fucking see everything.”

Kissing under my jaw, his hands work the hooks that line the front of the top, one by one. “Tell me what you saw, Harry.

“You want to know?” Dragging his tongue across the swell of my breasts, I reach up and run my nails across his scalp, making him moan. “I saw you, dressed in this—“ Releasing the last button and letting the top of the corset fall to the floor, Harry cups both of my breasts and squeezes them, pinching each nipple at the same time. “I watched you dance, seeing your perfect ass sway from side to side like you didn’t give a single fuck that I was on that stage.”

Dropping down, Harry runs his tongue across the sensitive peak a moment before taking it between his teeth, pulling back enough to make me gasp. “I didn’t— I was more of a Niall girl—”

“Beautiful and bratty, huh?” His fingers find my throat as I smile, pressing into my skin just enough that my lips part on an exhale from the rush. “The only name that's going to come off your lips tonight is mine.”

“You seem so—.” My thoughts all but disappear when I feel Harry reach down and slip his hand under the tight material of my skirt after tracing the edge of the garter along my thighs.

Taking my nipple back into his mouth and teasing, he pulls back to look at me as his knuckle presses into my clit over the fabric of my underwear. “I seem so what, Chan? You won’t even tell me your name yet here you are — dripping down the inside of your thighs for me.”

“So full of yourself.” I finally get out. “Maybe you really are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Pushing the fabric aside, Harry doesn’t even pace himself, sliding two fingers deep inside of me and making me cry out as his thumb circles my clit with so much pressure it borders pain. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Harry—“ I moan.

Curling his fingers, I feel like my body is on overdrive as he works an orgasm out of my body quicker than even I’ve been able to do it. . “Come on my fingers for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Reaching out and gripping his shoulders, I can see the dark evergreen of his eyes just on the rim of his blown out pupils under the lights as his breath comes out shallow, the muscles under his skin flexing as he works me even harder through my orgasm.

Once my body loses all of the tension I tip forward into Harry’s arms with a laugh. “Jesus.”

“Yeah? That good?” He smirks as he wraps my hair around his fist. Once, twice. “Chan, I need to ask you something.”

I nod, my eyes the only things he’s focused on. “Now you want to ask questions?”

“I’m serious.” His nose brushes mine before he places a soft kiss to my lips, a complete contrast to the way he just coaxed a release from my body. “I need to know that if you don’t like something or you want me to stop that you’ll tell me, okay?”

I nod, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, taking my time to enjoy the way his tongue feels moving with mine. “I promise.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes burn into my features looking for any sign of hesitance.

“I’m sure.” Getting impatient, I nip his bottom lip. “Now, are you going to fuck me or stand here and be a gentleman all night? Which one is it?”

“Such a fucking mouth on you.” Flexing his hand in my hair and pulling tighter, there’s no option but for me to sink to my knees as Harry guides me. “I hope you know how to use it for more than just your attitude.”

Sitting back on my heels, I lick my lips. “Only one way to find out.”

“Go on then.” Nodding towards his straining cock beneath the fabric of his pants, he waits for me to undo the button. “Let me watch you choke on my cock so that you can’t talk back to me.”

When my hands finally free him, I whimper at the same time Harry’s groan fills the small office. Leaking with precome, I flick the tip of my tongue to collect the pearly drops.

“Pinch my thigh if it gets to be too much, yeah?” Using his hand that doesn’t still have my hair wrapped around his fist, he cups my jaw and runs his thumb across my cheek as I nod. “Be a good girl and open your mouth for me.”

Taking Harry into my mouth, I wish I could take a picture of how he looks from this angle. His head tilts back as a moan curves around his lips, I swear to god I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life. Pushing his hips forward slowly, I hollow my cheeks as I use my tongue to feel every single ridge and vein he has to offer me. My hands rest on his thighs as he drops his head down and meets my gaze.

“I’m going to go harder, is that okay?” With his cock still in my mouth, I nod. “Good fucking girl, good girl.”

Harry pushes his thighs even deeper, groaning at the feeling of his cock sliding down the back of my throat and making the muscles constrict around him from the intrusion. It feels like so much pressure and not enough at the same time as he repeats the action. Tears form in my waterline as I choke over and over, the tears spilling out onto my cheeks.

“See how good you're taking my cock down your pretty little throat?” Sliding his hand from my cheek, I moan around him as his hand rests across my throat. “Fuck, are you going to swallow for me?”

I choke once more, nodding.

“Good.”

It’s one word that precedes his release, one that I make good on my promise and swallow every drop of.

Once Harry pulls back, I take a deep breath and look up to him for only a moment before he pulls me to my feet and spins us around. Lifting me up and sitting me onto the desk, stepping between my legs and tracing his fingers over the edges of the ivy still wrapped around me.

Instantly his lips are on mine, groaning at his own tastes as he reaches between my legs and pushes the material of the leather skirt up, his fingers finding the sensitive nerve at the apex of my thighs as my hips roll forward to meet the friction.

“Are you this wet for me?” Lips ghosting over mine, his fingers find my nipple, pinching. “Do you want a taste?”

“Yes, please.” I say, looking into his eyes as he brings his fingers up, smearing the arousal across my bottom lip before kissing me again.

It’s impossible not to feel crazed as his hands fall to my thighs and push up my skirt, watching as it bunches up around my hips. “Lay back for me.”

Placing his hand in the center of my chest, I fall back onto the desk and whimper when I feel his warm lips leaving lingering kisses along the inside of my thighs.

“Look at you, so willing to let me do whatever I want with you tonight. I don’t even want to unwrap this pretty package you’ve put on for me.” His breath ghost across my center, the anticipation making me feel like I could explode at any minute. “I guess I got lucky— finding you on a night where you want to listen. A night where you want to be told what to do. Am I right?”

Harry doesn’t give the time to formulate an answer, his tongue immediately pressing into my clit before sucking it into his mouth. The action takes me by surprise as my back arches off the desk and my hands search for anything to hold onto.

Dragging patterns across the nerve, I cry out his name as he devours me like he’s never done before. As he releases my clit, his tongue finds my entrance and makes a languid path through my arousal before reaching the place I want him the most.

Up and down.

Side to side.

The stimulation makes my thighs shake as he tugs my hips toward him until my ass hangs off the desk and he pulls my dripping cunt even further into his face.

“Harry, fuck.” My hands flip, nails digging into the wood of the desk no doubt leaving marks. “Right there, fuck. I’ve never— never been so close so fast—“

Pushing myself up to my elbows, I let my head roll back as Harry rolls my clit between his teeth before pulling back, delivering a harsh slap to my outer thigh.

“Do you want to come for me?” Pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, he raises a brow in my direction and smirks when I nod. “If you want to come for me— if you’re going to scream my name— you’re going to watch me as you do it. You’re going to watch me devour you like my last meal, do you understand?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod, resisting the urge to roll my head back when he immediately finds my clit and brings two fingers to my entrance, pushing them in and finding my g-spot.

“Harry.” His name falls off my lips like a prayer as he keeps his eyes on mine. “Please, please let me come. I need it, I—

I feel it as my body gives into the pleasure Harry so willingly gives.

My back arches, my breast pushing up into the air and not even a sound is able to pour from my mouth. Reaching out to grasp something and knocking a cup of pens onto the floor behind me, I cry out.

“Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” Standing up, Harry looks down at me as he fists his cock in his hand. “I need to be inside of you right fucking now.”

“Condom?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

Harry reaches behind him and grabs his wallet, pulling one out and ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on his length. “Tell me what you want? Hard? Soft?”

“Give me what nobody else can, don’t fucking hold back.” I grit out, feeling him run his cock along my clit. “Prove to me that you can fuck as good as everyone thinks you can.”

Harry smiles down at me only a moment before thrusting his hips forward, burying himself as deep as possible, making me scream out for him. “How’s that for a start? You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Harry!” I cry. “I need it just like that, so deep.”

Pulling his hips back, Harry leans over to kiss me as he thrusts again, the power behind it pushing the desk forward an inch. “Yeah? You like feeling like this? Feeling so fucking full that you can’t stand it. Fuck, you take my cock so fucking well, so fucking well.”

“You’re so big, shit.” I moan, my head lolling to the side as his hands spread across my waist and grip me before slamming into me. “God. It feels so— so fucking good.”

“You can take it.” Harry moans above me, his eyes going back and forth between my face to where he disappears inside of me, watching as I take every inch of him. “It feels like this was made for me. So tight, so warm.”

“Please, I need more—“

At my words alone, Harry pulls out and pulls me off the desk and turns me around. Pressing his hand between my shoulder blades, he bends me over the desk before pushing my skirt back up around my waist and grips the waistband to hold me in place.

“Is this what you wanted?” Peering at him over my shoulder, I open my mouth on a breathless moan when his hand cracks across the left side of my ass — quickly followed by the right. “Did you need me to fuck you from behind so I could spank you like this? Huh?”

I feel Harry as he slowly pushes his hips forward, filling me. Listening to his moans as they bounce off the walls, my own whimpers mix with the sound. Gripping my hips, he takes his time as he works so slow — each inch more agonizing than the last before his hips press against my ass.

“Are you going soft on me back there?” Looking at him over my shoulder, I smirk when fire flashes behind his eyes. “Is the guy from the bar all of a sudden gone?”

Harry rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, shaking his head before raising his hand and delivering a harsh slap, one that’s sure to leave his handprint behind.

“I know you fucking like that, don’t you? You’re squeezing my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.” Fingers digging into my hips, I moan when he pulls me back onto his cock and buries himself even deeper. “Tell me — tell me I'm the best you’ve ever had.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, I try to ground myself as Harry brushes against my g-spot with every single thrust, the pull in the base of my spine getting so strong that I don’t know how much longer I'll be able to hold out.

“I’ve neve been fucked like this.” I cry. “Nobody has ever, ever made me feel so fucking good.”

My eyes roll back as Harry presses his fingers against my clit and works them in time with his trusts, making me push up onto the tips of my toes in search of the release that isn’t far off.

“Like that, oh my god.” Panting, I meet him thrust for thrust as he fucks me harder and harder. “I'm so close.”

“Come on pretty poison girl, soak my cock for me.” Gripping the back of my neck, Harry presses me into the desk and gives me everything he has until my body gives up, releasing around him. “Fuck. you feel so good when you come around me like that. So damn good.”

Slowing his rhythm, Harry sweeps my hair off of my back and leans over me, pressing kisses up the curve of my spine. “Harry.”

“Yes?” His voice is soft as he presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You are incredible.”

“One more.” The words fall from my lips even though I know that I'm so fucked, that I know I won’t last much longer. “I want one more.”

Stopping his movements, I feel Harry chuckle. “You think you can handle me again?”

“I want to see you.” I say, my eyes darting toward the door of the bathroom. “Let me watch you come undone over me.”

Harry grins as he pulls out, the loss of him more than I expected. “I never would have guessed the woman in the crowd would be able to fuck me so well.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate people, Harry.” I walk in front of him, listening to the way he moans when he sees my own release dripping down the inside of my thighs. “Do you like what you see?”

“Fuck.” Running his hand through his curls. He looks freshly fucked and I can’t wait to finish him. “Let me see you.”

Stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light, the sleek and modern design is perfect. Turning, Harry steps close and finds my lips with his, taking his time to kiss me as his hands once again wander my body.

When he takes my nipple into his mouth, I let my head tilt back. “Come on. Give me what I want.”

“So fucking needy.” Harry responds, turning me around and pinning me against the counter. “Bend over, you pretty slut.” Pressing my ass out and shaking it from side to side, I cry out when Harry strikes his palm across each cheek. “How many?”

The tone in his voice makes me moan. “Fuck.”

“I said—“ Cracking down his palm again, he steps up behind me, pushing just his tip inside of my throbbing center. “How many.”

“Until you think I’ve had enough.”

I arch my back when he thrusts forward, his hand connecting with my ass even harder. “What if I never get enough. huh?”

“Harry—“

“What if I'm starting to think one night isn’t enough for me?” He thrusts so deep and I’m so sensitive that it feels so good, I clench around him. “Fuck, when you grip my cock like that I never want to leave — I could fuck you all damn night.”

I moan as I meet his gaze in the mirror, looking at the tattoos on his arms as he slides his hands up my back, gripping my shoulders and pulling me back onto his cock. “Don’t say that.”

“What? Don’t say that I want you?” Bringing his palm against my skin, his gaze locks on mine. “This— fuck, this isn’t normal.”

“What?” I ask, biting my bottom lip and letting my head fall forward. “What isn’t—”

“Feeling like this after one night.” Thrusting into me so hard that I scream, I feel tears in my eyes over the way my body feels ready to give into him again. “I’ve never had sex like this, never fucked anyone this good.”

I let my head fall to the side as my cheek presses against the cool counter, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing through the small room. “That’s because you've never been with someone like me before.”

“Fuck—“ Harry is relentless as he searches for his release. “I need you to come for me again, please.”

Begging me, his eyes are hazy as he looks at me, gaze looking with mine until with one thrust, my body shatters around his. “Harry!”

“Oh, shit—“

I watch as his head rolls back and his body stills for just a moment before his hips slowly guide in and out of me, riding us through the orgasms we’ve given each other.

“There you go, pretty girl.” Running his hands up and down my back. I take a deep breath. “You’re so fucking good. So good, Chan.”

I take a deep breath as I try to center myself. “Harry, that was—“

Resting his forehead between my shoulder blades, his warm breath skates across my skin. “I didn’t know it would be like that when I saw you tonight, the woman dressed with ivy across her body— that the vines would wrap around me and pull me in.”

“I don’t know why you’re the surprised one.” I say, wetting my lips. “You’re the one that showed up here. How?”

Harry pulls out, a whimper falling from my lips at the loss of him. “I don’t know… I wanted to get a drink somewhere where I wouldn’t feel like Harry Styles — I wanted to go somewhere small and local.”

“And you ended up here?” I ask, looking up at him from under my lashes.

Grabbing a hand towel, Harry presses a kiss to my temple before running it under warm water and hoisting me onto the counter, laughing as I wince.

“I ended up here.” He smiles as he reaches his hand between my legs, kissing me when I gasp as he runs the warm cloth over my sensitive clit.

We both look at each other and it’s almost like Harry can’t help it when he leans down to kiss me, taking his time as his hands come up to cup my cheeks.

“Let’s get you dressed, okay?” He speaks the words against my lips but makes no move to let me off the counter to grab my top. “Maybe in a few minutes.”

I laugh. “Come on, we have to get out of here before someone comes in.”

“I hope they do.” kissing down the side of my neck, Harry rests his forehead against my collarbone. “I need everyone to know I was with you — that you’ve been fucked you harder than you ever have in your life.”

Resting my hand in the middle of his chest, I push him backwards and hop off the counter on shaky legs, Harry laughing as he rests his hands on my hips to guide me back into the office.

“Here, let me help you.” It’s a sweet gesture to see a man like him help me back into my top, watching as he uses all of his concentration to make sure every hook gets fastened properly while he doesn’t disturb the leaves.

“Thank you… For tonight.” I say, looking over his features. “I really had a good time.”

Harry smiles and brushes a lock of hair from off my face. “I did too.”

I give him one last smile, reaching for the door handle.

Before I turn it, Harry reaches for my hand, turning me and pressing me into the door one last time, finding my lips with his own.

Unlike most of the kisses tonight, this one is so slow, so gentle.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but I need to be able to see you again — I don't know what my brain is doing to me, but I just know that I need it.” The look in his eyes is so full of hope, so soft. “I’ll understand if you say no.”

“Here.” I hold my hand out, hoping he gets the hint.

When he does, he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. I easily put my name and number in before giving it back to him, watching his lips curl up with a grin.

“Channing?” Looking from his phone to me, I smile as my hand grips the doorknob and finally push it open.

I wink at him as I step out into the hall. “It’s me.”

He steps forward and grips my hip one last time. bringing his lips down to mine.

“It’s you.”

💖

[lovesosweeet]

better left unsaid // cth

chapter two

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

chapter zero, one

july 13, 2018

los angeles, california

calum

-

When we wrap up our final rehearsal for the week, the boys and I are both hyped for tour and drained from the whole thing before it’s even started. We’re all sweaty and eager to go home, yet we can’t manage to actually say goodbye to each other in the parking lot at our rehearsal facility.

It’s funny, seven years of spending practically every minute with these guys and I still find myself wanting to spend more time with them. I guess that’s family.

“What’s on the agenda for you and O tonight, Cal?” Ashton asks and leans against his car. He’s probably the sweatiest out of all of us, but to be honest, we’re all drenched.

I can’t help but smile when I think of her. “She’s been feeling kinda sick lately, so I was just gonna grab some ramen from that place near our apartment and we’ll just take an easy night in.”

“Ah, right before tour? Better not catch whatever she’s got,” Mike quips. “Maybe you should quarantine from each other.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not quarantining from my girlfriend two weeks before I leave her for four months, especially not when she feels like shit.”

Mike mouths “whipped” to me before Luke intervenes. I pretend to whack Mike over the head and ruffle his hair. I know he’s just kidding, but he’s not wrong, so I wouldn’t actually care if he wasn’t.

“Alright, alright, cut it out you two. I’m calling it—let’s all go home now. See you on Monday morning.” Luke doesn’t wait for any of us to reply before he gets into his car and slams the door behind himself.

The rest of us laugh at his quick departure from the conversation but also take it as the end for us all. Mike and Ash give me a sweaty half hug before we’re all clambering into our own cars, mine the shittiest by far. This tank goes through gas at a rate that may honestly be illegal in California, but it’s my car and I love it. Besides, it runs. I get from point A to point B—what else do I need?

Orion. Ramen. That’s what I need.

The journey back to the heart of LA, including the pit stop at O’s favorite vegan ramen shop, takes me about an hour and a half. Actually, I guess it’s her second favorite. There was one in Madrid that she went to all the time that had a Winnie the Pooh sign, so naturally it became her favorite. That one was also far cheaper than any of the options in LA.

I park my shitty Jeep in the parking garage, next to her less shitty but equally beat up Honda Civic. The girl hits curbs and “bonks” other cars as she parallel parks all the time. Naturally that’s taken a toll on her car.

I swipe my fob to enter the building and nod to the security officer in the lobby.

If it weren’t for Orion going to UCLA, I probably wouldn’t live in such a central location, for safety reasons. When we decided to move in together, I didn’t want her to have to drive over an hour stuck in traffic to go to campus every day. Going from living on campus and being able to run to class 5 minutes before it starts is a big shift from living in an apartment, so I wanted it to be as easy as possible for her.

Thus, we live in a super secure building in Santa Monica with 24/7 onsite officers and fob entry for the parking garage and the building.

I take the elevator up to our floor and feel myself start to get giddy at the excitement of coming home to her. It’s so silly—we live together, have been together for two years, and yet I still get nervous to see her.

When I open the door to the apartment, Duke is waiting for me and I hear the sounds of a show playing on the TV in the living room.

“I come bearing gifts,” I call out and set our food on the entryway table while I kick off my shoes.

I’m met with silence.

“O, where are you?”

More silence.

I start walking through our home, looking for signs of life, but end up finding her curled up in a massive blanket on the couch, sleeping. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is dirty, pulled into a messy knot on top of her head. She looks adorable, but she must still feel kind of sick. She had gone to the doctor today since she keeps getting these bugs, constantly having a fever and feeling sick, then feeling better, but then the sickness comes back a few weeks later.

I carefully crawl onto the couch and gently lift her legs to lay across my lap, trying not to wake her up, but just wanting to be closer to her. My efforts are fruitless and she stirs, her eyes cracking open sleepily. When she sees me, she smiles.

“Hi,” she says quietly. “How was rehearsal?”

My shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Same old. How’re you feeling? Did the doctor have anything helpful?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Not really, they took some blood samples and stuff to send off to a lab. They think it’s just a bug, maybe a weakened immune system for whatever reason—they said the blood test could help indicate a bunch of different things.”

I frown. She’s been feeling kinda crappy every few weeks for months now. “I’m sorry they don’t have an answer yet. I brought you ramen.”

And just like that, there’s life in her face and light in her eyes while she beams at me. “You’re the best ever.”

Orion sits up and scoots closer to me and lazily drapes her arms over my shoulders. Her brown eyes gaze into mine and she gives me a quick kiss, pulling away too soon for my liking.

“Just one? I brought you noodles!”

She giggles — my favorite sound — and then she’s kissing me again, her lips smooth and soft with her favorite lip balm. It’s birthday cake flavored and she’s gifted me a few tubes whenever she makes me random gift baskets. I’ve gotten shit from the guys for it since it has glitter in it, but who wouldn’t want to think of their girl every time they put on a layer of lip balm?

“Thank you for bringing me noodles.”

“Anything for you,” I say, giving her another kiss. She beams her bright smile at me and then rests her forehead on my shoulder while pulling me into a hug. “Want to eat and then we can take a shower?”

“That may be the best idea you’ve ever had,” Orion says, pulling me even closer to her than I already am, trying to get rid of any space there is between us.

—

A few hours later, we’re back on the couch, the sunset shining into our place through the windows, casting a warm glow over the entire space. We’re all tangled up in a mess of limbs and blanket and pillows; Orion is playing some silly game on her phone and I’m half paying attention to an episode of Brooklyn 99 on the TV. I know I have two more weeks here, but I can’t help but dread the thought of leaving Orion for months at a time. With her classes and our minimal breaks on this tour, we probably won’t get to see each other at all until after the tour is over.

We started out long distance, sort of, since we weren’t in the same place the whole time but saw each other frequently, but we haven’t been touring since the Sounds Live, Feels Live Tour ended a year and a half ago, so we haven’t really had to deal with being apart. I’m not worried about going long distance—Orion and I are stronger and happier than ever. I’m really just going to miss her… so much.

I’m thankful that tour is so crazy busy usually, so the time apart should fly by, and we’ll be having a great time playing shows every night and exploring different cities and meeting all the fans. I just wish O could come with us, but I’d never ask her to take a semester off. Her education is so important to her and I admire her for it, but I do almost want her to try a semester off now. Once she’s done with undergrad and is in law school, she definitely won’t be able to visit on tour, but that’s a problem for future us, I suppose.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but mine is already growing fonder from a mere few inches away. I don’t need more distance.

“What are you thinking about?” Orion’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts.

“No thoughts,” I say, tracing circles on her back. “Head empty.”

She chuckles, but I feel her gaze boring into my face, studying me. “Don’t lie. I know you zoned out.”

