#none of these are going to be edited here's hoping to no glaring errors

[aliciameade]

Taken by Surprise

Title: Taken by Surprise Author: aliciameade Rating: E for exciting Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Here come the prompt fulfillments (and Bechloe)! “Chloe strapping up, sat on the couch, Beca straddling and riding like there’s no tomorrow”

This is super-established Bechloe. You can consider them married.

Also on AO3

Beca doesn’t like surprises.

Correction: Beca acts like she doesn’t like surprises.

Chloe’s allowed her to keep up the ruse for years, downplaying things like unexpected gifts while watching the excitement sparkle in Beca’s eyes while unwrapping them.

Sex is no different. Whenever asked if she’d be okay with Chloe doing something like waking her up with sex, Beca scoffs and rolls her eyes but doesn’t actually say ‘No, thanks.’ And when she wakes up with Chloe’s face between her thighs, she’s usually moaning, ‘Don’t stop.’

Which is why Chloe doesn’t make her intentions for the evening well-known. Does she catch Beca in the kitchen and press her up against the refrigerator, causing magnets from their travels together to fall to the floor with a clatter, and kiss her in a way that implies she wants more?

Yes.

“Oh, my God,” Beca mumbles against her lips but Chloe can feel her smiling before Beca’s returning the kiss with just as much eagerness. “Not that I’m complaining,” she says when they part for a breath, “but what is this about?”

Chloe’s hands slide up from Beca’s waist to tease over her chest and then dip back down to grab her ass with a playful squeeze. “Since when do I need a reason to kiss you?”

The squeak that escapes Beca at her grab makes Chloe smile and she gives Beca a chance to catch her breath. She’s winded from the sudden onslaught, a blush high on her cheeks, but her eyes are as bright as they are dark. “You don’t,” Beca says before diving back for more but Chloe steps away before their lips touch again. “Hey!” Beca pouts; “What the hell?”

“What?” Chloe asks with an innocent shrug before moving across the kitchen to grab a packet of microwave popcorn from the pantry. She tosses it onto the counter in Beca’s direction. “Wanna pop that? I’m going to go grab extra pillows.”

“...Sure,” Beca replies, someone absently. It’s obvious her mind is still reeling from Chloe’s unexpected physical ambush, which is exactly what Chloe wanted.

She does grab extra pillows; she can’t show up in the living room for their movie night without them.

But she grabs something else. Specifically, the violet silicone dildo from the drawer where it sits among many other options waiting to see if it’s their lucky night, but the handcuffs, vibrators, clamps, and scarves will have to wait their turn.

She snags the small bullet vibe that fits inside the special-use briefs she put on after her usual evening shower, as an afterthought, and gets things put in place.

Her sweatpants are forgiving but not that forgiving and she laughs at the obvious bulge created by the seven inches now strapped to her hips. Its mere presence is a turn-on despite her amusement and she grasps it briefly and thinks about what’s about to come. She also wonders how men deal with having a real one; she knows if she did, she’d have a hard-on all the time as horny as she gets every time Beca so much as crosses her mind.

(Beca, if all goes as intended; and herself.)

She’d chosen to forego a bra after her shower, choosing an easy-to-remove tank top instead. She knows what her arms do to Beca, as well as her breasts, nipples plainly visible now that her arousal has firmly taken hold.

She uses the two extra pillows and blanket to conceal her surprise as she leaves their bedroom but Beca’s still in the kitchen, the sound of popcorn and Beca humming floating through the house. Her absence gives Chloe a welcomed few extra minutes so she can get their little snuggle fort set up without worrying about ruining the surprise.

There is already a pair of wine glasses on the coffee table with a freshly opened bottle of white and she smiles that Beca took an extra step to add some romance to their at-home date night.

She gets herself comfortable on the couch, taking care to adjust the toy so it’s not standing at obvious attention (not that she blames it; she is already incredibly turned on), and waits.

“Hey, sorry,” Beca says when she returns, bowl of popcorn in one hand and a few napkins in the other. “I got a call right when you went upstairs.”

“No prob,” she answers with a bright smile and outstretched arms. “Come cuddle.”

Beca rolls her eyes a little but smiles as she sinks down onto the couch next to Chloe. She sets down the popcorn in exchange for the bottle of wine and a glass which she pours, immediately handing it to Chloe.

Chloe lets her hand rest on Beca’s back, scratching at it lightly through the thin T-shirt she changed into after work, along with sweatpants of her own.

Chloe finds a specific kind of domestic bliss in the fact that they can have a date in their sweats and they’re both happier for it. “Anything super important?” she asks.

She doesn’t really want to talk about work; she has one specific thing on her mind at the moment, but she’ll always listen to Beca if Beca wants to talk.

“Not really,” Beca responds as she pours a glass of wine for herself. “Cheers,” she continues and Chloe taps her glass to Beca’s to sip together. “So, what are we watching tonight?” Beca asks as she settles back into the couch and against Chloe’s side, feet propped on the table.

Chloe balances her glass on the arm of the couch and picks up the remote to start scrolling through movie options but she has no intention of choosing something they’re actually going to watch to the end. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“What about that one with Julia Roberts?”

“Gonna have to narrow it down from that, babe,” she laughs.

“Where she’s a hooker.”

“Bec,” she laughs with light admonishment in her voice as she navigates to Beca’s suggestion.

“What? She’s a hooker! I wasn’t judging her for that,” Beca says defensively while reaching for a handful of popcorn. “I support sex workers. You know that.”

“I know, I know,” she says, still chuckling as she rubs Beca’s back.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

They’re thirty minutes and three-quarters of a bottle of wine into the movie when Chloe can’t take it anymore. Beca’s shifted enough that she’s tucked into Chloe’s side and Chloe lets her hand start drifting up from Beca’s knee from where it’s been resting somewhat idly.

There’s no real response from Beca; it’s a rarity that Chloe isn’t touching her in some way so a hand on her thigh isn’t anything too newsworthy.

She gets her attention when she presses her fingertips between her thighs.

“Trying to cop a feel?”

“Maybe,” Chloe teases, pressing further until Beca’s legs give way and loosen a bit to let her move more freely.

“On our 2,189th date? Moving a little fast, aren’t you?”

Chloe laughs at that and Beca lifts her head from where it’s been resting against her shoulder to face her. She’s surprised either of them lasted as long as they did after the little prequel Chloe had given them earlier in the evening; Beca’s lips are on hers before she can come up with a witty reply.

It’s clear that prequel has been simmering within Beca’s libido. She kisses Chloe with a hunger Chloe knows well, one she’s felt from Beca so many times and felt within herself. She even grabs Chloe’s hand and pushes it right under her shirt until her breast is in Chloe’s hand.

“Why’d you make me wait?” Beca breathes against her lips before pushing her tongue into her mouth again. She’s already shifting, readying to move into Chloe’s lap and Chloe can’t imagine this playing out any better.

She squeezes at her breast, other hand joining it to tease the other, and waits for a chance to speak. “It’ll be worth it,” she finally manages when Beca pulls back to immediately reach for Chloe’s tank and remove it one quick motion. Her own shirt follows and Chloe twists her hips to help free her surprise from where she’d wedged it mostly out of the way just as Beca swings a knee over her lap.

She settles right on top of it and actually yelps, hips popping up and away. “Dude, oh, my God!”

“What?” Chloe says with a smile, immediately pulling Beca down by her waist to sit on her lap, the dildo being forgiving and leaning back so its hardness presses against Beca without being uncomfortable.

“You’ve been wearing that this whole time?” Beca’s eyes are as wide as her nipples are hard and instead of answering her, Chloe leans down to bring one of them to her mouth. It draws a moan from Beca immediately and her hips tilt once, twice, until they’re rocking a slow rhythm to grind herself against Chloe.

It’s killing Chloe to wait, but she believes in her own words: it will be worth it. She drinks in the way Beca’s body moves against hers, how with a glance up from where her tongue is still toying with the hard peaks of Beca’s breasts, Beca’s watching her, how Beca’s hands glide over her hair and shoulders and arms and back and breasts until her left hand is sliding down Chloe’s stomach until it’s slipping under the waistband of Chloe’s pants and she feels her wrap her hand around it.

It makes Chloe’s hips twitch as though she could really feel it and she sucks maybe a little too hard on Beca’s nipple but all she gets is a hiss of an inhale in response before Beca’s moving backward enough that she can pull the toy from Chloe’s pants.

Chloe lifts her head, then. She wants to watch what Beca decides to do next. Her hand strokes over its length once before reaching down again and Chloe fights back a shiver when she feels Beca’s fingers slip under the tight-fitting briefs, between her legs, to touch her.

“God, Chloe,” she breathes and Chloe feels her finding her way blindly until there’s a muffled click followed by vibration that makes Chloe’s ass lift off the couch for a second.

“Fuck,” Chloe says, half-laughing from how suddenly intense it is.

“Getting there,” Beca says with a laugh of her own as she stands up to push her pants and underwear down her legs. She reaches for Chloe’s next, making quick work of the pants to toss them aside so she can straddle Chloe again.

“Did you bring the—”

It’s already in Chloe’s hand, and warm from where it’s been hidden between her body and the arm of the couch.

“Of course you did,” Beca smiles, grabbing the bottle to flip its cap open while Chloe’s hands drop to her hips to hold her.

She makes a show, really, of coating the toy with lube. The incessant vibrator and the motion of her hand mess with Chloe’s brain and it doesn’t take long before she’s actively pushing her hips up for more of the handjob Beca’s giving her.

“That is so damn hot,” Beca says after a few seconds of watching it but then she stops, letting go to slip the same hand between her own legs briefly.

Then she’s shifting forward, one hand on the base of the toy to hold it steady while she sinks onto it easily.

Beca’s eyes close and she’s still for a few seconds and Chloe knows she’s squeezing it; she knows because if it was Chloe’s fingers entering her for the first time, she’d be squeezing them, too. Chloe always thinks of it as Beca’s way of welcoming her home. “Holy shit,” Beca says after a moment, eyes opening but heavy as her hands, one of them warm and wet, land on Chloe’s shoulders. “I can feel the vibrator.”

“Good?” Chloe asks even though she knows the answer. She runs her hands up Beca’s back, then drags her nails down to make her back arch.

Beca hums, her hands working on Chloe’s shoulders almost like she’s giving her a massage, but Chloe knows what it is: impatience and excitement and the physical manifestation of Beca’s struggle to hold herself back.

“Then fuck me, Beca,” she says hotly, almost like an order because she knows Beca likes that.

It works; Beca’s jaw drops at the command and her hands stop moving. Instead, they tighten and her hips start moving.

“Just like that,” Chloe sighs. She lets her hands roam lightly; she doesn’t want them to be too distracting as they ghost over Beca’s stomach and breasts and neck. She wants Beca’s focus to be on one thing. “Ride me hard.”

“Dirty,” Beca says with a smirk after shivering at the words, but she does.

Chloe’s hands move to hold her hips; she wants to feel Beca at work as she fucks herself, and Chloe.

It doesn’t take long for it to spiral from both of them holding on to a shred of control to Beca throwing her head back as her hips work hard, taking Chloe in again and again as deeply as she can.

Chloe meets her every time, hips pushing up as Beca pushes down to try to go deeper, always deeper.

They’re both loud and Chloe spares one ounce of thought to how they used to sneak around in college when they shared a house with eight other girls, muffling moans and filthy words with pillows or hands or whatever body part was within reach. She has nostalgia for those moments, but she does not miss them.

“Faster, baby,” she says with a groan, the vibrator and their rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Beca responds immediately, trading the hard, deep thrusts to sit down hard to take Chloe in as far as possible for impossibly fast rocking.

Her moan is loud with the change and Chloe’s hands move without conscious thought to grab her breasts, to hold them and feel them, to watch the way they move with the rest of Beca.

Beca’s hands slip off her shoulders and Chloe sees in her peripheral vision as they instead grab the back of the couch. It pulls Beca an inch or two closer and must change the angle favorably because she’s suddenly moaning like she’s about to come and that makes Chloe let go of her fight to keep her own orgasm at bay.

“Are you gonna come for me?” she asks. She knows she is; it’s obvious but she knows Beca likes to be asked. She also knows Beca likes when Chloe reaches down to rub her clit with the pads of her first two fingers when she’s close.

“Fuck,” Beca says through a moan. “Yeah.”

“You’re going to make me come, too,” she says with her own moan.

“Fuck,” Beca says again.

Then there are no words.

It’s a hot, desperate race toward a mutual finish line and Chloe doesn’t have to do much more than hold on and let Beca get them there.

It’s loud.

It’s intense. So intense that Chloe’s voice cracks from how loud she is.

Beca’s hands are in her hair and they twist and yank, probably involuntarily, as she comes, her body shuddering again and again as Chloe’s own orgasm drives her hips up into Beca to drag it out.

“Holy shit,” Beca says once they both start to calm down as she collapses forward, face in Chloe’s neck. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”

They’re both breathing hard and Chloe, despite how hard she just came, isn’t ready to be finished. She runs her hands up Beca’s sweat-slick back to tangle into her hair and pull, just hard enough to get Beca to lift her hand and sit back with a moan of surprise.

“Don’t stop.” She starts working her fingers against Beca again, gently at first as she watches until the look of surprised amusement on her face gives way to lust.

“I won’t if you don’t,” Beca answers before leaning in to kiss her, slowly and deeply as she starts to move again.

Chloe shakes her head; she has no intention of stopping any time soon. When Beca leans back after a few seconds, renewed energy visible in the way her body is moving, Chloe can’t help but bite her lip and groan. “You look so good like that.”

“Yeah?” Beca says with a toss of her hair; much of it is clinging to her skin but that only adds to her sex appeal. She also likes Chloe’s attention and holds it by running her hands up her own body to her breasts to play with her nipples while she starts to rock more quickly.

Chloe presses her fingers more firmly against Beca and she sees the way it makes her slow, steady rhythm stutter, just the tiniest bit. “So good.”

It’s slower the second time. Chloe lets her head fall back to rest against the couch, allows her eyes to close other than glancing at Beca now and then. It’s enough to feel her, to hear her, to translate the way she moves to the way she’s making both of them feel. It’s less about a panicked need for release and more about extending the pleasure until, when Chloe’s fingers slip from her own distraction from pleasure, that Beca’s quiet sighs shift back to a moan of neediness.

They don’t even say anything; their communication is purely nonverbal now. Chloe sits up and wraps her arms around Beca’s waist to pull her in and keep her close. She lifts her chin to catch the hard kiss Beca gives her. She holds on as Beca’s long, slow, rolling rhythm suddenly changes into the same hard, quick beat they’d finished on the first time.

Chloe’s fingers aren’t on her this time; she knows they don’t need to be. Beca’s so aroused she’s going to come no matter what. Chloe can’t even feel the vibrator anymore; it might be dead for all she knows. It’s Beca and the way she’s riding her that’s driving her closer and closer to climax.

Beca whines against her lips and Chloe just moans as they cling to one another as orgasm overtakes them both.

It’s a deeper, longer climax this time and she knows it is for Beca, too. Maybe even more so if the way she moans again and again as her hips buck and jerk against Chloe for much longer than usual.

It isn’t until her own orgasm has subsided for several seconds that she realizes she’s right, that Beca’s been driven so far into arousal that she’s experiencing something much more intense than Chloe had and Chloe thrusts her own hips up a few times, best she can with how heavy Beca is on her, and she watches Beca completely fall apart.

It’s a sight she won’t forget as long as she lives.

(She has several such sights in her memory.)

She watches Beca lose it, the kind of deeply out-of-body orgasm they manage maybe once a month if they’re lucky, and she’s glad she decided the blanket she brought down earlier would best serve them if she was sitting on it.

She doesn’t dare lean forward to kiss her; not right now. Beca’s in another world entirely and Chloe is content to watch, her own body quivering with a small explosion of an empathetic orgasm. She will wait until Beca returns to earth before she does anything to interrupt it.

When it passes, Beca slumps forward with a groan of pure exhaustion and pleasure, arms heavy and uncoordinated as they wrap around Chloe’s neck. Chloe catches her, of course.

“Love you,” she mumbles against Chloe’s neck, a soft tip of a tongue grazing her skin after the words.

“I love you, too.” Chloe’s hands stroke her back and move higher to gather her hair and pull it away from her skin so she can cool down more easily.

It makes Beca shiver but Chloe knows how good the air feels in a moment like this so she waves her free hand to fan the back of her neck, drawing a sigh of contentment from her.

A few more seconds pass and Chloe feels Beca moving backward, using her hold on Chloe as leverage until Chloe’s surprise for the evening slips out of her. The disconnect helps bring Beca back to consciousness and she sits up again, though not without an amusing struggle that has Chloe helping her by bracing her hands against Beca’s shoulders so she can lean against them.

“Worth the wait?” she teases when Beca’s bleary eyes finally meet hers.

Beca huffs a laugh and nods. “Fuck yeah.”

The End

[wildlyglittering]

A Love for all Seasons Part 1 (Winter)

I said that I would write a piece for Nessian Month to be posted each Sunday so here is the first!

I’d hoped to have this up earlier but hey ho. I ended up scrapping 8,000 words of something that I’d previously done and re-wrote this in a day. It’s barely edited so I can only apologise for dubious quality and numerous spelling errors. 

I asked for prompt requests and this one is based on ‘modern au, Nesta as a ballerina.’ You’ll probably see that it’s not entirely modern au because I just can’t write modern au - sorry!

I’ve decided to link all 4 prompts received together as a 4 part series. Not all other sections will be as long as this one. Probably. I mean, I’ve not written them yet so....

***

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’.  

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.  

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again.  

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive.  I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

[downondilaudid]

High as a Kite

After a stressful case reader unwinds in her own unique way, unfortunately, the BAU is called in on another case. Spencer doesn’t seem too fond of the reader’s stress reliever.

A/N: This is very poorly edited. I just got into a massive fight with a few friends. So now I’m very sad, and just wanna sleep. But fuck them. Like that one vine says, I don’t need friends, they disappoint me. Seriously, FUCK THEM. I still love them doe, i have too, they’re the only friends i have.

Oh also, I wrote this in first person, instead of my usual second person. Let me know if you like it or not! <3

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: (Unprotected)Penetrative Sex, a DASH of angst, drug use, let me know if I missed anything.

“He rarely smoked, but once in a while, like now, when his world had been shaken, his woman nearly killed in front of his eyes, and he’d watched a house consume a man and spit him out, he figured a drag or two were appropriate.”

― Christine Feehan, Safe Harbor

Relaxing after a case was one of my favorite things on the planet. Especially when it ended well, I had been able to watch as the little girl who had been stolen from her family, ran to her parents, her little arms wrapping around their legs. Seeing the love and adoration in the parent's eyes as the wept and held her made me want to have a child of my own.

Spencer and I had been together for a little over a year, but I doubt either of us are ready for children. Our job alone is stressful enough, in fact, it’s how we met. I worked as a technical analyst under Penelope Garcia. I will say my job wasn’t as strenuous as Spencer’s, but it’s not exactly ideal to look at dead bodies all day.

We all have our own peculiar ways of unwinding, Spencer loves to sit and read a few books, Hotch heads home to spend time with Jack, and Emily is always down for a drink. I, on the other hand, would much rather smoke a bowl than read a book. It was my own way of unwinding and allowing my brain to cleanse itself of the horrors of the world.

My pink pipe was packed with weed, a matte black lighter in my hand. The weed burned in the small bowl, crisping to a dark black. My finger released the carb of the pipe a couple of times, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs.

The haunting voice of Lana Del Rey filled the room. Her voice alone is smooth as honey, but listening to her while high is an ethereal experience. I could only imagine what Spencer would do if he could see me now, probably ramble off the statistics of marijuana addiction. But I could definitely say I wasn’t addicted, it was just an easy way to relax.

I took another hit, watching as the smoke tumbled from my lips. My stomach rumbled, causing me to giggle lightly, here come the munchies. Usually, I didn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but when I’m high I can’t get enough sugar.

My hands pulled open the pantry, hips swaying lightly to the music.

Suddenly the music was gone, replaced by an annoying buzzing, “Ugh, you’re fucking kidding.” I groaned. I let the pantry fall shut, making my way over to where my phone sat. I had an inkling who was calling me, but every ounce of my body was praying I was wrong. Unfortunately, I was not, as I had one text from Hotch and a missed call from Spencer.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my hand, Spencer’s name illuminating the phone. Quickly I answered the call, pulling the phone up to my ear. “Hiya Spence.” 

“You get the call?” Spencer questioned, his voice cracking slightly, it was obvious he hadn’t used it in a while. He had probably been reading ever since he got home.

I giggled lightly at the sound of Spencer’s voice, taking a moment to admire the perfect way it croaked. “Mhm, can you pick me up?” 

There was no immediate response, it was obvious there was something off, Spencer could tell. I never asked him to drive me anywhere, I was always the one driving. Especially due to Spencer’s hatred of automobiles. 

“But don’t you usually pick me up?” he questioned. 

“Spencer, that last case… I’m literally the definition of exhaustion, can you please, just this once?” I was hoping that with the use of his full first name, he would understand the seriousness of my question. There was no way I was driving to work, with Spencer in the car, while high. 

Speaking of, I still had zero idea how I was going to act sober in a room of profilers, granted, I had a lot of practice of acting sober in front of people, just not at work. Unfortunately for me, the best two words to describe myself while high were, giggly and horny. Oh, and hungry, who doesn’t get the munchies?

Spencer sighed on the other end of the line, “Of course, Y/N.” He paused for a moment, a slight hesitation in his voice with his next words. “Is-is everything okay?” 

“Oh, totally, the case just got to me, that's all!” My reply was all but convincing, it didn’t help the awkward silence made me giggle, which I quickly stifled with my hand. But to Spencer, I’m sure it sounded like a muffled sob. At least he’d buy it, right?

… 

I hopped into the car, looking too giddy to be dealing with another case, “hey.” 

Spencer turned his head to look at me, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his tongue peeking out between his pink lips. “Y/N are you sure you’re okay?”

I rolled my eyes before playfully glaring at Spencer, “yes, now drive, baby.” I reached out, grabbing the gear shift, and shifting the car into drive. 

The car rolled slightly before a startled Spencer slammed his foot on the brake, “Y/N what the- my foot wasn’t even on the brake! Do you know how many accidents are caused a year due to pedal error? Sixteen thousand, and that’s just in the U.S.”

I know it was inappropriate, but during the whole lecture he was giving me I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hands. They were so perfect, long and thick, the number of times that I’ve come undone on those hands is immeasurable. I shifted in my seat before meeting his eyes. Honestly, I hadn’t comprehended a word he said, something about cars?

Spencer shifted the car back into park, turning in his seat to lean towards me. His eyes scanned me up and down, and not in a good way. “You’re acting strange. You’re overly bubbly, especially considering we have another case. You aren’t thinking rationally-”

A gasp left my body once I realized what he was doing, “Spencer Walter Reid, are you profiling me? We agreed not to do that!”

Despite my yelling he kept speaking “and you were too focused on the movement of my hands to retain a single word I told you.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

“Spencer, what the fuck are you-ow!” A blinding light clouded my vision, causing me to recoil further into my seat. 

A scoff left Spencer’s mouth as he turned off the flashlight. “You’re high,” he stated, “what did you take?”  

“I’m not-” I quickly stopped my sentence once I saw the glare Spencer was sending me. “Okay, I just smoked a little weed. Seriously, it wasn’t a lot.”

Spencer unlocked his phone, pressing a few buttons before opening the “W-what are you doing?” I asked, although I already knew the answer. 

“Calling Hotch” Spencer replied, his voice even yet stern. It was somehow scarier than his occasional outburst.

“What? No, Spencer!” I reached over the console, latching my hands onto his phone, before pulling back. Sadly, the phone stayed rooted in his large hands, and with a swift tug, he had the phone back in his grasp. 

Spencer glared harsh daggers at me, before looking back down, and continuing to type on the phone. “Y/N, you’ve already pushed me far enough. Sit down and keep your mouth shut.” 

I fell back into my seat, pouting and crossing my arms childishly. The faint sound of ringing broke the silence, stopped by the barely audible voice of Hotch over the phone. 

“Hotch, Y/N can’t come in, she’s sick. I think she has a fever.” The lie tumbled easily out of his lips. 

My head whipped towards him, my eyebrows raised in amusement. “Thanks, I will.” Spencer ended the conversation, this time setting his phone in the cupholder in the console. 

I giggled lightly, “what would I do without you to save my ass?” 

He didn’t respond, instead putting the car in drive, this time with his foot on the brake. Silence filled the car, Spencer opting to focus on the road, and me fidgeting with the hem of my skirt. 

“Spencie, are you mad at me?” I asked, resting an elbow on the console between us. 

It was obvious he was frustrated, I would be too, but how was I supposed to know we’d get called in on a case? “Yes, Y/N” he answered, his words punctuated and his jaw clenching, accentuating his razor-sharp jawline. 

There was something about angry Spencer that sent shockwaves to my core, leaving me squirming against the leather of the car. Eh, what the hell, might as well go for it, I can just blame it on the cannabis. 

My arm reached across the console, my hand landing on the top of Spencer’s thigh. I watched him visibly jump at my touch, he obviously wasn’t expecting it. “Are you sure it’s just anger?” 

He sighed loudly, one of his hands leaving the steering wheel to remove my own from his leg.

…  

“Please Spencer, just really quick? It’d help you relieve some stress!” I cried as I walked through the door. 

Another angry sigh left Spencer’s mouth, he seemed to be doing that a lot. “Y/N, you’re under the influence, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

I almost laughed at his statement, it was perfectly logical of him to think that, and utterly sweet. But he was my boyfriend, my love, I would fuck him in whatever state I’m in. “Spence, I can promise you you’re not taking advantage of me. We’ve had sex countless times, I’d have sex with you even if I was sober, have you seen you?” I paused for a moment before adding onto my sentence, breaking the slight tension with humor, “yourself, not you, that doesn’t sound right.” 

Spencer chuckled to himself, rolling his eyes as he reached for his belt. “Hell yes!” I cried as I began to undo the buttons of my blouse, quickly shedding it. I could’ve just left the blouse on, but Spencer was a tits man through and through. 

As soon as I heard the clinking of his belt colliding with the floor, I ambushed him, immediately letting my lips find his. The kiss wasn’t rough, nor was it gentle, it was somewhere in between, a perfect balance. I pulled away, biting down lightly on Spencer’s bottom lip. 

My hand slipped into his unzipped pants, palming him lightly. It was the most heavenly sight on earth to watch his head fall back, and a low moan tumble from his lips. “Fuck, Y/N” 

Nodding my head I giggled, “yes, please fuck Y/N.”

Spencer tilted his head back up, laughing lightly at my comment.

I pulled away from him, grabbing the hem of my skirt and shimmying it up over my hips. Spencer’s eyebrows raised, a look of amusement on his face. “Please” I begged.

“Alright, turn around, over the table,” Spencer commanded, his voice low and demanding.

A giggle passed my lips as I turned around, making my way over to the table. My top half pressed against the table, my body resting against my forearms. I could hear Spencer’s footsteps as he crossed the room, stopping behind me. His large hands wrapped around my hips, pushing my skirt higher up my body. “Do you know how irresponsible it was of you to try and come into work while under the influence?” 

His hand left my hip coming back down onto my backside, the impact causing me to cry out. “Spencer!”

His hand raked up my side, grabbing a fist full of my hair. “I-I didn’t have a choice.” I stuttered out as one of his fingers hooked onto my underwear, pulling them to the side. 

“You did have a choice, you chose not to inform Hotch, leaving me to save your ass. Do you understand how detrimental the consequences could’ve been if something were to go wrong?” Spencer’s fingers ran through my folds, spreading around my arousal. 

“Fuck” I moaned out, using my forearms to push myself back against his hand. “Better hurry this up, Spence, we don’t have long.” Spencer shuffled behind me before I felt the head of his cock brush against my core. “Fine, if you’re so impatient.” He grunted, pulling back on my hair, and pushing his cock into my folds. 

He was quick to set a rough pace, pulling out and pushing back in, using the hand in my hair as leverage to pull me back in time with his thrusts. “Yes, Spencer, fuck,” I groaned out. 

“You know,” Spencer started, pausing to roughly thrust into me, sending my body forward against the table, the edge digging into my thighs. “If you wanted a stress reliever, you could’ve come to me. Sex releases endorphins and other hormones, the same way exercise does. Particularly, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the “love hormone.” 

I moaned against the table, my body beginning to falter as my orgasm approached. “Fuck, Spencer, mhmm, yes.” 

With every thrust, I could feel the strain of Spencer yanking my hair back, which would definitely leave a crick in my neck. But I was enjoying myself too much to tell him to stop. I could practically feel Spencer’s anger with every obscene smack of our sweaty skin. It was what I was hoping for, a good fuck, and for Spencer to be able to release his anger before heading back to the BAU. 

Surprisingly, Spencer released his vice grip on my hair, easing the tension on my neck, allowing my face to fall forward and my cheek to squish against the table. He planted his forearm beside my head, leaning over me so his chest was pressed against my back. “How good would you feel if I allowed you to come right now?” To add to the pleasure, Spencer’s hand resting on my hip wormed its way around my body, two of his long digits beginning to rub circles around my swollen bud. 

A sob racked my body at the added pleasure, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I could feel my legs starting to tremble as I held back my release, almost as if my body knew I couldn’t let go until he gave me permission. “Please, please?” I begged.

“Say it. Promise me you’ll come to me next time you need to relieve stress.” Spencer growled, his voice cracking, signaling he was close too. 

The desperate sounds of our moans and the musty smell of sex filled the room, drowning out my senses. I was too lost in the euphoria to reply, instead, I deliriously rutted my hips back as an attempt to feel him deeper. 

Spencer let out a groan before burying his head deep in the crook of my neck, moaning out “promise me, Y/N.” 

“I promise, fuck, please, Spencer?” The words tumbled almost incoherently out of my lips, barely comprehensible. 

Nodding his head against my skin, he placed an open-mouthed kiss to my neck before moaning out “come, come with me Y/N.” 

And just like that, I was sent headfirst into a trembling, teeth-clenching orgasm. My back arched, uncomfortably pressing my breasts even further against the table. My vision went white, and my legs threatened to collapse. Spencer had stilled, burying his cock deep in my cunt, lewdly moaning out my name, and a series of various curses. An unfamiliar warmth coursed through my body as he filled me up with his seed. Leaving me to grin like a Cheshire cat, caked in sweat. 

The two of us laid against the table, deep pants leaving both our mouths. Spencer pulled out, tucking himself back in his pants. “Thank you” I giggled, pushing myself up from the table, and shuffling my skirt back down my legs. 

When I turned around I was met with the sight of a sweaty Spencer, running his hands through his tousled hair. “You look fine, Spence.”

I could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to contain his smile, probably wanting to stay mad at me. But as soon as his eyes met mine, his face broke into a soft smile, my own following suit. I took a step forward, wrapping my arms around his torso, and letting my head rest against his chest. “I love you” I murmured against his shirt. 

His arms wrapped around my back, pulling me closer to him, “I love you too” he replied, placing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Okay, I have to go,” Spencer said, letting his arms fall back to his side.

I pulled back, unwrapping my arms from his body. “Don’t forget your belt,” I nodded towards his belt that was left discarded on the floor in the midst of our frenzy. 

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N, remember?” Spencer joked, snatching his belt from the floor, and looping it back through his pants. 