I swear sometimes she knows me better than I know myself. Every gift she buys me is completely her own idea—she’s never once asked for ideas or guidance and it’s always something I didn’t know existed but I needed or something I simply needed or wanted. She remembers everything I’ve ever liked at every restaurant we have been to and she knows every word to our songs, which I can’t even say I do. She can tell when I’m drained from being around people and will offer for us to leave before I’ve even had a chance to realize I’m ready to go.

Seen. Known. Loved. I’ve never felt more love from anyone than I have felt from Orion.

“Nothing, really, just being sad about leaving you for a few months,” I reply. When I look down at her, she’s pouting at me with sad eyes.

“Stop being sappy,” she goes. She then rolls her eyes. “It’s not gonna be fun at all to tour the world with your best friends and perform music you wrote to thousands of adoring fans and fulfill your lifelong dream.”

This time I roll my eyes. “Of course it’ll be fun, but that doesn’t mean I can’t miss you at the same time!”

“Even if you were here, I’ll be so wrapped up in LSAT prep and law school apps and classes, you wouldn’t get to spend much time with me anyway.” I know she’d be busy, but we’d be in the same space, sharing the same air, sleeping in the same bed. She’s right though, just the amount of LSAT prep she’s been doing with some of the other kids on the pre-law track over the summer took up an insane amount of her time.

Oh, Orion. Even though she lives her life through emotion and feeling, she still somehow can be logical and rational when it counts, almost to a fault.

“I’m still gonna miss you, so, so much,” I clarify. We lock eyes, and I know that we both know that it’ll be a bittersweet few months apart.

“You won’t miss me. I’ll be just as annoying as I am normally, just from a distance. I can promise you that!”

I crack a smile. “Oh yeah, you’re so annoying. Leaving your contacts on the side of the sink and using the espresso machine at ungodly early hours of the day. Always texting me to bring you a snack between classes. Giving Duke a kiss before me when you get home. Honestly, I can’t stand you.”

She scoffs and lightly taps her hand against my face in a mock slap. “Wow, so you’re leaving me and insulting me all in the same breath? Hit me while I’m down, why don’t you?”

“Hey, you called yourself annoying. I’m just supporting you here.”

“Fine, I’ll stop bringing you coffee in bed then.”

“Wait, no, no, no, I take it all back, please use the espresso machine while I’m still asleep.”

Orion looks at me with her big brown eyes, so round and gleaming with light, staring at me with pure adoration. “I’m gonna miss you.”

I gasp. “I thought you just said that won’t be happening!”

“Oh my god, just stop talking and kiss me!” She laughs and flips over so our chests are pressed together and I can pull her even closer.

read chapter three

—

a/n: hi hi. idk what i’m doing here getting back into writing is hard :’) happy friday folks

[curedeity]

Shogun Steel Episode 4:

-its time to have to deal with kite. Pray for my sanity.

-i love marus excited pose

-zyro explicitly asking shinobu to come along on the training trip is an adorable scene they robbed us of

-"beyblade is fun" "youre kidding" in this show apparently

-shinobu has a deeper voice than benkei

-maru better have lied to them and switched the lap number once. You know she did.

-they both hate losing. Game nights with this gang must be fun

-maru push them off the cliff for daring to contradict her. She couldve. I wish

-okay these twos conversations are actually really stiff right now. I hope they get better because right now its honestly a bit tough to listen to them

-zyro stop insulting benkeis burgers!!!!! Thats illegal!!!!

-maru and eight should pit their older brothers against each other more often

-"kite unabara. They say hes really good but never looked at his outfit in a mirror. Kinda like you zyro"

-honestly maru is the one who humiliated eight and it would be way funnier if kite tried to battle maru only to be hit with the fact shes five and he thus has no idea what to do.

-i really want to know what sort of mathematics they think kite is doing. Are they linear, polynomial, matrix, probability?? And what probability model is he using? Do i actually care? No

-none of these characters have poker faces

-maru how did you not see it was a defense type earlier??? Maru whered your competence go

-honestly id love a mathematical character where theyre just spouting bullshit and they know it. Thatd be me.

-im trying to think of something lukewarm to say about kite but honestly his character is just annoying for me. He has zero maturity. Hes being pretty easy to ignore though, thankfully for me

-synchrome time!

-guys. Guys. Hear me out. Maru and zyro synchrome. I know what im doing when i finish this series now.

-efrit finally causes some property damage in this series!!!! I was waiting for shit to break!!!!

-summary: maru got to be silly this episode so obviously a 10/10 for me but zyros battle with kite was pretty uninteresting. Eight shined this episode though as annoying as he is at least he got small moments of character depth. The beginning of this episode is honestly something i remember as one of my favorite parts of this series and that hasnt changed.

[windblooms]

childe scenario – after the golden house

you, an ex-fatui executive, decide against your better judgment and tend to the wounds of the near-dead 11th harbinger following his duel at the golden house.  spoilers for the 1.1 archon quest.

gender-neutral reader.  enemies to lovers  soft spot syndrome.  sfw, but contains mentions of blood/injury.  also childe briefly in foul legacy armor.  canon-divergence.  2669 words (nice).  

with the fatui’s nails so deep into the city, staying in liyue probably wasn’t your brightest idea in retrospect.  

you blame your sentimentality of liyue on the exact same thing that caused you to leave the fatui in the first place: wanting to live without fear.  while the fatui treated you well enough, as you were considerably efficient in your ranks, being part of a partially underground, partially illegal business wasn’t exactly the most liberating practice either.  it didn’t take long for you to realize that, behind their scheming and pretenses of fair economics, the fatui would have their underlings wound so incredibly tight around their fingers that their violent tasks would rapidly become suffocating. 

that is, once you were in the fatui, getting out would be akin to scaling qingyun peak with one arm tied behind your back.

the only reason you were able to?  because you ran.  you were desperate for a new life, sure, but also you weren’t below realizing when something was out of the question.  it took a few months to shake them off your trail, having to move constantly between fontaine and mondstadt, but you finally settled in liyue.

it was a quiet, peaceful city.  the governing body was fair enough with its jurisdictions, and after a year of hiding, you were able to enjoy the lantern rite festival without fear.

that is, until the northland bank sat its obnoxious ass down the street.

archons, really, once you found a place you thought was safe enough, you’d have to start moving again.  initially, you reasoned that it had been over a year, and that the fatui surely wouldn’t go hunting for a runaway executive.  hell, you weren’t even that high on the ladder.  however, a few run-ins with scaramouche and pulcinella had left you paranoid enough that, if they spotted you, they would surely put an end to your traitorism. 

honestly, you should’ve ratted them out to the knights of favonius while you were in mondstadt.  make a quick bargain, have jean toss a few coins your way, and you would be set.  it would’ve definitely been worth the trouble, now with the knowledge that the fatui were your neighbors.  

now, there’s no time to dwell on what you could’ve done.  it’s either run again, or hold your ground right under the fatui’s nose.  you might, sort of, maybe, probably do not have the funds to move for the third time in a row, but maybe counting couldn’t hurt –

no, yeah, it hurts, you grimace as you slide the coin bag back in your bedside drawer.  outside, it’s dark, and the sky seems a bit more disturbed than usual.  it isn’t usually overcast in liyue, and the blue lightning does nothing to quell your unease.  the streets are also empty, but lights illuminate each building.

from your window, a quick glance towards the northland bank reveals to you that it is uncharacteristically dark.  no lanterns, no lights.  you frown, troubled that the individuals you were so alert to monitoring, had a lifeless stronghold.  not typical of them at all. 

so, you decide while your long-time enemies are plotting (or whatever they’re doing that prompts them to close an entire bank for), now might be the best time to potentially make a run for it, light coin bag be damned.

hastily, you rid your apartment of personal belongings by unceremoniously shoving them into your bag.  if it’s one thing you were grateful for in this world, it’s archon magic.  you don’t fuss over the science behind it, but whatever made your bag feel like a bottomless pit was an actual life-saver.  packing is extremely efficient with it, and in less than fifteen minutes, you’re ready to go.

all that’s left is to write a thank-you note to the liyuen couple who let you stay while their son was out exorcising.  at the time, they assured you that you would be no trouble for you to take up a guest room, but nonetheless you tried to pay them with whatever you had left over after commissions.

you grab a writing utensil, still feeling a bit rude to leave on such short notice, and swear to yourself that you’ll visit in the future.  for good measure (after sullenly looking into your coin bag), you leave an acceptable(-ish) amount of mora on your former bed.

all right.  now, time to leave, with your foot out the door and wind scratching at your face, as if the odd overhead weather wasn’t already an omen.

you’re barely past liyue harbor, headed towards the luhua pools, when a comet shoots above you past mount tianheng.  no, not a comet, you realize as it dips from the sky, headed for landfall around a kilometer away.  a comet of water?

if a dead northland bank wasn’t the nail in the coffin, this surely is.  you’ve been around enough in the fatui to know that whatever fell from the sky has to be the work of a vision user, or some more powerful being.  turning towards where you estimate to be the crash site, you weigh your options.  you’re already outside of the city, and the fatui are probably preoccupied.  you can manage a detour for now and inspect the hydro-apparition.  regardless, you deem that the farther away you are from the water you are, the safer you might be from what’s about to happen – you look back towards liyue harbor, and nearly shudder at the rising tide and choppy waves. 

after about fifteen minutes of walking in the rain, you find yourself between the slope of the dunyu ruins and mount tianheng.  it’s vacant, save for the weathered ruins, and a sizable crater meters wide.  cautiously, you approach the edge, summoning your sword with one hand and conjuring your vision in the other.  you’re not going to let curiosity kill the cat, especially not if this turns out to be a prank by the archons.

in the center of the mess is, well, another mess.  you blink a few times, wary, as you discern that an individual lies in the rubble.  they’re actually conscious, you soon find out, as they righten themselves from the fetal position into a kneel, supporting their body weight with their arms.  their body is covered head-to-foot in dark, purple armor, and a red mask with a broken, center orb gleams faintly in the night.

it is only when you the individual looks up at you, straight at your head, do you realize that you should not be here this was a bad idea –

and then they collapse.

“shit,” you murmur to yourself, vision still pulsing in your palm, which has become increasingly sweaty.  you step back from the edge as an orb of water surrounds the armored-being, encasing him like a cocoon, before dissipating to reveal a much more vulnerable, tired man underneath.  his hair is matted to his face from the rain, yet a much smaller mask rests on his eyes; his clothes are somewhat torn (you suspect that whatever had happened, his armor absorbed most of the damage), and you can very faintly see his chest heave. 

but, ah, speaking of his clothes,

they were the colors of the fatui.

“no, no, bad idea,” you tell yourself over and over again, sword put away yet vision still bouncing in your hands.  you walk away from the crater briefly, before walking towards it again, peaking down to check on the fallen man, and then scamper back.  the whole idea was to run away, not go straight to them, as if you had managed to doom yourself after all.  

pacing back and forth, you contemplate for another minute.  he’s clearly injured, with how he’s laying on the ground and not moving, so the nice, not-so-hardened part of you wants to help him.  if he was a regular civilian, surely you’d already be down there and trying to take him back to liyue and patch him up, but he’s with the enemy.  no way someone who can transform into armor is just an underling, so he’s probably someone exceptionally powerful –

“i see you,” a voice comes from the crater, and your vision nearly explodes in your hands from your nerves.  summoning your sword quicker than you ever have in your life, you steel yourself towards the bottom of the crater.

except, he’s not holding a weapon to your face, or threatening to skewer you into a million pieces.  except, he’s not scowling at you, or demanding you assist him at once before he blows something up.

instead, he’s on his knees.  looking up at you with the desperation of a man completely robbed, crippled from something he can’t speak of yet wants to scream about.  his eyes, now free from the mask, pierce into you with a vividness that could rival the richest hues of luhua, and archons damn it do you melt. 

you melt, and realize you should run away.  you melt, all while cursing yourself, that this man might not be so kind as to spare you in the future, when he’s back at his full health.  you melt, thinking that, well, you haven’t seen him before, so maybe he doesn’t know who you are either.  you melt, even as you extinguish your vision and put away your sword, and slide to the bottom of the crater to lug his limp body back to the top, to the shelter of the ruins, and rummage through your bag for medicine.

he hasn’t said anything for the past ten minutes, and you’re thankful that there’s finally someone from the fatui who can keep their mouth shut, even if this is half-beaten to death.  “you’re not dying on me,” you insist, as if your words could will him back to full consciousness.  “not when i’m risking my life for someone like you.”

as you work on bandaging his arm, out of the corner of your eye you swear you see his mouth twitch.  is he trying to speak?  no, you want some silence for a bit longer, but pause as you notice a gash on his torso.

“this is medically consensual, okay?”  you wait two seconds to see if he objects, before unbuttoning the lower part of his coat and applying pressure on the wound.  the blood has soaked through his clothes, and just as eagerly, seeps into the cloth you’re shoving against it.  the man stirs as you continue to clean his wounds, and when his eyes open, you’re too preoccupied with your short supply of towels to notice.

when you’re aware of a gaze on you, however, you turn towards him with a hardened face.  you already know what you’re going to say.  even if he doesn’t know who you are, you’re going to make it clear that, for your own satisfaction, you won’t help him back to liyue and he’ll have to make the walk himself.

“you were out there,” you say simply, motioning towards the crater with a nod of your head.  “i’ll patch you up, but you’ll have to get further help yourself.”

the man with eyes of the deep regards you, but you busy yourself by applying gauze.  he’s propped up against a pillar, and you’re crouching at his side.  when you’re about finished, only then do you meet his eyes.

he beats you to whatever you’re about to say.  “i didn’t think,” he starts, and you’re already frowning, “that you’d come back.”

ah, referencing when you practically left him in the crater.  his words are vague enough when he says that you ‘came back’ that you aren’t too tense, and you indulge him in a bit of silence before responding.  “not like i’m used to rescuing people who fall from the sky.”

despite his injuries, the man manages a laugh.  he seems almost flustered at your statement, although you can’t understand why.  underneath his soaked bangs, his eyebrows rise, and he seems almost . . . nervous?  you can’t possibly fathom as to why, but dismiss your curiosity.  the more small talk he coerces you into, the longer you’ll spend with him.

you finish sealing the gauze, tossing the roll back into your bag before commanding it to disappear.  blood has soaked into the ground at his sides, also you’re sure that it’ll was away with time.  you’re about to stand up, satisfied with your good-samaritan duties for the day, when he stops you by locking his fingers around your wrist.

he’s in the middle of saying something, but you refuse to let him, drawing your sword and pointing it directly at his throat, his mouth agape as he releases his hold on you.  you consider each other, and when you’re certain you have the upper hand, you draw your line.

you spit the words like venom.  “do not touch me, fatui.  i’ve done what i can for you, and you won’t be getting anything else from me.”

your blade doesn’t lower from his form, and as you stand above him, you regard his hands, as if he might summon his own weapons in an instant.  if he’s smart (which you think he is yet simultaneously pray he isn’t), he’s probably plotting how to get out of your sword’s reach.  you’re not going to let him, after you’ve been so self-sacrificing, putting your life on the line for someone affiliated with the organization that suffocated the life out of you.

a tilt of the head, yet silence from his mouth.  he seems surprised that, while you allowed him to laugh mere moments earlier, you’re now pointing your weapon at him, although something in the ease of his facial features tells you that he’s not concerned in the slightest.

“i wanted to say thank you,” he breathes finally, and you look as if he’d just punched you in the gut.  “being in your position probably isn’t easy, and i’m the last one you wanted to see, but you still . . . ”

fuck, no, not this.  you don’t know if he’s a prophet, if he knows who you really are, or the ‘i’m on the run’ stamp on your forehead is that obvious, but you aren’t going to fall for the fatui’s words.  your fists clench, and you once more prepare to denounce his organization,

and you’re disarmed in an instant, sword thrown to the side and fingers restricted by his larger grasp.  archons, you couldn’t even see him move, what a deceptive bastard, feigning injury –

“stop,” he hushes, and despite your fury you register it as a plea, not a command.  the man repeats himself, before continuing,  “we won’t haunt you any more; i’ll make sure of it.”

five seconds, then ten.  you had determined that his grip was too strong to break free of, and are left in no position to move unless he releases you.  he holds your gaze without a hint of malice, even though you try your hardest to find any in his eyes.  

when he does let go of you, fingers skimming past your flesh, you run faster than you ever have before.

you run, past the ruins, past the harbor, and until you can’t see liyue behind you any more.  you run, unable to see a palace fall from the sky and crash into the ocean, and until you’re surrounded by mountains and there’s not a ginkgo tree in sight.  you run, unsure if his words are true, but certain that he knows who you are.

you won’t trust him.  as you lay on the ground, wheezing to catch the air that’s left your lungs, you once again swear to yourself that you can’t trust the words of the fatui.  

as the northland bank lights ignite themselves in welcome of its master, childe presses a hand to his bandaged torso.  a spark of your vision lingers between his fingers, and he observes it before it disappears.

he’s already hurt enough people.  he heads to the second floor, and erases your name from the fatui files. 

[neonacity]

Chapter 10: Clytemnestra

Summary:

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings.

TW: violence, death, mentions of sex, drugs, and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here.

Chapter 9: In Memoriam

MASTERLIST

Fic Trailer

Chapter Music: I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw

----

"What did he say?"

My eyes scanned over the words written over the piece of paper for the last time. There isn't much there, but I feel like there's something crucial I was missing. I looked up at Taeyong and shook my head. 

"Nothing much. But he wanted me to meet up with him."

"Did he give you an address?"

"No. Which makes it all the more strange. Unless he is planning to send another letter?" I handed him the piece of paper which he quickly unfolded to read. A slight frown settled between his brows as he went over it. 

There were only two lines there, none of which really makes sense. 

I will be waiting. 

22:00. Black Daisies. 

"Do you have any idea what Black Daisies mean?" 

I shook my head, mirroring the same look of confusion on his face. I've been racking my brains about it for the past few minutes but couldn't think of anything that might be related to it. 

"I honestly have no idea. He wrote a time beside it… so I am assuming whatever Black Daisies is, it's a code for a place? I don't have any idea which location he is referring to though." 

Taeyong simply looked at me silently before finally folding the paper away. We were back in my room after he temporarily managed to save me from the barrage of questions I was sure the others wanted to ask when they found out the letter was addressed for me. 

Every day I feel like the line I'm toeing gets more and more dangerous. Like a high strung tight rope that's ready to give up under my footing.

"You're not going to him." 

I looked up to meet his eyes. 

"I wasn't planning to..." 

Taeyong's gaze didn't waver.

"Promise me."

"Why?"

"Because I know you'll change your mind in a heartbeat once he involves anyone you care about. So I need you to promise, even if he uses me or any of our friends."

My lips pursed and I evaded his gaze. I heard a soft shuffling of feet and felt my mattress dip as he sat beside me. Taeyong didn't need to touch me to affect me with his presence. After that brief moment of vulnerability that we shared earlier, something has shifted. I thought I will be able to put my walls up again just as easily as I took them down, but it seems like I was wrong. 

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Softer. 

"Promise me." 

"Is that an order from my leader?"

"No, it is a request from a friend." 

I turned to look at him and cocked my brow to diffuse the tension in the air. 

"You're ordering your noona around?" 

His lips quirked ever so slightly into a smile. 

"You're only one year older…"

"Hey. Emergency meeting."

"And seven months. One year and seven months. Don't forget that," I said, looking away.

A sharp knock on my door got our attention at that moment and we both looked up to see Doyoung standing on the threshold. He looked grim as he moved his gaze from Taeyong to me. 

-----

Jaehyun sat at the very back of the room that had filled up with all the members after Doyoung sent his urgent message. Everyone was scattered in the expansive space which seemed a little bit smaller now that WayV has joined, some sitting on the leather stools while others made do with the floor. Jungwoo and Taeil were deep in conversation beside him while Johnny and Yuta stood next to the door, flanking the entrance with their overwhelming presence. Being the main fighters of 127, it comes natural for the pair to be on the watch regardless if it's just an internal family meeting that's happening.

...Except this is not just an ordinary meeting. Jaehyun hasn't heard the full story from Doyoung yet after he came back from his business, but he has a pretty good idea of what the issue might be. Despite being just one of the crime families under the current Don's network, NCT does follow the traditional mafia ranking within its system. Doyoung works as the Consigliere to Taeyong's Capocrimine, taking over the responsibility of being the advisor and overall gatekeeper of NCT to the outside world. His connections give him access to normal society, which means if he calls for a meeting, it is probably an issue involving the "above ground." 

Taeyong walked in with an unreadable expression that made everyone fall silent in a heartbeat. He joined Doyoung in front of the room and looked over the crowd before finally speaking. 

"Has anyone here given any orders to their crew about stepping up any of our activities?"

The members exchanged confused looks between each other. Mark answered in lieu of Dream, Jeno looking just as confused beside him. 

"Not us. Why? What's up?"

Taeyong looked at Doyoung who grimly picked a folder on the table. The latter started reading the contents of it out loud into the room. 

"Heist in Dongjak district. The biggest bank there was ransacked last week. Cops also busted an illegal racing event last night. The other day, there was an ambush on one of the strip clubs at Guro. News came around that a new drug was being sold there after a rise of reported overdose deaths from it three days ago. Businesses that should be under our protection in Seocho are being ransacked despite them settling their tariff fees with us," Doyoung looked up from the paper he was reading and swept his gaze over the room. 

"That's just four of the 18 other cases that I got for the last week."

Everyone exchanged shocked looks with each other. Jeno decided to speak up, the expression on his eyes intense. 

"Hyung, it's not us. We haven't done any heists since you came back from Tokyo."

Doyoung gave a tight nod and looked over to Johnny and Yuta.

"The drugs in Guro?" 

"Not from us. The last ones we distributed are those we got from Japan and they're just psychedelic shots. They're clean." 

"WayV…?"

"We didn't bring any with us when we landed. Our jet can only fit the crates of armory we had to transport for you guys," Kun said with a frown. 

Taeyong ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. 

"Taeyong, what's happening?"

It was Doyoung who answered for him. 

"There was a rise of undocumented cases that were being fed to the cops in the past weeks. According to the reports, they were done by us." 

"What? That doesn't make any sense," Yuta said from his position by the door.

"It does make a lot of sense, actually. Obviously, we're hands off from all of these so they can only be done by the smaller gangs that we don't manage. And it all started after that announcement was made."

"But those rats wouldn't have any confidence to go against us. They're too small and disorganized to do this. And to even claim that they're NCT? That's just impossible."

"It is possible, if there is someone bigger asking them to act up," Taeyong answered grimly. Jaehyun watched as the man's gaze quickly flickered over to the pale female face sitting on the couch between Chenle and Renjun. That's when it clicked. 

Of course, Jihoon wouldn't be too lax to actually lie low after the bombing of Anarchy. That was just the start.

"Are you sure this isn't Wonho's doing?" Ten asked with concern. "We just got word from our network in Beijing that he was peddling women from kidnappings."

Jaehyun's attention snapped to the boy then at Doyoung and Taeyong at the mention of the name. A heavy feeling quickly started to gather on the pit of his stomach as he waited for their answer.

"That's an entirely different case altogether. But you’re right. The feds caught wind that he was trafficking kidnapped tourists and now they're after his ass." 

"Did he claim his case to be connected to us, too?"

"No. But because of all these other things happening, the police are definitely pinning everything on us."

"Shit," Lucas whispered loud enough for the good half of the room to hear. Jaehyun mirrored the same internally, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him. 

Shit indeed. 

This was all supposed to be a no brainer. He only needed to help the asshole get out of the country and then he can brush him off like dirt from his hands after. Why didn't he do it before things hit the fan? Now everything has become so much more complicated.

"How bad is it?" Taeil asked from Jaehyun's left. 

"Bad enough for us to be in the 8pm news. According to our moles, the Chief of Police is going to announce the manhunt for us tonight."

The room has gone so silent and still that the air felt suffocating. If there is one thing NCT is known for in the underworld, it is the group's efficiency and cleanliness when it comes to its operations. Every job done is spotless, every loophole covered. Until now. 

"Can't we pay off—" 

"We can't. We already tried reaching out to all our associates within the force but they can't do anything about it," Taeyong answered before Taeil could even finish the question. "The cases have reached the public and now there's an outcry from the community. Even the police are pressured to do something."

A round of murmurs swept over the room. Finally, one female voice broke through it to ask the question nobody wanted to say out loud. 

"What are we going to do?"

Taeyong's jaw tightened and he unclasped his arms crossed over his chest. 

"We need to track all those gangs doing these activities and put them in their place. It's going to be difficult to hunt each of them down with their size so we will need to use most of our resources here. Reach out to all the connections you could think of. We don't need more crimes being blamed on us."

Everyone's eyes were on Taeyong as the group waited for what he's going to say next. He stopped for a bit before finally speaking again. 

"And we kill Jihoon. This isn't going to stop until he's gone." 

Glances were exchanged within the room as his words sank in. Jaehyun didn't want to break the silence but he knew that he didn't have any other choice but to ask the next question. 

"And Wonho? What are we going to do with him?"

It was Doyoung who answered this time. 

"We'll kill him, too. We've given him way too many chances already. Once we get rid of him, we take the credit and let the cops know about it. Take them off our backs for a bit. We'll take care of him this week." 

It was fortunate that Jaehyun has mastered the art of keeping an unreadable facade. In his head, the words of the woman he loves echoed once again as the consequences of the situation mocked him. 

"No betrayal… or death of a brother shall be held against any of you." 

-----

Johnny threw his half finished cigarette on the gravelled road with a quick flick of his wrist. He scanned the length of the building from across the wall he is leaning on, gaze shadowed by the cap pulled low against his face. Of course, Jihoon would have the audacity and gall to choose a luxury apartment unit as his mistress' "hiding place" in Seoul. The motherfucker is one proud asshole, acting as if he owns any territory he steps on like the crazy psycho he is. 

He's not here for him though, no. Johnny isn't the type to act out on his own, but things are slowly starting to get messy within the family. People may always credit Taeyong for being the first one to step in the line of fire when it comes to protecting the group, but Johnny is a close second when it comes to his sense of loyalty. Ever since that day he was picked up and saved from that hell of underground brawls at 17 by Taeyong himself, he made it his personal promise to do anything to protect his home. 

That's exactly what he is doing now as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, waiting for his prey. If his informant was correct, she should go out of the building doors any minute now. 

30 seconds. 40. 56. 

His eyes caught a familiar form slipping out of the main entrance of the complex. The woman was wearing more casual clothes now than when they last met at Anarchy, but Johnny knew it was her despite her hoodie shielding the good half of her face. His sharp eyes followed her, allowing her to put some distance between them before he finally pushed himself from the wall to trace her steps.

She had crossed three streets when he really started catching up with her. He waited until the traffic light turned red on the street she was about to cross before slinging his arm around her casually. 

The woman stiffened instantly in his arms and looked up at him in shock. Johnny smiled casually down at her and pressed the cold nose of the gun hidden under his jacket closer to her ribcage.

"If you don't make a racket, there won't be a need for a murder scene by this road."

She pursed her lips as anger flashed in her eyes. She gave a tight nod before directing her gaze back into the street ahead.

"Good girl. Go straight then turn left. There's an abandoned building on the third alley." 

The two of them immediately started walking, sides pressed closely together. She didn't speak, but Johnny could feel her anger just bubbling underneath.

He unceremoniously pushed her inside the abandoned shop when they finally reached it. She turned to him with a glare and he didn't hesitate to raise his gun to her face, cocking it slowly. 

The move made her brows raise. Instead of looking threatened, she crossed her arms over her chest. 

"What do you want?"

"Your boyfriend's head on a stick. When are you two going to leave us alone? Your lot is causing a lot of trouble for us already."

"Are you here to kill me then?" 

"Oh no. You're here as payment. It'll be interesting to see how he reacts after we mess up one of his own." 

The woman stared at him for a long moment. Johnny’s gun didn’t waiver during the stare down, his hand steady as their gazes clashed. Then, all of a sudden, she did something he wasn’t expecting at all. 

She laughed.

She laughed so hard her voice rang and bounced on the dusty corners of the room. Johnny reigned in the confusion that overtook him with a frown. Is she acting to throw him off track?

The girl straightened up and looked at him with pure amusement in her eyes. The smirk playing on her lips told him that there is more to this act than what he is seeing. 

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. You stalked me thinking you’ll budge Jihoon by threatening me? That’s so, so, so amusing.” 

Johnny tightened his jaw but didn’t say a word. He watched as she started moving towards where he is standing, her eyes never leaving his. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stalked him, and for the first time, he actually took a good long look at her eyes. What Johnny saw there hit him like a firetruck. 

Jihoon’s madness, exactly reflected in her own gaze.

She stopped an inch away from his gun. If she moved a little, the cold metal of it would have kissed her forehead. 

“You could kill me now or torture me to death and my brother wouldn’t bat an eye… In fact, he might even thank you,” she whispered softly, almost fondly. Johnny felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. His emotions must have briefly flashed on his face because her smile widened in amusement. 

“Here’s one thing you don’t understand about Jihoon. He absolutely doesn’t care about anyone else other than himself. All these things he is doing? They are all for his sick fun. He is mad. Inhuman. If you want to have any chance of winning this, you have no other choice but to play the game with him.” 

“You’re his sister.”

“Half sister. That doesn’t change anything. I’m just a piece on his chessboard. I would honestly let you kill me now if you want to, but I can’t. Not until I finish what I have to do.”

Johnny didn’t know what got to him but he found himself slowly lowering his gun. The two of them stared at each other, silent, for what felt like forever. Finally, she moved to walk past him. 

“If that’s all, then I’ll go ahead. I suggest you find a better informant next time. Jihoon doesn’t stay in my building at all. Even I don’t know where he is,” she said casually as she moved towards the door. 

“I have no other choice. But believe me when I say that I want him dead just as much as you do.” 

“If he doesn’t care about you, why are you sticking with him?” he asked just as she wrapped her hand on the door handle. She stilled, her shoulders stiff. Johnny is not an ace when it comes to psychological games but when she turned to look at him again, he knew for sure that her eyes were honest despite being devoid of emotions. 

That made him stop. Before he knew it, he was speaking again to ask the one question that he’s been trying to answer ever since they met at Anarchy.

“Why did you save me? Back in the club. I was standing directly above your bomb.” 

For a while, she didn’t answer. Johnny thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass through her eyes, but it was gone before he could process it. 

“I wonder why too.”

The door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the shadowed room. 

----

Chapter 11

Tag list: @hen-marks99, @negincho, @nctisthecity

[toxicjayhoe]

Maximum Decibels

Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader (Some description of OC)

Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia)

Concerts

Song fic

Explicit Sexual Content

Some Plot ish?

Alcohol

One night stand

Word count : 3000

Songs in this fic : You'll be fine by Palaye Royale I don't feel quite right by Palaye Royale

If he hadn’t been wearing earplugs, he was sure the noise blaring from the low-quality speakers to his right would have blown out his ear drums. Thankfully, Shinso wasn’t an amateur. He lived for his Friday and Saturday nights out.

Music was a big part of his life, just like most people, he assumed. He wasn’t much of the type of person to go out to big venues and rather preferred to go to see and support local bands that played in small, overcrowded bars.

He had never liked crowds, but they seemed easier to manage emotionally in seedy local venues. Physically, not so much.

Another black clothed mosh pitter was dramatically thrown from the pit and headed his way. It was common courtesy to just push them back in.

As with any show, it was impossible to escape the movements of others, shoulders and elbows bumping him as they swayed to the music or a hand on the back as they made their way to the front of the stage, hoping for a better view.

Shinso didn’t care about the view. He just wanted to stand there, lean against the wall behind him, and let the music wash over him, let it drown out all of his worries and anxieties.

The opener for the night said their thanks as they finished the last song of their set. The crowd hollered and screamed their appreciation before the horde scurried off like cockroaches towards either the bar, the bathroom or outside for a smoke.

A sigh left his lips as his shoulders relaxed before stretching his arms over his head, walking over to sit on the edge on the stage as the next band began setting up their gear.

Purple eyes scanned the darkly lit room, pausing on the small groups that remained on the lower floor, analyzing but not judging.

Everyone looked similar. Dark clothes, bright hair. He wasn’t much different. He stared at his old, dirty black boots. His favorite pair. Despite their age, the steel toes were still in perfect shape. He didn’t trust anything more than these boots.

His black jeans were ripped at the knees and, if they hadn’t been tucked into his boots, you could see the tears at the cuffs. His brow furrowed at the thought. He should probably get a new decent pair to replace them. He probably wouldn’t.

There were a few familiar faces, of course. He was here every weekend, and he wasn’t the only one. He didn’t talk to any of them, really. They had a silent understanding, nodding their greetings and nothing more.

Just the way he liked it.

The lights dimmed, announcing the start of the next band. He pushed himself up and walked back over to his wall as everyone started to pour back in.

He closed his eyes, intently listening to the melodies and beats. He wasn’t one to dance, but he lost himself to the music that day, allowing his head to bob to the rhythm.

~~

Fridays were reserved for new bands to make their debut, while Saturdays were a mix of newcomers and the local classics.

He enjoyed getting acquainted with new sounds, but there was just something about recognizing a song with just the first few notes that made life worth living.

Tonight happened to be one of those nights. The bands started earlier and finished later. It was the one night of the week that he would come home exhausted and actually be able to get a full night's worth of sleep.

Saturdays were also the one night he would grab a few drinks of whiskey to accompany the thrum of vibrations coursing through his entire body. The alcohol just seemed to elevate the sensations while also allowing him to relax and enjoy his night more thoroughly.

Earplugs in and glass in hand, he leaned against his usual wall. Everyone was dressed much the same as usual and he was no exception. The only difference? He’d opted on a simple white t-shirt.

He found himself pushing his hair back as he scanned the faces in the crowd, his eyes lidded and his own expression passive. As usual.

A loud laugh caught his attention and his gaze darted to the offender. A flash of red hair, glasses and a crooked grin as the woman continued to laugh at whatever her friends were talking about.

It wasn’t a face he recognized, but it was one that he would remember. He tore his eyes away when he felt the familiar static in the air as the band began their sound check.

~~

The second band had just finished their set and Shinso headed to the bar with the rest of the crowd for another glass of whiskey. He put it on his tab. He’d pay at the end of the night.

He took in his surroundings, much like he always did as he leaned on the bar while he waited for his drink. The place was much busier than usual, which made sense considering the line up. Some of his favorite locals were playing and he felt considerably lucky to experience them all play the same night.

In fact, the last band of the night had become fairly well known over the last few years and they were on tour in their hometown. He smiled at the thought. He remembered their first show.

His cup was placed by his arm and he nodded at the bartender in thanks. People had already begun to pile back in and he quickened his pace to stand in his usual spot.  It was the perfect spot. Close enough to the stage that he wasn’t blinded by the mob jumping and far enough that he wasn’t completely trapped between sweaty bodies.

The familiar buzz of the mics being tested filled the room. Sipping the amber liquid, a small smile painted Shinso’s lips.

He was in for a wild night, he could tell with how rowdy the crowd was, shouting as soon the drummer began beating against the kick drum. Shinso tapped his foot to the rhythm.

As soon as he finished his third whiskey, his eyes caught a flash of yellow in the pit. Shinso dragged his gaze higher, from the hem of the patterned skirt and over a band shirt, red hair bouncing with the force of the woman’s movements.

Shinso stared as she sang with the band, her nose scrunched up and eyes closed, body swaying to the chaotic rhythm. Her every expression was exactly how he felt while listening to music, only he kept it in his heart instead of showing on his sleeve.

The brightness in her eyes when she opened them rivaled that of the sun’s.

He tore his gaze away and pressed his back into the wall.

And if he stole quick glances her way for the remainder of the song, he convinced himself it was just part of his routine; constantly scanning his surroundings. Analyzing and never judging.

~~

Shinso never understood how bars had so few bathrooms. While the line for the boy’s bathroom was nowhere near as long as the girl’s, it still annoyed him.

Honestly, it should be illegal to have people waiting so long for a basic need.

Just as he’d made it to the front of the line, he caught sight of the pretty little redhead exiting the bathroom with her small group of friends. She was covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laugh, her arm linked with her multicolor-haired friend in the leather jacket.

He hadn’t noticed it was his turn for the bathroom until the guy behind him cleared his throat.

~~

For some reason, Shinso had drinken far more than what he was used to. He was feeling rather good and very relaxed, a gentle smile plastered on his face, his eyes even more lidded than his norm.

His fingers tapped to the beat against his leg, eyes concentrated on whatever band they were on now. He couldn’t remember. He’d even left the comfort of his wall to get a better look at the stage. He only regretted it a little as more people bumped into him, a few almost knocking him over.

Shinso couldn’t remember the last time he felt this at ease in a crowd. Most likely never, if his memory served him right.

A more rough and up beat song was currently playing and the crowd was going absolutely wild, more and more people joining the center of the floor to jump and dance and push against the pit.

He changed his stance to have a bit more stability. He was glad he did, his arms instinctively reaching out as a small body collided with his, making him stagger.

Gazing down at the person in his arms, his breath caught in his throat as he hauled her up quickly.

She was even prettier up close.

The grin he received in thanks made his heart flutter, her hand squeezing his arm before she darted off into the pit again, disappearing from sight.

Shinso felt his legs moving of their own accord, towards the pit in an attempt to follow her.

~~

I see it in those eyes

His eyes searched frantically in the horde, sweaty bodies pressing into him, moving him into one direction to the next. Shinso felt like he was in the ocean, the waves dragging him back and forth with a strength he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

You're so damn hypnotized

The lights from above the stage danced across them, illuminating the crowd long enough for him to catch a glimpse of red hair.

You wanted to pretend the voice you hear is not in your head

She was facing one of her friends, the tallest one of the three, the two of them grinning as they screamed the lyrics at each other, jumping in time with the crowd.

You wanted to escape, but you're not that innocent

Shinso couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that she seemed to know all the lyrics by heart, knew exactly when the pauses were and when the band would pick it up again.

Just stay for the show, don't turn around

His heart hammered in his chest.

I'm looking for you out there

He was unmoving, barely registering the bodies colliding with his, eyes still trained onto the group of friends as they bobbed their heads to the beat.

I’m looking for truth inside your stare

She had her back turned to him, but her friend with the dark hair did not. Their eyes locked for a moment before she looked away, quickly connecting the dots.

I’m looking for you outside

He could see her moving her lips, no longer singing the song before she motioned towards him. Ginger hair bounced as the redhead snapped her head his way.

'Cause I mean it, no, I mean it, you'll be fine!

The lights passed over the crowd again, allowing them to both see each other clearly. Recognition crossed her features.

I'm looking for you this way

She whispered something to her friends, and they both gave her exasperated looks, hands up in the air in a confused manner. Like they were arguing.

But you don't hear a word I say

Her eyes met his and he didn’t shy away from the intense gaze. It only pulled him forward.

I'm looking for you this time

Shinso saw as the two friends looked at each other, nodding before shoving the redhead towards him. He caught her in his arms again.

'Cause I mean it, yeah, I mean it, you'll be fine!

She was smiling up at him, heat rising on her cheeks at an alarming rate. He could no longer hear the music, just a faint buzz as everything else faded out.

~~

Shinso had grabbed her by the wrist and gently dragged her to his spot at the wall. He could still hear the music but didn’t pay it much mind. He could still feel the vibrations coursing under his skin.

But nothing compared to the way his heart hammered in his chest, his purple eyes peering into hers. They were like sunbursts surrounded by chocolate brown.

His gaze traced down her face, connecting her freckles with his eyes, pausing when he reached an opal adorned nostril piercing, to the matching septum before he reached her cute pink lips.

His tongue darted out, wetting his own lips. Her eyes followed the movement.

Shinso shifted closer, practically towering over her as she watched him through her lashes. He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so bold. Perhaps it was still the alcohol running through his veins.

Maybe it was whatever connection they seemed to have urging him on.

A new song came on, her eyes lighting up but never leaving his. He watched as she mouthed the words, sending electricity up his spine, heat coiling inside him.

I don't feel quite right

The curl of her lips.

There's something in the air tonight

The suggestion in the way she stared up at him.

Must be the way she's looking at me

Shinso mouthed them along with her.

Is there something wrong

She took a step forward.

Is there something wrong with me

Her hands on the center of his chest, his own arms circling around her waist.

I don't feel quite right

Their lips collided.

~~

Nothing like this had ever happened to Shinso. He never believed he could go through with anything like this.

In fact, the thought had never really crossed his mind.

He fumbled with his keys when they reached his door, the concert completely forgotten.

It was a blur of deep kisses and hands roaming the other’s body with soft but insistent touches.

Pushing her red hair from her shoulder, Shinso dipped his head to her neck, all lips and tongue against salty skin.

Delicate fingers threaded through his hair, gripping tightly when his fingers slipped under her plaid skirt and up the back of her soft thighs, tracing the edges of her panties.

His hands tightened before he heaved her up, her teeth on his bottom lip and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

A soft gasp escaped her when he dropped her onto his bed.

Shinso didn’t move, just stared down at her with lidded eyes. She looked perfect, hair messy, lips swollen, legs spread apart for him like an invitation.

He gladly accepted, crawling between thick thighs, hands on her knees. He spread her wider.

Agile fingers unbuttoned his pants, pushing them lower on his hips before he took over, discarding them somewhere on the floor.

When his cock collided with her heat, they both moaned, hips grinding into each other.

Any doubt he’d had about his current situation flew out the window as he pressed his fingers to her clothed clit.

Her panties were soaked through.

Slowly, he rubbed her little bundle of nerves with two fingers, a third sneaking under the material to feel just how wet she was.

Shinso released a breath he didn’t know he was even holding, hand sliding completely under the fabric and pressing two fingers into her heat.

A different kind of music filled the room. Breathy moans, small whimpers and the wet sound of his fingers inside her. Shinso’s thumb danced rhythmically at her clit, keeping the pressure gentle yet persistent.

His free hand pushed up her shirt roughly just above her bra, exposing her to his hungry eyes.

Cupping one of her breasts firmly, he squeezed into the soft flesh over and over, loving how she filled his large hand perfectly.

Shinso squeezed her nipple through the material of her bra and was very glad he did as her pussy clenched around his fingers still working inside of her, and juices rushed out of her and all over his forearm.

He’d never experienced anything so hot in his life.

When he removed himself from inside her, he chuckled at the desperate whimper she made.

Shinso wasted no time discarding his boxers, pumping himself slowly and groaning as he stared down at her.

He didn’t even bother removing her panties, just pushed them to the side with his cock before sliding in to the hilt.

A new beat could be heard throughout his appartement as he pounded into her rhythmically, her moans urging him on. Deeper, harder, faster before slowing down again, building up the pressure in the pit of his stomach.

His hands gripped her hips as he lost himself in every sensation. The way she tightened around him, the look of her throwing her head back, the glimpse of lust and pleasure in her eyes sent heat from his chest to his dick.

He felt himself twitch inside her.

Shinso could feel she was approaching her crescendo. His hips rolled over and over, pressing onto her clit with every thrust, tempo increasing until her cunt spasmed around his cock, her back arching off the bed.

Shinso fell forward with his hands on either side of her head, eyes locked as he buried himself into her again and again. The look she gave sent Shinso over the edge as he pulled out, spilling himself all over her pretty little skirt.

The image of her would be locked into his core memories for years to come.

He rolled over and laid on his back as they both tried catching their breaths.

The room became quiet as she drifted off. Only then did he allow himself to glance over at her.

Well, I can see the way she sleeps

He was sure he would wake up to her gone.

Tonight, I find a better peace of mind

It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

In her eyes, oh her eyes, oh her eyes, yeah

Shinso stared at her a little longer, a smile plastered on his face.

In her eyes, lord, her eyes, oh her eyes, yeah!

He never learned her name.

Art by me.

I wrote this fic as a birthday gift to myself but I hope you enjoyed!

[dast218]

Assassin’s Heart pt 2

Part 1

Dodging and aiming for a high punch, Jason, or currently better known as Red Hood, let out a grunt of dissatisfaction as he kept failing in pinning Damian down. The little Demon has been keeping up with his attacks for the past twenty minutes with no sign of sweat, frustrating Jason to no ends.

“Hood you should spare yourself the embarrassment once you land face first on the platform.” 

Canceling out the cheers Jason mouthed “bring it on little brother”, receiving a tisk and a full force punch in his ribs. Stumbling back, the cladded in blood red and black vigilant continued the taunting, aiming to distract the little demon until he leaves a side unguarded.

Rolling onto his side, Jason avoided becoming a punching bag and swung his feet under Daman’s. The urge to pull out a gun started to become unbearable.  

Huffing in irrigation, he couldn’t up but wonder how the heck he got pulled into this shit-show. Being an attraction and following guidelines was borderline neglect. Why do people find throwing hands so fun to watch, like I am trying to kill someone not liberate them. 

He should probably mention that the rules of this match were borderline neglect: No weapons, no killing, make it entertaining and keep up the distraction.  

All because of a stupid bet.

Oh right context:

Damian and Jason found themselves on opposite sides of a bet. The typical bickering in the noble house of the Waynes had gotten out of control, ending with blood and knives scattered at every inch of the dining room. The argument over who had the rightful claim of the newly  golden trimmed weapons escalated, and in hopes of calming down the tension a bet was made. Whoever wins will get their prized possessions. 