Rolling my eyes with a laugh I replied, “that doesn’t mean things can’t slip your mind, Spence.” 

“Actually-” he started.

I cut him off by opening the front door, “bye, have fun, I love you!” 

Spencer laughed, pecking me on the lips before heading out the door, looking over his shoulder to call out, “we’ll talk more about this later, Y/N. Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.”

“Shit.” I groaned, letting the door fall shut.

Taglist: @pinkdiamond1016 @gubler-squad @garcias-batcave

[kitkatd7]

Broken Hearts and Whiskey

Summary: Bucky’s not the same anymore. He doesn’t spend time with you at all, or keep his promises. And your done with it.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, lots of angst, drinking, my grammar errors because I didn’t fully edit

Dialogue Prompt #19. “Please! You have to let me make this right.” 

Dialogue Prompt #7: "I can't keep being your second choice, not when you're my first." 

(Prompts will be in bold)

Word Count: 1,654

A/N: This is for @imma-new-soul‘s 550 Follower Writing Challenge and @buckys-other-punk 500 Writing Challenge!! I hope y’all like it! Sorry it’s pretty sad and the ending isn’t as good as it could be :( Also this was inspired by the songs ‘Die From a Broken Heart by Maddie & Tae and Different For Girls by Dierks Bentley' Also there are a few Criminal Minds references in here😂

Masterlinst of Masterlists || Marvel Masterist || Series Masterist || part 2 

------------------

“See you later!” You call over your shoulder at Natasha and Wanda as you unlock the door to your apartment, coming home from a very successful shopping spree. Walking into your home you toe-off your shoes at the door, setting down your keys and purse. “Babe, I’m home!” You sing, excited to finally get some time with Bucky after him being gone on a mission for three weeks. “Babe?” You ask, walking into the kitchen, setting down your multiple shopping bags and taking in the empty space. Where the hell is he? After searching the bedroom, living room, even the bathroom and still coming up empty, you look to see if you missed any calls. Nope. He was supposed to be here you fume inwardly as you press the speed dial photo; both of you together at a carnival, you smiling brightly as he places a kiss on your cheek sweetly.

It goes straight to voicemail. 5 times. Now you're not even mad… just disappointed in him. He promised. On try number 6 you’re just done. “Hey, it’s me. Listen, so I don’t know where you are but- just don’t bother coming home tonight, okay? I had plans but- never mind, it doesn’t matter that much. I’ll see you later.”  Pressing the red button you throw your phone on the couch before changing into something more comfortable. It wouldn’t be so frustrating that he wasn’t here if it was a one time thing- But this is the fifth time he hasn’t come home to spend time with you after a mission.

Plopping on the couch, you press start on something mindless that you aren’t going to watch anyway before checking your phone for- well. really anything.

1 new message

Unlocking your phone quickly, you open it in high hopes, only to see Sam’s name appear and your face falls. 

Sam: Bucky said you tried to call. Is it important?

You: No… just we had plans.

You confide, knowing Sam will understand.

Sam: Oh shit. Okay, want me to tell him to come home?

You: No. It’s fine.

Sighing, you toss your phone on the other end of the couch, throwing your head back in newfound anger. Asshole. He saw your calls and didn’t even pick up the damn phone. After a year of dating, you at least deserved that. 

------------

“Hey this is y/n, I can’t come to the phone right now cuz I’m out livin’ my life! Leave it at the beep.” He hears your all too familiar voicemail through the speaker. He had helped you come up with it, you hadn’t known what to put on it. He kicks himself, knowing you weren’t actually out living your life, just dodging his calls. Not that he blamed you- He deserved it and he knew it. Calling again, he’s not surprised when he hears your voicemail again.

“Hey… Um, listen, I know I was supposed to be at your place after the mission… I just wanted to unwind with the guys and- Shit. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you would mind that much, I’ll be over in a bit to make it up to you, okay?” He leaves the message and ends the call before starting his car and driving towards your apartment, guilt heavy in his stomach.

You listen to his voicemail over and over, a strange mix of rage and sorrow weighing on your heart.

Tears roll slowly down your cheeks silently as you lay curled up in a defensive ball on your bed, trying to block out the unmistakable sound of Bucky begging you to open the front door; “Babe, please open the door,” He says, fist resting gently against the frame. “I’m sorry- really, really sorry. Please let me in and we can talk about it,” He sighs, resting his head against the door in defeat. He could break the lock and go in. You both know that. But he wouldn’t do that to you- All that would do is make you fear him and that’s the last thing he wants. He slides his back down the wall til he’s sitting on the floor next to your door, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair; Tears gathering in his lashes. He really messed up this time.

----------

The next day you drag yourself out of bed, trying to forget last night and all the tears you shed. After a shower and breakfast, you head out the door for a coffee run before work. You stop in your tracks when you see Bucky still sitting there, eyes red from lack of sleep and regret written all over his face. He jumps up when you walk out, keys in hand, the door closing behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

“I- I came to apologize,” he murmurs, looking in your eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you bite, moving to step around him but stopping when he steps to block your path.

“Bucky, I’m going to be late for work,” you say coldly, glaring at him. “Move out of the way.”

“Please doll, just let me expla-”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “I understand perfectly, James.” You watch as he flinches a little at the use of his first name. You only use it when your really mad or really happy, and it isn’t the latter right now. “You were too busy with your beer buddies to come see your girlfriend after being gone for three weeks, but what’s new? It’s been like this for months. I guess it was naive of me to expect something else this time.” You shoulder past him as he stares at you; dumbfounded. Tears gather in your eyes as you make your way to your car in the rain. Your almost there when you feel a large hand on your arm and hear your name being whispered. You turn around and look up into his stormy eyes. You always loved his eyes- They’re always so bright and big and- Now is not the time to be thinking about his stupidly gorgeous eyes.

“Please! You have to let me make this right,” he whispers, tears forming in his eyes as well, mixing with the raindrops rolling down his face and dampening is hair. 

“Bucky…” You sigh, pulling your arm out of his grasp gently. “I don’t think you can fix this. I can't keep being your second choice, not when you're my first." You climb into your car as he stares at you as you pull out of the parking lot. He sinks to the ground on his knees, not caring that his clothes are practically soaked, or that someone might think he looks crazy. None of that matters- because your gone. His girl. Gone. He can’t breathe. The pressure weighs heavy in lungs as all the air is pushed from them and his heart shatters. It’s all he can do to draw a ragged breathe between sobs.

---------------------

You manage to hold yourself together until you pull into the starbucks parking lot. And then you totally loose it; Tears and mascara mix together and run down your cheeks as you sob into your steering wheel. It feels like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Bucky was the best thing that ever happened to you… and deep down you had feared something like this would happen, but you didn’t think it actually would. You loved him- And now he was gone. 

You trek into Walmart, heading straight for the junk food isle, not caring that you look like an absolute mess. Grabbing some much needed chocolate, chips, cookies and other coping foods, you check out, starting to cry again when the cashier gives you a pitiful look on your way out. 

Stumbling into your apartment, you throw your bags on the kitchen counter before grabbing your desired snacks and tossing them on your bed. You pull on sweatpants and one of Bucky’s hoodies, sending an ache of longing through your chest. Even changing clothes feels like more effort than you could possibly muster but you somehow manage before crawling into bed and turning on reruns of Friends before you start crying again. After 2 bags of chocolate, a bag of Doritos, a burger and french fries you grabbed on the way home, you still feel like absolute shit. Maybe this is just how it will be- Unable to get over him, unable to move on. Eventually you fall asleep from exhaustion, tear stains and left-over makeup on your face and Bucky’s pillow clutched against your chest. 

------------

Bucky ambles into the bar, sliding onto a stool with sullen eyes, ordering a shot of vodka before mumbling “Keep em coming.” 

Throwing his head back, he grimaces as the bitter liquid burns its way down his throat. He knows he can’t get drunk but he’s willing to try. Anything to stop feeling like this.

The old barkeep leans on the bar behind him, looking at Bucky with an evaluating stare. 

“What was her name?” He questions gently after a moment of silence.

“Wha- How did you know?” Bucky looks up in surprise and pain, his forearms resting on the bar, holding another shot.

“Son, you can’t hide the look of love gone wrong.”

Tossing back another, Bucky looks in the shot glass like it holds all the answers before whispering your name, his voice breaking. “Did you ever love someone?” He asks brokenly.

The older man chuckles lightly at this. “I did, still do.” He holds up his left hand as proof.  “Do you wanna know the secret to love?” He asks, stepping closer.

“Why not, it’s not like I could lose anything else,” Bucky says dryly, taking yet another shot.

“Sometimes love doesn’t last and you have to let it go… but sometimes you have to fight for it. And it’s up to you to decide which you’re gonna do. So which is it?”

-----------------------

I hope you liked it! please let me know what you think!! 

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[mypersonmyg]

crash and learn | myg, kth, jjk

pairing: yoongi x reader ft. maggie x taehyung, dani x jeongguk

genre: fluff, college au, the misery chick au

rating: pg15

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, not really edited

summary: you and yoongi just want some time alone OR maybe jeongguk and taehyung will finally stop crashing your dates

a/n: haha i bet you thought i forgot but i didn’t! its drabble week and i will be posting one every day this week (weekends debatable)...this one is a part of the misery chick universe but also you don’t have to read it to get it because...

this is for my FAVORITE CUTIE MAGGIE @kimtaehyunq​!!!! who asked me to write a cute tae and jeongguk request ft herself and yours truly <3 and i think its fun to have one universe with all the members being with one of my friends so,,,maybe more coming?,,,either way i might write another drabble or two to sort of bring this one full circle, maybe not this week but yeah

[drabble masterlist]

[the misery chick]

One date turned to two and two to three, needless to say that months later and Min Yoongi still finds room to swoon for the girl who thought him puffing smoke before the start of the period. The misery chick isn’t gone, but the words are forbidden within a radius of the two of you, more likened to prolonged stares and the occasional glares of those wondering about the developing development of your arms locked and stares stopping on your respective pupils dilated in the glare of the midday sun. 

Though those passersby who let Yoongi pass by for too long without a positive step in the direction of his natural charms hold their tongues, the boys that fill the round of the courtyard picnic don’t hesitate to gag into half eaten sandwiches and dribble the purple fizz from the cans perched at their lips. 

“This is a little excessive, no?” Taehyung, the least bothered of the present, pipes up. He slurps from a straw that traces the length of his arm, wrapping the sleeve of his half buttoned button up. No one dared ask about his latest purchase, Jeongguk who was slurping from his juice box even eyeing with envy the can perfectly placed atop a tuft of grass, feeding into the straw at Taehyung’s lips. “When you invited us on a picnic I was hoping for a little more ‘we time’ and a little less ‘you time’.”

“To be clear, we didn’t invite you.”

“I like to think it was an open invitation,” Jeongguk shrugs, falling back against the blanket spread beneath you. 

Yoongi kisses his teeth, his own position resting against your chest, the perfect avenue for the pass of a grape from your fingers to his lips. He’s too content to bother with the bothersome nature of his uninvited roommates, both found minutes before his departure scavenging the lunch he’d spent the better part of the morning putting together. It was only the delighted pitch of your giggles that stopped him from scolding the two and sending them on their way when they followed you out of the door. He even caught you sneaking a few extra snacks into the basket for the fiends. 

“The point is, I will not hesitate to press my face to Yoongi’s because this is supposed to be a date.” 

“Press your face? That’s fuckin’ weird can’t you just say kiss?” Taehyung snatches the grape from your hand midair, sending Yoongi a smug smirk when he pops it past his geometric lips humming along with the satisfactory burst of the skin against his tongue. 

“No, because it makes you uncomfortable.” You tut, quickly replacing the grape to remedy the pout pulling at Yoongi’s cheeks. “This’ll teach you two to stop crashing our dates!” 

Dates is, in fact, plural because the tag along of your spritely comrades has been less and less few and far over the course of just a few weeks. You aren’t blind to the odd trend, not missing the attachment of Jeongguk specifically with each expected visit. Only recently had Taehyung begun to fill the void at Jeongguk’s side, previously partnered with any member of the house available at the time. 

What you’ve failed to account for with every impromptu double date is Jeongguk’s wise up with each stand in. He began to worm his way with Hoseok, clear that Yoongi would never turn down his best friend and you would never turn down Jeongguk. He would then try his hand with each member of the house, the worst of them being Jimin who had them sent away without even a morsel of the pizza you and Yoongi planned on sharing that day. 

It was that evening that Yoongi stood barefoot in his doorway, scratching at his brows toeing the reason behind Jeongguk’s sudden interest in you to which Jeongguk sputtered and blushed Yoongi out of the door with the assurance that his interest in you still remained platonic despite your commonalities and attraction. 

Jeongguk would never disclose the reason for his sudden interest in the almost daily escapades of Yoongi and yourself for fear that the blush painting his cheeks would be due to the teases and pressures of his friends, much the way he heard his hyungs pressuring Yoongi just months ago. He reasons that the position served Yoongi well, his eyes often traveling to the trace of your hand against Yoongi’s and frequent pecks to his forehead, his cheeks, he averts when you ‘press face’.

He wouldn’t dare admit the lift of his heart when you utter a defeated ‘I’ll just call Maggie and Dani, we can all catch a movie or something’ or when you plan ahead, which you’ve been doing more often, and the two meet you at your destination. The assumption of his appearance for the consumption that is often his source of a meal was accurate at the start. Your weekly dinners increasingly put on hold in place of a date with Yoongi, a point that Jeongguk used to his advantage the first night he beat Yoongi to the front seat of his own car while you snickered on the passenger side and Yoongi grumbled his way to the rear. 

His tactic had been to spend more time with his friend busied by love’s intoxicating hold, but his routine was struck by the catch of his own wrist in the hold of the bug. It was subtle before all at once, just an insignificant flutter passed off as a change in the weather, allergies. It was the not so subtle jab of Hoseok’s elbow into Jeongguk’s ribs after a particularly festive frolic through the spring festival that hipped him to his blind intentions. 

“Dude, you’ve been eying Dani for like three weeks and I’m tired of going on dates with you.” Suffice to say that was the last time Hoseok was glued to his side and Jeongguk only hoped the few feet between him and Dani just ahead provided a gap gaping enough to save her ears from Hoseok’s assail. 

It was a constant trial and error leading up to the night just a week ago that conjured Taehyung in stride, far too dressed up for casual with a confident glint in his eye. 

“You made the right call, I don’t know why it took you so long to make it, but I’m here now. The doctor is in.” Taehyung surveyed the small span of the restaurant's front entrance that day, confident in his abilities to  nudge Jeongguk ever closer to the girl he’s been crazy about for the past few weeks. He found it endearing that the youngest was having a hard time, especially when he was often the target of straying gazes and the not-so-subtle flirtations of all shades. 

It didn’t take long for all involved to realize that the doctor inconveniently called in sick from the moment Yoongi showed up with three ladies en route, one familiar from a photo Jeongguk scrounged and the second filled with a familiarity not quite familiar to Taehyung. You were quick to introduce her as Maggie, and Taehyung couldn’t form a sentence coherent enough for the rest of the night. 

If it weren’t for the quickened explanation on the drive home, Jeongguk would’ve been a lot less forgiving about his botched date, but here they are two weeks later, both lovestruck idiots jumping with each sound of crumpled grass while you and Yoongi are none the wiser to their intent. 

“So, what are we doing tomorrow? Aside from watching you two be all lovey dovey.” 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi’s head tilts, eyes squinting in the face of the sun’s rays. “What are you two doing tomorrow? I personally plan on spending the day with my girlfriend, preferably alone at some point.” 

“Huh, well there’s this horror marathon at the drive-in tomorrow and I was thinking we could all go!” Taehyung nudges Jeongguk’s leg, the younger immediately onboard with the suggestion. 

“Yeah! We could even invite Maggie and Dani so we have someone to talk to when you two inevitably claim the backseat for making out or whatever.”

You eye the two, eyes as wide as fresh puppies and smiles spanning the length of their cheeks. You aren’t completely blind to the trend of the past few weeks, but you haven’t been keen enough an observer to call them out on it until now. You’ve joked with Yoongi in private about your impromptu triple dates, most of the time brushed off with the shift of his lips to your own, too exhausted to think about anything but the moment he finally has you to himself. 

You nudge him with your knee, catching his eye with the minute dip of your head and the draw of your brow. 

“Ya know, you guys could always just go yourselves. I could give you their numbers,” You don’t miss the exchanged glances and tinted cheeks, Jeongguk’s eyes averting to the opposite end of the grass, one hand lifting to tug at the lobe of his ear. “I know Maggie is really into horror and Dani will def tag along if you ask nicely.” 

“Oh...they’re your friends though, I don’t think they’d wanna hang with us.” Taehyung sputters, nearly knocking the can at his side. Yoongi scoffs, head lolling from its place on your thigh. 

“You’re kidding right? The way those two act around you is not exactly subtle.” 

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk’s body leans forward, pupils doubled in hopeful curiosity. 

“I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.” Yoongi shrugs. 

“And there’s no time like the present!” Your hands flag at something beyond the scope of their heads, Jeongguk freezing on the spot, but Taehyung’s neck craning to capture the bodies bounding over and moments later plopping in the convenient spaces between. Maggie squishes herself between you and Jeongguk while Dani takes the spot beside Taehyung. 

A panic flashes in both of their eyes when they note the unmatched arrangement of bodies. There was no specification as to who Maggie or Dani harbor unspoken feelings for, or what kind of feelings they are,  and the time to question has since vanished. 

The group falls to routine, broken conversations and voices piping in, Taehyung notes the lack of attention the girl that has a grip on his bursting appendage has paid in the past twenty minutes. A simple nod of the head or half smile is the only acknowledgement to his thoughtfully witty remarks. 

He doesn’t miss the drop of her hand to Jeongguk’s arm when he tells a funny joke, her head thrown back with exaggerated laughter and he fights to send a glare his way but thinks better as Jeongguk is too entranced by Dani who has barely said a word since sitting. 

“So, Tae was just telling us about this horror marathon they’re having at the drive-in tomorrow night. He and Guk wanna go.” You fill in once the six of you fall to comfortable silence. You catch Maggie sending a smirk Taehyung’s way, recovering at once when she peeks your gaze out of the corner of her eye. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, Yoon and I could use some alone time so I thought you guys might wanna go with them.”

“Horror?” Dani speaks up, gently shifting to shield herself from Jeongguk’s wandering eyes. “That’s cool, but I don’t know that’s not really my thing.” 

“That's okay!” Jeongguk startles himself with his words, lowering his voice with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, we don’t have to stay the whole time, I wouldn’t mind leaving early. We could get some food or something.” 

“Hey, not all of us are chicken. I wanna stay the whole time,” Maggie pokes her tongue in Dani’s direction, earning the same in return. 

“I’m not chicken. There’s just only so much nuclear family, last girl blah blah blah that I can handle.” Dani shrugs, turning her attention to Jeongguk for the first time that he’s aware of, since she arrived. “It’s okay, you guys should just go without me.” 

“No, I wanna hang with you. We could go to this new pizza place in town if you’re interested?” Jeongguk is pleased to note that you and Yoongi have gone back to your regularly scheduled program, pretending as if your date hasn’t been crashed for the millionth time. Taehyung and Maggie, on the flip, are watching you two as if they’re already tucked into the boot of a car with popcorn between their fingers. 

“Um...I mean, if you really don’t mind. I don’t wanna steal you or them away from the movies.” 

“I’ll stay...ya know, Maggie and I. We could stay and watch the movies and you two could go after the first one or two.” Taehyung glances at Maggie whose eyes are already taking him in, flashing away the moment pupils meet. 

“Yeah, that’s always an option.” She agrees, flashing you a thumbs up. 

“Great!” Four heads snap in your direction, Yoongi is finally sitting upright and you’re all smiles, neatly folding your blanket to pass off. “So it sounds like you guys have a lot of planning to do and we have a lot of kissing to do, so we’ll be seein’ ya!” 

“Wait, don’t you guys wanna finish your food?” Maggie gestures to the half eaten meal left resting in the basket.

“No no, you guys have it. I’m actually in the mood for pizza now so we’ll probably grab some on the way home.” 

“Okay...bye, I guess.” Dani watches with scrunched brows and Jeongguk and Taehyung send Yoongi the same look he’s been sending for weeks for a completely different reason. He sends them a smirk, arm slung around your shoulders as the two of you leave your date crashers in the dust with potential of their own. 

“Have fun!” 

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 10: Believer

Hello everyone!

I apologize for my lack of posting. I have barely survived midterms and I have found myself with a writers block once more. I am hopefully going to be able to give myself a little break between the end of the semester and after finals and the beginning of my summer courses. Thankfully I only have 2 summer classes so hopefully that will make it easier to post. 

I have some announcements coming up soon and I will hopefully finish writing the missing chapters for this story and only have to post and edit. So far, I have not been able to edit anymore so I apologize for any grammatical error. 

I really hope you are enjoying reading the story because I had a really great time writing it. Hope you have a great weekend!

I apologize for constant flashbacks but they are important to the plot, I promise!

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog​

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 10: Believer

"Very well, this seems like a good start." She said as she finished reading his confession. She moved towards the camera and turned it off, signaling that she would be taking the paper and would adhere to her part of the deal.

"What is she doing?" Spencer whispered to Emily. "Without a video confession, the written one can be considered coerced. We would be back at square one."

"There is the surveillance camera, genius."

"Of course she has a backup plan." He looked at the black camera, smiling at the knowledge.

"Now tell me, who left you, was it, mom or dad?"

"My dad." She readjusted in her seat. "How many victims did you kill total. We've found five, but it seems to me that is a low number for someone as angry as you."

"Fifteen, some of them are lost in the desert, some are by the arches, they should be found fairly soon." He shrugged and continued to look at her. "Why did he leave?"

"My mother got pregnant when she was young. It was a mistake, they didn't love each other. They married because of me, so it was only a matter of time before they broke, and break they did." She fought the urge to look back, hoping that nobody aside from Hotch would review the security tape. "Did you kill your father?"

"First one. He's in the arches, his favorite place in the world."

"Did your mom not accept his apology?"

"Well, he didn't really apologize until I had a gun to his head, but my mother was always kind, so she forgave him."

"Why did you kill him then?"

"I didn't forgive him." He winked at her. "Did you look for him?"

"I did."

"And?"

"That's your fourth question."

"I don't care, I want to know."

"He is dead. As dead as can be." She said out loud for the first time. "I hired a private investigator and found he crashed his car two years after he left us."

"Karma is a bitch."

"Why keep killing if you got rid of him?"

"For the same reason, you joined the FBI." He smiled at her, "to show my dad that he wasn't gonna dictate my life. That I was not going to let him be my end goal."

"It seems to me he is. You tracked him down, killed him. For some that might be enough. But you never got closure so you decided to pray on people who made mistakes. Where did you find them?"

"I worked at a counselors office."

"Well, that is rather obvious now. Maybe you should have gotten some help yourself." She stood, ready to leave the room, "hope you enjoy prison." She turned to exit the room.

"My final question, if you had found him, what would you have said?"

"I don't know." She responded.

"Bullshit."

"Well, I couldn't  ask him why  he left because I already know that, so I don't really know what I would have said." She turned to him, "what did you tell him?"

"I told him trousers weren't his thing." He stood, the handcuffs falling from his hands as his smile grew wider. "You should really be more careful with what you leave laying here, doctor."She reached for her gun but everything happened so fast she had no time to fire it. He seemed to run into the wall, only this one was not as hard as it seemed and a giant chunk collapsed as he made his way through, and just like that he had exited the station. Prentiss and Reid rushed in and through the now giant hole in the station but the man was nowhere to be found. Lucas Heavensbee had just vanished on her watch.

"Fuck!" She yelled and made her way to the office, the team was now making their way to the interrogation room but stopped in their tracks as they saw her approach. "I need access to the security cameras, now." She moved towards the security office and asked for the feed of the last couple of weeks to be played, there she found there were about three days missing. "He planned this, and someone helped him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard played us!" She rushed out and into an SUV, driving directly to his house that was now under surveillance. She looked around, looking for anything that would indicate he had been there. It was fast to spot it, he had managed to slide through the police cars and left a note for her.

I just wanted to make sure you knew this had nothing to do with you doctor, but I simply can't let my father win. I am sure we will hear from each other, and then we can converse from one orphan to another. Until then.

She was ready to show the note to them, as Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid made their way through the house. The note was still crumpled in her hand, but as the local police entered she decided against it. The two agents were the best people she had ever met, she knew it since the moment she joined the FBI, and she knew they were trying to make her feel better about the whole situation, but there were some things she couldn't get past. This man had killed fifteen people and kidnapped so many more and he had slipped right through her fingers. He had made a fool of her, and she would be damned if she didn't catch him. Telling Emily and Spencer would worry them, and they would be on her case about it becoming an obsession, just like she had done after their first case.

One year ago (I think?)

Her leg bounced as she drove with the social worker and two of her co-workers. This was her first big assignment, and she wasn't sure she would measure up. It was also important to note that while Emily and she tended to get along well, Spencer and she hadn't spoken almost at all since the sweater incident.

"Should I introduce you as FBI agents?"

"No, I think it's best if we come as social workers, there is less hostility." Prentiss' said as she gave both Reid and her their fake badges. She placed her FBI ID inside her bag and took a deep breath, it was a simple mission, they would be in and out.

Never, and I mean never, say something will be easy, as this almost assures you that is not the case. The social worker, whose name was Daisy, had been shot and was now dead. They had become trapped in the middle of a war between the cult leaders and the local police. It's as if the universe wished to remind her just how much bad luck she could have.

She heard them talking to the FBI, and food had been delivered so she assumed they had implanted microphones. Now they had to find a way to communicate with them and let them know what they had concluded.

"Which one of you is it?" The man said as he pointed a gun at them.

"Are we playing tag?" She asked stupidly, earning a glare from her partners.

"Do you think this is a joke? Which one of you is the FBI agent?" She turned to look at the woman and man, trying her hardest not to freak out.

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous.

"I will ask you one more time, and if none of you tell me I will not hesitate to shoot all three of you. Which one is the FBI agent?"

She saw Emily stir and knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save her. "I am." She said before either of them could stop her. "I'm the FBI agent. Though I'm fairly new so I don't really have that many secrets to tell. I was barely cleared to be on the field. If you really think about it, I'm not very helpful, so I think maybe if you let it slide I could-" she felt a fist connect with her right cheekbone, silencing her.

"Take her to the back." He instructed one of the men. She gave one last reassuring glance to her teammates, hoping this wouldn't be the last time she saw them.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the door to the room she was in opened and Ben came in. You would think that having a name like Benjamin wouldn't exactly command respect, but she wasn't one to judge cults.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you told your men to lock me here." He slapped her across the face.

"Who sent you?"

"My boss?" Her response was received with another slap.

"Do you think this is a joke?"

"I think that you need to feel powerful because a part of you knows you're not enough." She spoke hoping her team could hear part of their discovery, even if she was receiving punches from the man as she continued. "You think you can get away with stuff because you prayed on the week, but deep down you know that there are people here who could stand up to you, and if they did you would be done for." She felt a warm liquid fall from her lips as he continued to beat her. "I know you pray on young girls. You're nothing more than a pedophile that uses the bible as a way to manipulate women to give their children to you." As she fell he started kicking her and she tried to avoid making noise, but the pain was too much. "This is nothing, I've dealt with worse." She spoke, hoping they would understand. "I've dealt with much worse, this is nothing."

"Who do you think you are?!" The man said, enraged at her defiance.

"Nobody, just the one person that knows you better than you know yourself." That earned her the hardest hit, and she knew she wouldn't be conscious for much longer, she had to let them know. "Your suicide won't work, there are people that are skeptical and you know it. This isn't about God, or even your preferences, this is about you Ben, and how you are so terrified to go back to prison you are willing to kill your followers to avoid it, because you know they would see right through your act, you are nothing but a coward." The last kick took place and the man left the room. "Don't change the plan, I'm okay." She whispered, hoping they could hear her, wishing that even if she died right then and there, they could save the people trapped in this church.

When she woke, a woman was there tending her wounds. "Be careful, I think you might have some broken ribs."

"Don't tell Ben, he might come and finish me off" she joked, but the woman gave her a pointed look as if letting her know that was a possibility. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of hours. They will come and get you for the ceremony, use you as an example."

"That's okay, I've always wanted to be one of those."

"This is not a joke girl, he's dangerous."

"I know. The trick is to have nothing to lose."

"Well, I have a daughter."

"Ben's wife, right?" The woman flinched at the mention. "You're not okay with that, are you?" And then, the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "You made the call, didn't you?" Before the woman could confirm her suspicion, a man entered and pulled her up, not worrying if her body ached, and took her to the church. She used the door frame to help her stabilize herself and took in the sight before her. It was still light, but with the time she lost she couldn't be sure how much time they actually had left. Emily and her locked eyes and she approached, her eyes full of worry, but her facial expression was one of pure anger and hatred. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?"

"How could you lie to us?" She asked, and as the men made their way to the front, her tone didn't change, but her questions did. "Are you crazy? Why would you do such a stupid thing? They could have killed you."

"I know, but it was either me or all three of us. Besides, I'm fine. We need you and Reid on the inside."

"This is reckless behavior."

"I know, but you were about to do the same."

"I have experience."

"Exactly, I can be a scapegoat."

"You are the most stubborn person I have ever met."

"I know, it's a gift. Now listen, I think there are mics, in the food, and if I'm right, I think I have been able to feed some information to the team, but we need to figure out when this massive suicide will take place."

Emily nodded and gave her an apologetic look before shoving her harshly. She fought the urge not to wince but it was almost impossible with her broken ribs. "You are a disgrace to this country, and I hope whoever you work for knows that they will not get away with it."

Ben looked over and stared at her, and despite her pain and the fear of another beating, she stared him down, letting him know that he would not get the best of her. She was gonna save as many people as possible and he could suck it. He was just another man who thought they were invisible because they weren't afraid to beat you up.

Spencer observed the interaction and the defiance she had amazed him. Despite the bruises and the swelling of her eye, not once did she lower her gaze or show any sign of weakness. Never in his life had he felt so attracted to someone as he did right then and there, but now was not the time to daydream of your coworkers, especially when they could be on the verge of dying.

As the day progressed, she continued to look for ways to tell the team, finally resorting to using the window to write a message. When she was younger she used to huff into a window to create fog and used it to write, so she did the same, letting the team know she could possibly convince some people to exit and they could come in after.

"What are you doing?" The woman from earlier spoke as she entered the room.

"If I'm gonna die, I might as well go doing something I like. Fog drawings." She said and covered her work. "Listen, don't ask me how I know this, but the FBI might strike tonight and if they do, he's not gonna cooperate, we need to get as many people as possible out."

"No, I can't do that."

"Please, I know you're scared, I'm terrified right now. I might have peed my pants earlier today, but that's not the point. The point is we need to save as many people as possible. Please help me get them out." Through the window she saw a figure, holding three fingers up. She nodded and turned back to the woman.

"Three a.m.?"

"You saw him too?"

"Yeah, one would think the FBI would be a little more discrete."

"We have our moments. Now please, make sure to get everyone out before then." The woman sighed and nodded, agreeing to the plan. "And one more thing, the people I came with, how are they?"

"Are they also agents?"

"No, of course not. I just dragged them into this and feel responsible for them. They are good people."

"The man seems to be fascinated by Ben, and vice versa. The woman keeps pacing around as if hoping for enlightenment. She has talked to some people though."