Who in their rightful mind thought that a bet would calm down the Waynes boys? Dick ficking Gayson, that's who. 

But of course things couldn’t go smoothly. That would have gone against the whole lifestyle of the Waynes, and the universe just wasn’t yet prepared. Honestly speaking, it probably will never be. Scoffing, Jason dodged another  kick and started recalling the series of unfortunate events that got them in a fighting pit of all places. Somewhere along the lines he ended up going to the market in hopes of interrupting an illegal shipment of gunpowder. He couldn’t have the guy come in 2 days before his placed bet. Then the Demon would win and that was simply not happening under his watch. And yes for all those wondering, they placed a bet about a delivery date, the most sane thing the Bats did in a very long time. 

Arriving at the scene, to Jason’s utter disappointment, the youngest Wayne was already perched on the side of a rooftop.

“How?”

Ginning, Damian curtly answered “Alfred.” 

Before Jason could counter Damian’s response (like he could ever go against the Alfred argument), shouting and cursing erupted in the streets below.

From there the details blurred. One moment they heard the dealer screaming that his lot got stolen and the next they were down breaking apart a fight. Hidden under masks -hey living the noble life is way too boring- the Bat boys dealt with the situation fairly quickly. They found out that the dealer was only left with a few scraps of powder, meaning that Damian won. 

Jason couldn’t believe that the brat had his toys and on top of that is currently beating him in the ring. Why couldn’t Bruce just dump the little rotten back to his mother. Curse his adoptive nature. Even if the brat is his, that man adopts too many!

Anyways upon further questioning, people claimed to see a woman in black running around the city. At first Jason didn’t make anything of it, as that was not the weirdest thing they witnessed in Gotham. A few hours later the news of Malnesias lord’s murder reached the manor, prompting the lord of Gotham to send the noble houses into action. With a lead from a few drunk soldiers and traveling merchants, the undercover Waynes found themselves on a trip to the Kingdom of Adan.

While traveling, Damian slipped information that he had personal business with this infamous Shadow girl, who a few months ago decided that releasing his herd of sheep from their “prison” - as she put it in a lovely letter -  was a good idea. The Wayne boys kept snickering every few miles, everyone understanding why and joining along. Heck, Jason was dying of laughter even hours after the reveal. 

That was a week and a half ago. 

Somehow getting more information on this Shadow woman required creating a distraction. And that's how he found himself currently throwing a punch to Damian’s ribs. 

-- 

It was way too early to deal with the wants of the king. On the other side of Marinette’s wooden door someone - by the sounds of it her maid - has been knocking for the last five minutes with no success. 

“Madam please open up. You are going to be late for breakfast!” With a barely recognizable sigh she added, “Again”

Slightly smiling at the display of distraught, Marinette flipped onto her side, simultaneously pulling the gray cover over her face. Today is my sleep in day. 

The next thing she registered were two sets of arms grabbing her shoulders, pulling her up onto her feet. Grumbling at the force, Marinnete yielded and allowed the girls to circle around her. She learned a long time ago that when facing a group of determined women, it's better to let them have their way. Thinking otherwise would have called her a hypocrite in ten different languages. 

Looking at the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the person staring back at her. The tight blue dress hung her body, enhancing her curves and muscles. From a distance you could see that the material is expensive, sparking in the sunlight with a delicate touch. She knew that someone with her status had to look appropriate, but dressing all lady-like wasn’t at all her style. I can’t wait to change into a running outfit after this fiasco is over with. 

Heading to the dining room her vision started to blur, with each step requiring more energy than the last. Marinette couldn’t help but grunt as she felt herself losing balance. Leaning against a wall, she tried to steady her breathing. In and out. In and out.

After a few counts, the lightheadedness disappeared as quickly as it appeared, leaving Marinette confused. Her headaches were getting worse by the day but each time she tried remembering why, the feeling of losing control came back. It was like something was blocking her memory. Frustrated, the blue dressed assassin continued walking. 

Entering into the ridiculously expensive dining room, Marinette met eyes with the King. Without a second glance she sat down, thanked the server and started eating. The King was never the talkative type and with the morning she had, she didn’t feel like talking either. 

After a while the emptiness started to bother her and with a lift of her head, she asked  “Where is Adrien.” Marinette didn’t know what prompted her to ask as his whereabouts never interested her to begin with, especially after their argument few weeks ago. Matter of factly, staying away from the golden hair men was on her daily to do list.

“You mean Prince Adrien”

“No, you heard it right the first time”

“He came in drunk yesterday.” Gabriel finally said, short and indirect as usual. Fine two can play that game.

Humming in response, the assassin pushed her plate and lifted her legs to the table, her heals hitting the metal with a clack. She didn’t care if her actions were unladylike or down right rude. Leaning back and crossing her hands she irritatingly got to the point.  

“Look Gab, I am in no mood to play along with your games today. Its way to early to deal with your pesky attitude.” Hearing few gasps she grumbled, apparently all it took was a few weeks out and suddenly everyone forgets that she doesn’t care what comes out of her mouth.  Gezz cut me some slack, like hello I could have still been enjoying my sleep if this guy with a crown hadn’t woke me up. 

“What the heck do you want from me?”

------ 

Finally done with school and got the plot down!

Disclaimer I got inspo from the Throne of Glass book series, just putting it out there. (Assassin’s Heart won’t be similar in many aspects butttt ... yea just letting you guys know)

Tag List:   @thestressmademedoit @dreamykitty25 @loveswifi 

​ @dorkus-minimus - not sure if u wanted to be tagged or not, let me know :)

[tenshindon]

Have you gotten Yamcha for the ask game yet? Or Tien? 😊

i have received Neither Chaps !!! So I will now do them both :) Pause on that :) gonna put this under a Read More since This Will Be Long <3

Yamcha:

Give Me A Character and I Will Answer:

Why I like them:

Uhhhh A Lot Of Reasons. Like. A lot. BUT I will be brief and say I like him because as a kid I always thought he looked cool and I always thought his first fight with Goku was radical. With My Big Man Brain Now I love him for just how sincere of a guy he is? And how loving and friendly and supportive? And I make fun of him for it but the wolf aesthetic genuinely is really cool- not to mention how he loves to change up his outfits and hairstyles!

Why I don’t:

I have no reason to hate this man. Like none exists. In The Most Platonic Way Ever he’s literally the perfect man and I would take him home to meet my mom and even then she would be happy with me dating a man if it was Yamcha Dragon Ball.

Favorite episode (scene if movie):

I have so many favorite Yamcha moments and ergo episodes good god help me BUT I will name ONE off the top of my head so I’m not stuck here forever and I really love the baseball scene in Z for Many Reasons it’s just so good it plays on loop in my brain 24/7 so I Will Say episode 10 of DBZ :)

Favorite season/movie:

The Tien Saga.... legendary.... yes he did get his leg broken but everything before AND after that??? Immaculate. Perfect. Astounding. No The Tien Saga Is Not Therapy But I Will Use It As Such

Favorite line:

Anything Yamcha says is music to my ears and is pure gold, and aside from The Iconic “Looking good, Tien!” quote from Budokai 3, I gotta say my actual favorite quote??

“No big deal. Bones heal, just like everything else.” -Yamcha to Tien in reference to his broken leg after the 22nd World Tournament

Like. It’s SUCH a simple line but it’s SO telling of Yamcha’s character?? Tien literally broke his leg with no concern of the long-lasting effects of doing so, not to mention his dickish behavior beforehand towards Yamcha beforehand. So for Yamcha to just be ready to forgive him at the drop of a hat when he sees Tien’s seem sincerely apologetic? Dude no one talk to me I’m going to write an essay again.

Favorite outfit:

I Mean This In The Most Platonic Way Part II but Yamcha can make Literally Any outfit and hairstyle look good it should be illegal. However I am legally required to choose One (1) outfit and at this point we should all know how much I adore the desert bandit fit of his. It’s just such a classic and cute look to him (not to mention The Sword <3)

OTP:

Oh You Know :) but if you don’t it’s Yamcha and Tien- even as just Friends They’re So Good I’m Going To Write An Essay like god I want what they have so badly.

Brotp:

I love his relationship with Puar, like I genuinely would love a small arc dedicated to how they even became friends in the first place since their origin together is so mysterious yet intriguing? But aside from The Obvious answer I love his brotherly relationship with Goku and Krillin! Unfortunately that relationship wanes as they all get older but I’ll always cherish the moments where he radiated such Big Bro energy.

Head Canon:

I’ve got a dumb amount of headcanons it’s terrible BUT I think my favorite headcanon is that Yamcha’s leg never properly heals after the 22nd Tournament.

Unpopular opinion:

I. Have a lot. Of unpopular opinions. Just genuinely loving Yamcha’s an unpopular opinion in of itself BUT One of my unpopular opinions is that Yamcha’s a flirt, a cheater, and promiscuous. If he’s ever portrayed as a flirt towards women, I can give it the smallest pass in the world that he’s trying to cope but even then that’s such a stretch in my opinion- and I guess this is on top of being a headcanon but Frankly I don’t think Yamcha’s ever even kissed anyone- he’s playing the long game everyone he’ll get his kiss on his wedding day btw that’s like. Partially a joke; I joke around a lot that Yamcha’s Super dedicated to the whole Nothing Until Marriage idea lmao.

A wish:

For the love of God Yamcha pack up your shit and Puar and just move in with Tien your apartment’s shit.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen:

Honestly? I kind of don’t want Yamcha to get a girlfriend? But I also DO because he wants that the most in life and it’d be great to see SOMETHING nice happen to him!

My only gripe with him getting a girlfriend (and hopefully then a wife) would be that his girlfriend wouldn’t be that well defined of a character and she’d just be said in Passing Mentions.

5 words to best describe them:

Perfect, immaculate, loyal, courageous, lovely 

My nickname for them:

Furry, Dumpy, and Wolfie!

Tien

Give Me A Character and I Will Answer:

Why I like them:

Again I Have A Lot Of Reasons BUT I love how like. Deceiving he is as a character. Like ask anyone and 90% of the time people will say Tien’s smart and serious and No Bullshit but no he is exactly the opposite he’s dumb as shit in any department outside of farming and fighting and he’s such a lil’ jackass when breathing next to Yamcha. 

Sincerely though, I absolutely love his character development- it’s one of my favorite arcs in Dragon Ball to be honest but That’s An Essay For Another Time. I also love how funny he can be, intentionally or not, and he’s surprisingly really relatable at times? And just his dedication to fighting’s really neat too; at this point he MUST know he can never be stronger than Goku but he still tries nevertheless and that’s really indicative of his bullheaded personality.

Why I don’t:

You could not pay me to dislike him I’d sell my kidneys for Tenshinhan.

Favorite episode (scene if movie):

Any episode from the gang’s escapades on King Kai’s planet good lord save me. That’s where Tien’s existence shines the best it’s so good.

Favorite season/movie:

His own saga man like. As much as I LOVE Redeemed Tenshinhan I also love how much of a jackass he was like why was he like that LMAO

Favorite line:

Again, aside from The Iconic x2 “Looking good, Yamcha!” quote, I gotta say it’s:

“Yes... sir! <3″ -Tien preparing to strike Goku with the volleyball fist during the 22nd World Tournament.

Also “I left Chiaotzu and Yamcha behind. This seems too dangerous for them.” -Tien to Gohan during the Resurrection F saga

Favorite outfit:

Like Yamcha, Tien’s outfits always hit. Not a SINGLE one misses. BUT I gotta say I love his classic tits-out look- more so for the fact I like how he shows off his scar as a kind of way to say he’s moved on from the Crane School like Damn Son you love to see it :,) Deep reasons aside, my second-favorite outfit’s got to be the Buu Saga listen man everyone just had the Hottest outfits in the Buu Saga you can’t blame me.

OTP:

Oh You Know :)

Brotp:

Tien has Two (2) friends in his life man the pool’s small but even if it WAS larger I would say Chiaotzu anyway LMAO. Love them dudes man.

Head Canon:

Tien is just. Terribly academically and socially stupid. The Social Ineptitude isn’t even a headcanon that’s just fact but when I said he’s stupid in every department But Fighting And Farming I meant it. Flirting with Tien is a nightmare. If you’re not Yamcha or Chiaotzu joking with him is a headache. He’s only smart in the vocabulary department other than that he couldn’t tell you how many planets are in the solar system. He’s dumb as rocks but is smart enough to convince everyone around him he’s smart because he knows what picayune means.

Unpopular opinion:

I have nothing but love and respect for Krillin, but it makes like. No sense to insist Krillin’s the strongest human on earth. Tien does not go hard on that grind 24/7 just for everyone- writers included- to reduce him to such trash when fighting. But why pit two kings against each other you know?

A wish:

Please just give him one good sexy fight that’s all I’m asking for. Also Tien PLEASE use the solar flare you dumb motherfucker YOU INVENTED IT??? Actually all of my wishes are fighting related but yeah Tien for God’s Sake acknowledge how crazy your move kit is and fuck it UP MY GUY.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen:

Tien please don’t get a random wife I fortunately cannot see that happening but for the love of God Toei if you make that happen I will actually commit arson. Any other fear I could have either has come true or cannot happen.

5 words to best describe them:

Deceivingly smart dumbass I love

My nickname for them:

Headass, Slap Head, My Man/s, Bald Motherfucker, Polyphemus Headass (I know Polyphemus is a cyclops but shush), Four Arms, Machamp, Stitch, Roach, King, and Ikea Dresser

[pris-writing-blog]

New Beginnings

Summary: Sometimes, two people who would be perfect together are driven apart by tragic circumstances. Sometimes, they never see each other again. Sometimes, they meet again in the most unlikely of places. Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Pairing: Evelyn Amell and Cullen Rutherford

Word Count: 8.4 k

Warnings: PTSD, major character death, substance abuse.

A/N: I’m honestly surprised I actually wrote this, since my tastes tend to lean towards LGBT couples and characters. But the idea of Amell finding Cullen again during Inquisition just really spoke to me and inspired me to write this. I hope you all enjoy.

A diary recovered from Kinloch Hold after it is abandoned during the Mage Rebellion. Some pages are burned, torn out, or simply illegible. A page in the front states it is property of Evelyn Leola Amell.

Date: 9:23 Dragon, 20th of Harvestmere

The Revered Mother suggested I write in this journal. Stuff about my feelings and all that. I don’t know what I’m feeling though! I guess I feel scared, and lonely, and mad upset about leaving. I miss Mother and Father and the rest of the family. I remember mother crying as the Templars took me away. How is this supposed to make me feel better? I just feel worse now. I’m going to go lay down. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try burning this book, that’ll show the Mother.

Date: 9:23 Dragon, 23rd of Harvestmere

So I didn’t burn the book. I did put it away though, hid it under my pillow. I feel a bit better today. I made two friends! One’s name is Anders, a bit older than me, and he’s said he escaped once. He got caught though, obviously. He’s snarky and makes dumb jokes. I like him. Then there’s Jowan, he’s about my age. He’s real nervous, all jittery and easily spooked. But he’s nice and calming. So I guess I have friends now. I still miss Mother.

Date: 9:23 Dragon, 1st of Firstfall, Satinalia

This was the first Satinalia I ever spent away from home. I thought I would be sad, but today was a blast! There was a HUGE feast, with a whole bunch of different dishes than I’m used to. They were all so good, except for the soup. It was grey and tasted like… stuff? I didn’t like it. Anders tried to escape, and I helped! He had this idea to send my parents a gift, but it would really just be him in a barrel wrapped in pretty paper. But the Templars found him before he even got outside- how were we supposed to know they’d unwrap it themselves?

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 13th of Cloudreach

Anders told me today he “seeing” one of the older mages. When I asked what he meant, I regretted asking. I properly shouldn’t write it down, if the Mother found this she’d have me and Anders switched. But it has made me think… Anders wouldn’t say who he was with, but he said it was a man. If a man and a man can do that together, can a woman and a woman do it? Cecilia two bunks down is pretty, I think. I don’t think I want to do that with her, but it makes me feel better that what I feel isn’t too weird.

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 16th of Cloudreach

Anders did it! He really did it! Today when the Templars had us outside for exercise, Anders suddenly bolted off to the dock and jumped off the end! The Templars tried to go after him, but after Carrol almost drowned thanks to his armor, they had to try and take it off first before jumping in. That gave Anders enough of a head start to make it to shore and run off into the woods! He’s free! I just hope it lasts for him.

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 23rd of Cloudreach

It didn’t last. The Templars tracked Anders down and brought him back in shackles. I tried to run over to help him but Jowan held me back. He said I’d just get in trouble too. Knight-Commander Gregoir wanted to make Anders Tranquil. When he said that, Ander’s mentor- Karl I think his name is- yelled at Gregoir. I still don’t understand what becoming Tranquil means, but I know Owain and the other Tranquil creep me out. I don’t want Anders to be like that. First Enchanter Irving stood up for Anders, thankfully, but he agreed to have Anders go through with his harrowing tomorrow. I’m scared for him. Cecilia did her Harrowing last week and failed. I don’t know what happened to her, she just disappeared. I don’t pray to the Maker and Andraste as much as I should, but I’ll pray tonight for Anders.

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 24th of Cloudreach

Anders passed! He made it through his Harrowing. He was grinning like a maniac and his bragging was insufferable, but I’m just happy he’s okay. He’ll be moving up to the mage quarters later, but Jowan and I are going to give him a little party before he leaves. Well, a get together with some sweet bread I managed to swipe from the kitchen. But it’s enough for him that we said we’ll miss him. I wonder when my Harrowing will be.

Date: 9:28 Dragon, 25th of Haring

Damn the Templars, damn Gregoir, damn the whole bloody circle! I don’t care if anyone finds this journal anymore. I hope they do, so they’ll know I hate them all! They caught Anders after another one of his escape attempts. This time he gave him a YEAR OF SOLITARY CONFINEMENT THAT MEANS HE’S IN THE DUNGEONS FOR A YEAR

There is a line of scribbles below this, dark and sharp as if the writer had been stabbing the page with the ink quill.

When they said that, Jowan had to actually hold me back physically. I wanted to hurt Gregoir. I screamed things that made the Mother mad, but I didn’t care. You know what I remember most? Ander’s face as they took him away. He had cast one last smirk over his shoulder at me, but I could see it in his eyes: fear. Damn them all.

Date: 9:29 Dragon, 1st of Bloomingtide, Summerday

We got some new Templar recruits recently. One of them, I think his name is Cullen, he’s cute. Blonde locks and stubble just growing in. And hazel eyes I could lose myself in. But anyways he’s alright to look at, yeah. Couldn’t do anything with him anyway, he’s a Templar and I’m a mage. It could never work. But I keep catching him glancing at me. Today in the Summerday festivities I was dressed in a pretty white dress like all the other young girls and I caught Cullen’s eye. I’ve never seen a face go so red so quickly! And he was dressed in a fine white tunic and pants, I’ll admit my face heated when I wondered what he’d look like with just the tunic. Of course, the mood was ruined when the Mother started reciting the Chant and the lessons. Oh Maker, why must you get in the way of things?

Date: 9:29 Dragon, 31st of Haring

Anders was released today. I didn’t even get a chance to say hello or goodbye before he disappeared again. The Templars are baffled, but they’re sure they’ll find them. I hope they're wrong, for Anders’s sake. I’m not mad at them anymore, I think. I understand their purpose. I just wish we had a choice. I don’t mind the Circle much, I’ve come into my magic well because of it. But for people like Anders, who value freedom more than anything, this place is a prison. It shouldn’t be like that. I’ve also spoken some more with Cullen. He’s so shy and nervous around me, as if just talking to a mage is prohibited. I asked where he was from, about his family, and he asked me the same. I just like talking with him now. I think I like him. Oh sweet Andraste I’m in trouble.

Date: 9:30 Dragon, 24th of August

My Harrowing is tomorrow! I’m scared and nervous and excited all at once. I still don’t know what they do to test you, I mean there are rumors but one can never trust those, so I am a tad worried about that. But I am confident in myself and my skills and I just know I’ll pass. Jowan has been more worried than usual, he’s upset that I’m going through my Harrowing before him, even though he’s older, but I’m sure he’s just being paranoid. One thing has made me a tad scared though: I saw Cullen earlier and saw fear in his eyes. Why was he scared when he looked at me? It almost looked like pity.

Date: 9:30 Dragon, 26th of August

I never did get to write about what happened yesterday. Too much happened. I suppose I should sort it out here. I went to my Harrowing. They pitted me against a demon. An actual Maker-forsaken demon. No wonder Cullen was scared. Apparently, if I had failed and became an Abomination, he was to be the one to kill me. I was terrified, but I passed. When I woke up, Jowan congratulated me, but still seemed nervous. I found out why later. Apparently, the First Enchanter had agreed to make Jowan Tranquil. Something about him being too weak to resist temptation or some other nonsense. He and his lover, Sister Lily, asked me to help them retrieve Jowan’s phylactery and destroy it, so they could escape without fearing the Templars finding them. And damn me to the Void, but I did it. I helped him. I believed him when he said he wasn’t a blood mage. And what did he do when he was backed into a corner like the rat he is? He used his blood to attack the Knight-Commander and escape. And now Lily is gone off to Aeonar- Maker watch over her- and I’m to be made Tranquil after the others return from Ostagar. Damn you Jowan. This is all your fault.

Date: 9:31 Dragon, 5th of Wintermarch

Once again, the Mother suggested I write down my thoughts to soothe my soul. Oh Mother, essays of my writing couldn’t soothe my soul. I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose at the start of this nightmare. I didn’t know it, but the mages and Templars sent to Ostagar returned, or at least the ones who survived. What happened at Ostagar was a tragedy, Teyrn Loghain quit the field and left the Grey Wardens and King Maric to die, along with almost all of their army. Uldred attempted to have the Circle side with Loghain, spinning a tale of lies for them. But Wynne countered him, exposing Loghain and Uldred for the traitors they were. What happened next, no one could have seen coming. In a meeting of the Enchanters, Uldred and a number of other mages turned to blood magic and demon summoning to free themselves. It went about as well as you’d expect. Almost half of the Circle perished in the fight. I barely survived myself. Still locked in the dungeon, I had to fight off demons and abominations while trapped in my cell. But I did it, I survived. Barely; I would have died of starvation if I hadn’t started screaming bloody murder. Apparently, the Templars had assumed me dead. The Hero of Ferelden saved us. Who’d have thought a boy from the Alienage, a bastard prince, an assassin, and an apostate could clear out an entire tower of abominations and demons? Sounds like a bad joke. After it was all over and they were patching me up, I saw Cullen. I didn’t even recognize him at first. He used to be so kind and shy and good and now- he’s a shell of who he was. It’s as though someone poisoned him with hate and fear. When I ran up to him to hug him he drew his sword at me, shouting to stay away or else. I was confused at first. I asked him, “Cullen, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

And he said- no, he growled, “What’s wrong is you. You mages, sick and vile and evil. All of you.”

It hurt. A lot more than I want to admit. But I said to him, “Cullen, you can’t possibly mean that. What about… I thought we-”

He cut me off, though, to shout, “There is nothing between us, mage! An ill-advised infatuation of a foolish boy. I know better now, and pray the Maker will forgive my sin.”

A sin. He called our feelings a sin. Well that was just the rotten cherry on the pile of the shit sundae wasn’t it? I yelled at him, I don’t remember what. It dissolved into a screaming match before others came to separate us. We avoided each other after that. And then he left; went off to Kirkwall, city of Templars. And damn me, but I still

No. I won’t say that, I won’t even write that. It and he are best left forgotten. After the tragedy, we were recruited by the Hero of Ferelden to fight in the Blight. I went to Denerim, saw the Darkspawn horde. It wasn’t as terrifying as what I saw during those weeks I spent trapped, assailed by monsters both human and demon made. And now it’s over. The Blight is ended and the Circle is returning to an uneasy normal. It was decided I would not be made Tranquil, seeing as how they would need as many Enchanters as possible to rebuild. Yay. The future awaits us. Let’s see what it brings.

Date: Dragon 9:37, 28th of Drakonis

Well, I found out what happened to Anders. He blew up a fucking Chantry! Words cannot express the emotions I feel about him and that, so I won’t try to write them. I’m more concerned about the Templar’s response. Mad Meredith invoked the bloody Rite of Annulment on the entire Circle, even though a single apostate caused the explosion. Thousands were killed in the chaos, mages, templars, and civilians alike. Thankfully, the Champion stopped the Knight-Commander. Apparently, I’m related to him! I heard Cullen was It was a mess, all of it. And now the Templars here are cracking down more and more. I heard there will be almost half of the contingent at the Enchanter meeting tomorrow. Anders, you really have turned the world on its head.

Date: Dragon 9:37, 29th of Drakonis

Well, Irving has fan-fucking-tastic timing. He has named me his successor. I suppose I am a good candidate, smart, skilled, not ancient. But in all seriousness, I am honored. I hope I can do well in my position. I do feel as though he’s just passed me the burning tongs though. It will be difficult to lead us through this, but I will do it, I swear to the Maker, I will lead my people through the storm.

Date: Dragon 9:37, 8th of Solace

And so we remain tied to the Chantry. I was attempted to agree with the Libertarians, but Wynne’s speech moved me. So we will remain, for a time. I returned from the Conclave earlier today and I am glad to be home. There seems to be a tangible nervous energy in the air outside, but here at least, we are safe. But the Templars… their gaze is troubling to me. As though they looking at spirits and demons instead of men and women. I pray they do not soon treat us as they see us.

Date: Dragon 9:39, 2nd of Guardian

Maker help us all. They disbanded the college. The Divine was attacked. Seekers everywhere. The world is on the brink of chaos, I can sense it. And now this, a letter from Wynne, begging me to come to Val Royeaux. There is to be a conclave of First Enchanters to discuss the finding of a cure for Tranquility. I am shocked beyond belief that such a thing exists, as well as overjoyed. But more than anything, I am scared. I am scared for my Circle, my family, and all mages across Thedas. A reckoning is about to come. And I fear the world is not ready for what it will bring.

This is the end of the diary entries. After the conclave dissolved into war, the mages fled to Andoral’s Reach. Kinloch Hold now stands empty, with accounts such as this left to be forgotten.

Find the rest of the story on my ao3 here!

[tired-college-student-writing]

The Many Misconceptions of Malcolm Bright: Semper Progredi

Summary: Bright was confusing on the best days, but JT and Dani had him as figured out as anyone else.

Someone that would poke and prod at everyone because the world decided that it hated him so why not use his skills to needle them?

Someone that didn’t know social bounds because he was never welcomed but never hesitated to apologize whenever he crossed a line, acting like he expected to be hit for each transgression.

The son of a Serial Killer determined to put people like his father away and throw the key into the deepest pits of hell.

What more did they need to know?

Chapter 1 (HERE)

Chapter 2

_______________________________________________________________________

“Easy,” A voice said next to JT as the detective’s head swam, “Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

He felt his right arm being pulled over someone’s shoulder before he finally managed to turn his head to see Bright’s face set into a grim frown.

“Malcolm?” He felt himself ask, mind sluggish as the profiler pulled him up, “Wha’ happ’n?”

“Felix kinda dropped a crate on your head. Looks like you have a concussion, a few broken ribs probably and if the way you’re holding your left arm is any indication, a broken arm.”

That’s right, JT’s mind was catching up. Ryan Felix, the perfect fit for Bright’s profile for the murder of Eric Adams, and an apparent gun smuggler as they had found out once breaking into the warehouse. Bright had said that there was something the Romanian businessman had been hiding from them, a deal that Adams had tried to blow the whistle on that got him killed for his troubles, but they didn’t think it would be anything of this magnitude, making them sorely unprepared to deal with what was happening.

“Gotta call back up,” His voice was a little less slurred now as Malcolm led him through the maze of crates.

“Gil and Dani are on it. We were mostly worried about you, buddy,” the smaller man reassured, “They chased after him after I said I’d get you out”

JT just hummed as they continued only to freeze as they heard footsteps ahead of them.

“Shit,” JT groaned as he and Malcolm press against a crate as they see Felix turn the corner, not thirty feet from them, looking around with his back to them aiming his gun at the slightest of noises.

“Stay Here,” Bright whispered, unhooking JT’s arm from his shoulder.

“Bright? Wait-” His hissed warning was ignored as Bright stalked forwards, silently ducking behind different crates as Felix caught his breath.

Suddenly Malcolm lunged, from his hiding spot, launching himself at Felix without a word. Felix wiped around, finger twitching towards the trigger, but it was knocked out of his hand before he could shoot with a well-placed strike from Malcolm’s open hand, sending it flying down one of the numerous paths of crates.

Without waiting for Felix to gather his bearing Malcolm struck out again, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down into Bright’s raised knee hard enough to make JT wince at the chocked gasp, before grabbing his arm and flipping him onto the ground arm twisted painfully behind him as Malcolm straddled his waist.

JT felt himself blinking at the display that lasted less than ten seconds.

There was no way that was Bright.

Bright may be insane and weirdly fascinated by murder and make calls that no one else would in a million years, but he didn’t fight back.

He talked people down, risked his own neck to stop JT from shooting a woman that had a shotgun pointed at his face. He was the one that distracted and gathered info, not the one that took down the criminals, before now JT would have wagered good money that the spoiled rich boy didn’t even know how to throw a decent punch, let alone willing to.

“Can you pass me your handcuffs?” Malcolm asked, voices steely calm, eyes boring into Felix’s back like he wanted to burn a hole through his heart.

He was silent until Bright’s eyes flickered up to his, eyebrows scrunching with concern, “You still with me JT?”

“Yeah,” He breathed, “Yeah, No I’m…”

Malcolm’s face twisted into a wince and suddenly he was avoiding the detective’s eyes. “Great,” he said, “Can you give me your handcuffs? And maybe radio Dani and Gil?”

JT numbly walked over to him, pulling his handcuffs off his belt to hand to the profiler, before backing off and bringing his radio up.

“Felix is down,” He relayed as he faintly heard Malcolm reading Felix’s Miranda rights off to him, perfect cadence and wording as if he was reading it from a book, “We got him.”

The evening was a blur after that. JT vaguely remembered more cop cars showing up as Felix was loaded into the back of Gil’s car, a swarm of officers going over the large mass of guns and other illegal products they found in the warehouse hidden in between the electronics and machinery that had been brought to the country legally, as he was loaded up in the back of the ambulance.

He woke up hours later with the diagnosis of a severe concussion, three bruised ribs, one fractured, and a broken collar bone. The doctors decided to keep him for the entire day for observation, releasing him the morning after he woke up. Gil and Dani both stopped over throughout the day however to stop him from growing too bored.

He wondered if he should be upset that Bright didn’t come to see him.

Even after he was sent home he didn’t hear from Bright on his two-week leave.

It wasn’t until he came back to work to find the team working on a new case did he get hit with the full force of Bright’s weirder than normal attitude.

When he first entered the conference room, mid rambling lecture on the latest killer’s psyche to the warm welcomes of Gil and Dani, Bright froze like a deer in headlights, before pointily standing as far away from JT’s chair as he could manage, avoiding looking at him at all cost and only speaking to him when JT asked him a direct question. Even then his sentences were short and to the point, nothing like his normal excited babblings that tended to go off on a tangent before one of the others would pull him back. As soon as the meeting was done Malcolm was out of the room, leaving no time for JT to question his oddness, even as Dani turned to Gil for answers.

The old man didn’t know either, or at the very least wasn’t forthcoming with what he knew.

It wasn’t until JT’s third day back was he able to corner the profiler. It was early evening, Gil and Dani were out following up a lead as Malcolm stayed back to go over some files they had managed to find earlier in the day. Without a second thought, JT quickly made up two drinks in the breakroom, coffee for himself and some floral tea Malcolm claimed to like when he confessed to the group that he didn’t drink coffee due to his meds, and headed into the conference room.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” He accused lightly as Bright nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Sorry,” Malcolm apologized quickly, eyes flicking ever so slightly with fear, “I just thought you might not want to see me after…”

“You ain’t making any sense Bright,” JT countered, taking a seat next to him at the table, ignoring how the younger man flinched at the movement as he placed the cup of tea in front of him, “You got me out of the warehouse and took down Felix, why the hell does that translate to me not wanting to see you?”

The younger man winced, hand twitching like it always did when he was stressed but he didn’t touch the offered drink, “Because I took down Felix.”

“Didn’t we just cover that that’s a good thing?”

Malcolm shook his head, “You looked nervous after took him down, you were stuttering more, eyes dilated even with your concussion, you acted robotic when giving me the handcuffs and immediately backed away to call the others. You were scared, You were scared of me.”

JT hummed, “Well I’ll admit that I was pretty startled by you going full-on Bruce Wayne on him, never seen you take down someone before now. If I’m honest I didn’t know you could take anyone down, you usually just stall them until one of us get there or you’ve talked them down. Honestly thought a rich boy like you would break his hand trying to throw a punch.”

“I mean,” Malcolm still wouldn’t look at him, but the line of his shoulders was relaxing slightly, “I was a special agent in the FBI, I was top five in my class at Quantico.”

“Only top five?” JT snorted, “What were you slacking off? Thought you could get by on good looks, pretty boy?”

Instead of getting a laugh out of the profiler he just winced, “My uh… My teachers didn’t appreciate my unique outlook on the problems given. Always said I thought too much like my father.”

JT flinched at that too. Didn’t think the FBI would pick on such low hanging fruit. Before he could comment Malcolm continued.

“Same reason I try not to use the different forms of fighting they taught us at Quantico, and why I dropped out of Jujutsu after the Surgeon arrest even though I really liked it. Any time I get slightly violent, even in self-defense, people act like I’m just a copy of my Father, like I’m going to go crazy and start killing people just like he did even though he never got physical with his victims,” Malcolm’s words were getting softer but more frantic as the explanation poured out of him, pushing his hands under his armpits as if trying to stop the tremors, “I know you don’t like me already, but I don’t want you to be afraid of me like that, so I figured limiting our interactions would-”

“Bright,” JT cut him off, “I’ve seen you cut the handoff of a guy to save him from a bomb. I don’t think a little takedown is going to spook me more than that.”

Malcolm flinched so hard as if JT’s words had physically harmed him. He opened his mouth to say something, but JT didn’t let him.

“Nope, my turn to speak,” JT kept his voice stern but quiet, afraid to scare the profiler any more, “You’re insane on the best day, Bright. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t trust you a hundred percent yet, and you annoy the hell out of me, but you make good calls on cases and really try and help people in every way you can. So, and I’m only saying this once, You may be a major pain in my ass, but you’re a good man, Bright, and I seriously doubt you’re anything like your nutcase of a dad.”

The look Malcolm gave him as his little speech came to a close could be defined as nothing short of hopeful, painfully making JT’s chest ache with the pure wistfulness aimed at him.

“Oh don’t give me that look, just drink your stupid fancy tea before it gets cold,” JT said with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s just Butterfly Pea Flower Tea,” Malcolm countered, eyes finally regaining with the flickering light they had been missing since the warehouse, his hands only trembling slightly as they wrapped around the cup, “Nothing fancy about it!”

“Bright, it’s bright blue and smells like perfume my gran would wear. It’s fancy.”

JT hid his small smile in his coffee as his comment earned a giggle from Malcolm.

Yeah, he didn’t trust the guy yet, but they’d come a long way from when Malcolm first showed up and JT knew that If he wasn’t careful he’d end up with Bright as a friend just as Dani had.

And yet, as he watched the smile stretch Bright’s cheeks as the profiler started to verbally expand on his profile based on the files he’d read, JT couldn’t really bring himself to care.

[da-chi]

Let me tell you something...

Possible triggers: Internalized aphobia, non-explicit sex mentions, mentions of anxiety.

Excuse my grammar/wording/spelling/sentence placement problems. English isn't my first language and I tried my best.

So. I’m usually not one to talk about personal stuff with friend or family, much less online, but I felt the need to write AND share the story about how I dealt with being a-spec and just finding out recently (today) that it is ok to not have all the answers right at this moment, and that I’m not the only one who felt like didn’t belong, like something in her didn’t fit in “normalcy”. So here it is, I hope you don’t get bored. 

All my life (or as far as I can remember) I’ve always felt off. Off like something was missing in me, or the way I viewed things.

 I was a kid who liked “boys” stuff for a while, and then I started liking “girls” stuff, and then it was all a mash-up of both, which my mother always accepted and supported, so I felt like that “off thing” wasn’t my tastes or my gender identity. I always got along with boys better than with girls when younger and that was never questioned either, not by my family nor myself, so that wasn’t “it” either. When growing up I started getting along with older people better than kids/teenagers my own age, and I started having a better relationship with girls than with boys. Mind you, I thought all of this was normal, and it is, but I never stopped and asked myself “Why am I going around trying to fit in? What am I looking for? What ‘s missing?”.

I had a few crushes when I was a teenager, all of them were boys who looked a certain type of way, all of them impossible to have: one of them liked my best friend, the other was too old for me, and the other liked the most popular girl. The interesting thing was that I never felt the “urge” to be with them, or the pain from not being able to be in a relationship with them. I was content with just being their friend, even helping them get together with their own crushes. The thought of being in a romantic relationship never crossed my mind. I never once thought that me not having any sort of interest in love and even sex while my peers were already experiencing all of that was “unordinary”. 

During the time I was 16 I thought for a while that maybe my lack of interest was probably because I just didn’t like boys, so in my last year of high school with the help of alcohol (pls kids don’t do this, drinking underage is illegal) I had my first kiss, ever. With a girl. And I didn't like it. Nope, it wasn’t because it was with a girl or just because she didn’t kiss well, because she did, I think ( I was inexperienced, ok?). It was because the act of kissing struck me like nothing more than just a very long exchange of saliva and an awkward tongue swords play. Me being me ignored that fact by just thinking “probably it’ll feel different when I actually like someone.” 

2 of my 3 best friends had never had any sort of relationship and were not in a rush to be in one, so I thought I was just the same as them.

……………………….

Brief pause to pat my young, innocent, oblivious, and confused 16 yo self.

*pats*

Ok let’s continue

……………………... 

Didn’t really think about the matter again until I was 17, moved to another country with a different language and the family I hadn’t seen for 14 years started asking the questions people asked my mom instead of me “Any boyfriend? Do you like someone? How many boyfriends have you had? None? Why? Are your standards that high? What’s wrong?”

And then I remembered. I remembered never wanting a boyfriend. I remembered never really liking someone. I remembered craving friendship with multiple and all sorts of people, but never craving something that should be normal to crave for at my age. I remembered always thinking that something in me felt like was “turned off”, and never really thinking about it (Now I know it was because I was scared of what I would find if I looked into it, scared that I wasn’t “normal”). I remember my mother being asked about me and my lack of any type of interest in the matter and her saying “there’s no rush. It’ll come when it has to come.” 

.

.

.

I did not, in fact, know what was wrong with me. 

The anxiety I’d had since the age of 14 started getting worse and worse and the voice inside of my head wouldn’t stop asking what was wrong with us. That voice started attacking me, calling me names like “heart of ice” or “ice queen” (as cliche as it sounds), would never shut up about how I would end up alone because no one ever could love someone who couldn’t love. “How can you love romance books and not like someone real? Are you nuts? You probably are. You are broken.”

I got scared of myself and others too.

I always was a bright, outgoing yet shy person; my friendly nature always making me want to be close to people, but after my anxiety became a bottomless pit I started pushing people away in an unusual way. I would get close to them enough to call them friends but after a while, I would distance myself from them, never replying to texts or always canceling on them, for instance. I made sure I kept myself close enough to never feel lonely but the moment I felt too close I would take 2 steps back. (This, sadly, is something I still have to deal with and am trying to change, not only with friends but family too.)

……………………………..

Months after I felt my first “like” for someone (which honestly it was just me being completely dazed by his kindness, nothing more). It was fast and stupid and didn’t make sense, I was learning a new language and starting a new job and we just got close and I knew it had no future but I didn’t care because I had hope again, hope that I wasn’t broken and could finally talk about butterflies and fireworks and even heartbreak. 

He liked me back (surprise!!), but I remember not being happy, nor excited, nor…. Disappointed. 

“Probably if I kiss him I’ll know if I really like him. Perhaps, if I kiss him, I will feel something again.”

After a very, very uncomfortable and wet and too long for my liking kiss, I remember feeling nothingness, emptiness, the kind you feel when you aren’t hungry nor full. Like when you listen to a song you used to love but feel nothing and think nothing, just an “Oh. Cool. That’s a nice song.”

 It didn’t work out of course.

“Probably he just wasn’t the right one.”

 I lost a friend and a little bit of myself after that.

……………………………..

At the age of 18, my best friend confessed to me, he told me he had liked me for a long time. Of course, my oblivious self didn’t notice and hurt him, hard. 

Worst part, I didn’t like him back. I was so afraid because I knew what that meant. My best friend would leave me because broken me couldn’t make herself feel something for him. (I was in a dark place guys, pls bare with my drama.)

And yet, I would never lie about something so serious, so I didn’t. And I was right, he said he couldn’t deal with just being my friend, and he was completely right. I could not ask him to still be friends when he felt so much for me. I just didn’t understand (because how could I?), but I agreed and respected his feelings. He was several years older than me and had had past serious relationships, so I trusted his experience. 

After several days of no communication whatsoever, he texted me again and devoted all his free time to win me over, no kidding.

(Later I would find out it was my mother who convinced him that he had to fight for me, that I was just, for some reason, scared and closed off to the idea of having a relationship. She blamed my dad, whom I didn’t have a good relationship with for a good chunk of my life, for being the reason why I never let any man get close enough to me. How could I blame her? She never suspected I was different because I never told her anything.)

And a month later, I started liking him. Like, really, really, liking him. We started going out and eventually, I fell in love. I loved the way he would make me feel. I loved how much he accepted me and how open-minded he was. I loved we liked most of the same stuff and that our hobbies were so alike. I loved how different he was to my dad. I loved how gentlemanly he was. I loved many things about him; I loved him in my own, different way. Different, because kisses for him were butterflies and summer and oceans and to me never felt any different than just two mouths moving against each other; they weren’t disgusting, they weren’t meaningless, they just were kisses. Different, because he needed sexual affection, and I didn’t. Different, because sex was such an important thing for him, that I would do it just to make him happy. Different, because to me, joining hands and cuddling were more than enough to show my love. It was different, not less or more, even if he believed until the last day that he loved me more.

I broke up with him two years later and it was painful and ugly and illuminating.

Heartbreak meant that my dependency on him needed to be replaced with dependency on myself. I needed to trust and listen to myself more than ever. I needed to stop looking for validation and assurance that “yes, you are normal, you just take your time.” 

I needed to stop listening to the voice that repeated “you will always hurt whoever approaches you because you can’t give them what they need” over and over again.

Being alone trying to find answers made me join a talented community that welcomed me with open arms and a lot of love and acceptance. A community that gave me the gift of meeting extraordinary people who, in their own way, felt the same as me and never rejected/judged me for that. Made me realize that my taste in stuff is broader than I thought and that it was ok to like certain stuff. It made me accept myself and others. Made me take pride in who I was and never, ever, feel bad about it.

Thanks to this community, and these people, I got to understand I was Demiromantic Asexual (with gray areas).

That not wanting kids is not some crazy millennial nonsense like my family kindly (haha) makes sure to let me know every time I bring the topic up. 

That being indifferent to kisses and sex but needing affection and hugs and touches is not contradicting.

That being open to being with someone but also being happy alone is normal.

In my 20s I wholly comprehend I still have a lot to learn about myself, that I might not fall fully under one label but many and I don’t know yet, but that’s what growing up means. And for the first time in my whole life, I’m excited to see what more I have to offer.

……………………………..

Notes: Special thanks to @kkazulwolf because they were kind and awesome enough to listen to me, let me ask questions and reassure me It is ok.

[elaianna]

Block Captain

One Week Ago

The passage of time was a certainty in the dismal, dim, halls that ran like a labyrinth through the network of dungeon blocks. No Sun, no Moon, hours could pass like minutes, minutes could pass as days and no man nor woman could tell a difference, merely that time continued to move on without them. Few sounds passed through the sealed corridors once a prisoner had been broken. In their first days, their days with fight left in their bodies a man could be heard screaming, threatening, for hours on end. Like all others this soon faded with their will until all that remained was the quiet murmurings of guards, their jeers toward some prisoners over others, and the rattle of chains over the ill coughs of prisoners.

As a marching jostle of plated boots and swaying chain jingled down the center corridor with a growing reverberation it heralded a newcomer to the block. The grinding of rusted bars thrummed as they forcibly were drawn open with a screeching scrape of metal on metal. After a hearty 'thump' the welcomed arrival of a new tenant to cell C-3 became known to all others around.

Steps reaching closer, away from the cell, the soles of leather boots and and plate brushing against itself brought a guard closer to cell C-1. A harsh rap of his club smacked to one of the bars of the cage, Anna's cage, before his commanding voice barked,

"Up and at 'em! Block Captain's comin' in for ya."