"Okay good. Please make sure to get them out too." After she left and closed the door, the woman sat down, her injuries making it hard to breathe. "I don't know where I am, or how to get out, but that will not change the plans okay? I need to make sure all these people are safe."

She wished she could hear someone ensuring her that would be the case, but there was no answer. She felt herself get dizzy and knew there was definitely internal damage that would take time to heal. Turns out her mother was wrong, money couldn't get you out of everything. It felt like an eternity, but she knew the time was approaching. She saw and more and more dark figures gathered around the church. She even caught a glimpse of Derek, who seemed to be looking around, as if hoping he could find her. She huffed one last time and wrote a message to him.

The door opened and nobody came in. She knew what it meant, so she gathered her remaining strength and walked out. Everything was dark and she could hear Spencer's voice coming from the main room. She followed it and stopped as she noticed him trying to talk a man down from placing explosives. She cursed under her breath. She stepped forward only to be pulled back by someone.

"Don't even think about it." The man said.

"Derek, we need to help him."

"I know, I'll go, join the rest. Everyone is already out."

"But-"

"Go!" She began walking out before it all happened. Reid ran towards them and Derek pulled the both of them to the nearest and hopefully safest area before a sharp pain on her head made her vision blurry and soon after she lost consciousness.

"I think she will appreciate it if you showered." She heard someone say, once she finally regained consciousness.

"Well, then she can tell me that herself." Another voice responded.

"Emily, you and Spencer have been here for a week. You need to go to the hotel and rest. At least the kid has been using the shower."

"I am not leaving until she wakes up. That includes leaving to bathe."

"Neither am I." A third voice added to the mix. "Though I can't say the same thing about avoiding water."

"How am I supposed to leave if I can't trust the two of you to take care of yourselves?"

"Easy, your flight leaves in less than an hour and you are still here. Unless you want to be paying fees you will get out of here."

There was a sigh of resignation before the voice spoke once more. "Reid, you're in charge until she wakes up. Then she's in charge."

"You're gonna put the one of us that was hit in the head 'in charge'? What does that even mean?" The female voice complained.

"I have made my decision. Maybe if you showered, things would be different." The voice faded, and the steps of the person became less clear, so she assumed the person was leaving.

"I think Morgan is right, you should take a shower."

"Don't make me hurt you, Reid."

"It was just a suggestion."

She didn't want to interrupt their banter, but her urge to sneeze was bigger, so she let her body do its thing. Though it is important to let you know that sneezing with broken ribs is horrible.

"She's awake!" Emily screamed and launched herself onto the bed. She started crying from pain after the action. "You're so happy you're crying!"

"Prentiss, that might be because you just jumped on her ribs." The man clarified as he stood, placing his hand on hers. The feeling was foreign, but she could let it slide once.

"I am so sorry! But I am so happy you're awake."

"What happened?"

"After the explosion, you hit your head, and because you already had injuries your body gave out, exhausted. Thankfully the ambulance was already there and we could rush you to the hospital. You've been sleeping for a good week." He explained.

"Well, then I don't get a lazy day for another three months." She joked and the two joined her. "How are the believers?"

"They're all safe and accounted for. Sadly we lost Ben's wife."

"Does her mom know?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to tell you she doesn't blame you and hopes you do get better." There was a moment of silence, as she processed the message, as well as her guilt.

"And I want you to know I ate your Jell-O." This caused her to laugh again. No matter how painful it felt, she was glad to be alive.

"Remind me to never get stuck in a hospital under the care of Spencer Reid. He'll eat my Jell-O."

"Let's make it a no trip to the hospital policy."

"Do I need to remind you where we work?" The woman shook her head, and both of them looked at her with a heartwarming smile. "I hate to break this moment, but please go shower, Prentiss."

"Ugh, fine." She placed a kiss on her forehead and moved out. "Reid, if anything happens, call me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Got it."

She walked out and the two remained silent for a couple of minutes. Their hands were still together and she squeezed it to get his attention. "How are you doing? I wasn't the only one that got caught in the blast."

"I'm good. Morgan and I barely had a scratch, they cleared us that same day."

"That's good. What about the rest of the team?"

"They are all good. They wanted to stay but they had another case, Hotch said your family was out of reach so Emily and I refused to leave. Morgan also stayed behind but they called him up today, without three agents they needed all the help they could get."

"You guys didn't need to stay." She assured him. His grip on her hand tightened, enough to let her know he wasn't letting go, but not enough to hurt her.

"You could've died. Because of me."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I should've said I was the agent."

"We both know the reason he didn't kill me was that I'm a woman. You wouldn't have been so lucky."

"Still."

"Reid, listen to me. This is not your fault, and this is not Emily's fault either. I knew what I was getting into, and I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"You are one stubborn woman."

"I know." She smiled at him, "now please go find me some Jell-O."

He laughed, but nodded, letting go of her hand. Just before he exited the room he turned and gave her the most endearing look she had ever seen, "thank you, for saving our lives. I'll never forget that."

"Good, that way I can ask for favors at any time." They both chuckled and he left the room hunting for the dessert.

The reality in her brain, however, was not as calm as she portrayed. For months she had obsessed over what she had done wrong, and she had spent sleepless nights thanks to her recurring nightmare, in which Ben didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and as she watched Spencer and Emily's bodies lie in a pool of blood. This alone was enough to make her train and perfect her skills, to the point of complete exhaustion. She wasn't going to fail, not again.

That was until Lucas Heavensbee had brought her right back to her dark hole.

[sweet-curried-powder]

Happy Birthday Cherry Blossom!

so it's cherry's birthday today, and since i've had sk8 brainrot lately both generally and ficwise, my brain would not let me relax until i wrote cherry a fic for his birthday. this took me several days to write, and i finished sometime yesterday before all my birthday celebrations took place, and wrapped up editing just now today.

so yeah, take a sk8 found fam fic for cherry's birthday!

~~

Reki, Langa, and Miya laid in wait behind a dumpster near Joe’s restaurant, watching the side door. It was Cherry’s birthday, and the kids wanted to surprise the pink-haired calligrapher, with no outside help whatsoever. As far as Joe and Cherry knew, Miya had a doctor’s appointment, Reki had to run some errands for his mother, and Langa had to go get his hair cut (Really, Langa’s excuse wasn’t really a lie. He’d gotten his hair cut by his mother earlier today, and it only took about ten minutes.). The “parents” had no idea what the boys had planned.

The doorknob jiggled, and Miya leapt into action. Joe waltzed out, fishing his wallet and keys out of his pocket, heading for his vehicle, back to the door. The door had some sort of automatic lock, where the door would lock once the door was shut, so Joe didn’t even give the door a second glance, fortunately.

Miya acted quickly, leaping to the door in less than a second and shoving his board in the doorway just before the door could close, keeping it open. By now, Joe was in his car, and starting it up. Reki opened the door, holding it for Miya and Langa, the latter’s arms full of grocery bags, watching the area to make sure Joe was gone before the redhaired boy popped into the restaurant.

The door was near the back of the large, spacious kitchen, which was neat as a pin; counters wiped clean, cooking utensils put away, nothing out of place. There was a faint smell of garlic and herbs still lingering in the air, which wasn’t overly strong, but it was mouthwatering nonetheless.

Langa set the bags down on the counter, Reki producing the cookbook from his bag, flipping to the bookmarked page, a recipe for a cherry cake. Miya rooted through the cabinets, getting out bowls, pans, and measuring cups and spoons.

“Do you think Cherry will like this?” Langa asked, getting out the ingredients and setting them on the table. “I mean, I don’t have that much baking experience besides making cakes and brownies from mixes…”

“I’m sure he’ll like it!” Reki reassured Langa, patting his friend on the back. “And besides, it’s cherry cake! For Cherry Blossom! It’s clever, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is,” Miya shrugged, opening a drawer with a bunch of aprons inside. He took some out and handed them to Langa and Reki. “Here. We don’t want stuff getting on our clothes.” The youngest took one for himself, putting it on. It was a little big on him, but it worked.

Reki threw his apron on, while Langa put his on more carefully. They fit just perfectly, since Reki and Langa were much taller than their brother.

“C’mon, let’s get baking! It’s just a cake, what can go wrong―”

There was a loud cry from Miya. The two boys turned to see Miya, whose face was coated in cake flour. He’d opened the bag too roughly, causing flour to explode all over himself and the counters.

Reki began laughing, pointing at the flour-coated boy. Miya growled, grabbing a fistful of flour and chucking it at Reki, who got a faceful of it. He coughed and sputtered, glaring at a smug-looking Miya.

“You’re kind of a little shit, you know that?”

“Thank you, dear brother.”

Langa began greasing and flouring the cake pans, making sure to get each and every little corner. Reki and Miya measured the flour, some of it flying out of the bowl and landing on the counters. Langa went to fetch the mixer from one of the shelves, gasping softly as he nearly teetered from how heavy the mixer was. He set it down on the counter, plugging it in before turning to Reki and Miya, who had started on the wet ingredients.

“‘Separate the whites from six eggs’?” Miya read aloud from the cookbook. “How do you separate egg whites?”

Reki opened his mouth to answer, before Langa took an egg from the carton. He put his free hand over the bowl, using the other to crack the egg into his hand. The white seeped through his fingers, plopping into the bowl with a satisfying noise. Langa put the egg yolk in a smaller bowl, shaking the stray egg white off of his hand.

“How’d you know how to do that, Langa?” Reki asked, tilting his head. “I thought you hadn’t cooked from scratch before.”

“Mom had a baking show on TV the other night,” Langa said, taking another egg. “I don’t know what the show was called, something about sugar or spices I think? But one of the ladies on the show did this with the eggs, I thought I could give that a try.”

Reki peered in the bowl with the yolk in it. There was still some white stuck to the yolk, but Langa had gotten most of it. He had to admit, it was fairly impressive.

“That was a good idea, Langa. Good job,” he congratulated Langa, beaming widely at him. A light blush dawned on the pale boy’s cheeks as he mumbled a “thank you” in reply.

Miya watched the two teenage boys talk with each other as they separated the eggs’ yolks and whites, blush and flour dusted across their cheeks. He shook his head, opening the jar of cherries and straining the juice into a measuring cup. I swear to god, they’re pining for each other. It’s like some sort of fanfiction.

“Okay! Whites are in!” Reki grinned, wiping some flour off of his nose. “Things should be smooth sailing from here, now that we know what else to do. Miya, the cherry juice?”

“Yeah, yeah, I―FUCK―” Miya tripped on his shoes, the measuring cup flying out of the small boy’s hands and splashing onto the floor. Luckily the cup was plastic, so it didn’t break, but the juice splashed all over the floor. “Dammit, that was all our cherry juice!”

“And we only have that one jar of maraschino cherries…” Langa mumbled.

“Don’t worry, don’t panic,” Reki tried to reassure the other two. “There’s a store right down the road, remember? They’ve got to sell maraschino cherries there, I’ll just go skate by there and pick up another jar.”

“What if Mama Cherry and Papa Joe come back before you do?” Miya asked, pulling on his sleeve. “The surprise will be ruined then…”

“I called the old man earlier and asked him to distract Cherry and Joe for a few hours while we make the cake. I’ll try and contact him and say we need more time.” Reki grabbed his board, rushing to the side door of the restaurant. “I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

“Stay safe, Reki!” Langa called out as Reki left in a rush, hopping on his board and zooming towards the shop, heart pounding as he approached the store. This could still work, this is just a minor setback, it―

“Will you shut it, you damn gorilla?!”

Fuck. It was Cherry.

Reki quickly ducked behind a trash can in a nearby alley, peering to where the voice was coming from. It was Joe and Cherry, with Shadow in between them. Shadow caught Reki’s eye, face starting to morph into one of his classic scowls.

“We need more time,” Reki mouthed quickly and quietly, gesturing towards Joe and Cherry, signaling the florist to distract the two. Shadow nodded, turning to Cherry and saying something that Reki couldn’t hear, the red haired boy sighing in relief as the group turned around, dashing to the store, weaving through the small crowd, yet trying to blend in.

He soon approached the store, ducking inside and heading for the section of the store with all the canned fruits, frantically searching the shelves. Pineapple, peach slices, apricot... it took Reki a good five minutes before he found the jar of cherries that he was looking for. He quickly grabbed it and hurried to the register, throwing a handful of yen at the cashier and running off with the cherries before they could even give him his change.

He slid into the back alley of Joe’s restaurant, banging on the door. Langa answered, being immediately greeted with a panting Reki.

“I got the cherries,” Reki panted, handing them to his friend. “I saw Shadow on my way here, but who knows how much longer the old man can stall Cherry and Joe.”

“We should hurry.” Langa nodded in agreement, handing the jar to Miya. “You two take care of cake. I’ll take care of making the fondant and frosting.” The three of them had been discussing how to decorate Cherry’s cake for several days, and eventually, they settled on frosting it with a homemade cherry buttercream (Langa had once helped Reki make frosting to frost his sister’s birthday cake with, so he knew how to do it) and branches of cherry blossoms made out of fondant. None of them had made anything with fondant before, but they had seen Joe make fondant from scratch enough times to get an idea on how it was made.

“You heard your boyfriend. Come on and help me with this cake!” Miya began draining the cherries again.

“Okay—WAIT A FUCKING SECOND!”

The next two hours were filled with trial and error. As in, 70% error and 30% trial. Reki had cut his finger while helping Langa cut the cherries for the buttercream, and Langa took Reki’s finger and put it in his mouth, his logic being that he saw it in an anime once, and he figured it was some sort of custom in Japan.

Miya had to tug on the extremely flustered Reki’s arm to get it out of Langa’s mouth, and didn’t stop teasing the two about it for ten solid minutes.

Then Reki burned his hand on the oven while putting the cakes in, and while Miya tended to Reki’s injuries, Langa went to put the last cake in the oven and burnt his hand too.

It was, not gonna lie, a disaster.

But in the end, after three and a half hours total of baking, the final result looked pretty great, for the standards of three teenaged boys. Some of the cherry blossoms on the cake were misshapen, and the branches looked like dark brown veins. But the three of them had tried their best.

“I hope Cherry likes it,” Langa said, picking at his bandaged hand. “We worked hard. And me and Reki burnt our hands.”

“I’m positive he’ll like it, Langa! Trust me!” Reki grinned, as Joe’s van pulled up to the front. “Oh, that’s gotta be them!” He bounced on his toes, trying not to move, as they were currently in the dark so Joe and Cherry wouldn’t see them when they first entered the restaurant.

They heard Joe’s keys jingle in the lock, before the door opened, and two pairs of footsteps came inside.

“The hell…? I was sure the lights weren’t off when I came in.”

“You seriously can’t remember something like that?”

“Karou, it’s not a big deal, okay? Just let me get the lights…”

You could hear Joe’s heavy footsteps head towards the light switch on the wall, the lights flicking on shortly after, revealing the appearance of their children.

“SURPRISE!” The three of them yelled, shocking both Joe and Cherry, the latter’s eyes going wide, the former jumping slightly. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“Is… is that a cake?” Cherry asked, pointing to the cake on the table, which had a bottle of champagne and some sparkling water next to it, along with fancy glasses, birthday candles, and a box of matches. “Did you kids make this cake for me?”

“We snuck in here when Joe was leaving to make it,” Langa confirmed. “Me and Reki have the burns to prove it.” He held up his hand, Reki copying him with a stupid grin.

“It’s cherry cake too!” Reki added. “For your S name! Cherry Blossom! We even made fondant how Joe makes it and made cherry blossoms!”

Cherry. His favorite.

He remembered when he and Joe were kids. When Cherry got hurt and fell down, Joe would help him to his feet, and bring him along to the next block, where his grandmother lived, and she would give them both cherry turnovers, full of sweet cherry pie filling and with a flaky crust. It was one of Cherry’s favorite memories, of his entire life.

“Cherry?” Langa’s voice broke the calligrapher out of his trance. “Are you okay? You’re crying.”

Cherry’s hands moved to his cheek, feeling the tears that were streaming down them. He smiled softly, glancing at Joe with a fond look in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Now, let’s try this cake.”

[angelrider13]

A Sea of Lotus Flowers: Leviathan Extra

I finally finished it!!!

So I meant to have this up before the holidays were over - obviously that didn’t happen - and then real life hit that crazy post-holiday rush and I didn’t have the spoons to finish this out, but it is done!!!!

Admittedly, I got a little carried away with this one. I started and was like ‘it’ll be a short oneshot, maybe ~2,000 words. Well here we are, 12,482 words later.

This is a reply to @hamelin-born‘s reply to my post from a while back (I’m sorry it took so long!!!!) and I saw your post the other day about needing a pick me up, so I hope this makes your day better. Technically not canon in this verse - it’s 100% indulgent and I had fun with it and I guess it could be canon if you want it to be.

A little clunky in some places because I didn’t edit this and I kinda half-assed proofreading so forgive me any errors!!!

Lan Wangji resists the urge to step between Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin as they argue. He’s come to understand that arguing is largely how these two communicate, but that does nothing to change the fact that his hand twitches toward his sword every time Jiang Wanyin says something biting or Wei Ying flinches.

He’s been lectured by multiple people, both subtly and blatantly, that their relationship has nothing to do with him. As a third party, it is not his right to interfere. He may advise and support, but he has no say in whether or not the relationship exists. He is, contrary to what these people lecturing him seem to think, aware of this. If Wei Ying wishes to have a relationship with the man he still considers his brother, then who is Lan Wangji to stop him?

He would never.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to allow Wei Ying to face the man alone.

Despite Wei Ying’s many assurances, he does not trust Jiang Wanyin with Wei Ying. Jiang Wanyin cast him aside before, hurt him before, and Lan Wangji has seen no evidence that he would not be willing to do so again.

So he watches.

It helps that their reason for being here this time is the Discussion Conference. It means they are less likely to be thrown into the lake – though he knows that such a small reason will not even register to Madame Jiang. Still, it means that Jiang Wanyin doesn’t have the authority to throw him out should something happen. As much as he detests political maneuvering, he will concede that sometimes it has its uses.

Wei Ying is punching Jiang Wanyin’s arm as he laughs. Lan Wangji can’t stop his twitch when Jiang Wanyin shoves him in turn, scowling as he opens his mouth to say something Lan Wangji is sure he will disagree with on principle when the Sect Leader’s eyes catch on something over Wei Ying’s shoulder. His face shades through confusion to alarm to horror in the span of a second before he’s shoving past them.

Wei Ying blinks, turning after him, “Hey, Jiang Chen – ”

But he cuts off, eyes widening as he sucks in a sharp breath and Lan Wangji turns just in time to see Lan Yun shoving a glowing array against Madame Jiang’s chest.

There’s a single moment where everything is completely still.

And then Madame Jiang drops like a stone.

The world explodes into motion.

Jaing Wanyin is screaming, Lan Yun looks stunned, and Madame Jiang is so horrifically still where she lays collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“What did you do?!” Jiang Wanyin roars as Jiang disciples converge on Lan Yun.

“I – I didn’t – it wasn’t – ” Lan Yun stutters out as his arms are grabbed and his swords taken. “It wasn’t supposed to do that!”

“And what was it supposed to do?” Sect Leader Jiang grits out.

“It was just supposed to reveal the truth!” Lan Yun blurts out when the disciples holding him wrench his arms back, violent glints in their eyes and mouths pressed into grim lines.

“The truth?! What about this looks like the fucking truth to you?!” Jiang Wanyin yells, Zidian sparking furiously up his entire arm.

He looks like he could go on, but Madame Jiang’s body suddenly twitches before it starts convulsing.

Lan Wangji only has a second to register the building energy before he’s moving, intercepting Wei Ying from running towards his brother and wrapping his husband up in his arms just as the energy explodes outwards in a wave that nearly bowls him over. He manages to turn so that his body is shielding Wei Ying’s, but there is nothing he can do but ride the wave out. He’s distantly aware of Wei Ying screaming his name, but he just tightens his hold.

The energy is vast. Deeper and richer and far, far larger than any reserve of energy – spiritual or demonic – Lan Wangji has ever felt. It is as if someone cracked open an egg and an entire ocean spilled out, flooding the entirety of Lotus Pier in a matter of seconds and drowning all of them under the sheer weight of its might.

Just when Lan Wangji thinks he can endure no more, he feels the wave of energy pull back, condensing inwards and shooting towards the sky. The crushing pressure on his lungs releases and he drags in a ragged breath, Wei Ying gasping in his arms.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes, hands frantic as they check him over, “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

Wei Ying huffs at him. “Don’t do that, Lan Zhan. I’m fine, you know! But what was that? What –?”

Lan Wangji watches as all the color drains from his husband’s face and his voice comes to a strangled halt. Worried, he follows Wei Ying’s gaze. And promptly feels his heart drop into his stomach. Lan Wangji is well aware that he has seen many impossible things in his lifetime, even for a cultivator. At this point, such a thing is not unexpected.

That does not mean he is in any way, shape, or form prepared to be facing a dragon suddenly in the center of Lotus Pier.

Its body is long and sleek, scales a deep, rippling blue, with fins and spines flaring out around it’s towering form. Molten gold eyes stare down at them – eyes that Lan Wangji has seen hundreds of times before today, eyes that he has never thought twice about meeting, eyes so familiar they make his heart move up to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, “You see it too right? You see the dragon?”

“Mn,” he manages, throat too tight for anything else.

“Oh, okay then,” Wei Ying wheezes faintly, “Does this mean I’m not crazy? Or are you also crazy? And I just want it on record that this is absolutely not my fault.”

“You dare?” Madame Jiang breathes out, voice a deep, rumbling growl, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth as her burning gaze finds Lan Yun below her.

The man is paler than Lan Wangji has ever seen him. He hadn’t known it was possible for a living person to be that color. But Lan Wangji cannot find it in himself to feel any remorse for him – not even pity. A senior disciple of the Lan should know better.

“You idiotic little fool,” she snarls, fury practically dripping from her voice even though she’s holding herself oddly still, “Were I any less than I am, you would have killed every person here. All of Lotus Pier, every cultivator here for the conference, every civilian in town. Every. Single. Person. All those lives. And for what? So you could win an argument?”

Lan Yun seems incapable of speech, mouth flapping uselessly, before he seems to give up, collapsing into the arms of the Jiang disciples that are still restraining him despite the wave of energy that had been crushing them only moments before.

Madame Jiang sneers, disgust obvious. “I don’t expect any better from you Lan at this point, but this?”

She throws her head back in distain and Lan Wangji can’t even summon the usual offence that her open contempt of his sect would bring. Not when a member of said sect just tried to kill her within her own home – or not kill, so much as…reveal, he thinks, Lan Yun’s words echoing in his head.

It was just supposed to reveal the truth!

Lan Wangji looks up at the dragon towering above them and suddenly feels so very small.

“Hairong?”

He turns to see Sect Leader Jiang looking up at the dragon, concerned, but not surprised. In fact, none of the Jiang disciples seem surprised. Shaken, perhaps, but not shocked by this turn of events. Did she tell them? Did the Jiang Sect know that they were harboring a dragon this entire time? It would explain their deference to her despite her disrespectful behavior. Though, if this is in fact Madame Jiang’s true form, then perhaps it was not really disrespect at all. Lan Wangji cannot imagine having the gall to demand a dragon of all beings bow to him just because propriety dictated it.

Madame Jiang shifts to look down at them. “Little Lotus,” she replies, her voice gentling, “This is unexpected, but not…unwelcome, despite the circumstances. It has been a very long time since I wore my scales.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow. “Can you change back?”

There’s a pause as Madame Jiang seems to consider this, head tilting to the side. “No,” she says after a moment, “I am as trapped in this form as I was in the other.”

Jiang Wanyin scowls, turning back to the disciples holding Lan Yun, who appears to have passed out. “Find out what he did,” he orders, “Figure out how to reverse it.”

The disciples bow as best they can while holding an unconscious person between them before dragging him off. Lan Wangji makes no move to stop them. None of the Lan do, not even Uncle.

“In the meantime,” Madame Jiang drawls, “I’m certain that the Lan will be more than happy to pay for the damages Lotus Pier has incurred from this little incident.”

Ah, Lan Wangji thinks as he follows the length of her body and sees the broken buildings, buckling under the sudden weight of an entire dragon atop them.

“And, of course,” she continues, “There will be reparations for any injuries sustained as a result of the Lan’s carelessness.”

The implied or else is so heavy in her tone, it is like a physical weight.

“Oh, they will,” Sect Leader Jiang agrees darkly, glaring at any and all Lan cultivators within his line of sight.

“Da-jie doesn’t need to be here for that though, does she?” Sect Leader Nie suddenly cuts in, fan fluttering in front of his face. His eyes are shrewd despite the tentative levity in his tone. He has been acting the part of the useless headshaker less and less these days, but it’s still rather difficult to get anything of substance out of him. “She should go for a swim.”

Madame Jiang chuckles. “What a splendid idea, my little hunter. A swim sounds lovely,” she says. Rather than make to leave, however, she carefully folds in on herself so that she can lower her head without shifting her body. “Will you be terribly upset if I leave you to deal with the mess?”

Jiang Wanyin huffs, reaching up to place a hand against the line of her jaw, seemingly lowered for the sole purpose of being within the Sect Leader’s reach. As if the action of touching a dragon is something simple and easy and common. Though, Lan Wangji supposes, given the way Madame Jiang has a tendency to drape herself over people she likes, perhaps it really is that easy.

“I always deal with the mess,” Jiang Wanyin retorts.

“That’s not true,” Madame Jiang pouts. Pouts­ of all things, as if she is still a small, young woman with a delicate face rather than a towering being of legend. “Sometimes you never know there’s a mess to begin with.”

“That’s terrifying,” Sect Leader Jiang says flatly, “Go away.”

“Very well, little love,” she says, nudging him almost playfully with her muzzle, “I will be in the lake.”

She straightens up, fins flaring out as she delicately lifts herself. Wood splinters and glass shatters with every movement as her coils lift out of the rubble. Madame Jiang glides easily through the sky, circling over Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji can hear the exclamations from town, they are so loud. They have good reason to be. It’s not everyday that a dragon passes overhead.

They watch Madame Jiang fly over the lake. She circles for a moment, scales glinting in sunlight, before diving straight down. She cuts through the water easily, not a single wave displaced despite the large body entering it, the only sign of her passage an echoing ring of ripples.

Lan Wangji had never known silence could be so loud before.

“Well,” Sect Leader Nie cuts through it cheerfully, “Let’s get this sorted out, shall we?”

-

“Seclusion?!” Jiang Cheng asks incredulously, face thunderous.

Privately, Nie Huaisang agrees. The Lan seem to solve everything by shoving the problem in seclusion. Not that it ever seems to work. It seems to be an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ solution more than anything. If the Lan don’t have to see the problem, they can pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Lan Yun,” Jiang Cheng says with a forced calm, keeping eye contact with the idiot who had confidently announced Lan Yun’s punishment. Lan Qiren doesn’t seem inclined to save him, Nie Huaisang notes with amusement, “attacked a member of my sect, a member of my family, in the middle of our home and you think sticking him in seclusion to reflect on his mistakes is a just punishment?”

Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that, Jiang Cheng.

“It is our way,” Elder Idiot says, apparently completely oblivious to the furious sect leader that is two seconds away from going straight for his throat.

“Hairong could have died!” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“And had she, the punishment would be much more severe,” is the reply, “But she did not. Therefore, seclusion will suffice.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow. “If Lan Yun ever shows his face in Yunmeng lands again, his life is mine. In the meantime, it seems the Jiang Sect needs to make some revisions to its trade agreements with the Lan. You’ve demonstrated a reduced need for Yunmeng goods. Does that suffice?”

Oh look, the elder is turning red. It’s always fun when someone manages to make a Lan lose their cool, Nie Huaisang muses, fanning himself. It makes things much more interesting.

“Enough,” Lan Qiren cuts in, “The exact details of Lan Yun’s punishment have yet to be decided by the elders of our sect and it will, of course, be pending Sect Leader Jiang’s approval.” He holds up a hand to stall the protests of his clan members. “As the Sect Leader of the one who was wronged, it is his right. Now, onto the matter of the damages.”

Trust Teacher Lan to steer things back on course without causing an explosion. Though usually, he is the one doing the exploding. Perhaps dealing with Da-jie and Wei-xiong has finally tempered him some? Nie Huaisang eyes the tension around the old man’s eyes, the grim set of his mouth, the tight line of his shoulders. Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps he is simply well aware that Jiang Cheng is not making idle threats. He really will cut off the Lan Sect if he feels it justified. And he has both the power and the means to do so without it hurting his own sect.

The Jiang Sect has always kept largely to themselves, even before Jiang Cheng became Sect Leader. The benefit of maintaining such a stance is that most people tend to leave you to yourselves and, as a result, stop paying attention to you. From a purely technical stand point, Nie Huaisang would consider the Jiang Sect the most powerful sect – even among the Great Sects. The only reason they aren’t considered as such by the world at large is because of the above-mentioned isolation stance. The last time the Jiang Sect was publicly entrenched in politics was the Sunshot Campaign and the period of rebuilding that followed. As soon as the disaster that was the battle at the Nightless City happened, the Jiang Sect had all but withdrawn from the cultivation world. If it weren’t for little Jin Ling being a Jin and therefore outside of the Jiang Sect’s jurisdiction, Nie Huaisang is willing to bet that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have even shown up to the Discussion Conferences all Sect Leaders were expected to attend, or in the rare cases they were unable to, send a representative. Before Da-jie showed up, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have been surprised if Jiang Cheng had one day decided to never step outside of Yunmeng again. The cultivation world hadn’t given him much reason to want to.

Now, though, he has reasons to want things.

And Lan Qiren knows it to.

Most of the Lan may be content to think themselves above the petty politics of the cultivation world, but Lan Qiren can’t afford to. He was the unofficial Sect Leader Lan for decades after his brother’s seclusion and he has once again been unofficially thrust into the position. Lan Wangji may help, but most of his attention these days goes to either Wei-xiong or his duties as Chief Cultivator and with Er-ge – with Lan Xichen still in seclusion, Lan Qiren must once again contend with sect politics.

Nie Huaisang isn’t sure how aware Teacher Lan is of Jiang Cheng’s power as a sect (There are, after all, many an incident with Jiang Cheng’s children that prove just how very many people don’t pay attention to the Jiang Sect even though they really should.) but he knows that the old man is shrewd enough to realize that favoring his own clan in this will hurt them more in the long run. Better to suffer a blow to your pride now than to lose it all later.

What follows is an intense round of haggling that he and most of the other Sect Leaders in the room are only witnesses to. The conflict is between the Lan and the Jiang after all – minor sects would have no say regardless and the Jin and the Nie are officially uninvolved. (Everyone knows that the new Sect Leader Jin will side with his uncle. If anyone is actually paying attention, they’ll know the Nie will side with him too. Nie Huaisang has never taken threats to his older siblings well.) The list of damages is impressive both because of how much it is – Nie Huaisang doubts Lotus Pier has been in such a state since the Sunshot Campaign, something that is likely making Jiang Cheng twitchy – and because of how little it is – Nie Huaisang saw how big Da-jie was and he might not be a great cultivator, but even his little spark of ability allowed him to feel the veritable flood of power that is now living under his Da-jie’s skin.

A budget is set and a contract is drawn up and signed, before the meeting is dismissed. Nie Huaisang finds himself walking with Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng’s head disciple, Xia Lian, trailing behind them.