Elaianna's head jerked upright, having been caught in that lucid spot between sleep and consciousness where not everything seemed real but she was vividly aware of the gnashing hunger in her stomach.  It took a few moments for her to register the words spoken at her.  

Comin' in for ya.

Was it time then? For trial? Or for justice without seeing the rigged jury?

Chains scraped against the floor as she pulled herself up to her feet.

The room seemed to change to suit the approach of the block captain. Additional torches were brought in so that the area now felt fully lit for the first time in years, revealing it to be more than what could seem like a single room but a two-storied jailhouse unit. Guards fell quiet, their murmurings being replaced with hard snaps to attention in the wake of a slow thud of boots. Finally, as the growing sound of steps drew closer a short stool was brought forward a foot from the bars of Elaianna's cell.

Coming in to the light was a man far removed from thought to be in such a position, even less to command silence and a presence of both fear and respect. With fellow prisoner's silhouettes dotting every third cell at most, all eyes cast to the man stepping into the light, then sitting calmly facing Anna. Pale, scrawny, the man looked more at place being a librarian or perhaps with a desk job than the position he filled. Sporting a pair of glasses with one lens chipped at the top and a spiderweb of cracks running down, the man stared forward to Elaianna with his hands cupping either knee.

"Good morning, Miss Stalsworth." The man spoke in a bright, almost eerily brimming voice.

"I would like to ask you a few questions if you can be troubled, the depth of your answers will alter your stay and the welfare of those close to you. I would like you to ask honestly, and fully, is that clear?"

Licking her lips to try and moisten her mouth, there was only one response to the spindly man she saw before her. "Missus," she corrected him, voice hoarse, but defiant. They could do a great many things to her in here but they couldn't take that away from her.

With a cock of his head the thinning block captain smiled. Awkwardly, sweetly, almost smiling on at Anna like she was an old friend to whom he could admire. Turning his gaze upward to one of the guards at his side he continued that sickly smile before stating coolly,

"See to it 'Missus'-" He turned back to Anna giving her a soft nod. "Stalsworth now will go three days between food and water if you'd please."

Perhaps they couldn't take her stubborn nature from her, but at the very least they could punish it until she knew better.

"Now then, Missus Stalsworth," He continued to articulate for her. "I need names, and locations of your husband, and all leading faculty of your company as well as House. I would like to of course preface things with they are in no danger, and no harm is intended upon them, we merely wish to extend invitation properly so that they may appear before court for your trial."

As if on cue, the hungering pit of her stomach growled audibly. 'What was another day when you're already starving?' she reasoned with herself, trying to give herself some inner fortitude to accept the punishment. At least he did acknowledge her married name now. Small victories.

Brows knit together, and Elaianna's face scrunched up. Days without make up and in the lighting that was only now afforded her cell, one could see that the woman had a light splattering of freckles no longer hidden beneath the powder of make up.

"You have them in custody, don't you?"

"Well, I don't-"

With his hands opening a moment beneath his shrug, the man quickly fell back to clasping his knees.

"It's very possible some other individual has but I am just a captain, see this here?"

The man reached upward holding a hand out and waving it repeatedly before a clipboard was placed in to it by an adjacent guard.

"This is a clipboard. I'm supposed to read the questions, mark down what you say, then relay that just like everyone else. So maybe some is outdated, maybe some isn't- I am here to ask, you are to answer. Now, if they have been arrested, it has surely been for some offense like...some of the others in your company..." He began squinting, flipping over the first page of his clipboard to scan the long list of new arrivals. "But let's assume they haven't, so- names and locations, please."

Did she dare to hope she was lied to? That he didn't have her children? Her family? ...Or was it just a ploy to do that, to get her hopes up only for them to take joy in shattering her. Paranoia had always been present for the Lady, but now more so than ever.

"I've been locked up for what? Weeks?" How long had it been? She couldn't tell anymore. "How would I know where they're at by now?"

The man stared on in silence again. A quill in hand he made a show of continuing to stare at her as the tip scratched across the surface of his clipboard, striking away the top line.

"How very disappointing. I was hoping you'd be more keen on speaking up on your own behalf- question two then...please give a through accounting of your occupation of Stormhollow. You came with the initial-" He pauses to squint at the page, trying to make out the questions he was told to ask before huffing.

"Your family was loyal, you broke that, held the land illegally- blah blah, elaborate why, please."

"I inherited the land. I held it legally. This entire thing is an illegal farce," she rasped, the last syllable hissing from her lips. She swallowed once, trying not to wince as it felt like she was swallowing shards of glass from how parched she was.

"My actions came from your Lord demanding slaves of his people, like some savage."

"I...don't care."  The man spoke briskly, his hands waving with the clipboard still in grasp in a light swirling motion. 

"Clipboard. I just read the questions, I've had plenty of traitors rustle their chains at me about 'this is all a misunderstanding' and 'I'm innocent, do you know who I am'." He mocked in a higher pitch tone that minced each word.

"I'll just mark it down as you did not care to do as asked, sound good?" His brows rose, lips pulling back in a tight withdrawal. "Good." After a moment of scribbling, the man mouthing each word as he wrote just as he'd stated to her, his eyes rose again to meet her.

"How about assets? Care to tell us what assets you formerly possessed, Missus Stalsworth?"

"Irrelevant," she answered, staring in defiance. She didn't formerly possess anything.

With a heavy sigh the man turned his head upwards to the guard beside him yet again.

"Please see to it Missus Stalsworth receives half her current rations for the month, remaining with the current schedule." Turning to her with a blank face, lips curled in again and brows raised expectantly he gestures his hand to her to give her the floor to speak.

"Would you like to amend, your answer, Missus Stalsworth?"

"My amended answer is that should you wish me to speak, then it will be through my lawyer."

With the soft clicking sound of his tongue thumping in a deliberate manner off the roof of his mouth the block captain stared onward. Jaw stilling, eyes blinking in a slow, measured pace he began to shift in his seat, one cheek then the other until he wiggled in to comfort.

"Well then I don't see anything else needed here, I'll hand this information off to the judge and we'll see if we can't get you sentenced sooner rather than later then, aye?" With a pleasant grin he leaned forward, the stool being pulled away as he took to his feet again. "You have yourself a lovely day now." He'd point forward in a short movement.

"Oh but uhm, one final question then just for you- how would you rate your accommodations thus far?" Stepping back toward the center of the room, the captain cast his gaze upward and began scanning the room of torches that were now being dimmed. "I'm thinking about painting...new decorations maybe, make it feel more homely you know?"

"Perhaps your head on a spike," came the sour remark. "I think that'd make a lovely embellishment for down here."

@atc-wra @eidrich-crone @thomasstalsworth @gloryofsteel

[kitseis]

THE PURPOSE (SANS AUs X READER) - ACT 1; CHAPTER 1

~Ten years later...~

You fell backwards onto the ground. Standing in the doorway before you, your landlord--or, former landlord--stood above you, glaring. "Get out, monster-lover, and don't come back!" he snarled. He slammed the door. You got to your feet, grumbling and dusting yourself off. How dare he treat you like that! And to insult you for being friends with monsters? Disgusting. Yeah, sure, you had missed a couple of rents, but you were going to pay them....eventually! Still...the insult was a little unnecessary.

Two years ago, the monsters were released from the Underground by a child named Frisk. To be entirely honest, you preferred them over other humans. They were so much kinder, so much more accepting. You remembered the first monsters you met; it was when they first arrived. They were the skeleton brothers Sans and Papyrus. You still spoke to them occasionally, but there was just something about Sans....something far too familiar. Whenever you saw him, you remembered that one strange dream so many years ago; the two skeletons--one covered in paint with ever-changing eyes, and one with soft, melodious voice and draped in gold. Their names always seemed to slip your mind, but you could never get them out of your mind when you thought back to those days, and whenever you looked at Sans. The similarities were too much.

Of course, everything had changed drastically since then. After you awoke from that never-fading dream, you were taken to the hospital. When they discovered what your father and his drinking buddies had been doing to you, they were incarcerated and you were placed into foster care. Now, you were nearly nineteen, and left to fend for yourself. It couldn't be any more obvious that you were struggling. You hardly made a living off of hustling, and people judged you for being friends with monsters. You couldn't help it--you liked to think, somehow, that the beings dream you held onto from so long were like the monsters that had entered your world. You liked to believe that they were real, in some way. Of course, it was ridiculous and childish, but at least it gave you a bit of hope.

You sighed and pulled out your cheap burner phone. You would have to rely on your only support: your courier. And, by 'courier,' you mean the River Person. See, you were a hustler. The River Person helped you get things from here to there. Nothing you did was illegal, but it sure as hell was sketchy. They were things like pirated movies and games, illegal consoles, cheap consoles that you sold for more money than they were worth. That was why you never remained in one place for too long....though that didn't mean you wanted to get kicked out of your current apartment. Now you would need to crash on the River Person's boat, which was always an....interesting experience. But, he was the only one who wouldn't deny you a place to stay. Not only that, but you trusted him, no matter how strange and mysterious he was, and he was pretty true to his duties.

You dialed up his number. It rang for a while, but eventually he picked up. "Tra la la...Is this a friend calling?"

"Hey, I need a place to sleep. Mind if I crash on your boat?" you asked, not sugar coating it. He never denied you, because he was....well, weird. Which is probably why you were drawn to him. You were always connected to the unusual types, no matter how shady.

"Tra la la....of course, of course.....you should wear a few more pants today...."

You smiled. Nonsense, was what he was. You laughed. "Alright. Thanks, RM."

"Tra la la....remember to take a break every-so-often...." And he hung up. You sighed with a slight grin on your face. At least he was reliable. In all reality, you could have called Papyrus, who is a bit more....normal. But, then there was the Sans thing. You liked Sans, no doubt--you found his jokes and puns pretty funny, and he was pretty cool, but the likeliness perturbed you far too much.

With that, you picked up your rucksack, which carried all of the belongings you owned. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get by. From what you assumed, the River Man was probably at the riverbed a few miles away, where he normally was. The quickest way to get there would be the back alleys, which you knew well. At this, you set off.

You were usually pretty confident travelling these ways, but there was just some notion that shook you. It was like walking into a haunted house; you could feel a foreboding chill in the air, and it bothered you, made you paranoid, even.

You quickened your pace. As you turned into another alley, the chill grew more and more prominent. When you couldn't recognize where you were at, you cursed. Your paranoia must have drawn you astray. Soon, you found yourself at a dead end. That horrible feeling coursed through your body. Every bit of intuition within you screamed at you to get out, get out, get out. Yet, you couldn't understand why.

Then, something shuffled behind you. Before you could react, you were knocked to the ground. Within a split second you saw the culprit lift your bag and run. understanding the situation now, you leaped to your feet and shouted after the thief, rage boiling within you. Those were your only belongings! Who the hell did the guy think he was?!

In your anger, you began to chase after the man. You were a pretty quick runner; you were used to all the years of running from enraged clients. Not to mention all those years with your father....

You were catching up to him. He was clearly human, meaning you wouldn't have to worry about him using any magic. You could see the back of his head as you headed towards the street. If you were lucky, you could catch him just in time.

Just as you reached out your hand to grip the back of his shirt, a bright yellow light blinded you. You stopped and looked towards the source in horror. A truck seemed to be rushing your way, the tires screeching as the driver attempted desperately to stop the vehicle in time.

And, like that, a horrible pain shattered your bones. You felt yourself fling out, seeming to fly until your back slammed against something sharp. As you struggled to breathe, the world around you grew darker and darker, until an awful darkness flooded your vision, and your body fell into a pit of black.....

♡♡♡

What was this sensation? Were you dead? No, that couldn't be...you could still feel your heartbeat. Yes, there it was, in your chest. Where were you? It was so dark. But you could tell it wasn't natural darkness. Your eyes were closed. You needed to open them. Open them! For crissakes, (Y/N), don't give up now!

Your eyes shot open, and you jolted up from where you were laying. Every inch of your body ached. You looked around you. There was a colourless void of white all around you, one that seemed so...familiar.

You tried to stand, but failed, collapsing onto your knees.

Wait, this had happened before. You tried to recall, but you couldn't even remember what had happened only moments before. All you knew was that you were there, in that blank white world, and that it felt as though you had been there before.

You attempted to stand once more. You wobbled a bit, but soon steadied. You were still unbelievably sore. You groaned. You touched your head, which ached from both physical and mental pain. You needed to remember how you got here!

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

You tried desperately to rack your brain for the memories, when a sharp pain bolted up your side.

It was a reminder.

You remembered! You remembered truck rushing towards you, flying, shattering glass, the horrible pain. You had thought, in those last moments before darkness, that your life was over.

Then there was this whiteness....no....could it be? The memory of that dream, so long ago. Or was it a dream? You had awoken in this Void after being on the brink of death. But that was years ago, and not only that, but there was no way that was real. It was just a dream, right? Dream....Dream! One of skeletons' name was Dream. If this was anything like the last time, wouldn't he be around here somewhere? Maybe it was just a reoccurring experience, only when you experienced pain. A sort of defense mechanism.

With that, you called out. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

No response.

"Hello?" you persisted, "Can anyone hear me?" Your voice seemed lost in the emptiness.

At least, until you heard that faintly familiar accent.

"Hello? Where are you?" The sound of footsteps approached. They grew closer and closer from behind you. When they stopped, you turned slowly.

Surely, just like that dream from so long ago, there stood that same, gold-caped, starry-eyed skeleton. His expression was full of shock. "Y-you're...you're that human!" he exclaimed quietly.

You gazed at each other for a while. You were confused. If this was a dream, then how did he remember you? That just didn't seem possible. It was too real.

Then again, everything seemed far too real. The pain, the emptiness, everything. Was this Dream not a part of a dream? Was he real?

"You...know me?" was all you could utter dumbly. Of course, you knew that he did, because you knew him as well.

"You...you're...you're (Y/N), aren't you?" he stammered.

You simply nodded. He looked like he was about to faint. "How...the same human...how did you get here?"

Honestly, you wished you could explain, but alas, it was impossible. He just shuffled your feet uncomfortably. "I..." you began, "I'm...I'm not sure. I got hit by a car, and that's all I can remember before I arrived here."

"Oh, no..." he said quietly, "Well, last time you were here, then you were gone. But how? Ink said that your timeline was...unique, but...."

"Timeline?" you questioned.

"It's difficult to explain...I'm not really one to discuss it. Ink is the one who knows all about it." He turned away from you. "How long have you been here? Not too long, right?"

"I don't know," you said. You were finally regaining your full senses, and we're almost able to think clearly. It sure as hell didn't feel like a dream, or an out-of-body experience, or anything of the sort. The idea that it was real struck you. You weren't sure how to take that.

"Well, you must have been here a while...about as long as before," the skeleton continued.

"What do we do?" you asked. It was the only sentence that came to your mind.

"Well, I think...maybe we should go see Ink," said Dream, "You're still here. We could not figure out quite how you got here. Somehow, you got through the core code, but that is nearly impossible. It is a horrible journey, and no one from the human-based timelines has ever gotten through, let alone someone who most likely doesn't exist in other AUs..."

Timelines? AUs? Core code? None of it made any sense to you. It all sounded like some crazy game. But you remained silent. You figured this wasn't time to ask. You would just wait until Dream brought you to Ink. You remembered Ink vividly, and how much he intimidated you so long ago. Yet, he had been kind to you. It was hard to forget.

"Well...um..." you tried, "I'm still here, so we have to figure out why. You said something about Ink."

"Yes! He might know," exclaimed Dream, smiling now, "But, um, mind you he is a bit...forgetful."

You nodded. Maybe along the way you'd wake up, just like before. But, unlike the last time, you weren't dizzy. The whole world around you seemed much more tangible. It wasn't a dream.

It wasn't a dream. Was it?

So, this time, maybe you couldn't wake up.

You wouldn't.

It was just a feeling, a notion, just like in that alleyway. You just knew.

"(Y/N)?"

You snapped out of your panicked thoughts. "H-huh? Yeah?" You gave a bashful smile, but there was a look on Dream's face. It was like he could see your emotions, from the way he was frowning.

You shuffled a bit. "So, is there really more than this?" you asked, motioning around to the whiteness, letting a light, nervous laugh escape your lips.

"Oh, yes!" said Dream, beginning to walk briskly into the nothingness, "Ink hates how empty this part of his 'Doodle Sphere' is, so he usually avoids it, unless Error is involved."

Again with the strange names and phases. Error sounded like a person, and the 'Doodle Sphere' was obviously a place. More specifically, the Void you were in. Yet you decided not to question him further. Poor guy seemed stressed at it was.

The two of you trekked on in silence for a while. Occasionally Dream would tense, but return to his original position.

You couldn't take the silence. It was making you anxious. "So, there's really more to this place?" A conversation topic. Good. You were horrible at those, but it was better than nothing.

Dream nodded. "I guess you could call Ink a sort of...artist. He has created almost his entire own world. Only he has the power to create alternate universes. It is all quite interesting."

Create whole universes? The thought itself was mind blowing. "So he's a sort of god?"

Dream laughed. "If you say so. In my universe, I was considered a god of sorts, so it is strange to think of Ink as a god. But, yes, you could call him that."

This prompted you to ponder more. "You're a god?"

Dream stopped dead in his tracks. He giggled a bit, in a rather sweet manner. "Well, not really. More of a guardian, of course, that did not stop others from calling us what they may...and by 'us', I mean my brother and I. We guarded the Tree of Dreams together."

The pair of you had continued walking. "You have a brother? I didn't think skeletons could have those," you joked.

"That is...a long story. One for another time. In the meanwhile, why don't we focus on what's ahead of us?" He shifted his gaze forward. You followed it, only for your eyes to settle on a beautiful scene.

Multiple island floated along the white landscape, covered in colour and wonderful scenery. Every island was uniquely different. One was dark and decrepit, another was bright and cheery, and another was the mirror image of its counterpart beside it. Each hovering piece of land held an elaborate door that stood out too much to not notice.

All of the breath from your lungs had been sucked away by such a view. Perhaps it was because you had traveled through that awful nothingness for so long that this place shocked your system, or maybe it was just it's glamour in general.

"Wow..." you murmured. As the words escaped your mouth, another voice arrived. One you more than definitely recognized. Another of which you held onto for so long. Only this time, it was harsher.

"Who are you?"

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Where is Home? Part 3- Hizdahr zo Loraq x OC

Hizdahr zo Loraq x Kiyara Tallhart

Description: Hizdahr and Kiyara must now find an answer to their question: is their home in Meereen or Gylladhor?

Word Count: 2.2k

It took a lot of explaining to Hizdahr’s family. They had to go through everything that had happened since the leaders of the Great Families were taken into custody in full detail. That meant talking about the leader that was killed in the catacombs (Hizdahr’s mother, who Kiyara learned was named Aracel, expressed her sympathy for having to see something so horrible), Hizdahr becoming betrothed to the queen (Hegar nearly spit out his drink at that), to the day of the attack (where Aracel told her side of figuring out what happened to her son via Ser Daario), Kiyara using Nediss to get Hizdahr to safety (she apologized profusely about basically entering their home illegally and taking money, but Aracel laughed it off), arriving at Gylladhor and passing out, then the two waking up and deciding to stay there for the unforeseeable future. 

“Well,” Aracel finally spoke. “It seems like you two have been through a lot together.” Kiyara nodded as her husband took her hand yet again. 

“We have,” Hizdahr agreed with a nod. 

“What brings you guys back here then?” Grahar asked, followed by Aracel scolding him for asking so impolitely. 

“With the Sons of Harpy gone, we wanted to come back to Meereen and see if this was something we wanted to be a part of,” Hizdahr explained. “We stay for three days and on the third day we make a decision. It seems like we came just in time for the festivities.” Grahar nodded, looking excited. 

“Well, the Nobles’ feast should be starting soon, would you like to accompany us back to the temple?” Kiyara offered. “It could give you four time to catch up and us time to get to know each other.” Aracel smiled kindly at her and nodded, standing from the couch once again. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. Boys, go grab what you need and meet us outside,” she instructed her younger sons, who nodded and walked out in unison. 

“It’s been strange living without slaves anymore after Queen Daenerys freed everyone,” Aracel commented while she as well as Kiyara and Hizdahr walked out to their wagon. 

"I’m sure your past workers appreciate your cooperation with this new emancipation,” Kiyara responded smoothly. Hizdahr helped his mother up then Kiyara before getting in himself. It didn’t take Hegar and Grahar long to join them and with a flick of the reins, the family began their journey back to the Temple of Graces. 

On the way there, they truly did learn a lot about each other. Kiyara learned that Hegar was the oldest after Hizdahr and Grahar was the youngest. She also learned about the boy’s father, Herrath and all his oppositions to the crucifixions as well as having child slaves in the first place. 

“He kept those beliefs until his dying day,” Aracel finished softly. 

“Do you hold ill will against Queen Daenerys?” Kiyara inquired curiously. 

“Father used to say that you can tell who the wisest man is by the way he holds grudges,” Grahar responded. “The unwise man will hold grudges over the smallest things, but the unwise man will forgive easily.” Kiyara’s eyebrows raised a bit, but she could find no lie in his words. 

“Sounds like your father was one of those wise men.” Aracel smiled at that, and then the conversation switched to them learning about Kiyara. She told them about how Dothraki pillaged their village, killing her parents in the process. Daenerys took pity on the girl and begged her husband the Dothraki Khalasar, Khal Drago to spare her and let her come with them. He agreed reluctantly and she began her unofficial handmaiden until the attack of the Sons of Harpy in Meereen. 

“Well, you can definitely say for certain that your parents raised a lovely girl. They’d be proud of you if they saw you now,” Aracel spoke once the girl finished. Kiyara couldn’t help but smile and thank her. 

They finally arrived at the temple as it neared sundown. There were several carriages already there, signaling that some of the Great Families were already there. They walked in as a unit and were announced as usual. Daenerys saved them all a seat beside her at the head of the table. Kiyara didn’t say anything, but she knew that it had been on purpose. The feast had been a success, there was lots of food, talking, laughter, and the atmosphere was just one that you couldn’t help but want to be a part of. 

Afterwards, everyone walked in unison to the square to join in the others in celebration. The air was filled with even more talking and laughter, this time there was music to fill in the blank spaces. Kiyara had been talking with Missandei when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and saw her husband. He grinned and held his hand out for her as the band began playing a different song. After excusing herself from her friend, Kiyara took his hand and followed him to where couples had been dancing. And, without need for another word, they danced in unison with everyone else. They danced the night away, only taking a few breaks in between. 

The next day they woke up exhausted. As tempted as they were to just stay in bed, they did have a deal to uphold. After eating breakfast, they took a ride around the town with Daenerys and Daario, where they made pleasant conversation (though Hizdahr and Daario didn’t talk to each other much). Daenerys showed them the old fighting pits that had been turned into memorials for the enslaved dead. Afterwards they went to Aracel’s home for tea and more catching up. At some point they took a trip to visit Herrath’s grave. It was an emotional moment for them, but a happy one overall. They stayed at Aracel’s house for dinner then all of them went to the town for the second night of the festival. Yet again, Hizdahr pulled his wife into the crowd of dancing people and they danced until the celebration was over. 

On the third day, Hizdahr and Kiyara decided to just walk around and talk to the townspeople. Hizdahr said it would be the best way to get a feel of what it would be like to live there. They agreed that once they finished their walk, they’d go to separate rooms and think over their decision then come together and decide. And that’s just what they did. 

While Hizdahr stayed in their room, Kiyara went to her old room and sat on the bed as she contemplated her options. The people they met and talked to seemed like wonderful people. And Meereen looked and felt like a wonderful place to live, she couldn’t deny that. Yet, there was still something keeping her tied to Gylladhor. Maybe it was the fact that Meereen previously held so many bad memories for her, or maybe it was because they’d already built a life that they were happy with in Gylladhor, but she knew she couldn’t stay here. Her home was in Gylladhor, and that’s where she wanted to be. 

She finally arrived back at their room, and just as she lifted her hand to knock, Hizdahr opened it. Both of them were surprised, but Hizdahr was the first to laugh. 

“I was just about to come look for you,” he spoke gently. 

“I take it that means you’ve made your choice then?” Kiyara inquired. The man nodded and invited her inside. They sat on the bed beside one another. 

You go first,” she instructed gently. Hizdahr nodded slowly then looked down. 

“Meereen truly is a beautiful place, I seemed to have forgotten that when living in Gylladhor,” he started, which made her nod. “It’s an amazing city with amazing people. I remember growing up and having to get used to that more often than not. I may be biased, but I think Meereen is quite possibly one of the best places to live.” 

“I agree,” Kiyara responded, almost losing hope if she hadn’t noticed something in his eyes. “But?” She prompted. 

“But,” he repeated, breathing out heavily. “It’s not the place for us. Meereen may be a great city to live in, but Gylladhor is better. It doesn’t matter if you mess something up, because the people are so forgiving. When I’m there I don’t feel like the ‘Noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, scion of the House of Loraq,’ I feel like Hizdahr. It’s much easier there and honestly, after all we’ve been through, we deserve easier. I think I want to stay in Gylladhor,” he concluded. A bright smile made its way onto her face and without warning she practically tackled him in a hug. She felt his chest rumble as he laughed. 

“I take it you feel the same way?” He teased, which made her laugh as well. 

“I do,” she responded softly. “Gylladhor is our home.” Hizdahr smiled and pressed a loving kiss to her lips. 

             The next morning they told both Daenerys and the Loraq clan of their decision to stay in Gylladhor. Though they had been a bit saddened to hear they wouldn’t be staying, they understood. As Aracel hugged the two of them, she mumbled something into their ears. 

“I knew you wouldn’t want to stay here,” she informed them. Hizdahr pulled away, surprise on his face. 

“What? How?” He questioned, baffled. Aracel gave him a kind smile. 

“Because I know true love when I see it. You two would follow each other to the ends of the earth so the other could be happy. I doubt you could have found that here.” Kiyara smiled at her explanation, Hizdahr doing the same after a minute because they both knew she was right. 

They returned to Gylladhor that night, where just about everyone had been waiting to greet them and ask about the trip. Hizdahr watched Kiyara talk with everyone and answer their questions. She looked much more at peace here. That’s what made him realize that he made the right choice. Their home is in Gylladhor.

[welllpthisishappening]

It’s a Funny Old Game (2/2)

Killian's not sure why he agreed to this. Well, no, that's not true. He does. Because Henry asked. And, well, maybe they're some kind of family now.

Emma's not sure why she hasn't said anything. Well, no, that's not true. She does. Because she's not supposed to. And, well, things were pretty good already.

Or: A quasi Out of the Frying Pan sequel with soccer.

AN: There’s an actual soccer game in this part of the soccer fic I was never planning on actually writing. Soccer and fluff and feelz. As always, I cannot say enough about @distant-rose & @laurnorder who rationalized all of these feelz and we’re like...uh, yeah, obviously you should write the thing. They’re the best. 

Also on Ao3 if you’re looking there. 

“This is, easily, the coolest thing we’ve ever done.” “You’re not actually doing anything,” Emma pointed out, glancing at David who, appeared, to be ignoring her completely.

Mary Margaret shook her head, hitching her arm under Leo’s legs and babbling something that might have been words before turning back towards Emma. “Don’t pop this bubble for him,” she said. “He thinks he’s going to get out on the field. He’s going to collect dirt or something.”

“What?” “Yeah, yeah, Mom, we’re going to get dirt,” Henry yelled, bobbing on his toes. He didn’t trip, but he did stumble over the words a bit, voice picking up and excitement obvious in every letter and Emma had been right – he made a jersey.

Or he’d done some jersey-type surgery on one of the several dozen jerseys he owned – getting rid of the name patch on the back and writing out Jones and that, certainly,  didn’t do several different things to Emma’s entire body and her ability to not cry in public places.

David probably would have laughed at her.

Well, no, he was too busy plotting how to sneak onto the field at Yankee Stadium and, apparently, steal dirt.

Will would have laughed at her.

Will helped Henry and Roland make a sign at the bar the night before.

“I don’t understand this dirt thing at all,” Belle muttered, doing her best to avoid Roland’s feet when she fell in step next to Will. He was hanging over Will’s shoulder, face flushed from the blood that had rushed to the top of his head and Regina didn’t even look surprised by any of this.

Emma wasn’t really either – a year after Killian had moved downtown and they’d all kind of mixed and mingled and it was some kind of family in a big, emotional way that was underlined and bolded and, maybe, had fireworks going off behind it.

At least that’s how Emma kept thinking about it. And nearly proclaiming in the middle of the kitchen at the Jolly with flour smeared across her jeans.

God, what an idiot. That wasn’t...not yet, at least. Not technically.

So Killian helped Henry with his homework and made dinner when he wasn’t running service at the Jolly and they liked to spend Sundays on the couch with video game controllers in hand and he’d almost gotten good at killing zombies.

They were comfortable and domestic and Emma was so goddamn lucky it, sometimes, made her head spin if she thought about it for too long.

She usually didn’t have time to think about it for too long – far too busy with a filming schedule that always seemed to require another appearance in studio and another cookbook and she really needed to start thinking about more recipes, but she’d been focused on a few other things for the last two weeks.

Ariel would call it distracted, you’re distracted and had, several times, but Emma didn’t have time for that either and she’d nearly forgotten the orange slices before.

“Uncle David wants to steal dirt from Yankee Stadium,” Henry explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because Derek Jeter touched it.” “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Emma muttered. Henry actually turned to gape at her, eyes wide with disbelief and sports-based offense and she couldn’t actually wave her hands, laden down with orange slices and stress-fueled bake goods because she hadn’t thought of a single recipe yet.

“Yes it does,” David argued. “This is the house that Jeter built, after all.” “Oh my God.” Mary Margaret mumbled something else against Leo’s head that sounded suspiciously like your father is insane and David rolled his eyes. “I thought this was the house that Ruth built,” Robin said reasonably and they had to be close to their seats.

Ruby and Regina had joined forces a few days before – each personally offended that the massive and extended family of Killian Jones wasn’t immediately offered half a dozen rows of seats for a charity soccer game and the combined weight of their fury probably caused several Yankee Stadium ticket agents to cry.

“No, didn’t you hear?” Will asked, making a face when Roland moved on his shoulder. “This is the house that Jones built. We’ve been guaranteed, at least, forty-seven goals.” “See, you’re acting like this doesn’t matter to you,” Emma said. “But you were the one trying to ask Killian about strategy three nights ago.” “How do you know that?” “I have ears? And eyes?” Will made a face, pressing his head against Roland’s shoulder when the kid started laughing and Regina tried to tug his own makeshift Jones jersey down when it rode up his back. “How’d the last run through go yesterday afternoon? Cap didn’t want to talk about it when he got in for service.” “And you don’t think that was some kind of sign?”

Will opened his mouth to say something else, but Robin mumbled shut up, Scarlet and that was the end of that conversation.

Emma did her best to smile – certain it was going to be fine and good and it was a charity game for God’s sake. No one expected them actually play well.

But Killian was Killian and, by extension, Emma was Emma and Henry had brought, like, a dozen friends because there was so much goddamn room in their several designated aisles and it felt like some kind of terrifying ocean of teenage-expectations.

“He just wants to impress you and Henry,” Robin muttered, knocking his shoulder familiarly against Emma’s once they made their way into the seats and they were only a few feet behind the benches. “Mostly Henry, I think.”

There was a waiter. They had their own in-aisle waiter. Ruby had definitely made someone cry.

“Yeah, I know,”  Emma said. “He could do that by waking up in the morning, though.” “That was actually pretty romantic.” “It felt weird when I was saying it.” Robin laughed softly, tapping his fingers on the armrest next to him and the Stadium looked completely different. Not that Emma had ever actually been to a baseball game, but she imagined there wasn’t usually a whole other field on top of the field when the Yankees played.

“Does it look especially soccer?” she asked and she saw Robin smile out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m not sure if I know what that question means, but the proper term is football pitch and, yes, it does look like a proper match.” “That was almost oppressively British.”

“Old habits. You know, Ruby and Gina forced him to film a promo thing yesterday. It was part for the network and part the team and it’s up on both sites. That might have been why he was attacking the vegetables during service last night.”

“Oh,” Emma mumbled, a wholly underwhelming response and maybe her eyes and ears weren’t working nearly as well as she thought they had been.

“Ruby didn’t show you?” Emma shook her head, something churning in the pit of her stomach that felt like a mix of nerves and anxiety and the hope that Killian didn’t actually break any bones because they’d already done the whole soccer injury thing with Henry six months ago and she wasn’t sure if she could go through that again.

“Should she have?” Emma asked and Robin made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

Henry and Roland were already cheering – at the grounds crew – and that sign wasn’t going to make it to kickoff, already slightly wrinkled by wind and they probably should have made two so there was no issue over sharing.

“Depends on your response, I guess,” Robin replied, leaning to his side to tug his phone out of his pocket. “For the record, A sent the link to me last night with just, like, twenty-seven exclamation points and the promise that it would mean something to you.” Emma narrowed her eyes. “And she didn’t think it would make sense to just, you know, send it to me?” “You know, A. She lives for this back-room drama and I’m fairly positive she was terrified of what Killian would do if he found out she was the reason you got your hands on that video.” “And you’re cool with that kind of lingering threat?” “Eh,” Robin shrugged. “My kid is obsessed with him. He was the best man at my wedding. I’m fairly confident he won’t actually try to push me in front of the downtown-6 later.” “We drove up here. Your wife has questionably strong connections with town-car companies.”

Robin beamed. “Exactly. Here,” he added, pushing the phone into Emma’s palm and the video had already started playing.

Emma tugged her hair over her shoulder, trying to shake away that one strand that seemed determined to stay in her eyes and he must have just finished practicing because his hair wasn’t quite set and there was a sheen to his face that might have actually been the most attractive thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.

God.

She could feel Robin’s stare on the side of her head – watching and waiting for some kind of visible reaction and the whole lot of them had probably seen this stupid video. Mary Margaret kept shifting in her seat.

She’d totally seen that stupid video.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s going to be a lot of fun,” Killian said, answering a question from an off-camera reporter. “Who do I think is going to be the best on the field? Well, if you want to get technical, the correct term is pitch.” He flashed a smile at the camera, eyebrows doing something that should be illegal in every country in the entire world. “But, uh, honestly,” he continued, tugging on that piece of hair that curled just behind his ear. “Me? Is that the wrong answer?” The invisible reporter laughed – or that might have just been Emma and she barely even noticed when the waiter started passing out drinks and food and there was alcohol in her other hand before she realized someone had actually ordered anything.

It was probably Ruby.

She had a tendency to just...take over.

“Em,” she shouted, pushing up slightly in her chair. “Em! What if you did a section on better stadium food? Like, you know, hot dogs and hamburgers and, oh man, steal Killian’s hamburger recipe. We’ll sell a million copies.” “I don’t think she’s listening to you,” David muttered, taking an exaggerated bite of what actually appeared to be a corndog.

Emma glanced up, grimacing at the food in her brother’s hand. “Are you guys talking?” she asked. “And what the hell is that?” “Delicious.” “I don’t think that’s a type of food, technically,” Mary Margaret pointed out. She twisted in her chair, careful to keep Leo Henry as still as possible and fished through the bag at her feet, tugging out a plastic container of what Emma immediately knew was squash.

And Cheerios.

“M’s, are you mixing vegetables and cereal?” Emma asked, gaze flitting between Robin’s phone and her sister-in-law and having an actual, coherent conversation was proving rather difficult when Killian kept smiling at the camera.

“He’s got very specific tastes,” she explained. “He likes gourd-type vegetables and...one specific type of vaguely disgusting cereal.” “It really is horrible if they’re not doused in sugar isn't they?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “At least it’s not all squash all the time. It was Killian’s idea, actually.” “Wait, what?” “Yeah, when was that David? A week ago?” David mumbled, a mouth full of corndog and a drink in his hand and Emma tried not to actually do damage to her eyes when she rolled them. “Anyway,” Mary Margaret said. “Whenever we were at the Jolly last. He said something about grains and it might actually go pretty well with the squash and, you know, I tried it the other day and it’s not really that bad.” Emma blinked, the noise from the video dulling in her ears and it kind of felt like she’d sunk through the very padded, very fancy chairs they’d been allotted. “You ate your own kid’s food?”

“Is that weird? What if it tasted awful?” “He’s a baby. I don’t think he’ll remember.” Mary Margaret didn’t say anything and Leo Henry made a decidedly one-year-old noise, grabbing a handful of Cheerios and stuffing them in his face with the same grace and tact his father had in the next seat over.

Emma shook her head, but that was mostly so she knew it was still connected to her body and she hadn’t just floated into the atmosphere, buoyed by feelings and emotions and she really couldn’t cope with the convergence of all of this at once.

Yeah, well, like I said, it’s a good cause and I’ve got a kid...I mean, I’ve got...it’s a good cause.

Robin chuckled when Emma’s eyes widened, threatening to fall out of her face and possibly onto the field and that would probably scar Henry for life or something.

“Wait,” she stammered, not sure who she was talking to, but Ruby was still half-standing in her chair and she had that look on her face. “Did he…” “Yup,” Will shouted a few seats away, popping his mouth on the word and Emma could barely hear it over the sound of her pulse beating in her ears.

“See,” Robin mumbled. “This is why he didn’t want really want you to see the video. Scroll back for two seconds and you can actually see the tips of his ears go red.” Emma let out a shaky laugh, body falling forward with the force of her exhale or sigh or, maybe, just a complete swoon , but she did as instructed and Robin wasn’t lying. The words were out of Killian’s mouth and she could tell the exact moment he realized what he’d said.

He looked like he froze for half a second, blinking just a bit quicker and his tongue pressed against the corner of his mouth. The off-camera reporter asked another question and Killian nearly jumped to attention, spine straightening and shoulders shifting and Emma wondered if it’d be really weird if she just leapt onto the field – the pitch, whatever – and started making out with her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah,” Killian continued on the video. “You know, it’s easy to kind of get sidetracked with stuff we think is important, but this kind of throws everything all back into pretty stark focus. These kids are going through stuff we could never really understand and if I can run around for a couple hours, at Yankee Stadium no less, than, yeah sign me up. Plus, I’ve been promised orange slices later.” Emma was fairly certain she was still cognizant and conscious, but Robin and Ruby seemed to be having some kind of silent conversation over her head and Mary Margaret was mumbling something against Leo Henry’s head that sounded suspiciously like Aunt Emma is making weird faces, that’s right.

Henry and Roland were still yelling.

It made more sense now – the players were coming out for warmups.

Oh, well, shit.

He hadn’t actually put his uniform on at home – There are rules, Swan, you have to get dressed in the locker room or it’s bad luck – and, in some theoretic vision, Emma knew he’d have to wear a uniform and even what the uniform looked like , but even her most detailed expectations failed to match up with what had actually just arrived along the first base line of Yankee Stadium.

“You alright there, Em?” Ruby asked and even Mary Margaret laughed.

Emma shook her head – not sure if she was answering or just trying to ignore her very loud, vaguely hysterical friends – but she barely had time to even consider a sarcastic response before Killian was jogging their direction and damn , that was cheating.

“Hey,” he said, coming up just short of the wall and his smile probably could have powered the entire borough when he saw Roland and Henry in front of him.

Roland tried to climb over the concrete and the rolled up tarp towards Killian, but Henry grabbed him around the waist immediately – and then nearly let him fall when he noticed the number on Killian’s back.

“You ok, kid?” Emma asked, but Henry didn’t answer her. He stared at Killian, matching flushes on each of their faces, and Emma was never going to hear anything except her over-excited heartbeat.

“Good number,” Henry muttered and Killian managed to smile even wider.

“Yeah, I figured it’d be good luck or something. I mean Rol expects me to score, what was it, mate? Forty-seven goals?” “Forty-eight,” Roland shouted.

Killian hummed in agreement, eyes flashing towards Emma. She was breathing through her mouth. And she didn’t remember when she stood up. “Hi, Swan,” he grinned, all easy confidence and certainty and blue eyes that seemed to actually match the blue in his goddamn uniform.

This was some kind of joke.

It had to be.

She was absolutely dreaming all of this.

“Hi,” Emma said, but it came out a bit breathless and Ruby was going to injure her spleen with the force of her cackle. “Oh my God, Ruby, shut up.” “No, no, I get it,” Ruby laughed.

Emma couldn’t actually press her hands to her cheeks – certain they’d probably be scalding with the force of her embarrassment – holding, as she was, four Tupperware containers of baked goods and goddamn orange slices.

Killian waved his hand towards Ruby and she didn’t actually stop laughing, but she sat back down and started making faces at Leo Henry. “You look a little distracted, love,” Killian muttered, moving in front of her and resting his arms on the wall.

“Shouldn’t you be warming up?” Emma asked. “Stretching or...kicking something?” “Are you interested in watching me stretch?” “Oh my God, you’re worse than Ruby is.” “I’m going to try not to take offense to that, Swan. And, strictly speaking, yeah, I probably should be, but I don’t think I can actually get penalized for anything.” “Yellow card.” “That was good.” “I do occasionally listen.” Killian eyes brightened or just got bluer or maybe Emma had really lost her mind. She should eat some orange slices. Up her metabolism. Or something. That didn’t even make any sense.

“True,” Killian said, resting his chin on his palm. “And sometimes you are noticeably distracted, Swan.” “And sometimes you stumble over interviews in promo videos.” She was an idiot.

Robin might have actually sighed next to her and Will mumbled something under his breath that sounded like jeez, Emma, now he’s going to be thinking that all game and Killian might have actually scraped his elbow trying to move his hands off the concrete.

“Huh,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair and rocking back on his heels. “Locksley or Scarlet?” “I’m pleading the fifth. That’s how that works, right, David?”

“Absolutely,” David promised, clearly not listening to a single word Emma had asked, far too busy detailing the dirt plan with Henry again.

Emma sighed. “They want to steal dirt,” she explained and one side of Killian’s mouth twitched. “Something about Derek Jeter and not Derek Jeter and who’s that guy Henry’s obsessed with?” “Aaron Judge,” Henry and Killian answered immediately.

“Right, right,” Emma muttered, taking a deep breath and piling her small Tupperware collection in front of her. She leaned forward, tugging on the front of Killian’s jersey – he was wearing a jersey, God – and she was fairly positive his whole body seemed to sag forward, fingers wrapped around her wrist.

This was the last place they should be having this conversation.

Or the last place they should be having this conversation if Emma could actually formulate a coherent sentence, but that jersey was distracting and he was distracting and she couldn’t help but wonder why nothing had happened in the last two weeks.

She was kind of frustrated it hadn't happened in the last two weeks.

Although, she should probably buy Ariel some kind of gift. For not telling or talking and everyone knew everything about everyone in that restaurant and it was some kind of miracle that someone hadn’t just told Emma what the plan was.

She’d just...stumbled into it? Well, no, that wasn’t really true either. She’d gotten back from filming two weeks ago and Henry had clearly already been home – backpack dropped just inside the door and one shoe left in the middle of the hallway and she’d just meant to move the goddamn fucking sneaker.

She hadn’t really meant to ruin everything.

Or potentially ruin everything if they ever acknowledged what everything was.

Her head hurt.

And Emma hadn’t even opened the box.

She’d been too busy trying not to pass out in her kid’s room when she was fairly certain said kid was three blocks uptown at her boyfriend’s restaurant.

But now boyfriend seemed a bit juvenile and they’d been living together for a year and Killian had said I’ve got a kid on an actual, official interview.

That went on the network site. And probably got e-mail blasted to the kinds of people who got e-mail blasts from the network.

God, why hadn’t he actually asked yet?

“Swan,” Killian said, squeezing his fingers and she nearly dislocated her entire vertebrae snapping her head back up. “You went all glossy there, love. Are you ok? Do you need an orange slice?” “Maybe,” Emma admitted. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it suddenly felt like her lungs were going to explode. “You’re totally right, this is totally distracting.” Killian twisted his eyebrows – any sense of pre-game, pre-match , nerves almost visibly falling away as soon as Emma mumbled out the words and the compliment and Henry was staring at them like he was expecting something to happen.

She was an idiot.

The box was sitting behind his soccer cleats. It might still be there.

Henry totally knew.

“They weren’t actually supposed to show you,” Killian mumbled, leaning forward again and for half a second Emma thought he was going to kiss her. But there were cameras everywhere and a small army of soccer-playing teenagers and he really should go stretch.

Will would never let him hear the end of it if he strained something.

“Yeah, I believe that was mentioned,” Emma said. She grimaced slightly when her elbow bumped against the wall, but she moved her fingers anyway, tracing over the back of Killian’s neck and down his arm and he actually looked like he shivered. “It was a good video, though. Even with the stammering.” “That so?” “Why would I lie about that?” “I honestly have no idea. I hadn’t really gotten that far in the stages of worrying.”