“So who won the bet?” he asks, glorying in the way Jiang Cheng sighs the sigh of a man who suffers far too many fools. Xia Lian snorts and Jin Ling almost manages to stifle his laugh in time.

“Huaisang,” he warns, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“A-Cheng,” he returns with a smile.

“A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng glares at him.

Nie Huaisang pokes him in the side. “Come on, tell me, tell me! Who won the bet?”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Guess.”

“Grandma Ming,” Jin Ling says immediately.

“We’re still checking the books,” Xia Lian says with an easy shrug, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. The way it pulls at the scar across her face is really quite fetching. He’ll have to ask her to let him paint it later. “But Grandma Ming is a pretty good guess.”

“Grandma Ming always knows,” he muses.

Jiang Cheng scoffs and rolls his eyes again, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he stalks off to undoubtedly check on his people, so Nie Huaisang will call it a win.

-

“Young Mistress!”

Jin Ling immediately feels a stab of annoyance.

Ouyang Zizhen chuckles next to him as he raises a hand in greeting. “Lan Jingyi! Lan Sizhui!”

Lan Sizhui smiles at them as they draw near, falling into a proper bow. “Sect Leader Jin,” he greets.

Oh. No. Nope. Absolutely not.

“Never call me that again,” he snaps, pushing the older boy up from his bow.

Lan Jingyi snorts. “He prefers ‘Young Mistress.’”

“I prefer my name, you absolute disaster of a person,” Jin Ling shoots back.

Lan Sizhui’s smile somehow becomes warmer without his expression shifting at all. “Jin Ling,” he corrects.

“How are you?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, “Neither of you showed up with the rest of the Lan for the conference. Did something happen?”

“Nothing serious,” Lan Sizhui reassures, “We were on a night hunt that ran long. A restless ghost. He wasn’t…malicious, but he very much did not want to rest.”

Lan Sizhui’s slightly strained expression implies that the night hunt was more complicated than that and did not even slightly go according to plan.

“Forget the night hunt,” Lan Jingyi cuts in before Jin Ling can ask, practically vibrating out of his skin, “Are the rumors true?!”

Ouyang Zizhen blinks, head tilting to the side. “Rumors?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Sizhui sighs in such a way that implies he has said this many times in the last few days.

“Little Mother says that all rumors are based on something. The important part is checking your facts,” Lan Jingyi immediately retorts. “This is me checking my facts.” He grabs Jin Ling by the shoulders. “Is your aunt a dragon?”

“Oh that,” he says as blandly as he can manage.

Lan Jingyi starts shaking him. “Oh that? Oh that? Explain, you stingy – ”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui admonishes.

Lan Jingyi obligingly stops shaking him but his glare does not diminish in the slightest.

“She’s in the lake,” Jin Ling offers after a long moment of aggressive staring, “We can go visit her if you like.”

Lan Jingyi makes an embarrassingly high pitch sound in the back of his throat, even as Jin Ling starts nudging him in the right direction. “Oh my god, your aunt is a dragon!”

“How did that happen?” Lan Sizhui asks, eyes wide as he moves to follow them.

Ah. Hm. Right. Is there a polite way to say that one of your sect members tried to kill your aunt?

Ouyang Zizhen makes an awkward sound that might have been a laugh in a different situation. “Are either of you particularly attached to Lan Yun?”

Jin Ling snorts. Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui exchange bewildered looks.

“No?” Lan Sizhui offers after a moment. “He’s not in our generation so we’re not really familiar with him.”

“Oh good,” Ouyang Zizhen says brightly.

“What did he do?” Lan Jingyi asks eagerly, leaning forward.

Jin Ling crosses his arms. “He attacked Jiuma in the middle of Lotus Pier,” he says flatly.

He watches the Lans’ mouths drop open in shock and Ouyang Zizhen immediately launches into the story. He’s good with words and makes it sound like an adventure rather than the heart stopping moment it really was. Jin Ling pointedly doesn’t think about the way his aunt looked when she collapsed, limbs splayed awkwardly where they fell and oh so frightfully still. Lan Jingyi is hanging on every word, gasping at all the appropriate parts which only seems to egg Ouyang Zichen on. Lan Sizhui, on the other hand, looks concerned. There is a furrow between his brows and a frown tugging at his lips.

“What happened after?” he asks, “Is everyone alright?”

“There were a few injuries, but nothing too serious,” Jin Ling answers, “Most of it was property damage.”

“And your aunt turning into a dragon,” Lan Jingyi adds.

“And Jiuma turning into a dragon,” he agrees.

“She’s always been one though,” Ouyang Zizhen points out, “She just had a different shape before.”

“About that,” Lan Jingyi says, “Can’t she just change back?”

“Nope,” Jin Ling answers, “She says she’s stuck.”

“Do you know what array was used?” Lan Sizhui asks.

He shakes his head. “Only that it had some sort of truth element to it. Lan Yun claimed it was to ‘reveal the truth’ whatever that means. Senior Wei has been working on reversing it for the past few days and he says it’s not that straight forward.”

“Well, if Senior Wei is working on it, I’m sure it’ll turn out fine,” Lan Jingyi says. Privately, Jin Ling isn’t convinced. But he does concede that if anyone can figure it out, it would be Senior Wei. “But what happened to Lan Yun? Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t have taken any of this lying down.”

Jin Ling snorts. “Oh, he didn’t. Lan Yun’s currently in a cell with his spiritual powers sealed and his sword confiscated. Even he isn’t really sure what he did, so he hasn’t been much help in reversing it.”

“I thought for sure Sect Leader Jiang was going to gut the Lan Elder that suggested seclusion as punishment,” Ouyang Zizhen pipes in, because as heir of the Ouyang Sect, he had the pleasure of front row seats to the disaster that was that meeting.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jin Ling scoffs, “Jiujiu would never do that in the middle of a meeting.”

“But he would absolutely do it elsewhere,” Lan Jingyi drawls and Jin Ling doesn’t disagree, “Was anything actually decided or did everyone just shout at each other?”

“The Lan are paying for the damages,” Ouyang Zizhen answers, “They’re covering the cost of the materials and half of the labor costs.”

“Good,” Lan Sizhui says firmly, disapproval over this entire situation heavy in his voice, Lan Jingyi nodding his agreement. It makes something in Jin Ling uncoil. Not that he was worried either of his Lan friends would be upset over the backlash the Lan would likely face for this, but it was still nice to have the confirmation that neither of them agrees with the actions that were taken against his family.

“As for Lan Yun,” Ouyang Zizhen continues, “No official punishment has been decided yet, but it’s pending Sect Leader Jiang’s approval.”

“Well,” Lan Jingyi says after a beat, “It’s a good thing neither of us are particularly attached to him. We’ll be sure he gets a proper burial.”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui tries to sound disapproving, but the slight upward tilt of his lips gives him away.

Soft laughter cuts through their conversation. Startled, they look up to see Sect Leader Nie grinning at them. They’re passing by the pavilion he’s been using to observe the lake. Jin Ling has seen his paintings of his aunt’s dragon form. They are very beautiful.  Jin Ling has already extracted a promise from the sect leader for one of the paintings, he just has to decide which one.

“Jiang-xiong wouldn’t kill him,” Sect Leader Nie says with an amused smile.

“…I’m pretty sure he would?” Lan Jingyi says slowly. Lan Sizhui elbows him in the side and he adds, “Sect Leader Nie.”

Sect Leader Nie’s smile widens. “Oh, to be young and innocent,” he sighs fondly.

“Stop trying to be vague and mysterious, Nie-shushu,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms, “It doesn’t make you look wise.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, A-Ling,” he replies airily.

Jin Ling snorts. “What are you doing? Did you make another painting?”

“Mm. I just finished one. Would you like to see?”

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes go wide and pleading. “Can we? Your paintings are so beautiful, Sect Leader Nie!”

Nie-shushu waves them in with his fan. “Don’t touch though. It’s still drying.”

“Sect Leader Nie has been painting Little Mother,” Ouyang Zizhen explains as they enter the pavilion, “They’re really quite lovely pieces.”

Jin Ling walks over to the table, ignoring the others that have been hung up in various spots. He’s seen them already. This new one has been done entirely in blue inks – a blue dragon dancing gracefully over a lake. The dragon is a darker blue, cutting through the water with an elegant ease. The lake seems to rise up to join in the dance, tendrils of water curling around the dragon’s form. It’s a scene that Jin Ling has seen often these past few days. It’s breathtaking.

“Nie-shushu, I want this one,” he whispers.

“Mmm? You’re certain? I might paint another one you like more,” Nie-shushu replies.

“I’m sure. I want this one.”

Nie-shushu smiles. “I’ll set it aside then.”

“Did this actually happen?” Lan Jingyi interrupts loudly.

Ouyang Zizhen is already nodding. “Every day,” he insists.

Jin Ling turns. They’re looking at the painting of Hairong sunning herself in the shallows of Lotus Cove. She’s taken to doing so every afternoon since this entire thing started. Pretty much all of the younger disciples and all the children in town have taken to swimming around her, climbing her coils and using her fins as slides. It’s fun and it makes Hairong laugh, though she isn’t above shifting suddenly to knock them into the water just because.

“Do Lans even know how to swim?” he asks dubiously, because he’s a little shit as his aunt fondly informs him, and he likes to tug at Lan Jingyi sleeves just as much as the older boy tugs at his.

Lan Jingyi puffs up in offence exactly the way he thought he would. “Of course we do!”

“Then you should join us!” Ouyang Zizhen says.

“Ah,” Lan Sizhui says, “Maybe not.”

Right. Lan Sizhui got boat sick.

“You could just sit with Jiuma,” he offers, “She keeps herself close to the shore and tells stories. Jiujiu meditates on her head sometimes.”

Lan Jingyi’s jaw dropped. “He does not.”

“Sometimes he even naps on her head,” Nie-shushu adds shamelessly, always ready and willing to embarrass Jiujiu at any given opportunity.

“You’re lying,” Lan Jingyi says as Ouyang Zizhen claps his hands over his mouth to hide his smile, “There is no way Sandu Shengshou takes naps in public.”

“I’m not very familiar with the Lan rules,” Nie-shushu says mildly, which is a lie if Jin Ling has ever heard one, “But I’m fairly certain that lying is forbidden.”

Lan Jingyi squints at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, because apparently even he will not call a sect leader a lying liar who lies to their face when Lan Sizhui is standing right next to him. “Speaking of, no one has actually shown me a dragon yet and I demand proof.”

Nie-shushu blinks. “Proof?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Jingyi informs gravely, “So I have to find out for myself.”

“A sound policy,” Sect Leader Nie agrees, “She’s in the lake.”

“That’s what I said,” Jin Ling huffs.

“Best get on that, then,” he replies waving them towards the entrance of the pavilion, “You’re burning daylight.”

“Like she wouldn’t be around at night,” Jin Ling grumbles.

“Ah, but little Lans have bedtimes.”

“We do not!” Lan Jingyi protests.

“You kind of do,” Ouyang Zizhen says.

“Let’s just go down to the lake, shall we?” Lan Sizhui starts herding them out, “Apologies for disturbing you, Sect Leader Nie. Thank you for letting us look at your paintings. Zizhen was right – they are very beautiful.”

Nie-shushu just smiles. “Thank you, Young Master Lan.”

Jin Ling lets Lan Sizhui drag them out of the pavilion and down towards the water. Lan Jingyi is urging them on, anticipation bright across his expression. By the time they reach the docks, he’s all but bouncing in place.

“Where is she?” Lan Jingyi asks, looking out at the lake, “I see no dragon.”

Jin Ling rolls his eyes and kneels so he can dip his fingers into the water. “Jiuma?”

He can feel the confusion pouring off the Lans, but between one blink and the next, Hairong is raising out of the water. Instead of towering over them, only her head breaks the surface and she grins at them.

“Nephew,” she replies, taking in his companions, “Little storyteller. And little Lans too. Have you come to visit me?”

Since Lan Jingyi’s jaw seems to be somewhere around his ankles, Jin Ling answers for him. “Jingyi is fact checking.”

That seems to amuse her. “Oh?”

“Apparently there are rumors everywhere and since Lans don’t gossip, they’re here to see with their own eyes.”

She chuckles. “And what do your eyes tell you?”

“You’re a dragon!” Lan Jingyi suddenly erupts. “Why didn’t you tell us you were a dragon?!”

Her eyes are bright and Jin Ling can hear the laughter in her voice. “I never told you I wasn’t,” she says.

That’s true – Jiuma is always frustratingly vague. Jin Ling has never cared personally, but he’s overheard many people ask Hiarong who or what she is before and always, always, her reply is non-answer. She never confirms any guesses, but she never denies them either.

“Besides,” she continues, “You never asked.”

Lan Jingyi splutters.

“I apologize on behalf of the Lan Sect, Madame Jiang,” Lan Sizhui says, going into a perfect bow – one suited to the spouse of a sect leader rather than one for a legend. Jin Ling didn’t think it was possible, but apparently he can like Lan Sizhui more than he already does.

“I do not need, nor do I want, your apologies, little star,” she says, “The wrong was committed by one and they alone hold the blame. The only apology that is appropriate is one from him. Children should not shoulder the blame for the faults of their elders.”

Lan Sizhui looks conflicted, but he nods after Lan Jingyi tugs his sleeve and Ouyang Zizhen gives him a supportive smile.

Jin Ling isn’t sure how to make Lan Sizhui not feel guilty by association, but he can at least distract him. Jumping onto Jiuma’s head and demanding a story seems to do the trick, if Lan Jingyi’s shouting is anything to go by. But Hairong just laughs fondly, indulging them as they lay back against her scales.

He falls asleep under the afternoon sun surrounded by friends and his aunt’s voice.

-

Wei Wuxian sighs as he leaves the library, rubbing a hand over his face.

Over a week and he still hasn’t found a solution. He’s almost there – he can feel it. He’s got most of it figured it out. There’s just one element he can’t decipher. The array Lan Yun used shouldn’t have done what it did; at least that’s not how it was intended to be used. Which means there’s no actual transformation element in the array and therefore nothing for Wei Wuxian to reverse. If he can get past this one hurdle, he’s certain he can create an array that will fix this entire mess.

The problem is that he has no idea who to get past this hurdle.

Lan Zhan would tell him to step back and rest, to try again in the morning, but he has too much anxious energy in his system to sleep right now. If he tried to join Lan Zhan in bed now, he’d only disturb his husband and he doesn’t want that.

He’ll take a walk to clear his head. That should help.

“What are you still doing up?”

Wei Wuxian spins around. “Jiang Cheng!” he exclaims and then winces at his own volume.

Jiang Cheng scowls at him. “It’s late. What are you still doing up?” he repeats.

“Aaaaah, well you know me, Jiang Cheng,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I get sidetracked when I work on a project! I have too many ideas to sleep!”

“Are any of them good ideas?” Jiang Cheng asks, eyes boring into him.

He feels himself deflate. “No, sorry,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I keep getting stuck on the transformation aspect of the array. That’s not written into the original function, so I have no idea where it came from which means the only ways I have of reversing it are all guesswork at best and I don’t think any of us are comfortable risking everything on a guess we aren’t sure will even work.”

Fuck, he’s babbling.

“Anyway, what are you doing up?” he attempts to redirect, though from the flat look Jiang Cheng gives him, it doesn’t work.

“Can’t sleep,” Jiang Cheng admits easily.

Ah. Right. He imagines he’d have a hard time sleeping too without Lan Zhan in his bed after his husband had been attacked.

He places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll figure it out, Jiang Cheng, I promise,” he vows with all the sincerity he can muster.

Jiang Cheng just rolls his eyes though and knocks his hand aside and Wei Wuxian tires not to flinch. “That was never in question,” he says, and oh, he hadn’t realized that, that Jiang Cheng thought like that, that Jiang Cheng would put such faith in him, and it makes him ache in his chest for an entirely different reason.

“But you’re stuck, aren’t you?” his brother continues, snagging his sleeve and tugging him along, “Why haven’t you asked Hairong?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, caught off guard and lets Jiang Cheng drag him down to the docks. “Uh. No?” he admits, “She’s not a cultivator, so I hadn’t thought to…”

Jiang Cheng is giving him a flat look and Wei Wuxian kind of agrees with him now that he’s thinking about it. Hairong may not be a cultivator and may have no interest or ability to cultivate herself, but that doesn’t mean she’s clueless.

“When was the last time you slept?” Jiang Cheng asks bluntly.

“…two nights ago,” he admits. He’s pretty sure at least. Lan Zhan would never let him neglect himself like that, even if he was neck deep in the middle of a breakthrough. “But it’s not that bad, Jiang Cheng, really! Lan Zhan brings me meals and makes me take naps and doesn’t let me get lost in my head. I’m fine, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him skeptically, and yeah, okay he deserves that. But he’s telling the truth this time!

“Someone has to look after you, I suppose,” he grumbles after a beat, “Come on.”

They walk in silence and Wei Wuxian tries not to fidget. They’ve gotten better. They’re still not – good. But they’ve talked and they been doing better. He thinks they have, at least. He knows that Lan Zhan doesn’t like Jiang Cheng and that the feeling is mutual, but Hairong is always here with a smile that’s filled with far too many teeth, ready to pounce should Lan Zhan cross over a line she has decided he has no business being near. Wei Wuxian is glad that his brother has someone like her in his corner; someone who will take his side no matter what. It’s good for Jiang Cheng to have someone like that in his life.

He knows that Lan Zhan is mostly angry on his behalf, but he wishes he wasn’t. Lan Zhan shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden and Jiang Cheng has every right to be angry with him. (He tries not to think about that time Hairong had found him drunk on the roof and he had been far, far too honest. She had looked at him blankly for a long moment and then carefully pushed back his hair and told him oh so gently that yes, Jiang Cheng had every right to be angry. But he had every right to be hurt by that anger. It was the softest she had ever been with him. He doesn’t know if he believes her.)

If Wei Wuxian is being honest with himself – and he tries to be these days – he’s been avoiding Hairong. He hasn’t gone down to the lake at all since she took up residence there. He’s seen her from a distance, lounging in the shallows with the children, arching over the lake, sunning herself on the rocks. But he hasn’t approached her directly. He’s not scared – he just. Doesn’t really know what to say to her. It’s easy when she’s just Hairong, his little brother’s wife who sometimes-passive-aggressively-sometimes-aggressively bullies him into communicating with Jiang Cheng like the two of them are real, functional adults instead of jagged, broken pieces of pain and trauma held together in the vague shape of a person through sheer, stubborn willpower.

When she’s a dragon, it’s. Well, it’s a bit different.

So he isn’t really sure what to expect when Jiang Cheng leads him down to the docks, but Hairong singing isn’t it. In hindsight, it’s a rather foolish thought – Hairong is a performer. She loves singing and dancing and storytelling. Why should that change just because her shape did?

There a different tone to it though. A different element to it that Wei Wuxian has never witnessed before.

Hairong glides through the water with the ease and grace of long practice, twisting in the air with water curling around her form as she dances over the center of the lake. Her voice echoes across the water, haunting and joyful and longing all at once. He doesn’t recognize the language, but he doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything by not being able to understand the words.

It’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

“You’ve never seen her do this before?” Jiang Cheng murmurs from his place beside him. Wei Wuxian had entirely forgotten he was there.

He shakes his head, unable to look away. “I’ve been mostly holed up in the library. Haven’t really had the time,” he answers softly.

Jiang Cheng makes an amused sound. “I didn’t mean recently,” he says, “This isn’t a new thing.”

As he says it, Wei Wuxian can picture it – Hairong as the woman he knows, small and lithe and so full of life, dancing across the waves, head thrown back and a grin on her face.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “I hadn’t thought – but that makes sense.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “She wouldn’t mind if you watched, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s more shameless than you.”

A fact Wei Wuxian is well aware of. He hadn’t thought he’d ever meet such a person, but here they are.

“…she doesn’t like me,” he says.

“She likes you fine,” his brother immediately shoots back, “She just won’t let you avoid your own bullshit.”

Wei Wuxian makes a vague hum of acknowledgment. Hairong doesn’t let anyone avoid their own bullshit. But that doesn’t mean she likes them. Still…Jiang Cheng knows her best. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says.

“You could just ask her.”

“I could.”

He knows without looking that Jiang Cheng is rolling his eyes at him.

Hairong twists on the surface of the lake, arching up towards the sky before she falls still, her song ending, the last note fading into the night. Jiang Cheng kneels and dips a hand into the water.

“What are you – ?” he starts to ask, brow furrowed, only to be interrupted when Hairong suddenly collapses, sinking beneath the surface of the lake.

He’s left little time to wonder about if because twin spots of glowing gold appear in the water by the dock right before Hairong raises up in front of them.

“Little lotus,” she greets, “Little innovator.”

Wei Wuxian will never admit that he likes it when Hairong calls him that.

“Wei Wuxian has hit a wall,” Jiang Cheng announces like a traitor.

He twitches. “Jiang Cheng!”

Hairong just chuckles. “There are always obstacles in the road. It’s just a question of how you are going to get around them.”

She looks at him, expectant.

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says, “I’ve figured most of it out. The original array wasn’t so much meant to reveal the truth as it was to reveal hidden things. I mean, there’s an honesty compulsion to ensure that the things revealed are true, but that’s not really the purpose of the original array. Which would be simple enough to reverse on it’s own because we’d just have to switch the ‘revelation’ components to ‘hidden’ and – ”

“You’re babbling,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, “If you’ve already figured that part out, then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that there’s no transformation component in the original array,” he admits.

Jiang Cheng blinks. “What? But – ” he gestures at Hairong, expression incredulous.

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says, “But I’ve deconstructed the array at least six times and there’s nothing that should prompt this kind of reaction there!”

“You are approaching the problem from the wrong angle, I think.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at Hairong. “What do you mean?”

Hairong shifts, sinking slightly to be closer to their level. “What was the intent behind the array?”

Jiang Cheng frowns. “Lan Yun maintains that the array’s purpose is revelations of truth,” he says glancing Wei Wuxian.

“It’s really not,” Wei Wuxian confirms.

“The purpose does not matter in this instance,” Hairong says.

Now Wei Wuxian is frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Truth is…a very odd thing,” she says, “When most people think of it, they think of something that is always true no matter how it is picked and prodded. It is not something that can be changed. It is objective.”

Wei Wuxian raises a brow, interested. “But…?”

Hairong grins at him. “They aren’t wrong. But most everyday truths that people face are not objective. They are subjective.”

“How?” he asks.

“Because they depend largely on your point of view,” she answers, “Something you should be more than familiar with, Yiling Patriarch.”

“Ah,” he winces.

“You mean people manipulate the truth to suit them,” Jiang Cheng says.

She shakes her head. “No. They believe it to be true with all their hearts – but that doesn’t mean it is. For you, midday is when the sun is high in the sky. But for the owl who hunts at night while you sleep, midday is when the moon is high in the sky. So which is the truth?”

“Both of them,” Wei Wuxian says, mind working, “Lan Yun’s intent was to reveal the truth regardless of the actual purpose of the array. But he was as surprised by the results as the rest of us.”

Hairong looks pleased. “Indeed. I have many shapes, little innovator. Some human, some animal, some that are in between. All of them are still me. And yet, of all of them, this is the form that was revealed. Why?”

Wei Wuxian exchanges a look with Jiang Cheng. Hairong has a point. He knows that her relationship with the Lan has been…contentious at best and for one of them to actually act against her, in the middle of Lotus Pier no less, it would not be with the intention of revealing her to be a dragon. That would only prove her to be in the right and make the Lan lose face in the process. Which is exactly what happened. Lan Yun would not have intended for this to happen – had looked surprised when it did. So…

“Hairong,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, “Are you a dragon?”

She laughs softly, an amused gleam in her eyes. “In your culture? Who’s to say? In mine?” she grins, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. It should be terrifying and yet Wei Wuxian can see her all but radiating mischief. “The dragon has always been my brother.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Oh, well if you’re related to dragons,” he mutters, crossing his arms as he shoots a searching look at his wife, “Lan Yun wanted to reveal you as a monster.”

Her smile dims into something more solemn at that. “And he got one.”

There’s a pause.

Hairong is many things, but monstrous is not even remotely close to anywhere on Wei Wuxian’s list. He’s seen her with people. The juniors, the elderly, the children, civilians, cultivators, prostitutes, sect leaders. He’s seen her in all kinds of situations – he’s seen her be kind and cruel, gentle and harsh, proper to the point of pain and so shameless that even he is red in the face.

Wei Wuxian has known monsters.

Hairong is not one of them.

“I think we have different definitions of what a monster is,” he says flippantly.

She huffs at him. “Oh? And my appearance doesn’t do it for you?”

“More than half the people here are tripping over themselves just to bow to you,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

Hairong clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Then what of the fact that I’ve killed more people than are currently alive?”

Wei Wuxian stares. “…How old are you?”

“Don’t you know to never ask a lady her age?” she asks coyly.

“Even if that’s true,” Jiang Cheng starts, his tone and expression conveying that he knows very much that it’s true, “What the fuck does that have to do with us?” he asks gesturing between them.

“I’m really not in a position to be throwing stones about that anyways,” Wei Wuxian adds softly, crossing his arms over his chest. The events of the battle at the Nightless City are more like bloody fragments of jagged glass than actual memories, but that doesn’t mean he has no clue what happened. He’s all too aware. He knows what he did. What room does he have to criticize another for the murder of thousands? And he knows that’s what it was. For Hairong, it doesn’t matter if it was in self-defense or cold blood, if there was a good reason or not. Killing is killing is killing. And he, someone who has more blood on his hands than he cares to think about, understands that very well.

Hairong hums and Wei Wuxian gets the distinct impression that she’s shrugging even though she doesn’t have the appropriate body parts for such an action.

“I am what I am,” she says, “Your feelings on that are yours and yours alone.”

“As if you don’t already know what they are,” Jiang Cheng scoffs.

Hairong giggles of all things and dips down to nuzzle her husband. Jiang Cheng leans into her, resting his forehead against her scales.

…Is this how Jiang Cheng feels when he and Lan Zhan are together? This is terrible.

“Anyway,” he says loudly and Jiang Cheng pulls back to scowl at him, “Don’t worry, Hairong, Jiang Cheng still loves you a lot.”

“He does,” Hairong agrees and Wei Wuxian watches with barely hidden glee as Jiang Cheng turns bright red, but then she turns to him. “And what of you, little tease, do you love me too?”

She even bats her eyes at him, which is all kinds of strange when she’s reptilian.

He splutters and he can feel himself flushing.

Hairong throws her head back and laughs, long and loud, the sound echoing over the water.

“We are getting off topic,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, blush still high on his cheeks. He turns to Wei Wuxian. “Did this help?”

He blinks and then mentally redirects. “Ah. Right. Well, if we don’t have to worry about a transformation component, then I suppose I’ve already reversed the array. We just need someone with the right intent to cast it.” He eyes Hairong speculatively, hand absently coming up to rubs his nose as he thinks. “If you were a cultivator, I would just give the modified array to you and have your intent cast it, but…”

“But she’s not a cultivator,” Jiang Cheng finishes.

“Lotus can cast it.”

Wei Wuxian watches Jiang Cheng whip around to face her. “What? No!”

“You know me best,” she says simply.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll do it right!” he snaps back.

Wei Wuxian watches, bewildered, as his brother argues with his wife over his ability to reverse the array correctly. Jiang Cheng could do it, he knows. He’s the best candidate for it – Hairong is right, Jiang Cheng knows her best. Wei Wuxian just can’t understand why he’s refusing.

“Don’t ask me,” Jiang Cheng grits out, “We have a difference of opinion on this. I don’t want mine to have any influence that might effect yours.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t get it, not at first. But then Hairong goes still and her eyes go impossibly sad and soft.

Oh.

Hairong isn’t a cultivator.

Jiang Cheng is.

Hairong is going to die long before he does.

Wei Wuxian knew that, he did. But he’s never really stopped to think about it before, about what it means that Hairong doesn’t have a golden core. He knows what it means. (He knew what he was subjecting himself to when he gave his away.) Yet, it’s never before occurred to him what it meant for Hairong specifically. And considering he’s not the one married to her, but his first instinctive reaction is a violently visceral no, he can understand Jiang Cheng’s refusal.

He can’t make his brother do that. Not to his wife. Not to someone he loves.

So he needs to find a different solution. Hairong can’t cast the array, but she as the correct intent needed for it. Jiang Cheng won’t cast the array, but has the spirit energy needed to activate it in the first place. He tilts his head to the side, turning the idea over in his mind, shifting the pieces until they slot together neatly. It could work – a slight adjustment to compensate for dual casting, but with a single power source.

It should work.

“Okay,” he says loudly, clapping his hands together and pasting a bright smile onto his face as he pushes through the heavy atmosphere like it isn’t there, “Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy will power the array, but Hairong will be the one to actually cast it.”

“…Will that work?” Jiang Cheng asks skeptically.

“I will make it work,” he says.

“Thank you, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at Hairong with wide eyes. Something he’s long noticed about Hairong is that she doesn’t use names. Ever. This is the first time he has heard her use one and it’s his.

Her gaze is heavy and he feels it like a physical weight on his chest. He understands.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

It isn’t until he and Jiang Cheng are on the way back to their rooms that he remembers to ask the question that has been burning in the back of his mind for the entire week.

“So you married a dragon? What’s that like?”

“Wei Wuxian!”

-

Lan Qiren feels as though he has aged forty years over the course of a single week.

The last conference that had devolved so badly was the one when Wei Wuxian’s return was revealed to world after the then Madame Jin, Qin Su, had committed suicide and started a chain of events that shook the cultivation world so hard that they were still recovering. Lan Qiren thinks this one might be worse. The last one was – regrettable. But understandable once everything had come out. This though…

This time, he isn’t certain how to even begin wrapping his head around these new revelations. This time, it is the Lan that have lost face, not the Jin.

The Discussion Conference has more or less come to a standstill in the wake of Lan Yun’s actions. They still meet daily but little of what is actually discussed is actually what they are meant to be discussing. It’s mostly become nothing more than an attempt to subtly interrogate Sect Leader Jiang about his wife. Jiang Wanyin is not known for his patience, but Lan Qiren really must give the younger man credit for enduring such nonsense without snapping – that’s not to say Sect Leader Jiang is taking things lying down. He’s had no problem making his displeasure known and Zidian is almost constantly throwing off sparks.

It’s a wonder no one has been struck down by the lightning Sect Leader Jiang wields so naturally.

When Wei Wuxian comes up with a way to reverse what has been done to Madame Jiang, Lan Qiren is not surprised. As much as it galls him to admit it (and he will never do so out loud), for all the he is an undisciplined deviant, Wei Wuxian is brilliant. Which is way they’ve all gathered at the docks today; to witness his work in action and hopefully revert Madame Jiang to human form. Wei Wuxian seems confident it will work and he doubts that Jiang Wanyin would let any such array near his wife if he was not confident in the same.

Lan Qiren does not allow the general unrest in the air to affect him. The Jiang Sect are the only ones completely unsurprised by recent revelations and he has decided he will reexamine that fact at a later time – preferably in private far away from the stress that seems to follow the Jiang Sect like a shadow. The Nie and the Jin are surprised, though their Sect Leaders are noticeably not. The Lan were completely caught off guard. He has been completely caught off guard. In his defense, he’d never expected a member of his sect to have the audacity to attack a member of another sect completely unprovoked. Lan Yun has much to answer for when they return to the Cloud Recesses – and not just for his attack on Madame Jiang. His entire approach to the situation was wrong. Lan Qiren cannot take the risk that Lan Yun would not have acted in a similar fashion with someone else who disagreed with him. Contrary to what some of his contemporaries seem to think, seclusion is the least of what Lan Yun deserves. His actions will have lasting consequences, not just for him, but for the entirety of the sect.

At the very least, Madame Jiang herself doesn’t seem inclined to take action against them. He’s seen Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi sitting on the dragon’s head with Sect Leader Jin and the Ouyang Sect heir multiple times since they’ve arrived. And Sect Leader Jiang has been almost alarmingly reasonable about the entire thing – though Lan Qiren has no doubt that if he’d failed to bow his head to the younger man, that would be an entirely different story.

The gathered cultivators watch as Wei Wuxian ducks in close to explain something to Jiang Wanyin. The Sect Leader nods and Wei Wuxian retreats back to Wangji’s side.

Madame Jiang, who has been waiting silently in the water near the docks, carefully lowers her head.

The soft glow of spiritual energy shines between husband and wife as Sect Leader Jiang applies the array. He steps back and Madame Jiang sinks into the lake.

Lan Qiren can sense the energy in the air – heavy and potent and vast in a way that is honestly terrifying – building similarly to the way it had at the beginning of this entire fiasco but in a far more controlled manner.

Madame Jiang emerges from the center of the lake, shooting into the sky without displacing a single drop of water. She glides through the sky as easily as she did that first day for all she has not left the lake since she entered it. She dances through the air with a grace that would look unnatural on any other creature, coils twisting and turning, scales glowing with a golden light far brighter and purer than sunshine. That golden light builds and builds and builds until it is too bright to look at. The energy begins to compress, sinking in on itself until it becomes a single point of light.

And then it falls.

That single point of condensed energy crashes into the lake, waves rippling outwards. Golden energy bleeds out with the ripples, expanding until the entire lake shines like the sun, soft waves of light lapping at the docks.

The light slowly fades, leaving the water looking exactly as it was before and yet Lan Qiren cannot help but feel that something has changed. He blinks the spots from his vision and ignores the whispers that have risen around him as Jiang Wanyin approaches the edge of the dock.

Just as the Sect Leader reaches the end, a hand reaches up out of the water, slapping down on wood before a human body hoists itself out of the lake.

A very naked human body.

The whispers turn into loud exclamations and Lan Qiren pointedly turns his gaze away, forever lamenting the fact that his peers are apparently incapable of rational thought in the presence of improperly clad woman. Or an un-clad woman, as the case may be.

“Hairong,” Sect Leader Jiang’s voice cuts through the noise, aggrieved and resigned in equal measure.

His wife simply laughs. “Did you expect my clothes to survive that?”

Jiang Wanyin heaves a put-upon sigh. “It would have been nice,” he says, followed by a rustling sound.

“I don’t know what the fuss is about,” Madame Jiang says, “I’ve little need for clothes. My scales are fine enough.”

Lan Qiren is suddenly struck by the realization that Madame Jiang’s constant disregard for what is considered appropriate attire is because she doesn’t consider it worth her attention. After all, why should a dragon worry about how many layers is proper for what occasion?

Even though he’s been doing so all week, Lan Qiren is going to have to reevaluate every interaction with Madame Jiang.

“You don’t have scales right now,” Sect Leader Jiang replies flatly, “You have fragile human skin and you are soaking wet. If you don’t wear clothes, you’re going to get sick.”

“Fine, fine.”

“There. You’re decent.”

Carefully, Lan Qiren turns. Jiang Wanyin is adjusting the way his outer robes lays across his wife’s shoulders. It’s a hopeless endeavor – the robe is far too large for her small frame, and though Sect Leader Jiang has managed to tie it in such a way that it won’t fall right off her, the sleeves still cover her hands and the robe pools at her feet.

“I’m always decent,” she says, lightly bating his hands away and walking down the dock towards the assembled cultivators watching her attentively.

The robe drags along the ground revealing a highly improper amount of leg, but Lan Qiren does not allow his eyes to stray. He can not say the same for many of his fellows.

She stops before them in an overly large robe, legs on display, hair unbound and in complete disarray and dripping wet, completely soaking her clothes. Her expression is serene and distant, eyes half-lidded as she looks over them, still glows with residual energy, golden light shining brightly.

She looks like an empress.

“Lan Yun,” she says, golden eyes locking on where he stands bracketed by Jiang disciples, voice echoing and far too large for her small frame, more suited to the towering creature of legend Lan Qiren now knows her to be. “Are you satisfied?”

Lan Yun falls to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“A thousand apologies, Madame Jiang,” he says, “This lowly one begs your pardon. He acted foolishly in his arrogance and delivered harm upon both your person and your home. This one swears on his sect and his sword that such a thing will never happen again.”

Madame Jiang scoffs.

“What pretty words,” she says. There are glowing points of gold across Lan Yun’s shoulders where her gaze bores into him. She flicks a sleeve and the Jiang disciples haul Lan Yun to his feet so she can look him in the eye. “Are they for Hairong, the mortal woman who speaks her thoughts freely without censure? Or are they for the immortal legend you worship as if it were a god?”

Lan Yun visibly flounders. “I – they are for you – ”

Madame Jiang sneers at him. “You were willing to use spells and trickery because I did not agree with you. You could have killed me over a difference of opinion. What value do words have when they come from a mouth such as yours?”

Lan Yun cannot answer, face red with embarrassment and shame, nor can he retreat held in place as he is.

“If you ever use such methods again, no matter how mundane or mild you think the situation to be,” she continues, “I will find you. And I will rip your throat out with my teeth,” she says calmly, simply.

It is not a threat.

It is a promise.

And Lan Qiren realizes, with a cold, sinking dread, that the woman they have known for over the past decade, the woman who openly questions their ways, who sincerely and eagerly debates their philosophies, who flaunts her impropriety in their faces without shame every chance she gets, who constantly drives their sect to its wits end trying to deal with her – that all of that shameful, improper, aggravating behavior was her being polite.

And her patience is now at an end.

“Do you understand?”

Lan Yun gives a shaky nod, trembling from head to toe.

“Excellent. Get out of my sight.”

The Jiang disciples release him and Lan Yun makes a hasty retreat.

Madame Jiang casts her gaze over the assembled cultivators and Lan Qiren notes with growing unease that she seems to linger on anyone in Lan colors.

“I am a patient woman,” she says after a moment of heavy silence, “But even I have my limits. I have grown tired of dealing with spoiled children who throw temper tantrums whenever the slightest thing doesn’t go their way. As things stand, I would be within my rights to declare war over this, would I not?”

She turns towards Sect Leader Jiang, head tilted in inquiry. Jiang Wanyin raises an eyebrow in question, but nods in acknowledgment.

“An attempt on your life was made,” her husband answers, “We would be in our rights to retaliate.”

She laughs. “Oh, the Yunmeng Jiang would not be going to war,” she says, turning back to them with a smile that looks far more like a baring of teeth, “It would be me.”

Her words land amongst them like a stone, heavy and blunt and shocking. Lan Qiren feels as if he cannot breathe.

“That’s how things work amongst you lot, isn’t it?” she asks, head tilted in earnest curiosity, “You tried to kill me so I kill you back? That’s what I’d do if I was like you. Oh, but I forgot,” she muses thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t stop there, would I? The Lan are dangerous. They attack individuals for the simple act of having thoughts. Such a dangerous sect to leave unchecked. They are a threat and must be dealt with. Isn’t that what I would think, if I was like you?”

There’s a pressure in the air, pressing down on his shoulders, squeezing around his lungs. Lan Qiren’s heart is in his throat. He has not felt fear like this since the Sunshot Campaign.

“I could, you know,” she continues, “It would be easy. You’ve all done it countless times and never batted an eye. If I was like you, it would be easy. The Lan are a threat to me and mine – too dangerous to be left alive. If I was like you, I would wage war, wouldn’t I? If I was like you, I would claim each cultivator’s life in retribution. But not just yours, right? If I was like you, I would slaughter you all. The oldest, most feeble elder down to the infants in their cradles. The servants. The non-combatants. The children. That’s what I would do, if I as like you.”

Her pause is like a physical weight, her glowing gold gaze piercing straight through them. Her voice has gotten quieter, softer, as she spoke and yet it echoes across the entirety of Lotus Pier. Her next words are little more than a whisper, but they strike Lan Qiren to his core.

“Aren’t you so very glad that I am not like you?”

And then the pressure is gone.

The energy that saturated the air has vanished and Lan Qiren pulls air into his lungs as if he had been drowning just a moment before. He’s not the only one. All around him, cultivators are gasping, staggering as if released from a great weight.

The Jiang Sect’s First Disciple, Xia Lian, steps from the crowd and offers Madame Jiang her arm, completely unruffled by the scene she just witnessed.

“Come, Little Mother,” she says, “You must be tired, no need to linger. Sect Leader can deal with the guests.”

Madame Jiang huffs. “Don’t call them guests,” she says, voice once more that of a mortal woman, as she threads her arm through Xia Lian’s, “That implies that they’re wanted.”

“As you say, Little Mother,” Xia Lian replies, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Except you, little hunter,” Madame Jiang flaps a sleeve in Sect Leader Nie’s direction as they pass, “You’re an angel and we’re all thrilled you’re here.”

Nie Huiasang just smiles, leisurely waving his fan. “Always a pleasure to be here, Da-jie.”

Jiang Wanyin snorts before stepping forward. “Alright, show’s over,” he says pointedly, “I’m sure we all have far more important things to do.”

Lan Qiren has never been more glad for a Discussion Conference to come to a close.

-

Jiang Cheng is not surprised when Hairong slides into his bed.

She plasters herself to his side, head resting on his chest, hand over his heart. He curls an arm around her shoulders, fingers smoothing down the soft fabric of her sleep robe. The first few times this had happened, Jiang Cheng had nearly bodily thrown Hairong from the room. Sometimes, he still doesn’t welcome it. But sometimes, times like tonight, he silently yearns it.

“Are you angry at me?” Hairong asks, tracing patterns on his chest.

A sigh explodes out of him. He should be. Her little show earlier had spun the sects into a whirlwind – half of them tripping over their own feet as they beg him to reign in his ‘wife’ and the other half demanding to know if they need to prepare for war. Lan Wangji had been visibly unnerved, but Wei Wuxian seemed to have been the only other one in the room to understand what had just happened. But with three of the Great Sects firmly in agreement that no war preparations were necessary, there was little that could be said.

Nie Huiasang pointed out that Hairong had every right to be upset about what happened and nothing she said was untrue.

Not a statement that had helped really, but it got the point across.

As it stands, Jiang Cheng isn’t feeling particularly charitable to any other sects at the moment. They only care now that Hairong’s ‘true’ form has been revealed as opposed to just last week when they would have been content to slander her name and gossip as soon as her back was turned. Now they are going to fall over themselves to flatter her, to gain her favor, when before they would have ignored her existence. They will fear her and revere her and Jiang Cheng is almost looking forward to watching her put them all in their places.

But more than all of that – more than the damages and the other sects and politics of it all – Jiang Cheng keeps seeing that moment Hairong hit the floor.

All week, every time he closes his eyes, he sees her there, sprawled out on the ground, still and limp and lifeless. He sees her, Hairong, his friend, his family, collapsed in a heap, dead, in the middle of Lotus Pier. While he stands there, helpless unable to stop it. He’d told himself, years ago, that Lotus Pier would never again be filled with the bodies of people he cared about. He’d promised.

And yet.

And yet.

“I’m not angry,” he whispers into the quiet between them.

Hairong hums. “But you are upset.”

He breathes, closes his eyes, sees her body seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Hairong is patient, hand over his heart, fingers taping out a mindless beat. She doesn’t prod or pry. She merely waits.

“You were dead,” he says after a long silence, “For that single moment, you were dead. And I could do nothing.”

The tapping over his heart stops. Hairong pushes herself up and braces herself over him, elbows on either side of his head and looks him in the eye. He meets her gaze and lets everything he won’t say, everything he doesn’t know how to say, show in his eyes.

Her face softens and she dips down to press her forehead to his.

“My death will never be your fault,” she says firmly, “Regardless of the how or why or when. Regardless of if you are standing right next to me or on the other side of the world. My death will never be your fault. Do you understand?”

“Logically,” he replies, because he does. He understands what she’s telling him. But emotions rarely follow logic and Jiang Cheng has never been particularly inclined to listen to logic when his emotions run wild.

Hairong pulls back enough that he can see the rueful smile quirking her lips. “Fair,” she says as she settles back against his side.

They breathe together for a moment and now Jiang Cheng waits. He knows what’s coming next.

“I am going to die, Jiang Cheng,” she says quietly, “And it will not be your fault.”

He pulls in a breath, holds it for a moment, and then releases it all at once. “I know,” he answers, “And part of me will hate you for it.”

“I know,” she echoes back at him, “But just because I will be leaving you in however many years does not mean I’ll never see you again. Death isn’t a goodbye. Just a see you later.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he can’t help but grumble.

She huffs a laugh against his throat as she curls into him. “No,” she whispers to him as if imparting a secret, the weight of years in her voice, “It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Jiang Cheng gives in and turns, wrapping himself around Hairong’s smaller form. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

She smiles, small and sad and fond, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Oh, A-Cheng, nothing is forever. I would have rather loved and lost than never loved at all. You know that.”

“I do.”

And he does. They’ve had this talk numerous times over the years. It never gets any easier. He understands all too well what Hairong means when she says death is something that happens to the living. It makes him cling that much harder to the things that are his.

“You’re not allowed to die of anything other than old age,” he announces.

He can feel her smile against the hallow of his throat.

“I will do my best.”

It’s not a promise. Hairong never makes promises about things out of her control and Jiang Cheng loves her for it. She never promises impossible things. Still.

“You’re a Jiang,” he grumbles at her, closing his eyes and settling more firmly against her. “Attempt the impossible.”

A breath of laughter warms his chest.

“As you say, little love.”

[vanosslirious]

Ask #69

Vanoss 5. Moo 2. Brian 9. Scotty 3. Tyler 4. Marcel 9. Nogla 9. Panda 6. Kryoz 4. Smii7y 1.

If that works, please 😊

Sorry for taking so long to write this. :/ A lot going on lately.

PROMPTS:

Vanoss: Alright, boys, let’s continue this mission.

Moo: I’m only here for the pumpkins.

Terroriser: Hey, this is totally normal.

Fourzer0seven: He looks fucking clueless.

I AM WILDCAT: That’s what I was trying to tell you guys.

BasicallyIDoWrk: Oh shit, he’s on the roof.

Daithi De Nogla: This is real bad.

BigJigglyPanda: Totally worth it.

Kryoz: Ah, it’s moving.

SMii7y: What are you going to do now?

//

Fandom: Banana Bus Squad.

Characters: Vanossgaming. I Am Wildcat. The Terroriser. Moo Snuckel. Daithi de Nogla. BigJigglyPanda. SMii7y. Kryoz. BasicallyIDoWrk. Fourzer0seven. H2ODelirious.

Wc: 3.2k

Disclaimer: Mild Hitman/Assassin AU. RPF. Friendship. Best friends. Swearing. Mystery. Arguing amongst each other. Fluff. Humor. Sarcasm. Murder. Blood. Mild gore. Looking for missing friend. They’re all somewhat desensitized because of their profession. Not as edited. Not beta read. There might be errors. Requested fic by anon. I hope you enjoy. :D

. . .

He would’ve asked, he really would if it ever came down to it. The question didn’t even leave his head while he stared at a dead corpse. He examined it thoroughly, not because he found it interesting or anything. He was looking for one part of it that Vanoss could identify, then let out a deep sigh as he stood up, rolling back his shoulders before looking at a group of his friends standing several feet behind him. They all were in the darkness like a group of odd creatures.

“It’s not him—”

“I could’ve told you that,” Wildcat said with his arms crossed.

“Alright, boys,” Vanoss stepped over the rotting corpse, “let’s continue this mission.”

The night should’ve been easy. It wasn’t. First a phone call, a distressed voice on the other side only for it to cut off mid-sentence. Vanoss didn’t hold back against what he was meant to do, so he grasped for anyone who wanted to go and piled them into the truck.

Not everyone wanted to come for the same reason.

Moo came up beside him, poking him in the shoulder and said, “I’m only here for the pumpkins.”

“I told you we’ll head over after this,” said Vanoss, frowning at Moo’s sharp nod. He backed up to walk alongside the others behind Vanoss. Did they regret coming after finding out what this all meant? Vanoss was barely understandable when he tried to explain what was happening.

He was afraid, how hard was that to understand?

Vanoss led his group of friends into the suspicious warehouse district of the city. It was cold and quiet, not like he thought a club would be somewhere close by. He just didn’t have much else to think about when it came down to it after he got the phone call. It was still in his head, making him shaky and unnerved by the idea that this could be for nothing.

At least until the trail of bodies started showing up.

“You haven’t explained the mission in detail,” Basically said from somewhere to Vanoss’ left. He was with Fourzer0seven and Panda. The three of them were at a bar an hour ago, drinking beer, and playing Pool, possibly gambling. They weren’t ecstatic about coming in for work, but this was more personal than business.

The rest weren’t doing much, he was pretty sure Terroriser had been sleeping when he answered the phone. Vanoss was grateful none of them put up a fight about coming in. Even when he hardly gave them enough details to go by.

Vanoss looked at Basically, “I got a phone call before I called the rest of you, and—”

“Dumbass Delirious went missing,” Wildcat interjected. “So, Vanoss wants to find him and make sure we can drag his dumbass back to HQ.”

“Is that why we’re here?” Terroriser asked, yawning right after.

“I still want to buy pumpkins,” Moo said wistfully.

“We can just steal some,” Panda offered.

“Shut up,” Basically said, then sped up to walk beside Vanoss. “Why couldn’t you tell the rest of us why we’re here. Maybe we don’t give a flying fuck if Delirious is—”

“He doesn’t normally scream in a phone call, asking for help, then hanging up halfway—”

“Sounds like something Delirious would do,” said Terroriser.

Vanoss shook his head. Right now, that wasn’t really the point of whether this was some kind of joke on Delirious’s part. It was off. He knew it the moment the phone was hung up. He acted quick, and now that he’s seen the bodies left strewn on the ground, he couldn’t take it lightly.

“What do you think about the bodies, if it’s some kind of joke?” he asked his friends, watching their bland expressions before looking forward. Yeah, that’s what he thought.

The buildings looked empty, but that’s usually how they appear when it was around twelve at night and there was barely a sound besides their breathing and footsteps upon the road.

“Where do you think the call came from?” Moo asked.

“Well, from what Delirious went on about on the phone before he hung up, he said Worth St, which is…” Vanoss pointed at a dented sign standing at the corner of the street.

“And you think it’s around here?” Panda asked.

“I did trace the call,” Vanoss said, gritting his teeth at his friend’s constant annoying questions, but it’s not like he could ignore their curiosity when it came to this.

“Hey,” Terroriser said, walking over to him then pointing toward the shadow of one of the buildings, “this is totally normal, right?”

Vanoss wasn’t sure if Terroriser was trying to be sarcastic of some kind. What he could see from where they were standing was writing on the side, including a body hanging from a thick wire.

“If our darling Delirious is on a murder spree, I think we have every right to kill him,” said Wildcat.

Vanoss frowned. “He’s not on a murder spree. Why phone me and tell me to come here just so he can kill me? It doesn’t make sense. It would’ve been easier just to show up at headquarters, knowing I was the only other there, making sure everything was equipped for our next mission.”

Fourzer0seven scoffed from beside Basically. “Ah, yes, you’re the one doing that, I’m pretty sure Terroriser and Moo did that the other day.”

Vanoss rolled his eyes. Great. “Whatever, I was looking over our priorities before he called.”

Terroriser, Moo, Wildcat, and Panda were walking over to the writing on the brick wall, including the body that was currently dripping blood from its overly mutilated body. Good thing Vanoss could hardly see it from where he was.

“How did they get the spray paint up there?” Moo asked Wildcat.

“Does it really matter right now?” Wildcat said, giving a vague shrug.

Terroriser pulled out his phone, looking at the screen before answering the incoming call. “Hey, you’re late, guess what we found.”

“He looks fucking clueless,” Fourzer0seven said.

“He’s dead, Fourzer0seven, he’s fucking dead,” said Basically.

“A dead body hanging from a wire...looks like one of those tough ones, you know...I’m not going to cut it and bring it back, but where are you, Vanoss wants all of us out on the field tonight,” Terroriser said, narrowing his eyes at Vanoss who glared in return.

“Who do you think it is?” Fourzer0seven asked.

“Maybe Delirious if we get a closer look,” Panda said, taking out his phone and flicking on his bright light. It barely pushed the shadows away from the corpse.

“It’s not,” Wildcat said.

“Do you think there’s stairs somewhere around here,” Basically asked, gesturing for Fourzer0seven to follow him.

“I don’t think that’s Delirious,” Vanoss said.

“It’s not…” said Wildcat, hands tucked into his pant pockets and giving an empty look at Vanoss.

“I think it might be Delirious,” Terroriser was saying into the phone with little concern in his voice. “Also, are you coming or what?”

“Wildcat, help us with this door!” Basically called, he and Fourzer0seven stood in front of the warehouse door, having obvious troubles getting inside.

“He’s not coming yet,” Terroriser said to Vanoss.

“I told him to be here…” Vanoss shook his head. “No one ever listens to me.”

Terroriser frowned. “I’m not taking a picture of Delirious’ body...so you’re gonna have to come here and look yourself. It’s not like he’s going anywhere, he’s just hanging off the roof.”

Vanoss stared at the body. The shadows darkened around its rigid form, making it difficult to see who it actually was. The wire itself twisted into barbed wire around its body, and the blood darkened the already black and grey clothes the corpse was wearing.

“I really don’t think that’s Delirious,” Vanoss said quietly.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you guys,” Wildcat grumbled as he walked by Vanoss toward Basically and Fourzer0seven who were still struggling with the door.

“What did he say?” Vanoss asked once Terroriser got off his phone.

“He’s picking up SMii7y and Kryoz first. Said he’d be here in about twenty minutes...if he can find the place.”

“Not like we’re hidden or anything.” Vanoss glanced down the long strip of road between each of the tall grey to red brick buildings. Most of them were brown in the sun, but from all the shadows, everything seemed almost dull besides the orangish red of the streetlights. It reminded him of the corpse dripping blood from the wire.

“Oh shit!” Vanoss twisted around when he heard Basically’s exclaim, he was pointing to the opposite building. “He’s on the roof!”

“Are you serious?” Wildcat asked.

“I wouldn’t have said it if there wasn’t anyone there!”

Vanoss didn’t see anything. The shadows were way too thick up there, and around the building...oh…A body slid from the ledge and it fell, yet barely hit the ground when another wire pulled tight at the body and had it swinging back and forth against the brick wall. The blood leaking from a newly tortured victim was splattered upon the wall and ground like a squished ripened raspberry.

“I could go for some pomegranate juice right now,” Panda said from beside Wildcat.

“Be my fucking guest,” Wildcat muttered, walking past Vanoss as the others headed over to the body.

“Is it him?” Moo asked, jogging alongside Terroriser while avoiding the puddle on the ground.

“I keep fucking telling you idiots—”

“It could be,” Basically said, cutting off Wildcat.

“I don’t think it is,” said Vanoss, peering up to look at the figure. He almost suspected a woman, but when he drew close, he could see it’s another man in a thick dark coat. His clothes were soaked through like the other.

“Is this some kind of sick fucking game this asshole brought us into?” Terroriser asked, glaring up at the body. “Because this isn’t funny, Vanoss!”

“I’m not a part of this shit,” Vanoss said. “I don’t think Delirious would do this anyway, it’s not his shtick to go out of his way to fuck over a group of people, and certainly not us.”

“I agree, Delirious is way too loud when it comes to his plans,” Moo said much calmer than the others.

“Then where is he?” Fourzer0seven asked, glancing around.

“I don’t know, but we should start looking for the asshole who’s hanging bodies like they’re fucking christmas ornaments,” Basically said, sprinting towards another door that led into the building.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Wildcat said under his breath as he followed Basically with Fourzer0seven and Panda.

Vanoss was still staring at the body. Unsure of what this was all supposed to mean. He took out his phone and looked at the unknown phone call that came from Delirious about an hour ago. He couldn’t call or text back, and tracing the call itself came here. To this empty place, yet it wasn’t so empty.

He followed his friends who went through the door that wasn’t locked like the other. The warehouse was dark and had an earthy scent with a taste of metal in the air. He was thinking it could be from the body hanging outside, but he wasn’t so sure as he followed his friend’s voices up ahead.

Vanoss shuddered in the dark. He hated being alone like this, and even whispered Terroriser’s name when he spotted him. Terroriser waved him over as the others were quietly arguing around a metal chair with droplets of blood here and there on the cement.

“So, the dude outside was tortured,” Basically said, leaning against a metal beam.

“Obviously.” Wildcat sighed. “What does this have to do with Delirious?”

“He fucked over the wrong people, that’s the reason why he decided to bring us into it, so he can get us to clean up his mess,” said Terroriser, his arms crossed over his chest.

Vanoss wouldn’t deny that sounded like something Delirious would end up doing to them. Not trying to kill or even traumatize them. He was much more...easier to read than that.

“What are we going to do about that guy who’s wandering around?” Moo asked, head tilted back as he peered up at the roof above them.

“I think we should split up,” Terroriser said. “Half of us stay down here, the other half check where this asshole went.”

“Then what? Kill him, we’re off the job, Terroriser,” said Basically in a mocking tone, but his smirk said otherwise, he seemed to like the idea of wanting to do more than stand around.

Fourzer0seven even pulled out a knife from the inside of his coat.

Vanoss felt for his own switchblade, then wrinkled his nose as he stepped back. “I want to wait for the others.”

“Same,” said Panda.

“Fine, I’ll come along,” Terroriser said, then looked at Moo. “What about you? Are you staying or going with them?”

Moo frowned. “I guess I’ll go with Basically and Fourzer0seven.”

“I’ll stay here, see if he comes through,” Wildcat said.

Vanoss stepped out of the warehouse, then frowned up at the dead body. “I think we should call the cops if Delirious isn’t going to show up. He could be the next hanging corpse.”

“That would be a waste of our time then,” Terroriser said with his phone out, he was dialing a number, then pressed his phone against his ear.

Vanoss walked onto the road and looked at each of the buildings. He couldn’t see anyone. Everything was clear enough that there wasn’t much to suspect. At least until bright headlights made him twitch, and he moved out of the way as the horn was drawn out for too long while the car itself slowed to a crawl.

“I forgot you don’t drive,” Terroriser said as he looked down at SMii7y in the driver’s seat, Kryoz sitting in the passenger, and Nogla rolling down the backseat window.

“Sorry, took some time to get them off their asses,” Nogla said, a grin on his lips. “Did you guys find Delirious yet?”

“No, but there’s already—”

“Yo, are those bodies hanging from the roof?” Kryoz asked, getting out of the car and walking across the street to get a better look.

“Please tell me this is a joke,” SMii7y said as also got out of the car.

“It’s not,” Vanoss told him. It’s not the kind of joke he would play. They made him seem as if he had these violent thoughts on his mind all the time. “Delirious called, told me to come here, but since we all got here...some random person has been shoving bodies off the roof. Right now, there’s only been two.” And a few others in the alleys, hidden by the shadows.

“That’s...messed up.” SMii7y grimaced.

“This is real bad,” said Nogla, looking at the closest body. “Did you call him back?”

“It wasn’t from his cellphone, but I was able to track his signal here…”

“And you don’t think it’s him?” Nogla asked.

“Why would he do this?” Vanoss asked incredulously, and before Nogla could answer his question, they heard yelling from within the warehouse. Vanoss explained that the others had gone in to investigate but it seems they found something. Wildcat and Basically appeared from the shadows and shoved a body down onto the ground.

“Fucking asshole,” Basically panted.

“What happened?” Nogla asked.

“Hey, you’re finally here, always late, aren’t you?” Fourzer0seven said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I wanted to join the party, so I brought two more.” Nogla pointed at SMii7y and Kryoz who were standing beside each other.

“I’m not sure if it’s worth it to come,” SMii7y said, grimacing at the body lying on the ground. It was covered in grease or something, the clothes were thick, and the hair was dark.

Panda chuckled nervously as Wildcat knelt down beside the body. “No, it’s totally worth it.”

“What happened to the guy—”

“I don’t know,” Basically interjected, meeting Vanoss’s gaze. “There was a chair propped up on the other side. Apparently whoever was up there was going to shove this one off the building, but we probably wouldn’t have noticed because we were on this side the entire time.”

Well, that’s unsettling.

The person’s face was covered by some kind of mask, and as Wildcat was about to reach for it, the body began to squirm like some kind of worm.

“Ah, it’s moving,” Kryoz shrieked, stepping back from the others.

Vanoss didn’t like the stink of grease coming from the body. “Wonder why it’s covered in that stuff.”

“I don’t know,” Wildcat said, glaring down at the squirming body until it went still. The arms and legs were tightly held down by the wire, and it seemed there was something tight around the neck, keeping the mask in place. Terroriser knelt down to examine it thoroughly.

“It’s not armed from the looks of it,” Terroriser said to Wildcat.

“What are you going to do now?” SMii7y asked, also taking a step away from the others and stood beside Kryoz. The both of them wore unusual frightened expressions. They found these nights enjoyable, but maybe it was an off night of some sort.

Wildcat took a deep breath, but before he could touch the mask, Vanoss took out his switchblade, flicking it open, then tipping the mask slightly. The face was slathered in grease, and the mouth was covered with duct tape. The eyes were tightly closed, possibly to keep the grease from getting inside.

“If anything, the random guy could’ve set this body on fire,” Vanoss said, cutting the wire that kept the mask in place around the face, and Terroriser tore it off.

“Get a cloth,” Terroriser said to the others. SMii7y was the one opening up the trunk of his car and taking out a water bottle. He said he forgot it the other day and hoped it was fine. Vanoss was taking off his sweater so Terroriser can use it to wipe away the grease.

“Do you have any spare clothing?” Wildcat asked, using his own knife to cut off the other sets of wires around the body.

SMii7y scoffed. “No. I can go get some though.”

“Big enough that it can fit Delirious,” Vanoss said as he ripped a part of his sweater, soaking a bit of the cloth, then wiping the grease from the familiar blue eyes he had looked into hours ago.

“Holy shit, thought we had to cut those bodies down and see if you were one of them,” said Terroriser, a nervous smile on his lips as he wiped the grease from Delirious’ face.

SMii7y and Kryoz were gone while the others stayed behind to look for the one who had done this. Delirious didn’t have much to say. He accidentally swallowed the grease and some gasoline. They didn’t have enough water to get it out of his mouth, so Nogla called SMii7y to get him a few bottles.

“Once we’re out of the area,” said Wildcat as he stood up, trying to get the grease off his hands. “We’ll call a clean up crew.”

Vanoss was glad they had cut down the other bodies as neatly as they could, but from the way things had gone, these people were already dead.

Once SMii7y and Kryoz returned. They did their best to clean off Delirious, and put on fresh clothes before discarding the old ones. Vanoss and Terroriser helped Delirious into the back of Vanoss’ truck while the others left, Moo still going on about pumpkins.