“What exactly are the stages of worrying?” Killian clicked his tongue, teeth tugging on his lower lip when Emma’s nails scratched through the bottom of his hair. A camera shutter went off somewhere. “Realization,” he started. “A quick and sudden determination to fix it as quickly as possible. Avoiding the issue completely. Threatening your friends with metaphorical pink slips if they even so much as breathed a word of said worry to you and, uh, stress baking.” “That’s it?” Emma asked. “And you were all the way to just before stress baking?” “I had practice. And a dinner service. I didn’t really have time to get to stress baking.” “Naturally.” Killian laughed under his breath, leaning his head back against Emma’s fingers and someone called for him from the field. Pitch.  “I think they actually expect me to play soccer,” he muttered, ignoring Roland’s not-so-quiet screech when he used the wrong word. “Football, football, football,”  Killian corrected quickly. “Deep breaths, mate.”

“You’ve got to go score, Uncle Killian,” Roland yelled and it sounded like more of a demand than whoever was actually coaching that team.

“He should probably be in charge,” Emma muttered, working another smile out of Killian and that felt like scoring eighty-seven goals and forty-six penalty kicks and scoring in soccer was, apparently, very limited.

Football.

God.  

“Between him and Henry I have been taught every way Wayne Rooney and David Villa has ever scored, so it’s almost like I’ve been double-coached,” he said. “I’m fairly positive my MVP trophy has already been personalized.”

“Awfully confident all of a sudden.” “Yeah, well, you brought orange slices.” “And baked,” Emma added. “Don’t forget the baking.” “Does it count if I cleaned up the frosting disaster at the end?” Emma shook her head deftly and both Ruby and Mary Margaret were going to choke or pass out and David should probably hold Leo Henry if that happened.

“No,” she said, something in the pit of her stomach fluttering like she was fifteen and flirting with the captain of the football team. Actual football. Not whatever it was they were doing. “And it wasn’t really a disaster,” Emma continued. “More like a debacle. At worst. It just, you know, kind of flew everywhere when the bowl fell. The cleanup doesn’t award you any points or goals or whatever.” “Rough crowd.” “Compliment the baked goods later and then we’ll talk.” Someone yelled Jones from the other side of the field and Emma was fairly positive she’d heard that voice on her TV screen and there were more photographers there than she expected. They should probably stop flirting on the sidelines.

She couldn't seem to stop flirting on the sidelines.

“It seems I have a game to play,” Killian muttered, rolling his eyes as soon as the exasperated sound came a few seats away. “Match. I know. I know it’s a match.”

“Go play, Lieutenant,” Emma said, but her hand had found its way to the front of his jersey again and he couldn’t actually walk away when she was holding onto him like there was a magnet there.

His eyes flashed at the rank and Emma tried to smile like she was a teenager and there there weren’t actual teenagers a few feet away or a photographer trying to get them all to pose.

“For The Daily News, ” he explained and Emma’s head snapped towards Ruby out of instinct.

“Put it in the cookbook with your stadium series section,” she shrugged.

Killian furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma said quickly, but Killian didn’t look impressed. “Also, Ruby, you’re an awful producer.” Ruby sounded like she growled and the photographer looked a bit intimidated, shifting back and forth on his feet until Regina seized control of the situation and told anyone who wasn’t part of the group that they had to get out of frame since they didn't’ have parental permission to put their picture in New York City tabloids.

“Thanks,” the photographer said a few moments later, still glancing warily at Ruby who looked like she was considering all the ways to get copies of his photo without actually paying him.

Killian turned back towards Emma – and she was going to say something, really, she was. It was going to be motivational or inspirational or something straight out of an 80s movie, but she didn’t get a chance.

He kissed her.

In front of the cameras and the teenagers and what felt like the entire goddamn world.

Emma leaned forward, arms moving around his neck and the wall pushed painfully into her stomach, but she barely even noticed when Killian did that thing where he seemed to try and breathe her in.

Or maybe just pushed his hand into her hair.

“Distracting,” Emma mumbled, resting her forehead against his and she couldn’t actually see his mouth, but she knew he was smiling.

“For luck,” Killian said.

He didn’t need it.

And Emma wasn’t really surprised – he’d never really needed it, no matter what he thought, and he looked so goddamn good in that stupid uniform, she’d probably steal it. Or something. She had no idea if he had to give it back.

He scored.

Twenty-two minutes left on the clock – or, as both Henry and Roland and a small fleet of teenagers were quick to point out the 68th minute – the ball landing on his feet and in the back of the net in a blink. Emma wasn’t sure what kind of noise she actually made, a scream or shout or whatever kind of noise a person would make when they found a ring box behind her kid’s soccer cleats two weeks ago and then watched a video with her boyfriend mumbling over future-type qualifiers.

And then, she was fairly certain, she nearly passed out.

She almost didn’t hear it. She was too busy screaming and jumping and she should have been better prepared for Killian in a soccer uniform.

But she wasn’t and Emma certainly wasn’t prepared for the kid on Henry’s other side – a defender on the travel team he’d played for that summer named Ben or Bill or something.

“Henry, Henry! Did your dad just score?” “Yeah, he did,” Henry shouted back, jumping in tandem with Roland and the sign was a bent-up mess by the 68th minute of play. “Did you see that shot? He totally wrecked that defender!”

Emma stumbled slightly, an impressive feat considering she hadn’t actually taken a step, and she nearly took out the orange slices before Robin dropped a knowing hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Deep breaths,” he muttered. “Just focus on that piece of gum stuck to the wall.” “That’s disgusting,” Emma grumbled.

Robin laughed softly, but he didn’t move his hand and Emma knew Will was staring at her too. “You should probably tell him,” Robin added. “You know at some point. Not now, obviously.” “I think he’s a little busy now.” “That’s what I’m saying, but, you know, eventually. And then live happily ever after or something.” Emma nodded slowly, lips moving in response, but she wasn’t sure she actually said anything.

They won the game.

It’s a match, Mom, we’ve been over this.

They won the game.

Ruby stared at a security guard until he opened up a gate to the field and Regina glared at every groundskeeper who even dared to look their direction, marching them towards the media scrum just outside the box.

That was good, Mom! You’re totally a respectable fan now.

Emma let that slide, trying to shift the Tupperware containers on her hip and Killian was already surrounded by reporters and more photographers, answering questions with his hand stuffed in his hair and his left arm twisted behind his back.

“You good?” Mary Margaret asked, appearing at Emma’s side and holding her hands out expectantly. Emma blinked in confusion, lips parting slightly and Mary Margaret didn’t miss a beat, just grabbed two of the containers without a word. “That’s not an answer,” she pointed out.

“I’m not sure I understand the question,” Emma admitted.

“That kid. And the yelling. And the video.” Emma considered her answer for a moment, but it was almost blatantly obvious and maybe she should just ask him.

No, that’s not how this worked.

She was fairly positive that’s not how it worked. She’d never...done any of this before.

“Yeah,” Emma said, snapping the word out when she realized she hadn’t actually answered Mary Margaret. “I am. Is that weird?” “Emma, you just asked me if it was weird that you were happy.” “That’s probably weird, right?” “Absolutely.”

“I really should have been better prepared for how good he looks in that uniform too,” Emma said and Mary Margaret’s laugh probably alerted several birds and fairies of an impending happily ever after.

Mary Margaret nodded in agreement. “It’s not a bad look.” Emma smiled, shaking her hair over her shoulders and the rest of the team had, finally, noticed the baked goods and orange slices, descending on her and Mary Margaret quickly, a mess of hands and elbows, all determined to get sustenance after the match.

Emma did her best to hold onto the containers in her hands, could hear Killian trying to work his way out of the interview, but there were more questions and the entire stadium seemed to freeze when someone asked him about how your wife made food for the team.

“That’s just bad prep,” Mary Margaret mumbled and the metaphorical birds paused mid-flight.

David looked like he was trying to figure out a way to actually arrest the journalist, but Emma shook her head again, twisting back towards a suddenly paler-than-normal Killian.

She shrugged.

And that wasn’t really the most romantic response, but no one had really asked the question.

There weren’t any questions in the Jolly later that night either – the not-so-secret celebratory dinner Ariel had planned with food that would have been better if Killian was cooking it, a fact he was quick to point out as soon as the new sous chef was back in the kitchen.

They ate it anyway and Killian helped Will mix drinks, grinning at Emma every time his eyes met hers. It was almost enough to distract all over again.

The alcohol helped.

They took more pictures – Killian’s participation trophy featuring prominently in all of them and Ruby tried to bring up the cookbook no less than eight different times.

Emma drank some more and Killian snuck into his own kitchen to make her onion rings, wrapping one arm around her waist to drop the plate in front of her at the bar and leave kisses on her neck.

Roland fell asleep draped over Killian eventually, body twisted in some sort of improbable way and he whined when Robin tried to pry his hands away from the shirt he had gripped in his fists. Mary Margaret took a picture of that as well. There weren’t any questions on the three-block walk downtown, Henry weaving just a bit until Emma wrapped her arm around his shoulder and he didn’t even argue when she pulled him against her side.

He was half asleep by the time they got into the apartment, toeing out of his sneakers and leaving them directly in front of the door. Killian tossed his keys on the table, rolling his shoulders slightly and Emma didn’t even try to get her jacket on the actual hook.

It was domestic. It was nice. She was happy. The metaphorical birds were chirping at nearly eleven o’clock at night.

“Hey, teeth,” Emma said, miming a toothbrush with her finger when Henry started to clomp down the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Night, Mom. Night, Dad. That was a crazy good goal before.” Emma’s... something cracked when she snapped back towards Killian, his eyes dangerously wide and jaw nearly on the floor and she wasn’t sure he was breathing. The bathroom door slammed shut and Killian jumped, blinking quickly like he was trying to get everything into focus.

Emma moved slowly, reaching a hand out cautiously.

He didn’t flinch when her hand landed on his arm.

“Did he…” Killian started, shaking his head in response to a question he hadn’t actually finished. “He’s tired. Something about the sun and draining energy and he’s just talking in tongues.” Her heart expanded and then exploded and the birds were singing some kind of love song medley in the middle of the apartment. “I’m fairly positive he was still speaking English,” Emma said and Killian let out a shaky laugh. “And that’s not the first time that’s happened today, so I don’t think you get to blame the sun.” “What?” “Some kid. I have no idea what his name is. Red hair, freckles all over his cheeks. Plays defense?”

“Brandon.” “Wait, really?” Killian nodded. “I am one-hundred percent positive that kid’s name is Brandon. He’s got a peanut allergy. Don’t ask me what his last name is though, I have no idea.”

“I mean, I thought his name was Ben, so you’re definitely winning on that front.”

“Was his name an important part of the story?” Killian asked, some of the surprise leaving his voice and he didn’t look quite as tense, one hand falling to Emma’s waist.

“Nah, that was just part of the set-up,” Emma muttered. “You scored and he told Henry his dad scored and there was no argument, just another string of adjectives to describe your goal. So, again, not the first time that’s happened today. Or the first time people have made sweeping assumptions about your family qualifiers.” “I thought your brother was going to kill that journalist.” Emma winced and this conversation was not going the way she expected it. That was kind of a trend...for her life.

Huh.

“Would it really be so bad?” she asked, practically shouting the question in the otherwise empty living room. She could hear the sink still running in the bathroom.

Killian furrowed his eyebrows, his hand stilling on her side and her shirt had rumpled slightly under his fingers. “Your brother killing a journalist at Yankee Stadium?” he asked. “It’d probably make it difficult for him to get dirt.” “I think Scarlet stole some for him.” “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” “That’s not really what I was talking about.” “You don’t say.”

Emma rolled her eyes and maybe she was the one who’d been drained by the sun because she actually stuck her tongue out, pushing slightly on Killian’s chest to try and get him towards the couch. He took the hint quickly, backing up and dropping into the corner, tugging her down with him until she was flush against his side with her legs perpendicular over his.

“What’s this really about, Swan?” he asked, brushing his fingers through the ends of her hair. “And when were you going to tell me about the cookbook?” “Probably when you weren’t freaking out about a charity soccer game.” Killian opened his mouth, but she snapped her jaw in frustration and the smirk that settled on his face was absolutely cheating. “I know it’s a match. I understand the terminology.” “You’re bouncing all around this conversation, love.” “That’s because you’re not telling me about interview revelations.” Killian sighed, resting his head on her shoulder and his arm tightened around her waist. “I didn’t...we’ve only kind of talked about it,” he mumbled. “Even if I’ve been thinking it for awhile.”

“How long is awhile? Exactly?” “Weeks. Months. Since the very beginning.” She needed to stop holding her breath without realizing it. She was probably doing permanent damage to her lungs. Or her brain. Her brain needed oxygen, right?

That made sense.

“I didn’t even help with Henry’s jersey,” Emma said. “He did that himself and asked Ruby to make sure there were tickets for his friends and he drew all the letters on the sign so Rol could color them in. This is...he’s thinking it too. Obviously.” “Obviously,” Killian echoed, a note of disbelief in his voice that didn’t belong there.

Emma took a deep breath, trying to draw on some kind of conversational and emotional courage she’d only recently discovered she had. “Would it help,” she started, choosing her words carefully, “if I mentioned that I’d also been thinking about it? In the affirmative?” Killian pulled his head up slowly, staring at her like he couldn't quite believe she was there or talking and Emma tried not to bite her lip too tightly. “The affirmative?” “You need to stop just repeating what I’m saying.” “That’s because I’m very confused.”

“I’m just saying...that if there were questions or, you know, whatever. My answer would be...yes.” “Yes,” Killian said, dragging the word out until it sounded long enough to be a keynote speech at the United Nations. “And I’m asking what, exactly?”

“Are we having the same conversation right now? I’m not sure that we are.” Killian shrugged, one of his shoulders brushing up against Emma’s in the process and he really did look confused. And just a bit nervous. “You would make a terrible pirate, you know,” Emma continued. “Hiding treasure in blatantly obvious places.”

Killian blanched, lips pressed together tightly and Emma was momentarily distracted by how ridiculously blue his eyes were before he was kissing her or she was kissing him and it didn’t really matter because they appeared to, finally, be on the same conversational page.

Emma didn’t remember swinging her leg over his hip, just that he groaned when she moved against him and they should probably stop doing this with a fourteen-year-old kid who regarded them both as parental authorities down the hallway. “Ah, gross,” Henry sighed, leaning against the wall with his arms cross and his feet crossed at the ankle and he’d learned both of those things from Killian. “You figure it out yet, Mom?” Emma nodded, her back not appreciating the twist she’d put it in when she tried to glance over her shoulder. “It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t left your sneakers everywhere, I never would have found it.” Henry scrunched his nose – and he’d gotten that from her. “Oh. Sorry.” Killian sighed, but he didn’t actually seem frustrated, he looked like he was bordering close to ecstatic and Emma understood the feeling. “You could still help, you know,” he said, nodding back towards the hallway and he didn’t have to say another word before Henry was sprinting towards his room and the box that was, apparently, still sitting behind his soccer cleats.

“He helped me pick it out,” Killian muttered and Emma’s stomach leapt into her throat and her heart did something absolutely impossible and she’d probably never stop smiling.

“He’d make a better pirate than you,” she said.

“I hope so.”

“Here, here, here, here,” Henry cried, sliding into the couch when his socks didn’t provide the necessary traction to stop immediately. “What happens now? Shouldn’t there be candles or something? There are always candles in the movies.”

“I don’t think we even own candles,” Emma said and Henry deflated immediately.

“For real?” “We’ve got to have candles somewhere, right?” Killian asked. Emma shook her head. “You should have candles, love. If we’re going to do this, we should do it the right way.” Emma was still smiling. And still sitting on top of Killian. “I really don’t need candles.”

“This wasn’t exactly the plan. At least let me get up, Swan. We’ve got to follow one of the rules.”

She made a face that absolutely did not belong in that current situation and Henry was jumping up and down again, the box still clutched tightly in his hands. Killian took a deep breath when Emma moved, running his fingers through his hair and resting his left hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“Thanks, kid,” he muttered, turning back towards Emma and she couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t really mind.

Killian grinned at her – any trace of smirk or joke forgotten as soon as his thumb flipped open the top of the box and Emma sat up straighter, pressing her heels into the ground like that would prove this was actually happening.

He got down on one knee.

“I’ve been hiding this behind soccer cleats for the last three weeks, so you’re already painfully aware that I didn’t really have much of a plan,” Killian started. “But this is...you are all I want, Swan. All of this. Us and this apartment and this life and charity soccer games and cookbooks and ridiculous filming schedules. I want that. Indefinitely and forever and side by side. No matter what.” He glanced over his shoulder at Henry, beaming and still jumping and Emma didn’t remember when she started to cry. “So, Emma Swan,” Killian said. “Will you marry me?”

She must have nodded and something in her brain told her to move, leaping off the couch and nearly knocking Killian off balance, but his arms caught her and Henry groaned when they started kissing again.

“Mom, Mom! You’ve got to put the ring on,” he shouted, phone out and shutter clicking and Emma did as instructed.

Killian kissed her again and then kissed her knuckles and her cheeks and her eyelids and if they never moved off the living room floor, Emma wouldn’t have minded.

They made hot chocolate and Henry fell asleep on the couch, his head on the arm and legs splayed out over both Emma and Killian. She was close to falling asleep herself, lulled into rest by Killian’s fingers tracing across her arm and the dim light reflecting off her ring.

“You never actually answered the question,” Killian said suddenly, mumbling the words into Emma’s hair. “If you want to get technical.”

“What?” “I asked you to marry me and you never actually answered. Just attack kissed me on the floor.” “Was that not an answer?” Emma asked, not quite able to hold back her laughter. “No.” “Ah, well, I thought that would be kind of obvious when I said yes before you even asked.” “You’re evading on purpose, Swan.” “I absolutely am,” she agreed, burrowing her face against him.

“An answer, Emma.” She’d probably tease him about the slightly desperate edge to his voice at some point, but they had the rest of their lives for that.

They had the rest of their lives for that.

“Yes,” Emma breathed and the word seem to settle in the very middle of her or maybe on her left ring finger.

She was never going to stop smiling.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just like this.” They fell asleep on the couch and made pancakes the next morning with peanut butter chips and cinnamon in their coffee and Mary Margaret screamed when Emma called her.

[ted-hyung]

"hyungwon is a sophomore in college while changkyun is a senior in high school" *whispers* do it HHHHFNNAIZIGMWBFJFOALDKCUHAKDLKCBSBSHCIELQNDIFOO

anon-sshi, who is you come out and show yer blog LMAO. so sorry for the long wait this week’s been hectic but HERE. have some rambling truly honestly inspired by this gif:

i hope you’ll like it. now with pr0n sequel on AO3.

he’s late.

changkyun is telling himself that he shouldn’t be upset over such irrelevant matter. he tells himself it’s just because he offered to treat hyungwon with his christmas and new year’s money for their movie date today, meaning that he lost a little bit amount of pocket money. maybe he’s just upset because the salted caramel popcorn is too pricey? yeah, that must be it. if that’s the case, then he’ll just have to cut off on haribo he likes to nibble on his way home from school. no more buying one piece manga, he’ll just read it illegally online.

anyway.

changkyun clicks his tongue. his neck hurts because he’s been looking down to his brand new adidas for so long. the cinema is too crowded today, the loud murmuring from couples and parents with their little kids are fighting against his frantic heartbeats. he wonders how pathetic he must look to those strangers? ah. the pricey popcorn is getting colder and the cherry flavored limited edition coca cola are going stale if this continues.

ugh, who is he kidding?! the heavy feeling residing in the pit of his stomach is thanks to hyungwon being late to their movie date! they couldn’t spend the long christmas break because changkyun had to fly to boston to visit his dad’s family. they couldn’t even skype because hyungwon is a tech-noob he only opened an instagram account because his modelling agency told him to.

changkyun’s got a teddy bear wearing boston celtics jersey for hyungwon, and it weighs a ton inside a cute powder blue paperbag. he’s tried contacting hyungwon twice, and refrained from doing so the third time because he doesn’t want hyungwon to think of him as an overly clingy, younger boyfriend.

but but but isn’t changkyun entitled to be clingy anyway?! the last time they saw each other was the night before changkyun’s early flight to boston, when hyungwon had pulled changkyun to his arms and kissed him sweetly under the streetlight. uggghhhhh that kiss had left changkyun hanging for more but hyungwon has always been strict about his curfew!

changkyun puffs his cheeks. he fishes out his phone from the pocket of his long coat. no new kakaotalk from his boyfriend. he scrolls through their latest conversation in which hyungwon said he was on his way from work thirty nine minutes ago.

a shadow falls upon his phone screen and changkyun glances up and gets a mess of dark hair greeting him.

“sorry i’m late. i overslept this morning and the female model i worked with was also late so—“ hyungwon pauses, probably to catch his breath. “changkyun-ah?” he tilts his head and bends his knees, lowering his face to level with changkyun’s.

who’s already blushing because his older, model boyfriend the instagram famous @chyngwn who walked in seoul fashion week two years in a row apparently dyed his hair back to black—looking exactly like the first time changkyun saw him in his father’s modelling agency building, sleepily blinking awake with thick glasses perched on his nose and side swept black hair showing off his forehead.

he had looked so out of this world changkyun ran over a wall back then.

it’s been a year.

“changkyun-ah?” hyungwon calls his name. he reaches out a hand, seeking and finding changkyun’s fingers. changkyun pouts because hyungwon’s hand is freezing. he takes a step closer and tilts his head up to ask,

“are those sponsored clothes?” in lieu of gushing over how deadly captivating his boyfriend is.

“what?” hyungwon looks down to his outfit, the tips of his fringe are tickling changkyun’s nose. “i mean, yeah? is that not okay?”

changkyun rolls his eyes, faking it for the sake of his dignity. as if the oversized grey hoodie, the very cool black leather jacket, and the washed ripped jeans aren’t attracting attention enough, his boyfriend just have to be graced with the height and a handsome face! ugh!

“hyung’s late,” changkyun scoffs, albeit playfully. “take responsibility.” he jabs a finger to hyungwon’s chest.

“i know, i’m so sorry,” hyungwon chuckles, catching up on changkyun’s cute discontent. “what do you want me to do?” he pinches changkyun’s reddened left ear with a smile so, so, so wide changkyun can’t help but to crack one of his own.

“take my picture as if i wasn’t looking and post it on your instagram.”

“again?”

“the last time didn’t count!” only his hair and the bridge of his nose were shown!

“but i take aesthetic faux candid pictures of you all the time.”

“yea for my instagram. i want to be in yours!”

“alright, alright.” and the next thing hyungwon says further sets them apart, maturity wise, but it’s not like changkyun is complaining anyway; “then you should take my picture too. that way we’ll be forever immortalized in each other’s instagram.”*

* bc meme prince is a certified monsta x’s poet, yeah? *