The night didn’t stay as quiet, not with Delirious’ muttering explanation over what happened, and the sight of a few white vans driving by toward the Warehouse District.

[thenightgazer]

The Finding of Almagest

The elder son of Sparda wants to seek solitude inside a small local library. He finds himself trapped in an insightful conversation with the librarian as they share the stories of the stars.

(A/N) : My first DMC fanfiction! Took me long enough to finally made it. English isn’t my native language, so feel free to send me private message if you find grammatical errors! Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the journey of our favourite brooding devil and his friendship with a local librarian! xD

Special tags : @queenmuzz for encouraging me to finish this fic❤ @voldemortimaginarynose96 for her nonstop support 🍫 and @drusoona for bombing me with Vergil screenshots! 💜

You can read this fic on my AO3

 –

“The meeting of two personalties is like the contact of two chemical substances, if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

-Carl Gustav Jung

For a second in eternity, Vergil could finally rest his head between the familiar smell of stack of old books.

He just finished his latest mission; a pack of Empusas attacked a local church and brutally murdered the reverend and most of the nuns. 

When Dante received the call, he casually laughed and said, ‘That sounds like a wicked slasher horror movie!’. Nonetheless, the owner of Devil May Cry still sent Vergil to do the mundane mission, much to his annoyance. The church paid him and that’s good enough. Vergil never really agreed about demon hunting business since the brothers came back from Underworld, mainly because his brother’s incapability of running the business neatly but that’s the only best thing they could do to make a living— a normal one.

Normal life, huh?

The words already lost its meaning since he was attacked in the graveyard when he was eight years old.

But now he has a second chance— a family to reunite. For that reason, Vergil decided to throw away his pride and stubbornness to make things right. In order to do that, first, no more raising or opening something leading to Hell for the sake of power.

Second, catching up his long-lost time to bond with his son, Nero. 

For the love of Sparda, the hybrid demon tries his best to be a proper, competent father of a twenty-something grown man with anger and abandonment issues, which is challenging as much as it’s…. unbelievably exhausting. Not that he hated their bonding moments. It just sometimes confuses Vergil, this humanity contexts. He still has a lot to learn and catch up.

Third, try his best to make a normal life.

Which is one of the reasons why he ended up in this small, rustic local library in the town.

If anything about living as a human that could make Vergil at least enjoy his humanity, that would be a book to read. He is still and always an avid reader, even though there are not much books in the Underworld or Mundus curse was powerful enough to made him senseless about anything but The Prince of Darkness orders.

Before the memories of his time as Nelo Angelo stings his head again, he chooses to focus on his reading.

There is one larger library in the town, but this library suits him best. It doesn’t have too many visitors, much to Vergil’s benefit because he appreciates seclusion. He likes this place particularly because the library has rare collections. Perhaps this place is like a heaven on Earth for Vergil, now as he reads a rare edition of Paradise Lost. 

His mother was the one who introduced him to literature, but Vergil’s love for reading bloomed since he meet the Redgrave City librarian— the same man who gave him William Blake’s anthology, which is now Nero’s possession. 

A subtle smirk curves in Vergil lips, remembering how angry and nervous his son when Vergil came back from Hell and Nero wanted to return the book. But Vergil declined, said that it belongs to Nero now and to take care of it with honour. Instead of thanking his father, the boy challenged him for another duel. 

You said you won’t lose next time, old man, Nero had said to him. 

And of course, that time, Vergil won. Which lead to another demand of challenges from his wayward son.

“Cuppa?”

The sound of a woman distracted Vergil.

Another best feature from this library; they serve free-refill coffee. The best coffee Vergil ever tasted since his return from Hell. The fact that the library doesn’t often have visitors might be the reason why they willingly serve free drinks to attract more visitors.

“Thank you,” Vergil said as the woman refills Vergil’s cup.

“You’re welcome,” the woman replies in polite smile.

She always has that kind of smile. Vergil noticed it since his first visit. Always speaks in a-matter-of-fact tone with pleasant but business-only smile. She almost never speak unless necessary. 

Dante had brought him fake ID and licenses from Morrison. Vergil isn’t obnoxious enough to not aware about human ways of bureucracy. His time as V taught him a little too much about it. It just hard for him to believe that Dante made him an obviously fake driving license while he possessed the Yamato, which is more convenient than any vehicles.

“At least,” Dante mocked. “It’s way better than your previous not-so-clever alias.”

Which resulted in another jabbing and broken properties.

What a way to show brotherly love.

Luckily, the younger twin was considerate enough to keep Vergil’s original name at those ID cards, even though it irritates Vergil because the main trouble of having an ID is that your identity would easily revealed. Vergil doesn’t need anyone knows that he’s son of Sparda. That legacy always left him more troubles.

So when the librarian lady asked his name to register his library member three months ago, Vergil, much to his dismay, showed her his fake citizen ID.

“Vergil?” she repeated his name.

“Correct.”

She looked at him suspiciously, “Just Vergil?”

“Yes.” He sensed that the librarian didn’t believe him. He would’ve just go and never return if she declined him, but she just shrugged and wrote his name in her notebook.

“Please wait for a moment,” she smiled while walking to back office.

Three minutes later she brought him his library ID card.

“Two weeks for returning the books. No more than three books to borrow for a week. Rare collections are for read here only. We sell secondhand books too— right there before the reading corners,” she pointed to the bookshelves which has ‘FOR SALE’ sign. “Please contact me if you need some help for searching books or recommendation.”

She handed him his ID card which Vergil accepted.

“Happy reading, Mr Publius Vergilius Maro.”

Not that old joke again, he lamented his parent’s choice of name. How dare this woman-!

“Pardon my rudeness,” she apologized in furtive manner. “The name was just the first thing popped into my head when I heard your name. I mean no offense at all, sir.”

Vergil thought probably she was just one of those people who wants to make some meaningless conversation. Or she was just always like that to new customer to break the ice. But in truth, he was intrigued by her audacity to tell him a joke. He, Vergil, whose entire demeanour screams stay back or die. Moreover, she still able to stayed calm and gave him apologizing smile. But her nervous fingers spoke different meaning, like it begged him to end her misery of being intimidated by his infamous deadly glare.

“None had taken,” he finally said, remembered to show some politeness. A devil he might be, but he’s a man with courtesy. “Thank you for your assistance, Librarian.”

She nodded politely and gave him final apologizing smile before she returned to her work and Vergil walked to his reading corner.

The two has never really spoken since then. Just her offer of a cup of coffee and him thanking her. He sometimes observes her talking with another customers, giving some book recommendations to them, and he think her choices of book are quite impressive. It took him almost three months to realized that this woman is unbelievably brilliant. Her love of books is tangible, as shown when she cleans the bookshelves, organizing books, the way she hands a book to a customer and her anger when her co-worker unintentionally scratched the book.

Somehow it reminded him with the Redgrave librarian. The man who taught him to cherish the splendor of the books.

He turns his attention to a passage from Paradise Lost :

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…

Such a truth spoken by Satan.

The deeper Vergil digs inside his head, the more he doesn’t want to know what happened in the depth of his memories. His familiars might had gone, but it doesn’t mean he is unbothered with his own dark side of his mind. Ever since his first slumber in Devil May Cry after his arrival from the Underworld, he only slept for no more than a half an hour. His sleep was dreamless, followed with the instinct to stay awake like he used to be in the Underworld. He ended up restless for the rest of the night. Sometimes he would read Dante’s little collection of books, anything which doesn’t include inappropriate contents. He just want to distract his unsettling memories, mostly about his regrets and unanswered questions from the past.

He didn’t know where was that librarian after demons attacked Sparda Manor. Had he survived? He wouldn’t know for sure. He didn’t have time to think about it that time. He needed to save his mother and brother, but instead he was left—

Stop, he urges himself. Mother tried to save me too.

Vergil doesn’t even realized he gripped his book a bit too hard.

Maybe I need something lighter to read.

He close the book and stand up to return the book to its shelf. He never moved too far from his favourite reading corner for an introverted man like him; the farthest corner between rare collection bookshelves. Here he could read in peace, musing without any interferences except the librarian’s offer of coffee, which he eventually get used to.

“Hello again, Mr Vergil,”

There she is, standing on the ladder and organizing books. She barely sees Vergil’s figure, but it’s easy for her to recognize the presence of the only rare collection’s visitor, who is none other than Vergil himself. She knows other visitors would leave this corner immediately because of Vergil’s intimidating demeanor. None of them would stay to read or just searching for book.

Vergil returns the book to its place. His icy eyes sneakily lingers to the figure of the librarian. She looks busy storing the books, humming a song which Vergil doesn’t recognize.

“Done with Milton already?” she asks.

How did she know?

“You looked rather enjoy it before I offered you to refill your cup,” she continues. “It makes me feel guilty, as if my presence ruined your mood.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Vergil turns his sight to another row of bookshelf. And more importantly, why doesn’t she just shut her mouth?

She finishes her organizing and starts to climb down from the stair. Vergil could not help but admiring the way she seems pleased with her job. She cleans her hand with a napkin, folding it and put it back inside the pocket of her brown midi skirt. She suddenly turns her attention to Vergil, who is quickly pulling away his gaze, pretending to be busy searching for book.

“May I give you some recommendations?” she offers with careful and awkward gesture, like she’s afraid she would disturb the menacing man in front of her.

Despite his annoyance of her presence, he remembers her passion of books. He noted her excellent choices of book. She seems reliable enough. Maybe she really could help.

“At the current given moment, I prefer to read something lighter, but enough to give me an insight.” Vergil answers dismissively. “Not necessarily fiction, actually.”

A little challenge to show your competency.

The librarian goes silent for a moment. Her eyes wander to the bookshelves. There, Vergil silently notice, that the librarian always has that kind of eyes; a pair of beautiful brown eyes, but a blank, void stare.

The truth? Her eyes slightly bothers him. Every humans, even demons, always has something to tell from their eyes. But the ones that librarian possess doesn’t tell him even a thing.

“Right!” she exclaims, pointing at a book in the row next to Vergil. “How much do you know about astronomy?”

“Beg your pardon?” The hybrid couldn’t believe what he just heard as he turns around to face the librarian.

“Astronomy. A branch of science that studies celestial—“

“I am fully aware of what astronomy is,” Vergil declares. “All of those books, why do you choose astronomy?”

“Because,” she takes the book she pointed before. “You seem to enjoy ancient texts. Your top borrowed books were all classics. You see, we don’t have many visitors and it’s noticeable that you’re the only person who consistently lingers at this section. It’s not hard to tell that you fancy this section the most. I thought classics and ancient knowledges would suit you the best. Therefore…” she shows him the book she recommended. “You might like Almagest.”

Almagest. Vergil remembers the copy of that book in Sparda’s private room in the Manor. He didn’t really paid attention to that book, although he did actually pick up that book and observe it delinquently rather than taking it seriously. He was still a child after all. He didn’t even think about reading it until now.

He receives the hardcover book from the librarian’s hands and observes the book. His fingers flip the pages carefully.

“Almagest is one of the most influential text all the time. The very source of ancient Greek astronomy that was accepted for more than 1000 years and becomes one of the basis of modern astronomy. Unfortunately, we don’t have the original version of Almagest… but the one you read now contains both the original and translated texts. You won’t find any difficulty to read it, just in case you’re not familiar with ancient Greek. The book also contains star catalog. Ptolemy’s catalog contains about 1022 stars, including the stars positions arranged into 48 constellations. The Ptolemaic constellation… as we know it in the present. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Sagittarius…” the librarian explains while observing Vergil’s behaviour cautiously, looking for some approving signal from the hybrid. “A rather quite insightful reading, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Vergil sternly states. His eyes still fixates to the book, studying the graphs and tables, admiring the beauty of ancient Greek text and the planetary model. “Although, indeed, quite like a page-turner for stargazer.“

“I believe that astronomy is more than mere stargazing,” the librarian continues. Her tone is almost enthusiastic. “It is concerned with the formation and development of the universe itself. The universe always expanding, getting further from us while we are still standing here, wondering what happened outside the Earth…”

Vergil glances at her. The librarian’s eyes scanning through the books, but she seems out of the place. Caught in her own muse. The fusion of the magnificence of bookshelves and the librarian’s state of wonder somehow makes her look ethereal.

She looked pale, mysterious—like a lily, drowned, under water.

“There is Demon World,” Vergil sighs, closing the book in satisfied gesture. “The one human still trying to figure out in which system this world could be.”

“Oh, I wonder that too!” she quickly agrees. “They published a lot of researches about that. None of them actually make sense, more like a pseudo-science—Oh, pardon my twaddles! Are you going to borrow that book or should I recommend another one?”

Vergil shake his head, “This will do. Thank you for your recommendation.”

The librarian sighs in relief, “Anytime, Mr Vergil. I shall continue my work then.”

There it is again. The blank stare. The unsettling mix of pretty smile and void eyes. Something is off, but what? What does it means? She is nothing but a mere human. Why am I troubled for something nonsensical like the voidness of her eyes?

Yet he knows that if she turns her back and leaving him, he would never get his answer.

“On second thought, Librarian.”

The librarian tilts her head, “You changed your mind already?”

“On the contrary. I need some enlightment about Almagest and your knowledges regarding astronomy,” Such a buffoon, Vergil Sparda. “I believe your help will suffice.”

The librarian seems pleased with Vergil’s request. She nods in excitement, happy that someone needs her help and ideas, “Certainly.”

She excuses herself to get more coffee for both of them whilst Vergil returns to his usual desk and rest his head, processing to clear his brain from any irrelevant informations when suddenly a glimpse of his experience as V comes up.

This life’s dim windows of the soul

Distorts the heavens from pole to pole

And leads you to believe a lie

When you see with, not through, the eye.

There was a time when he, as V, memorized that poem at the center of Redgrave City. He was exterminating demons along with his familiars. He did his best to save any last survivors as much as he can. Between his own survival agenda and his unnatural obsession to defeat Dante, he truly realized the tremendous gravity of crime he did all this time for his pursuit of power. All he wanted that time was just a chance of redemption. He saved the humans compulsively, again and again. Like he would never get atonement at all.

That was the time he learnt that every humans and demons has stories in their eyes. Whether it’s hunger, glutton, joy, fear, sadness, painful memories. It was all reflected in the eyes. Their desires were always transparent like an open book. Even his mother once said that eyes are the window of the soul. Vergil used this wisdom to analyze his enemies. To find out their true intention. But at that time, as V, he used the knowledge to understand humanity and self-introspection. To accept his own emotions and weaknesses.

It all make sense now why the librarian’s existence intrigues Vergil.

It’s her eyes, Vergil contemplates. Ones that didn't tell me its stories.

He quickly lifts his head when he hears the little steps of the librarian approaching him.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologizes while placing a tray of pot of coffee and a book on the desk, careful not to place it too close to the Almagest. She fills their cups calmly, enjoying the coffee’s delightful smell. Though Vergil noticed her awkwardness for being around him.

It’s clear that the librarian feels a degree of burden from accepting the challenge from this mysterious, brooding tall man who visits the library almost every week. She’s aware of how intelligent this man could be. How he would challenge her intellect and make her arguments invalid. Even his name is enough to convince her that the man in front of her will be her most peculiar customer to handle.

However, their discussion regarding Almagest is running smoothly. Though not an expert of astronomy herself, she’s capable of explaining Vergil’s questions regarding the Almagest and astronomical trivias. Her eyes might not tell him anything, but he can sense her true passion in astronomy. She doesn’t speak unless Vergil ask her something he’s not quite understand. He notices the librarian silently reads The Fall of the House of Usher. She shows no difficulty switching her reading and tag along with their discussion. 

“I am sure not an expert of Almagest, but I hope I can still give you some enlightment,” says the librarian before she sips her coffee.

“You already are,” Vergil admits. He scans Ptolemy’s equant model and memorizing the librarian’s explanation. From all chapters of the book, he found the star catalogue to be the most interesting part.

Young Vergil was astonished with the stars. Back to his childhood at Sparda Manor, when the night falls, the twins used to sneak out from their bedroom and climb the roof to stargazing. They were too young to truly acknowledged the beauty of the night sky, but Vergil enjoyed that moment. It was hard to find the right time to get along with Dante and made him sit still without bugging him any further. Dante would occasionally pointed on something in the sky, pretending he saw a meteor. Vergil would replied with sarcastic remarks as always, saying that he acts foolish or something. Then it would lead to another brotherly fight.

“The star catalogue is certainly the most enticing part of the book,” Vergil mutters, sipping his coffee as he inspects Ptolemy’s star chart.

“Indeed. The star map is ancestral to the modern system of constellations. Now there is another 40 officially recorgnized constellations and two trillions galaxies.”

The librarian adds new informations for Vergil, including the brightest stars of the constellations and best months to find it. He returns the favour by telling her more details about Greek mythology, which is inseparable with Ptolemy’s star mapping.

“It seems to me that ancient Greek gods has a fancy preference to placed their fallen heroes in the sky, if not, curse them into something ridiculous,” the librarian contemplates.

“Not all heroes,” Vergil refutes. “Cassiopeia mocked the Gods by boasting her daughter being more beautiful than all the Nereids. She was chained in her own throne as her punishment. Then Poseidon condemned her to circle the celestial pole forever.”

“More like a good example of what being a narcissistic could do rather than a tribute for her.” She mumbles. “It’s interesting to note that both Cassiopeia constellation and narcissistics have a similar trait.”

“Which is?”

“They are all easily spotted and visible all around the year.”

Vergil tries so hard not to burst in laugh. “Are there any constellations visible all the year aside from Cassiopeia?”

“There are Draco, Cepheus, Ursa Major and… Ursa Minor. There,” She points the picture of four constellations. “Together with Cassiopeia, they are circumpolar constellations of northern sky. These constellations circling Polaris, the brightest star of Ursa Minor. Commonly known as The North Pole Star. The big bear Ursa Major is the largest northern constellation. It also contains the most prominent asterism in the night sky, oftenly confused for the constellation itself. Cassiopeia is always easily recognized for its clear W shape, like she was being chained on her throne as you mentioned it earlier. While her husband and worst father ever to sacrificed his daughter to sea monster, Cepheus, is not widely known in spite of its size. Cepheus and Draco are two of the largest constellations in the sky but their stars are not as prominent as Ursa Major.”

“And these constellations remain invisible from southern locations?”

“Sadly, yes. But the south has its circumpolar constellations too. There are Centaurus, Carina, and Crux. You won’t find Carina and Crux in the Almagest. It was Argo Navis before French astronomer de Lacaille divided it into the three smaller constellations; Carina, Puppis, and Vela. As for the Crux, it was originally considered to be a part of the Centaurus before 1679, and the smallest of 88 constellations, if I’m not mistaken…”

“If you are not mistaken.” Vergil emphasises sarcastically.

“Which means I am certain that I mentioned it right.” she evades.

The librarian tries her best to not let her laughter comes out when she notices Vergil’s permanent frown gets more crumpled.

The librarian seems to enjoy driving the half-devil to the edge with her dry wit. She finds it funny to see Vergil grunts in annoyance, or his slightly amused grin whenever she said something peculiar. Maybe because the man in front of her right now is always covered by mysterious cloud. That his face is always solemn, imperceptible. He looks sullen, like he never laughed for his entire life. He really needs a bloody lot of kips, she thinks, taking note to Vergil’s darkened eyebags as she compares with her own eyebags, which she thought were quite dark already.

She was going to continue her explanation regarding the southern circumpolar constellations before an unexpected thought spills out from her mouth, “You are haunted, Mr Vergil.”

The atmospheres shifts abruptly. The hybrid’s shoulders stiffens as he glares to the librarian as a warning to not cross the line. His frightening stare sent chills down to the librarian’s spine that she almost choked on her own coffee.

“What’s with the sudden impudent commentary of yours, Librarian?” Vergil doesn’t try to hide his vexation.

“Uh… well…” the librarian chuckled nervously as she hides her face behind her novel, shielding herself from Vergil’s intimidating glare. “You always look like you are either staring to nothing or focus on your book. There is no in-between.”

“You’d be disappointed to know the fact that a lot of people do that. Every time.”

“True,” she agrees. “But you are different. You have the eyes of a man who still try to adjust the new world. Most of people are haunted by the past… but you are haunted by the present.”

She shut her mouth almost immediately, realizing Vergil does nothing but giving her threatening look to stop analyzing him. It was her only detriment; to be innocently curious about everything, silently observing and analyzing things. Most of her ideas are boxed inside her head. She never said it out loud. But this time she couldn’t help but spilling her thoughts. That she finds Vergil interesting.

“I will forgive your impertinence,” the blue demon closes the book and shifts his position to relax his previously tensed shoulders. “Only if you explain why do you think I’m haunted by the present.”

“Well,” she grins and bluntly explains, “There are two kinds of people who willingly to spend the rest of the day staying here; a keen of literature or a misanthrope. I dare say you are both, but I think you are here because you are overwhelmed with the outside world. You are adjusting something you had never experienced before. That adjustment, whatever it is, haunts you. It confuses you, what happens now and how you would react about it. Like the moment when you were unfamiliar with our registrative custom, which was odd because you looked like it was your first time registering something. Honestly? I thought you were making up your name. You looked terribly confused back then, as if you didn’t recognize your own name. You seems… detached from reality.”

I must not let my guard down anymore, Vergil makes a mental note as he feels defeated, even though he won’t admit that everything she said was the truth.

“Pause,” The librarian let out a gasp as she notices Vergil’s inconvenience, “Is it really okay if I continue? I don’t like being psychoanalyzed and I’m completely understand if you want me to stop.”

“You are too late for that. You already talk a little too much.”

“But you said you will forgive me only if I keep talking!”

“If you explain your impertinence.. not chattering like a mockingbird.”

“That’s harsh! Besides, how could I explain if I am not allowed to keep talking?”

I’m done playing words with this woman, Vergil slowly growls in frustration. He never thought that having conversation with a human could be this infuriating. “Then let’s settle the matter. Tell me your thoughts and be done with it.”

“Fair enough,” she seems satisfied, enjoying Vergil’s defeat and curiousity. “For the record, you are the one who asked me to talk. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  Where was I…? Oh, yes, detached from reality. You speak about humans differently. You treated your surroundings like a bystander. Like you distinguish yourself from reality. It make sense, actually. To understand something, we must separate ourselves from it.”

“I get your point.”

The librarian looks puzzled, “Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Was that mean I was right about you?”

“Even if you are right, I won’t bother to tell you.”

“No… it just…” she taps her fingers slowly. “It’s hard for me to express my point of view, particularly to strangers. Moreover, to make them understand.”

“You’ve done well to the customers.”

“That was different. It’s for business.” She waves her hand nonchalantly. “My point is, maybe this library is the right place for you to adjust yourself. I don’t have any slightest ideas of what you’ve been through, but you deserve to find your peace. Other customers will find you too scary that they will leave this section as fast as they can—I mean, look at yourself! But what I see is just… a man who wants a little solitude from this noisy world. And I believe everyone deserves their own place in the sky… like the stars. No matter how insignificant they feel about themselves.”

The elder son of Sparda found himself stunned by her words. He never thought a human could possess the ability to see people in such illuminating way. She doesn’t flatter nor mock him, just simply stated her intuitive opinions about him. She but a stranger, seeing right through his psyche. The same odd woman who is now obliviously reading her novel like she had already forgotten of what she said earlier.

“You saw a lot, Librarian. That’s an exceptional gift.”

“Compulsive observation isn’t counted as exceptional gift. More like a curse, but thank you. Of course I could be wrong. Maybe you are just another introvert bloke who’s happened to passed by and read something here. Who knows?” 

They now surrounded by a soothing silence. Both of them are preoccupied with their own thoughts. Vergil contemplates the librarian’s words about his adjustment with the present. He never really paid attention about that, but it turns out to be the very reason why he still fear any kind of human contacts. He lost so many years that he almost forgot how it is to be alive.

When he saw Dante and Nero for the first after he re-emerged, he couldn’t believe that everything around him was real. That everything was not a mere illusion anymore. He spent mindless and controlled under Mundus’s cruel illusion for years that the line between the real and the fake were blurring. He was blind and chained. Far too long that his soul was decayed.

And to think he still has a chance to make things right… to be truly alive in the present…

Yet there is still one thing that holds him back. There is a part of him which screaming in agony, searching for validity of his confusing emotions. A part which he hides it deep in his mind palace. The one he refuses to share. For he is afraid that he won’t get any enlightment. That he could be the old Vergil who was obsessed with power. The part that granted him moral codes and compassion.

His doubt on his humanity.

“I used to hate humans,” Vergil finally confesses. “I used to think that they are all weak and useless, and I loathed myself for being a part of human.”

The librarian gives him a curious look, her lips curves into a playful smile, “You stop hating them now? Why, you are right about them anyway.”

The hybrid cannot hold his surprise. The lady in front of him… a mortal human, confirmed Vergil’s confession with ease. As if she herself isn’t human. But that can’t be true, you are a human, right? Vergil tries so hard to not bluntly asking something obvious which could make him look like an imbecile. She doesn’t seem surprised at all by Vergil’s unusual confession.

“It might sounds strange, for I myself a human. But you are right about humans. I could understand why you hated them. Easily corrupted and manipulated, they destroy themselves for something meaningless. But humans are truly fascinating being.”

“Fascinating being…” Vergil murmurs dismissively.

“I think you know it as well as me,” she peeks over her book to meet Vergil’s intimidating, yet calming gaze. “They stand on the grey zone. They are unpredictable, complex being. While most demons only want power and human flesh to consume, humans only desire self-actualization. To be a better version of themselves. That could lead them in many ways. To do things differently. Isn’t that interesting, to think that all the humans in this world are never really the exact same individual? Humans are unique, Mr Vergil. Each of them. Their ability to endure is transcendent.”

“Humans are selfish being.” Vergil objects. “Their desire of self-actualization is misleading. Some humans want to be demon so much that they become something worse than the demon itself.” Including my former self. “They crave for something more. Their greed is boundless.”

“Indeed,” she admits. “I won’t defend that fact. Humans are biologically and inherently selfish. The same goes with human emotions. Though oftenly fallacious, it’s important for human survival…”

“Sounds like a creature of flaw.”

“No one’s perfect, Mr Vergil. Everyone’s flawed. “ the librarian took notice of skepticism in Vergil’s statement. “Yet you stop hating humanity.”

“I try to embrace the fact that I’m part of humanity.”

“Why?”

“… because I have a family to protect.”

“There,” she gives him understanding wink. “Unlike demons, humans have connection to each other called compassion. Their instinct to protect their beloved ones. Their need of security and sense of belonging. Without all of it, humans would ended up just like beasts. That’s what distiguished us from demons. But not all demons. They said Dark Knight Sparda fought for humanity and became a human as well. It seems to me that every humans and demons have choice to be the better or the worst version of theirselves… to be a demon, to be a human… to conquer or to protect.”

“Without strength, you cannot protect anything,” Vergil adds, more like talking to himself.

“Fine word, Mr Vergil.”

“That’s what happens when you’re responsible for lives other than your own.”

“Which means you are not fighting alone. You have someone to protect you.”

You’re gonna need some help… and someone to keep an eye on you, Dante’s voice echoed inside Vergil's head. Had Vergil dismissed him, he would ended up alone again in the Underworld. The fact that Dante was willingly throw himself to join Vergil made him feel secure. That he’s protected.

Why did it take him so long to realise that he was always saved by humanity?

“Ah… that remind me of something…” The librarian seems out of place again. Her unusual pale face is suddenly turns deadpan. But that statement just left hanging in the air as the librarian went back from her reverie. Leaving a trace of voidness in her eyes.

“Your eyes, librarian,” Vergil addresses after he saw the voidness again. “Those eyes spoke nothing.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve seen thousands stories behind every eyes.” The hybrid knocks his fingers on the Almagest as he feels the urge to tell her the truth. That he was enchanted (or bothered?) by her unsettling eyes. “But yours telling me nothing.”

“Oh… well, what am I supposed to do with that information?” she closes her book abruptly, startled by the statement. “They said eyes are the window of the soul, am I right? Was that mean I have no soul?”

“On the contrary,” Vergil disproves. “You have a wanderer soul. A mind of philosopher.”

She flustered as she breaks her eye contact with Vergil. “Well… thank you?”

“You are welcome.” he says softly. “It just… nevermind. Forget everything I said about your eyes. I must have mistook it for something else.”

He lied, of course. His intuition never betrayed him. There’ll be another time, Vergil thought, realizing it’s futile to contend with the librarian. This was their first real conversation since their encounter three months ago and both of them need some time to open up. He won’t rush it. Not that now he really wanted to at least make an acquaintance with a normal human. Moreover, the one who could keep up with his mind and antics,

The librarian seems uncomfortable with Vergil’s appraisal. It was odd, since she thought Vergil isn’t the kind of person who would’ve easily praise someone. Little does she know that Vergil would only compliments people who’s worth his time and energy. She avoids Vergil’s inquisitive eyes, tapping her wristwatch, ”I hate to end our discussion, but apparently we’re closed.”

Vergil surveys at the winter sky that soon will turn into dark, velvet blue from the window beside his desk, “Very well then.”

“You may borrow it as long as you want,” the librarian points at the Almagest as she cleans the empty cups.

“Would that be okay for you?” Vergil doubtly glances at the book.

“Just please don’t report me to Mr Steiner,” she chuckles when she mentioned the library’s owner. Vergil remembers an old man and his occasional visits to the library and checking notes at receptionist table. “A kind one, that man, but his wrath was horrendous.”

“Won’t your colleague complain about this?”

“Nate? He’s off duty today. Worry not, he rarely checks Rare Section.” She stands up, about to lift her tray. “Oh, and please take a great care of it. I’d lose all of my wages if you somehow decided to broke it.”

“I won’t,” he reassures. “Although it is not wise to trust a stranger, Librarian.”

“Righty-ho,” she winks mischievously. “Yet I believe this stranger will keep his words.”

“And how would this stranger keep his words if he doesn’t even know the name of the very person who made him promised?”

“Ah… Mr Vergil… I did mentioned my name in our earlier discussion!” she giggles as she grips her tray in excitement. “But yes, I didn’t precisely tell you that it was my name.”

“I don’t like riddles.”

“Ha! Then let’s play a riddle, shall we? It should be easy if you listened carefully to my explanations regarding constellations!”

It is surely futile to contend with this peculiar woman. As much as he dislikes to accept the challenge, he ultimately agreed to prove his competency. He won’t lose to everyone, let alone this scallywag librarian. He folds his hands on the chest as she prepares to give him clues :

“I am visible in the Northern and Southern hemispheres

I am prominent in the summer night sky

I belong to the Hercules family of constellations 

My closest neighbour constellation is Cygnus

The meteor shower appears annually in April

I have one of the brightest star in the sky.”

The hybrid goes silent, recalling his recent discussion with the librarian. He remembers the librarian briefly mentioned this constellation— a small constellation, but its brightest star is the fifth brightest star in the sky…

The process of recall also brings him to the second passage of Georgics, which originally was a Greek tale of tragic story between a musician who attempted to retrieving his dead lover from the Underworld. He managed to get through all of the obstacles only by the play of his music instrument and softened the heart of Hades, the ruler of the Underworld.

This pattern of memories immediately leads him to his answer.

“You are heavily associated with the musician Orpheus, who took his own life after his failure to ressurect Eurydice, his beloved wife. Then Zeus placed you, Orpheus’s most cherished instrument, amongst the stars,” Vergil smiles in victory. “The lyre… Lyra.”

Lyra smiles slyly, “Touché, Mr Vergil.”

“Just Vergil is fine.”

“Very well then, Vergil.”

Lyra excuses herself to wash the cups, but Vergil insists to follow her to receptionist table. He waits her to finish the washing and packing her belongings while reading the motions of Venus and Mars from the Almagest. He occasionally asks her something concerning the part he read on and she’ll answer his questions from her office.

“Your choice of word was interesting, Vergil.” Lyra shouts while drying the cups.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said Orpheus took his own life,” she recites. “But let say God doesn’t exist, then it’s absurd to say that he took his own life. Taking it from who? If his life was truly his…”

The hybrid demon sighs frustratedly, “It’s a figure of speech. Do you always take things too literally?”

“Blimey, Vergil. I was just joking!” the librarian appears in the office doorway as she wears her gloves. Her blue oversized sweater is now covered with black babydoll coat. Vergil makes a mental note of her elegant, classy appearance as the two of them heading out of the library. Clearly she is a type of person who prioritize comfort in clothing rather than fashion, but she is nonetheless still an attractive woman. 

“Your whimsical sense of humour could drive one to insanity,” he remarks, but there is no offensive tone in his voice. He does enjoy her quirky humour, though he won’t admit it.

“Oh, Vergil…” Lyra smiles mysteriously while locking the entrance door. “You have no idea what insanity is.”

Or maybe I do have the idea.

They continue their conversation until they walk pass the crowd of the street. As the conversation goes on, Vergil mentally noted Lyra’s favourites and her quirks; she has too many favourite books, but she will always re-read The Hound of Baskerville and The Silence of the Lambs. Vergil was never stand too close from her to notice her slight limp on her right leg— too subtle that normal human eyes couldn’t spot it. He wonders how she got that, but he doesn’t ask. Instead he tells her his favourites and that he prefers classics, but he’s open for something new.

“Wait a second.”

Lyra jogs to a patch of blooming snowdrops as they’re passing a playground. She picks the flower, making a small bouquet from it, and quickly returns to Vergil, who’s waiting for her in confusion.

“Galanthus nivalis,” she hands him the bouquet. “They say snowdrop represents a friend in adversity.”

“Also consolation and hope,” Vergil adds. He touches the petals with one of his gloveless finger delicately, as he recalls the language of flowers his mother taught him once. The twins were regularly helped their mother gardening as she told them the story behind every flowers.

Lyra lifts her eyebrows, “Never thought you’d familiar with floriography.”

“As a librarian, I think you know it better than me to not judge a book by its cover.”

“You got a point there," she scans through the snowdrops on Vergil’s firm hand. “My mother once told me, if I find myself lost, pick flowers.” 

“That was an exquisite wisdom.”

“It is,” she grins. “That’s why I picked you these snowdrops. You seem lost. You should start picking more flowers.”

“Only if I lose myself,” Vergil pledges. “At the moment, I think I already have my answers. You’ve been very helpful.”

“No worries,“ Lyra continues her walk before she turns her back to Vergil again. “I’ll take my leave here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Vergil.”

The hybrid doesn’t respond. He doesn’t like the idea of her walking all alone in dark alleys. There is a part of him which urging him to escort her until she’s safely arrived at her house. The world is full of danger. It could be anything; demons, thieves, serial killers, even natural disasters. “I could… you know… escort you home.” Vergil almost bite his lips, curse himself for his reckless offer. 

Lyra shake her head, although she noticed the visible concern from the man who stand still in front of her. “It’s very kind of you to offer me escortion, but I still have to stop by my friend’s house.”

Her face determines her reluctance to be escorted that Vergil couldn’t find better excuse, “If you say so.”

"Well… normally I would say ‘goodbye’ to strangers because I don’t plan to meet them again. But this time I’ll say ‘auf Wiedersehen’, means ‘until we see each other again’”.

“Bold of you to assume that we will see each other again.” 

“As a librarian, I have a duty to remind you that you still have a book to return.”

Vergil couldn’t help but chuckles as he’s amused with her perfect comeback. Her laughter is strong enough to make Vergil reciting a poem that revolved around his head regarding her presence :

“The sun descending in the west

The evening star does shine

The birds are silent in their nest

And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower,

In heaven’s high bower,

With silent delight

Sits and smiles on the night.”

The librarian stands speechless. The pupil of her eyes dilates in awestruck, not aware of the hybrid’s delicacy of making those void eyes now full in adoration.

“That was… splendid.” she blurts. “I’ve heard that somewhere… Shakespeare? Wordsworth? Oh, no no no… hmm… Blake?”

She smiles in victory as Vergil gives her a confirmation nod. She remembered Vergil’s book list, “Your favourite, of course.”

“Do me a favour,” Vergil says seriously. “Be very careful on your way back home. Our world is a savage world.”

“Of course.“ She nods in beam. “Though I assure you, I’m penniless and too troublesome to be kidnapped.”

“I can see that.“

Lyra waves her hand playfully as she takes her leave, “Auf Wiedersehen, Publius Vergilius Maro.”

The blue demon couldn’t help but rolls his eyes.

“Word of advice, Vergil,” she shouts before she disappears into the crowd of the boulevard. “Ad astra per aspera.”

To the stars through difficulties. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Vergil waits until he can’t see Lyra’s figure anymore. He somewhat feel guilty for leaving her defenseless, alone in the street. Yet he trusts his intuition, that she is capable of taking care of herself. It doesn’t stop him to think that he will escort her if she allows him, though. Being around her is just… different. It’s different from what Vergil feels when he’s with Dante and Nero. Definitely not the same way when he’s around Devil May Cry crews. Even this is the different kind of feeling he once had for Nero’s mother, a long time ago.

The blue hybrid looks up to the cloudy night sky.

According to Lyra’s explanation, winter is the best season for stargazing. There are so much observable astronomical events in this season, not to mention the appearance of Winter Triangle and Winter Hexagon, the two major asterism that dominates the winter night sky. 

“The Winter Triangle formed by Betelgeuse in Orion, Sirius in Canis Major, and Procyon in Canis Minor,” Vergil recalled Lyra’s voice when they discussed asterism. “While the Winter Hexagon are much more complicated. There are Rigel in Orion, Aldebaran in Taurus, Castor and Pollux in Gemini, Capella in Auriga, and the two from the Winter Triangle: Sirius and Procyon. Sometimes both asterisms appear simultaneously.”

One of the perks of being a half-human and half-demon is enhanced senses, including advanced vision. The sky isn’t clear, for the clouds are too dense, but Vergil can easily spot the Winter Triangle without difficulty. The stars are shining brightly that it reflects back in Vergil’s blue eyes. There is Sirius, he spots the second brightest star as viewed from Earth. He remembers Lyra mentioned that Sirius will continue to be the brightest star in the Earth’s night sky for the next 210.000 years.

He’s not sure that he would live to witness that phenomenon. Even Sparda didn’t live that long. Yet the fact that he would someday die doesn’t bother him. He is no longer interested in searching for power anymore, now that he realized that his true power lies within his humanity. He becomes more convinced after his conversation with Lyra. That humanity is flawed, but worth to defend. It makes him the man he is now.

The thought of the librarian gave him a moment of serenity in the darkness of the street. Gently, he slips the snowdrop bouquet Lyra made for him between the pages of Almagest. The token of their friendship. Her offer for his adversity. That remind him of a poem his mother once recited for him, when he was helping her at the garden of Sparda Manor :

“Now— now, as I stooped, thought I

I will see what this snowdrop is

So shall I put much argument by

And solve a lifetime’s mysteries.”

“Interesting.” He mutters to himself as he summons the Yamato, cut the space to open a portal and walks towards Devil May Cry office.

–

Here's the source of recited and mentioned poems and lines :

Paradise Lost by John Milton

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

Georgics by Virgil

Night by William Blake

The Snowdrop by Walter de la Mere

[dreamcatcherfication]

The Queens of London Part 6 - What Am I To Do With My Life?

Man, I wrote this at like... 1 AM and it shows, it really shows.

Hello everyone, welcome back! I know it’s been a while (2 weeks!) since I’ve posted another chapter for this fic, but I got really busy with a bunch of other stuff, so it kept getting pushed back. I know you guys are used to getting pampered with new fics coming out everyday, but I still have a lot of stuff to balance, and sometimes my longer fics get put on hold as I get things back on track. But not to worry, we’re here now, and I’m not abandoning this fic! I didn’t get to edit this chapter, so I’m going to post it unedited and I’ll go back through and edit it later today when I have time. I hope you enjoy this part and that it suffices for a 1 AM keyboard smash. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my body is on fire and yes that can be interpreted figuratively or literally.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Depression, feelings of worthlessness, self destructive thoughts

Kat was sitting on her couch, legs curled up to her chest and a cup of hot chocolate in her hand. She was in her pajamas and her hair was a complete mess. Kat’s guitar was leaning against the wall, it’s chords unused and forgotten. After her failure with the queens, it had been impossible for Kat to find it in herself to get up and street perform during the day. She couldn’t go out and watch Jane walk by. She couldn’t perform knowing that she had let down the people who had been depending so heavily on her.

It should’ve been obvious to her this whole time. Kat knew from the start she wasn’t a queen, nor was she a lady. She was in way over her head, that much had always been clear. But after the party at Henry’s house, it was practically spelled out in glittering letters for Kat. She didn’t belong. Never had, never would. Plain and simple. So why should she try?

The depressive haze had taken over Kat’s body as she sat in a ball on the couch, her eyes blankly staring at the wall. She didn’t have a television, so all she could look at was the moldy walls that housed her. It was disgusting to her, the life she lived, but it was all she had. To believe, even for a second, that she could trade it for fancy suits and lavish parties… 

Kat was naive to think anything would change. She knew better now. She knew that she couldn’t keep this charade up, and she certainly wasn’t cut out to be a queen. Not now, not ever. 

The knock on the door wasn’t enough to shake Kat out of her blank staring. She didn’t answer it, choosing to stay silent and still. There was rustling on the other side of the door before the lock clicked and it opened up.

Walking into the room with a small bag, Anne frowned at Kat’s appearance. “Kat, why are you in your pajamas, we got a meeting tonight?”

Shrugging, Kat barely reacted to Anne’s question. She hummed something noncommittal and squeezed herself tighter into a ball. “Kat, come on,” Anne set the bag down and moved over to her cousin. “You can’t just wallow here for eternity.”

“Yes I can,” Kat mumbled before groaning and unfurling herself. “Just go away Anne.”

Sitting down on the couch, Anne flicked some lint off the crusty plush furtniture. “I’m not going to leave you here alone. Tell me what’s up?”

Dropping her eyes, Kat sighed. Without looking in Anne’s eyes, she answered, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Not believing it for a second, Anne moved closer to the teen. “Come on, I can tell that something’s up. You can tell me.” “Why?” Kat glared at her own hands defensively. “So you can make fun of me?”

“I won’t make fun of you,” Anne argued, almost putting her hand on Kat’s back but thinking better of it. “Promise. Cross my heart.”

Kat didn’t trust Anne’s words, but she spilled anyway. “I’m a failure. I let you and the others down. I haven’t belonged here since day one and I’ve only made things worse and harder for you all. I shouldn’t be here.”

Letting the words bounce off her, Anne huffed. “Come on now, that’s not true. We knew from the start it would be hard, none of this is your fault. And I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Anne paused dramatically before continuing, “None of us belong. None of us are really friends - except Cathy and Aragon, and each of our ladies. We’re all struggling Kat, not just you.”

Anne’s confession made Kat feel slightly better, but it was still overshadowed by her fear and doubt. “But at least you all have a reason, a motivation. Something important that you contribute. I’m nobody.”

“And yet you’re perfect,” Anne assured her. “When you watch a spy movie, does the government pick that famous billionaire or the naive looking ‘newbie’ to go undercover.”

Kat shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see a spy movie.”

“Okay -” Anne reiterated, “What I’m trying to say is being ‘nobody’ is exactly what we need. You’re practically invincible if you can’t be tracked down. You’re special Kat, far more special than any of us.”

The words sunk into Kat’s skin, even though she tried to keep them out. Kat wanted to say that she was worthless, because it was easier to hate herself than to look into Anne’s eyes and believe her promises. “I’m going to quit.” The forcefulness of her statement surprised Kat herself, but she held firm. Even when Anne gave her a pleading face, Kat didn’t budge. “I’m going to tell them the truth and I’m going to quit.”

Scrambling for a reply, Anne stood up. “At least come to tonight's meeting. Sit through the meeting and make your decision by the end. If you still want to back out, then I won’t stop you. But please, at least think about staying?”

Kat nodded, although internally she had already made up her mind. There was no way she was going to let the queens convince her to stay. Standing up to go change out of her pajamas, Kat froze a few steps away from Anne. “What’s in the bag you brought?”

“Hmm?” Anne turned her head to the bag. “Oh, nothing much. Just some food I bought from Tescos for you.”

Biting her lip, Kat went into her room and grabbed a change of clothes. She muttered lowly enough that Anne couldn’t hear, “I don’t need your pity,” as she got ready.

The familiar table sent shivers up Kat’s spine as Aragon went over the recap of the failed party. Kat was drowning out the woman’s voice, her shoulders hunched in as she waited for it to end. It felt like all the women were staring at her, blaming her for what had happened. It was all too much, but Kat wouldn’t let herself break down in front of them. She would keep her Katherine Brandon facade for one more night, and then it would end.

“We’ve got some news,” Joan spoke up when Aragon was done. “Maria’s been spending some time creating a code, and she’s finally ready to share.”

Maria made her way to the head of the table and set her hands down. “Yesterday we only had a single earpiece for Cathy, but Maggie’s been making sure we get them for each and every one of you. It took some time, but I’ve figured out the best way we can interact with each other using these. It’s going to seem quite simple, but it’s actually extraordinary. You see, each of you are assigned a number, and with those numbers, we and your fellow queens can contact you.”

“Interesting,” Anna stuck out her bottom lip in appreciation.

Leaning forward, Jane asked, “So what are our numbers?”

“Very basic,” Maria explained, “Aragon is one.” The CEO nodded. “Anne is two.”

Blanching, Anne rocked in her seat. “Really, I’m second to Aragon?”

Narrowing her eyes, Maria shook her head. “It’s not a contest of who’s better. The numbers are a timeline. You’re all arranged in the order in which you met Henry.”

Freezing, Kat set her eyes on the table. She was being put in this pattern that didn’t even apply to her. She was going to mess it up in a matter of minutes when she revealed herself. Anne shot Kat a glance across the table, but the girl missed it. “Three, Jane Seymour.” There was no reaction on Jane’s face, but behind her eyes there was a flash of pain. Maria continued, “Four, Anna.” The German woman tipped an imaginary hat. “Five, Kat.”

Acting like she had expected it in the first place, Kat nodded not particularly caring about her number. She would be five for five minutes, and then it wouldn’t matter. “And Cathy, number six. Whenever we address you in code, it will be using these numbers,” Maria finished.

“Sounds good to me,” Cathy affirmed. “I think that’s the last thing we had planned for tonight. If anyone has anything else to share, please do.”

Nervously, Anne watched Kat. The teen was psyching herself up, preparing for her admittal. Opening her mouth, Kat’s opening words were drowned out by Anna’s much stronger voice. “Actually, I do.”

“Anna,” Bessie warned as if she knew what was about to happen.

Shutting her mouth, Kat let the other woman talk first. “I was delivering a suit to Henry this morning, checking up on him after the party. He had a terrible hangover and straight up told Bessie and me that he’s going to be stuck at his office from tomorrow night through the morning.”

Standing up as well, Aragon scratched her nails on the table. “Did he seem suspicious of you at all?”

“Not one bit,” Anna spoke proudly. “We’re safe, for now. It didn’t even seem like he remembered anything from last night, so Kat’s still in the perfect position to sneak in and get the evidence we need. We aren’t finished.”

Breath hitching, Kat watched her hands. Her cover wasn’t blown? She could still… she could still do her job? If there was any way she could make up for what she ruined… “I’m in,” Kat shot up out of her chair, making a split second decision.

Anne’s mouth opened in shock when she saw Kat’s determination return to her eyes. Kat wasn’t done yet. “That’s good, because we’ll need you now more than ever,” Anna addressed Kat.

“What exactly are you saying Anna?” Jane questioned.

Smirking, Anna cracked her knuckles. “I’m saying it’s time for some good old fashioned breaking and entering.”

--------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom

[kpoptrashibnida]

Enough Pt. 2

A/N: Here is Chapter 2 everyone! Thanks to those of you who have so kindly read and supported the first chapter. I want to apologize in advance if the formatting might be a little wonky. This is my first time publishing a chapter on my iPad, so hopefully it’s not too bad. I tried editing as best as I could, but please spare me if there are errors. I came to Brazil for vacation and I’m trying to write/edit in my spare time. Currently it’s 1AM in Brazil and I just felt like I needed to finish this chapter and publish it. Anyway, enough rambling, here is Chapter 2. Also, real quick, this might feel like a filler chapter/not important, but there are key elements here that will come into play later on. Okay? Cool. Happy reading!

WARNINGS: None

When the idea came to you to you, the result you got was not at all what you expected.

You managed to sneak a peak at Chanyeol´s door code the last time you came over to his place for a night of passionate sex. You didn’t plan on coming here often or anything weird like that. But you knew Chanyeol had been having long and tiring days at work and practice, so you just wanted to do something nice for him.

You had dressed up and made some food for him to have at his apartment. You don’t know how he had such a nice body when all he ́d do is eat out and eat ramen at home. You went over to his apartment when you knew he ́d be at band practice. You cleaned up a bit and put some of the food away in the fridge while the rest you started to reheat so it´d be ready by the time he got home.

“You scared me!” You piped as you grabbed a cloth towel and wiped up the bit of mess you made when you dropped the spoon.

“How did you get in my apartment?” His tone had not relaxed and you noticed how upset he looked, which made your stomach drop.

“I saw you punch in your code once and I remembered it. I know you’ve been busy and tired lately, so I wanted to surprise you.” You watched his face as his eyes scanned what was visible of his apartment from where you two were standing.

“I may be tired but I don’t need you to come here and cook or clean for me.” He brushed past you as he made his way to his bathroom, getting ready for a shower.

“You don’t want to eat? The soup is warm.” You said softly, trying to ease his mood.

“I ate already.” Was his only reply as he slammed the door of his bathroom shut.

You stood there for a moment, to see if he would come out of the bathroom and say he was joking. But once you heard the water turn on and his Bluetooth speaker started blaring some heavy metal song, your initial embarrassment turned into anger.

Taking off the apron around your waist, you huffed in annoyance at his attitude. He could’ve at least been a bit grateful! Sure coming to his house unannounced was your bad, you recognized that. But he didn’t need to act like such an asshole. You picked up the rest of your belongings and made your way out of is apartment, slamming the door behind you. You knew he wasn’t going to hear it, but it made you feel better anyway.

Chanyeol and you have a very interesting relationship. You’re not formally dating, because Chanyeol made it clear he doesn’t do relationships. You were each other’s go-to fuck buddy. You liked to think it was more than that though. There were times when he would be very sweet and attentive and other times he would be cold, distant and give you the silent treatment for days, if not weeks, before he’d message you as if nothing happened. It was extremely confusing and frustrating at times because you really felt like you were developing feelings for him, you just didn’t know how he felt.

His attitude tonight was completely unexpected and you wish he’d tell you what made him so upset. It’s not like you were strangers. Six months had passed since the night you two went home together after the club. He had been over at your place countless times. You had only been to his place a handful of times, but it didn’t happen often. You feel it had something to do with the fact that he never stayed the night with you. After you’d finish having sex, he would normally stay for a few minutes to cuddle with you, but then he’d get dressed and leave. You figured he didn’t like to go to his place because he didn’t want to kick you out. You were intuitive enough though, and so the few times you’d be over at his place, you’d leave almost immediately after. He would offer to drive you home so you didn’t have to take an Uber or a taxi, but he never asked you to stay.

Once you’re back inside your apartment, yo decide to apologize to Chanyeol. You want to put this whole thing behind you as if it never happened.

Hey, I just want to say I’m sorry. It was out of line of me to barge in like that. Don’t worry, it’s not going to happen again.

You plugged your phone into its charger and went to the bathroom to take a shower, You put the unseen sexy lingerie in the hamper and sighed, it was a shame it was not ripped off your body tonight.

Once you were out of the shower, you checked your phone to see if he had replied, and to your complete disappointment, he had not. Maybe he was more angry about it than what you thought.

“And he never replied?” Mina asked in shock, her eyes bugging out in a comedic way.

“Nope. It’s been three days since. He’s giving me the silent treatment again.” You roll your eyes as you sip from your coffee.

“Look, babe, I say this because you’re my best friend and I love you. But why are you with him? He’s not worth your time! He’s such a douchebag.” Mina says, getting angrier as she thinks about it.

“He’s not that bad. He just has mood swings.” You shrug.

“Bullshit. Dude, do you not see what's going on here? He manipulates you! And you just keep going back to him time and time again! You deserve so much better than that! You’re much better than all of this!” Mina slams her coffee cup on the table, giving you a glare you’ve never received from her before.

“Mina, I know you’re looking out for me, but you need to calm down. Not all of us are as lucky as you and have a boyfriend that literally bends over backwards to give you everything you want.” You spit back at her.

“Are you freaking stupid? That’s exactly how your boyfriend is supposed to treat you! But, oh, right! Chanyeol isn’t your boyfriend. He’s just a guy that calls you when he feels like he needs something to fuck.”

You were stunned to silence. Never before had Mina ever spoken to you like. Her words had venom and you felt yourself get angry but also wanting to cry at the same time.

“Wow. Okay then.” You say, grabbing your coffee cup and your purse as you get up. “I’ll see you back at the office. My lunch break is over.” You walk away without giving her the chance to say anything else.

Mina is glued to her seat, shocked at herself for the things she said to you. She regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth. She wanted you to see that Chanyeol was only using and manipulating you, he didn’t really care about you and it hurt her to see you let yourself be used that way. You were such a strong willed person that it felt completely out of character seeing you let yourself be treated this way.

Once you got to your cubicle, you let a few tears stream down your face before you wiped them away angrily. You didn’t want anyone to see you cry at work.

Hey, want to come over tonight?

Your nerves were on end the second you pressed the send button. You just wanted to prove to yourself that Mina is all wrong about Chanyeol.

You put your phone face down so you could concentrate on your work and not glance at it every two seconds to see if he replied. You opened up your email and saw you had many of them you had to answer, making you sigh in annoyance.

“Seriously? Did everyone decide to message me when i was out to lunch?” You grumbled to yourself, opening up the first email and resuming your work.

By the time you answered your last email, three hours had passed and it was time to leave work. You glanced at your phone, remembering that you had messaged Chanyeol. You checked to see if he had replied, just to see he left you on read. You shoved your phone into your purse, annoyed at yourself for messaging him.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you noticed a little boy sitting across from you on the bus; he was staring at you and making a wiping motion. You wiped at your face, surprised to see that it was wet. You sniffled quietly and got off at your stop, stopping by the convenience store to buy some ramen and a lot of junk food. You don’t know why you were craving it so much, but you felt like you needed it.

Once the ramen was ready you turned on the TV to watch a drama and pig out on junk food. The drama that was on air was a very sappy romantic drama that had you crying when the lead male character confessed his love to the female lead.

“Love isn’t real!” You screamed at the tv, throwing the remote control across the room and wiping at your tears. You emptied the bag of honey butter chips into your mouth and laid on the couch, watching the drama until you fell asleep.

You woke up in the middle of the night from a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. Clutching your stomach , you made your way to the bathroom to see what was wrong with you. Pulling down your pants and sitting on the toilet, you saw the dark red spot on your panties.

“Ugh, screw you Mother Nature.” You grumbled as you stripped your clothes off and made your way to the shower. That explained the sudden need to eat half the junk food your local convenience store had to offer. It also explained why you were crying like a little bitch last night, momma didn’t reside no weakling.

After your shower, you saw that it was past 4am. Grabbing a heating pad, you took a couple of Advil and hoped that it would help alleviate the pain. You went back to sleep before you knew it.

The blaring alarm woke you up and the second you moved to turn it off, you felt a sharp pain once again in your lower abdomen. Moaning in pain you realized that you were not going to be able to function at work today, not when your uterus was literally ripping itself to shreds inside your body.

You texted your manager to let him know you were not going to work that day. Thankfully your company was very lenient with sick leave, so you weren’t too worried about it.

You felt like crap and decided to order some delicious kimchi stew to help settle the pain, it was better than eating ramen and junk food, that’s for sure.

When Mina showed up for work, she made her way to your office with a coffee in hand, ready to apologize for her behavior the day before. She was totally out of line and she didn’t like it when you two were mad at each other. Rounding the corner, she was confused when she realized your cubicle was empty. It was very unlike you to miss work, but at the same time, lately you had been doing a lot of things that were unlike you. Still, she felt terribly bad about yesterday and she decided to shoot you a text, maybe you were sick and that worried her.

Hey… I know you’re probably still mad at me, but I want to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t see you at work today. Is everything alright?

You woke from your nap when you felt your phone vibrate next to your head. Your heart skipped a beat with the possible Chanyeol messaging you back. But seeing that it was Mina instead also made your heart race, remembering everything that happened the day before. Reading her message, you smiled softly and rolled your eyes. She worried so much about you and you felt bad for walking out on her yesterday. Her words hurt you, but you know she was just looking out for you.

Hey, I’m fine. Aunt Ruby decided to pay me a painful visit.

Oh no babe! As soon as I’m done with my morning meeting, I’ll leave work early and make my way to your house with some delicious food and goodies~

Aww you don’t have to, I know you’re busy.

Nonsense. I’ll be there in 2hrs

I love you and don’t deserve you

;)

Taking a look around your living room, you realized that your apartment was a little messy. You tidied up and washed the few dishes that were in your sink. You put a load of laundry in the washer and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower so you felt a little better.

Once you were out of the shower, you put your laundry to hang as the doorbell rang. Looking at the security camera screen, you saw Mina standing there holding bags of food.

“Hey! I brought you a little survival kit.” Mina said as she took her shoes off and made her way to your kitchen.

“I have some heating pads, chocolate, some ramen and tofu stew. Oh and kimchi from that banchan store down the block. That old lady makes the best kimchi.” She put all the bags on top of your counter as she sorted the items out.

“You’re so good to me, I don’t deserve you.” You said as you walked up behind her and wrapped your arms around her waist.

Mina shrugged herself out of your arms and whirled around to face you, you were stunned at her sudden movement.

“No, don’t say that. I’m horrible, okay? I was so out of line with you. You didn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.” Mia looked near tears as she embraced you in a tight hug.

“I know you’re looking out for me.” You said as you both pulled away. You sat on a stool as Mina took the stew out and placed it in front of you with some rice and kimchi.

“I went full mamma bear on you. I didn’t mind when you and Chanyeol were just sleeping around. But I know you and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Chanyeol doesn’t deserve you and you should not be accepting his treatment.” She said, feeling angry but sad at the same time.

“I know, but-“ You were interrupted by Mina’s phone going off. She took her phone out and answered.

“What? I am out of the office.” She said into the phone. She was quiet for a second and cursed under her breath. “Okay okay okay. I get it. I’ll be there shortly.” She hung up and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go. Some people are just so incompetent they can’t do their job even though it’s so simple. I’ll check back later, okay?” She said, grabbing at her purse.

“Of course, don’t worry. You did so much already. Thank you.”

“Eat your soup!” Mina said as she made her way out of your apartment.

You ate your soup in silence and threw the trash out once you were done with the soup. Grabbing a bag of honey chips, bless you Mina, you plopped down on your couch and pulled up Netflix. You got lost on the drama you were watching you didn't hear your phone vibrate until the second time. You reached for it absentmindedly and didn't pay attention to who messaged you until you unlock your phone.

Hey babe

Can I come over? I need you

You stared at Chanyeol’s message for a couple of minutes before you responded. You were dumbfounded as to why he was messaging you now, after ignoring you for a few days.

You can come over if you want. But I’m on my period and I’m not going to sleep with you.

You sent the message with a hint of annoyance. You were hoping he’d want to come over anyway, to prove to you that this whole thing was not just about sex.

I’ll come over in 2 days

His response left you feeling cold. Two days. As in when your period is over. Your heart sank to your stomach and you felt a little nauseous. You were really hoping that this was something else, but it seems like time and time again, Chanyeol was proving you otherwise. You wiped at the tears angrily, both at Chanyeol and yourself. You couldn’t believe what an asshole he was. You had enough of his bullshit.

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[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Family Fights - Chapter Two

Summary: Even the strongest bond, the most loving family, can be broken by nightmares, and the librarian is soon to learn this. As she learns sinister things about a person who she had thought was lost forever, she realizes she will need the help of another witch to get her family back.

Notes:  This is a repost. When I re read the first chapters of this fic to write the third, I realized that it was packed with grammatical errors and that the pacing was terrible. Unfortunately, I can’t (or at least i don’t know how to) edit posted chapters on ao3, but I can at least re-post a slightly better version of the chapters here.

Read the first chapter here

She was gardening outside. The moonlight illuminated her extensive flowerbed, and for the first time since she was five and dropped an acid potion on them, her roses just wouldn’t bloom. They laid wilted on the ground, the bushes not strong enough to support themselves. It was a truly macabre vision, especially with the putrid smell coming from the rotting plants. But then, the bushes began to move. The twigs began to intertwine and form a figure. Maven watched horrified as her deep red roses began to melt into blood, and the plants formed a four meters tall troll-like creature. As the blood dripped down the leaves, the librarian raised her gaze to see strings attached to her once-a-rose-bush, just the way a puppet would have. At the end of the strings, controlling the troll, was her sister. Her face bigger than the Moon, her body seeming to disappear behind the trees staring down at her with angry, green eyes and a Cheshire like grin

“You failed me.” Myra hissed. “You failed me, and I’ll never forgive you. You failed me and you shall DIE” Maven’s surroundings dropped as if made of paper, like would happen if one cut the corners of a cardboard box, giving way to nothing but darkness all around her, her sister’s legs dipping below the ground horizon, making her feel like an ant on a platform. “Myra, I’m sorry!” Maven cried, tears streaming down her face. “Sister, please come- please c-come back!” She stuttered as she dropped to her knees before the flower monster, her tears mixing with the blood on the ground. “NEVER” The Marra shouted, and with a movement of her hand, made the troll raise it’s hand, ready to strike the librarian. “Madam!” The librarian woke up with a start at the child like voice and the small hand on her shoulder. When she could focus better, the nightmare finally releasing her from its crutches, she saw a young face and long blue hair. The Hilda girl, she recognized. “Where am I?” She asked as she tried to control her beating heart. “Safe.” Came another voice, a more mature one. Johanna offered her a cup of coffee as she sat on the bed at Maven’s feet, and she happily accepted the beverage. “The kids found you this evening passed out near the woods. We didn’t know where you live, and we just couldn’t leave you there, so we brought you here. I hope you don’t mind.” “Um, no, of course I don’t. Thank you. Can you tell me exactly where you found me?” “You were lying at the gates to the Huldrawood when we went out to get a badge. Why were you there?” “You were crying in your sleep.” Hilda pointed at Maven’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks before she could answer the first question. “Are you okay?” The librarian took a deep breath and looked out of the window near the bed. “I’ll be fine.” “What happened?” Asked another kid from the other side of the room, near the girl Maven usually saw him with. So, the whole trio was there. “That’s was none of you business, kid” Maven spatted and regretted it immediately when everyone’s faces fell. They had taken her out of the streets and welcomed her into their home. The least she could do was be grateful. “I think I just lost the person I love the most.” It was obvious in the boy’s face he had come to regret his question. “Who?” Hilda asked, aiming at gentleness and failing, and Johanna glared at her. “Hilda! That’s not polite!” “No, that’s fine.” Maven said as she sipped her coffee. “It was my sister.” “Oh.” Johanna’s face filled with sympathy for the librarian. “I’m sorry for your loss. How did she die?” Maven twisted her nose. “Die? Who said anything about dying?” “W-well, but if she didn’t die maybe you can still get back to her.” The girl she recognized as the biggest bookworm in town after herself spoke for the first time, and Maven sighed. “I doubt that. She made a bad decision. And I didn’t stop her. And when I realized it, I only judged her. I promised I’d always protect her. And I failed” She spit out, choking with unshed tears. “Hey, if you don’t try, you’ll never know!” Came yet another voice. She looked at the bedside table and gaped at what she saw. “An elf?” Maven spat in surprise. “You can see him?” Hilda asked, just as surprised the librarian could see Alfur as the librarian was at seeing him. “You have signed elf paperwork?” “Well, I’ve yet to meet a witch who hasn’t”

Maven realized those were the wrong words the moment they came out of her mouth. She just couldn’t believe her carelessness; that was supposed to be kept a <em>secret</em>.

“You’re a witch?!” David asked wide-eyed, and Maven stood a little straighter. “Yes, I am.” “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Alfur chirped. “Witches are the only kind of humans elves usually get along with. No offense.” He said looking at the other people in the room. “Witch or not, it doesn’t matter. You need help. What can we do?” Johanna asked, and Maven sighed in relief as she realized that this friendship wouldn’t be ruined by ignorance as many others had been before. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to do. Nothing can undo what happened to my Myra.” Maven lifted her head abruptly, an old ritual coming to mind. “Unless...” She turned her head and faced Hilda, a plan forming on her thoughts already. “Unless what?”, the child asked. But before she could get her hopes high, Maven realized she couldn’t be selfish enough to let her wishes get in the way of a kid’s safety. “Forget it, Hildie. It’s nothing.” A heavy atmosphere intruded the room, and silence hung heavily around them. “Frida, David, your parents must be worried. Hilda, can you walk home with them?” Johanna asked softly to her child, who looked like she would oppose. Her mother lifted her eyebrows, making it clear that there would be no discussion.

“Yes, mum. I’ll take the opportunity to take twig out for a walk. Come on, guys.” The door closed behind the children, and Johanna took her gaze from them to her guest. “There is a way to help you. You just don’t want to say it.” It was more a statement then a question, and a right one. “I’ll go get us something to eat, and then we can discuss it, okay?” Maven nodded with her head hanging low, until Johanna put her hand on the librarian’s shoulder, making her look up at the slightly older woman, a blush warming her neck and creeping up to her face at the proximity. “Okay.” She whispered as her host left the room. After a few minutes of uneasy thoughts and shifting movements from Maven’s part, Johanna was back with a bowl full of cookies. Before she could even offer the snack, the librarian began speaking, wishing to end this as soon as she could. And if there was any remote chance that she could get what she needed and have her little sister back, she was taking it. “Who is the father?” She asked rather harshly. “Who is Hilda’s father.” Johanna sat down at Maven’s feet again, blushing prettily, and the librarian had to admit the colour looked rather nice on her. “I- er, I don’t know.” Maven lifted her eyebrows, surprise clearly written on her face. She’d never been one to judge people, and she was a firm believer that one could do whatever they wanted with their body, but the sweet artist hadn’t given her the impression that she was that kind of person. At Maven’s reaction, Johanna was quick to clasp her hands over her mouth, and the pink on her face turned to green. “What, NO! Oh Gods, it’s not what you’re thinking! Hilda- Hilda was adopted is what I mean!” Maven’s jaw snapped shut and she cursed herself for jumping to conclusions. The poor woman looked like she was going to faint before her. “I beg your pardon. I should have worded my doubts. So you mean you didn’t get to meet her biological parents?” “Er, no, I didn’t.” She murmured as she fiddled with a biscuit on her hand. “I found her in the woods, actually. I had gone to my grandfather’s cabin to see if I could find some inspiration. The day I ventured farther into the forest, I heard a baby weeping. Oh, Maven, she was so young and she was alone. I couldn’t leave her there. I took her in and fell in love with her.” She finished with her eyes wet.

“The two of you are perfect together. I’m glad you found each other. Does she know?” Johanna gave her a dry little laugh. “Yeah, she does. Not like it’s easy to keep something from her, anyway.” “And do you know why she was abandoned?” Maven quirked an eyebrow. “Of course not! All I know is that they were monsters if they couldn’t even care for the safety of their child!” Johanna spat and Maven could feel suppressed rage beneath her skin. The mother might not know, but the witch? Oh, the witch had seen this story a thousand times. “Let me ask you something: have you ever seen anyone other than Hilda with natural blue hair?” Johanna furrowed her brow as she searched her memory for the image of someone with such unusual hair colour. “No, I can’t say I have. But I imagine it’s some kind of genetic mutation or something? The doctors could never put their fingers on it.” Maven pinched the bridge of her nose, stressed to see the culture passed from mother to daughter amongst her kind so lost to most people. “Oh my- no, Johanna, I’m afraid it has nothing to do with genetics. Or science, even. When one is born with an unnatural hair colour, it is believed that this person has magical gifts. That they are, let’s say, prone to engage in witchcraft.” She paused for a moment, letting the other woman try to wrap her head around that information. “It can be passed down to generations... or pop in suddenly on a child coming from a non-magical family. When it happens, the children are usually abandoned, given away, mistreated, and murdered even.” Maven knew she’d gone too far when a sob erupted from the sweet artist, and she tried to give her what she hoped was a reassuring look. “Don’t fret. These things would happen on old times. Now this knowledge has been practically forgotten. Your Hilda just had the fortune of being born into a family of cruel magicphobes who happened to know of this.” Another sob came from her. “How can you say she was lucky?! It was awful what happened to her! She could have been hurt!” “Well, but instead you found her, didn’t you?” Johanna was silent again, and she stuffed her mouth with a vanilla biscuit. “Yes, I suppose I did.” She answered when she finished chewing. “But if it’s such an obvious sign, why don’t most people know about this? How come no one suspects?” Johanna gesticulated as she spoke, throwing crumbs around the room with her movements, and Maven scoffed. “Why, since they created hair dye no one can tell natural from fake hair anymore. Before it existed, witches would usually hide their hair in some way. But nowadays there’s no trouble. Some of us still keep a part of our hair natural to let others know we are one of them.” The librarian lifted her hands to her scalp, separating the hair strands so that the gaping woman in front of her could see the purple sprouting from the roots. A few moments of uncomfortable silence went by, and it was only broken when the mother opened her mouth again. “Why did you tell me all that?” “Because the only way to save my sister is if Hilda helps me” Maven answered after taking a deep breath. Johanna was silent, but she nodded in a sign for her to continue. “The Marra are a society of kinds. They seek teenagers who want more power, more control, more... freedom. They twist their minds to make them believe that spending the rest of your immortal lives giving people nightmares is the best way to live. And when they convince them of such, the adolescents go through a ritual, in which they gift their soul to the goddess Niorun, acquiring, in exchange, immortality and the ability to enter people’s dreams.” “Why would that goddess do that?” “She doesn’t know what they use their abilities for. As the goddess of dreams, Niorun thinks that the Marra’s loyalty to her comes from the desire to give pleasant dreams to others, the way she does, and not nightmares. But the point is, my sister has joined them.” Johanna lifted her head as if she’d been electrocuted, her jewel bright eyes wide awake. “Beg pardon?” She stuttered with effort. “You heard this right. My sister has joined the Marra. And that was two years ago. I- I believe that she has already performed the ritual” Maven felt the stinging of tears behind her eyes, but she refused to let them drop. “She hadn’t aged a day...” she whispered. Johanna squared her shoulders confidently. “And what can we do?” She asked in a strong, unwavering voice. “You said you needed Hilda. I’m sure she’d have no trouble in agreeing to help.” “You don’t understand!” Maven protested. “Not only is the spell we’d need to do dangerous, but the training Hilda would need would unlock her magic forever!” She hugged her legs and looked away from Johanna. “And I can’t let her hurt herself to help Myra! Best case scenario, the ritual goes smoothly but everyone looks at her like she’ll curse them!” Maven cried, unable to contain her tears any longer as she realized the depth of the situation her sister had put herself in. She only heard the gentle padding of Johanna’s feet getting lower and then higher, right before feeling her hand on her shoulder. “Here” Johanna offered a napkin and a smile as the librarian looked up at her. At that moment, Maven was painfully aware that she had broken down in front of Johanna. Wonderful. “Calm down, and talk to me. Why do you need Hilda for that spell?” “Because it requires the energy of two witches to work. That’s also what makes the spell so dangerous. There’s no way to get my sister’s soul back,” <em>unless you want to fight a goddess</em>, she added in her mind. “And so the only way to make Myra human again would be by making a new soul for her.” “Can... can only witches do that?” “Yes, I’m afraid so. Witches have more energy, and more control of it. A normal person would probably die with that spell.” Maven sighed, knowing there was no way Johanna was allowing Hilda to help her now. “And Hilda is the only witch in Trollberg?” The question was met with a nod. “You said she’d require training... can the training make the spell... safer?” Johanna had left the bed, now pacing hypnotic circles on the wooden floor. “Certainly. The better the witch can manipulate the energy and elements, the safer the spell is.” “Could you train her?” The answer took the librarian by surprise. A small spark of hope ignited in her chest. “You’d let me?” Johanna sighed. “Hilda will kill me if I don’t let her try. But if it’s been too long and we still don’t think it’s safe, I’m afraid I’ll have to put my daughter first.” Johanna had barely finished speaking before Maven had gotten up and raised her arms as if to hug her, letting them drop again as she got a hold of herself. “Thank you. So much.” The librarian whispered with true gratefulness, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and biting on her bottom lip. There was something about the woman in front of her that made her incredibly soft, and she’d have to be cautious.

“You’re welcome” Johanna smiled shyly at Maven. At any sign of danger to her family, she would make Hilda back down immediately. But why cut down all the options before even trying? Why not allow Maven a little happiness? _#_#_#_

Hilda closed the door behind her and looked around to find her mother and the librarian sitting at the table, and Twig sniffing Maven’s shoes, where he had ran to as soon as the girl had opened the door.

“Hey mum.” She said as she approached the women. The walk to her friends’ houses had been a tense affair, the three of them too immersed in their own thoughts to speak. The tension in her house, however, seemed to have dissipated.

“Hey Hilda!” Johanna greeted her with a nervous yet encouraging smile. “Are you up for an adventure?”

[kitkatd7]

Matters of the Heart and Cheesecake

Request: I’m actually working on the request you sent me weeks ago when I was on my tumblr break. I got so excited when I saw your post about taking requests. ;) This is one of my favorite things and super cliche, but can I have Steve with a coffee shop AU??

Requested by: @star-spangled-beard-burn

Request status: Open! Feel free to send me something!

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Literally none besides my grammar errors because I didn't edit fully, sorry

Word Count: 1,208

A/N: Sorry this took me so long! I hope you like it! I had fun writing this <3

---------

You were at the small coffee shop in Brooklyn every morning with your laptop and notes, studying. Or you were supposed to be studying anyway- most of the time you were writing. Steve was also there every morning with his sketchbook and pencils. He was the best part of your day, no doubt, with his easy smiles and stormy blue eyes. How could you not fall for him? Surely that would be impossible for any woman. You just didn’t know if your feelings were unrequited. God, you wanted to know, but you didn’t ask. You were afraid of the answer, with good reason. How embarrassing would that be? What would you say? “Hey, I was wondering if you're as desperately head-over-heels for me as I am for you?” No, that wouldn’t do, so you keep quiet. At least for now. 

You share a love of art; He loved to read the stories you write, the words you make live and breathe. He often asks after them, your new ideas, plans and plots. And you're in love with his sketches, the way his drawings seem to jump off of the pages and into your heart. You have sort of a… trade of sorts; His sketches for your stories. Except for the one drawing he never lets you see, always saying ‘when it was time, he would show you.’ And it drives you crazy. You want to know what it is, but you wouldn’t push him for it. You would wait. Not patiently, but you would wait. 

Today’s no different, you’re sitting in the corner booth with your laptop in front of you, wrapped up in the world you were creating, painting with your words when a familiar figure slid in opposite of you, giving you a mug filled with steaming liquid. You look up into blue eyes, smiling your thanks. 

“Hey doll, what are you writing?” He asks, enjoying the way you look away and your cheeks tint pink at the nickname.

“Nothing right now,” you murmur, “I’m just trying to outline this story, but it’s not working very well,” you chuckle lightly. 

“Can I read it?” He questions, looking like a hopeful puppy. 

“When it’s done, silly,” you laugh, shaking your head at his childish manner. 

You go back to your writing while he pulls out his pencils and sketchbook, you stop when you feel his gaze resting on you. Glancing up at him you give him a confused smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, looking back down while a blush creeps up his neck. 

Smiling to yourself you go back to writing. Or at least you try to... It’s not your fault he’s so distracting. 

You don’t have to look up to know he’s staring again. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that!” You chuckle.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he mutters unconvincingly, eyes once more downcast. 

Not a minute later you feel his gaze resting on you again. “Captain, if you keep looking at me like that you’ll have to ask me out,” you tease, your eyes gleaming with amusement as he blushes furiously. Of course, you would love if he actually asked you out, but for now you’ll settle to tease him and watch that adorable, embarrassed look color his features. 

A few minutes later you look back over, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion at his expression. “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

Tilting your head you look at him more closely, trying to figure out what he’s so focused on. “What are you drawing?”

Your eyebrows furrow further when he doesn’t even look up much less answer, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and what looks like a slight frown appears on his face. “Hang on, doll. You’ll see.”

Knowing you won’t get an answer until he’s ready to give one, you turn back to your story. The only sounds are the muffled talk of the occasional customer across the coffee shop, the click of your keyboard and the soft scratch of his pencil. 

An hour later and you’ve finally finished most of your story and your craving a cup of coffee. Looking across the table you watch Steve silently for a moment, noticing how he looks nearly exactly as he had an hour ago. 

“Stop staring.” 

“I wasn't stari- Okay, maybe I was staring, but that’s only because you are being super secretive and quiet,” you explain, rolling your eyes playfully and watching a slow smile spread across his face. 

“I’m almost done, just a second and you can look, okay?” 

Arching a brow, you smirk. “One.”

You laugh as he huffs and shoots you a non-convincing glare. 

“Okay, I’ll be back in one minute,” you sass. Standing, you make your way to the counter, ordering cheesecake for the both of you before taking your seat again. “Here, I got you the cherry one cause I know it’s your favor-” you cut off after setting down the plates, your eyebrows knitting together again when you see a piece of paper lying face down next to your computer. “What is it?”

“Well turn it over and you’ll see,” Steve chuckles. But he looks a little- anxious?

Turning it over, you glance at Steve and back at the paper, a slight feeling of anger stirring in your chest. “Is this a joke?” you ask, staring at him. 

Shock and then confusion flash over his face. “What? No- I wouldn’t joke about that. Why do you think it’s a joke?”

“I dunno,” you murmur, looking back at the picture with the beautifully scrawled message below. “I thought maybe you just knew I like you and you were making fun of me…Why else would you do it?”

He scoffs a little, a smile playing about his lips and his eyes gleaming. “I’m not making fun of you, am I not allowed to want to go out with you?” he asks, gesturing back to the paper as proof; It’s a picture of you with your hair down and a smile dancing on your lips, your eyes seemingly bright. It looks so… Real. Beneath the life-like version of you in a swirling, outrageously pretty handwriting is written, “Go out with me?” 

“It’s so beautiful…” You breathe in awe, tracing your fingertips over the edges of the paper gently. 

“Is that a yes?” Steve laughs, eyes fixed on your face. 

“Absolutely!” You beam, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your lips. “I’d love to go out with you.” 

“Oh thank god!” he chuckles, “I've been working on it for weeks, but today I knew I had to finish it. I wasn’t sure if you would say no or not,” he admits, slightly bashful. 

You turn his question on him as he smiles brightly at you. “Am I not allowed to want to go out with you?”

“You are, I just wasn't sure if you would want to… Now give me my cheesecake,” he laughs, trying to take the plate away from your side of the table.

“No way, I’ll trade you though.”

Arching an eyebrow he looks at you suspiciously. “For what?”

“Cheesecake for a kiss,” you say, smirking at him. 

He leans across the table towards you, murmuring, “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

-------------------------------------------------------

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[hot-wiings]

Edited: 1-18-20

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I think I lost, again. You look like you're mad. In a blur, game over, over, over. If this was a game. I could just load it again. I guess I gotta deal with this, deal with this real-world. It'd be better if it was a game. Because it hurts so much. I need to heal my medic. But I'm another star. Blame myself since I was imperfect. Brake in my head, brake in my step, always. All I wanted was to do well. I wanted to make you smile, damn. Please give me a remedy. A remedy to make my heartbeat again.

You stood beside your boyfriend Hitoshi Shinsou, as you waited for Vlad King, the substitute teacher to pair up students to spar against each other.

"I hope we don't get paired together."

"Yeah. If we did I’d have to kick my boyfriend's ass."

"More like I'd have to let my girlfriend win."

"I can beat you anytime in any day 'Toshi."

Hitoshi wraps his arm around you and you nuzzle your head into his side.

"Only because I get distracted by your beauty."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Kitten, I can think of a few places it will take me."

You blush and look at the ground as your cheeks heat up.

"Shut up, Vlad's coming over here."

"Fukukado you’re against Todoroki. Shinsou you're against Midoriya."

“You got this.”

You watched with weary eyes as your father stood off to the side with the rest of the teachers. Your father was a pro-hero, the unfortunate side to that was that he worked at UA, the school you were attending.

“Thanks.”

Hitoshi kisses you on the cheek for good and then you walked over to the arena to face your opponent. 

Whenever your father watched you fight you were both nervous and ready. He put an immense amount of pressure on you to succeed. You had to bring good to the family name. This both gave you the motivation to succeed and fear of failure.

Unfortunately, today you had more fear than motivation. You were supposed to take down Todoroki. Battling Todoroki with your quirk was difficult. Your quirk was Outburst. You used your quirk to make people outburst into uncontrollable laughter. This laughter impairs opponents' cognitive abilities, allowing you to take them down.

In order to make the opponent laugh uncontrollably is by getting them to laugh at a joke you tell them. Todoroki is a very serious guy. He doesn't joke or smile much, this was going to be a hard battle.

Shouto sends a blast of ice towards you which you dodge by jumping out of the way. This guy wastes no time getting into battle, you had to make him laugh and fast. 

“How'd the hipster drown? He tried ice skating before it was cool!” 

Shouto doesn't laugh but rather sends another wave of ice your way. 

“You can do better than that.”

“Alright. What do you call a pig that does karate? A pork chop.” 

Shouto again does not find your jokes funny and sends more ice your way. If he did not have ice powers you would have wrung his neck. You are a very funny person, this is insulting. 

“Atheism is a non-prophet organization.” 

This time Shouto uses his fire to hit you. He never uses his fire so that must mean he was overextending himself. You needed to make him laugh and fast before he got warm enough to use his ice. 

Your strategy was futile because you hadn't been watching where you were going. You slipped on ice that was on the ground from when he earlier hit at you. This made you fall so when he threw his fire at you, you didn't dodge him. 

The clothing on the upper-left side of your body was gone and you had burns on your arms. Shouto hadn't meant to hit you with fire, he only meant to warm himself up. Shouto, angry at himself for using fire, pushes you out of the rink with his ice. 

Hitoshi rushes over to you, ice pack in his hand. He pushes the ice pack onto your arm and places his uniform jacket over you to cover up your lack of clothing. 

"How's your arm feel? I'm taking you to recovery girl."

"I’m fine. I should've been able to defeat him."

“It was a good fight, better than the last time. You'll get better.”  

Hitoshi was right, you had gotten better since you last battled Shouto, but the glare your father sends your way makes you feel indifferent. He was angry at you. He had high expectations that he wants you to meet. You never did meet his expectations.

What should I do now? Please save me, give me another chance. Please give me, a remedy, a melody. A memory that will be left just for me. If I stop right now. If I just turn it off, will all will be more comfortable? I'm fine but I'm not fine. I told myself I was used to it. It always hurts like it's the first time. Not a good gamer, that's right, you can't control me. It keeps hurting 'cause of trial and error and 50,000-something else. My song lyrics, each gesture. I become afraid of every word, my jamais vu. 

You bite your lip as your dad yells at you. You made one mistake, but he had to know how hard it was to battle Todoroki. He was at the top of the class for a reason. None of that mattered. To him, beating Todoroki was just a stepping stone to your career.

"That's the second time Todoroki has bested you. Aren't you training?"

"I am."

"Then is it that boyfriend of yours? What's his name... Hiroshi? Satoshi? Is he distracting you? Do I need to separate you two?"

"No!"

You bite your tongue and look at the ground after you yelled back at him. That probably just made your dad delightful.

"You need to work harder. Your brother is at the very top of his class at Ketsubutsu Academy. You need to train more like him."

You struggle to keep the tears in your eyes. After your parents divorced your brother was all you ever heard about. [Brothers Name] this, [Brothers Name] that. You tried to understand that it was because your brother went with your mom and your dad just missed him, but lately, all your dad did was compare you to him.

None of your accomplishments mattered because he only saw your shortcomings. To each shortcoming, he would tell you how your brother was so much better. You honestly wondered if he wished he had custody of your brother instead of you.

"I'll train harder. I'll be better than [Brothers Name]."

Again, I try to escape as always. But still, you grab me. Even as my shadow grows. My life and yours are an equal sign. So my remedy is your remedy. Please give me a remedy. A remedy that will make my heartbeat again. (Remedy.) What should I do now? Please save me, give me another chance. Please give me a. (Remedy.) Run and run again, stumble again. (Honestly.) Even if it repeats forever. I'll keep running. So give me a remedy. 

Your training was hell. You couldn't strengthen your quirk much, the most you could do was find funnier jokes to tell. Other than memorizing a few new joke books you practiced in combat training with your father.

No matter how many times you beat your father, the pro-hero, he didn't praise you. According to him, there was still room for improvement.

You looked at yourself in the bathtub. You had bruises and scraps all over you. Your wounds from training ached and you missed Hitoshi. You’d been seeing less of him ever since you started to up your training time. Overall you just felt lonely. 

You tried so hard to make your dad happy, to make him proud, but it never worked. You were always left smiling through the pain of rejection.

It wasn't fair. He didn't love you, he loved his son. Your brother would only ever be good enough and you would always be in his shadow.

You hadn't even seen your brother in years three years. you would be able to see your brother and mother on the day of the provisionary hero license exam. Truthfully you were scared to see them. Your father has spent so much time telling you how much better your brother is that you began to wonder if there was a reason your mother took custody of your brother and not you.

What if she thought you were weak?

What if she preferred your brother like your father did?

What if she didn't love you anymore?

The negative thoughts begin to surface and cloud your head. You wished you had a remedy to heal the feelings. You laughed and joked with your classmates and you put up a facade around your boyfriend when deep down you were hurting. You wished you could just escape it all.

You stood up from the bathtub and grabbed a bottle of doctor prescribed Ritalin before sitting back in the tub. You open the bottle and hesitantly pour some in your hand. 

Hitoshi's face pops in your head. Were you really going to do this? How would this affect him? The face of your father washes that away. You were never enough for him so why would you be enough for Hitoshi?

You were doing the world a great justice. The absence of [Y/N] Fukukado, Joker, The Laughing Hero, would not affect anybody.

You put more pills in your hand and throw them in your mouth. You lay back in the bath and let the effects of the drugs take over. The last thing you hear before you blackout is the sound of knocking on the door.

A remedy that will make my heartbeat again. (Remedy.) What should I do now? Please save me, give me another chance. Please give me a remedy. (So is this success, I came back.) A remedy that will make my heartbeat again. (I'll concentrate on reaching you no matter what, falling, stumbling.) What should I do now? (This familiar pain seizes on me again.) Save me. (It's not easy this time either.) Please give me another chance. (Am I giving up? No, no never.) I won't give up 

Hitoshi had been a mess since he brought you to the hospital. He had bags under his eyes and his hands felt shaky from the unholy amount of coffee he had consumed since he got here five hours ago.

Shouta put a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder in concern.

"We've been here a few hours, sit down and sleep. I’ll stay up and wait for the doctors."

"No. I can't– I– I wanna be awake. I wanna see her as soon as possible."

Shouta sighs knowing there was no changing his pupil's mind. He only hoped, for both your sake and Hitoshi's, that you were alright.

Your dad arrived at the hospital. He looked like he had just woken up. Hitoshi didn't know if your dad had previously been patrolling or sleeping, but he hated him for it.

"Where have you been? She's been– We've been here for five almost six hours!"

"Hitoshi, I was patrolling. I didn't have phone access–"

Your father goes to put his hand on Hitoshi's shoulder in a sympathetic way but Shouta cuts your father off by grabbing his forearm.

"I think it’s best you left him alone."

He should have been here with you five hours ago like Hitoshi was. Hitoshi blamed your father. Hitoshi wasn't dumb. He knew your father put pressure on you. Pressure to be the best, pressure to measure up to unrealistic standards.

Hitoshi also blamed himself. He knew the pressure you were being put under. How you strived to be the best for your father. He should’ve seen the signs of depression, of your loneliness. He should've but he didn't.

The doctor walked over to Hitoshi and your father with a look in his face that could only be described as apologetic remorse. A face every doctor had to make.

"Mr. [Last Name.]"

"What's my daughter's condition?"

"Your daughter ingested a large amount of Ritalin. We pumped her stomach, but some of the medication had already begun to affect her brain. She's survived but she went into a coma. She's awake now."

"Can we see her?"

"Right this way."

The doctor led them down some halls towards your room. They walked in and saw you lying on the hospital bed with messy hair spread all around and eyes darting across the unfamiliar room.

Even with tubes and wires coming out of your arms, even in your messed up state, Hitoshi thought you were the most beautiful creature to have existed.

"Oh, Kitten... I– I thought you were dead."

Hitoshi rushes towards you and grabs your hand. Hitoshi expected a warm welcome, he, however, did not expect you to pull your hand away from his.

"I'm sorry... Who are you?"

"What do you mean? It's me, Hitoshi. Your boyfriend."

"I'm sorry. I don't know you."

The doctor pulls your father and boyfriend outside to talk away from you.

"Unfortunately some coma patients show side effects after waking up. Have you heard the term Jamais Vu?"

Jamais Vu. French borrowing meaning "never seen," refers to the phenomenon of experiencing a situation that one recognizes in some fashion, but nonetheless seems very unfamiliar.

Hitoshi remembered reading it on the back of a book in the library. Common among coma patients, it is the feeling where you can't remember something although you feel you should remember it. In short terms, it was memory loss.

Hitoshi turns to your father, hate in his eyes.

"This is your fault. You put so much pressure on her. She just wanted you to love her. Do you even remember the last time you told her you loved her?"

Hitoshi makes the maneuver to punch your father but Shouta pulls him back. At that moment he didn't care if he looked like a villain, he had just lost the person he cared about most.

"It could take weeks for her to remember, or it could be forever. You just wrecked her life and career, I hope you're happy."

[lovemychoices]

Always Be My Driver - A RoD Rom-Com [Colt x MC/Logan x MC]. CH 3

Book : RIDE OR DIE

PAIRING : Colt x MC/ Logan x MC

SUMMARY: Emma and Colt have been childhood best friends since forever, they were both inseparable. In middle school they became something more but when Colt had to move with his mom away from LA all the way to Miami, things started to change between them. A small misunderstanding leads to the end of their relationship. Years later they meet again at the most unlikely place. Will Emma and Colt be able to mend what has been broken between them? Or will it continue to crash and burn?

Characters except my OCs belong to Pixelberry, I am just borrowing them

Word count : 3500 ish..

Chapter Summary: Now that Colt is back and spending the whole summer at the shop, will things get better between him and Emma?

A/N : So this chapter was sort of inspired by an episode of FRIENDS. If you’re a big fan of the comedy series than you know why. 😬 Also this is a dialogue heavy chapter. Plus I hope you can look past my grammatical errors, which must be a lot cause I haven’t done much polishing.

Warning/Triggers : Pretty safe PG-13 stuff... for now.. *Evil laughs here* But just to be safe make sure you’re 18 and above before you read this series.

Catch up with the series HERE

Dear Diary,

This past year has been awesome. I met the most amazing guy, who I am so in love with and best part is he loves me back. Made a few awesome new friends along the way, got in to the perfect school, kept up good grades, won a lot of races.. you get the whole idea.

But see here’s the thing, just when you think things are perfect, life somehow manages to find a way and kick you in the gut. Yes I’m talking about a recent visit of a certain someone from my past. Colt Kaneko. As if meeting your ex boyfriend who you haven’t seen in like forever wasn’t weird enough. Now we have to live under the same roof for the entire summer.

That’s not even the worst part, the worst part is he acts like I don’t exist. The only time he talks to me is when he has something snarky to say other than that he completely ignores me. I mean it’s not like I care. This first time I noticed this was when Colt came walking into the garage asking for a sharpie. I offered to borrow him mine, I tried to be the mature one by offering him an olive branch and you know what he did?! He gave me the look and said he’d just buy a new one from the store. I literally had on right there in front of him and he just.. He is acting like I was the bad guy and was responsible for us breaking up.

Logan doesn’t know about our history at least the part where we dated. He already can’t stand Colt, why should I stir the pot hot on something that happened when we were kids. It’s not like I’m still in love with Colt Kaneko.

I’m not in love with Colt Kaneko.

[[MORE]]

A few days later..

Okay Emma this is your chance, just walk up to him and ask him what’s his problem. You’ve tried to be nice but if he is gonna be a jerk about it..

“Colt.”

He turns around then raises an eyebrow at her.

Why are you being such an asshole to me?

“The customer with the broken tail light wants to know if his car is already fixed?”

“I’ll be out to see him in a minute.” He answers flatly.

“Ok, cool I’ll let him know.” Well that worked out great.

****

A week later..

Colt slumps on the couch in the backroom reading the latest edition of top gear while Mona sat across him busy texting on her phone when Toby enters. “Hey Colt, Mona. Ximena and I are heading out for lunch. Wanna come?”

“I just ate so I’m gonna sit this one out.” Mona replies and shift her focus back to her phone.

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do here anyway.” Colt responds then tosses the Megazine on the table.

“Anyone saw Logan and Emma?”

Logan and Emma walks in with their face flush and hands entwined, Emma giggles at something that Logan whispers in her ear. Colt rolled his eyes at the sight and pretends to scroll on his phone, anything to avoid looking at the two.

“Oh. Hey didn’t notice you guys were here.”

“Great timing we were just looking for both of you. Where have the two of you been?” Ximena asks raising an eyebrow at them while folding her arms.

Emma and Logan gave each other coy smiles. “We were at the loft.. getting some workout done. Gotta stay healthy these days you know.”

“Right…” Ximena answer in a skeptical voice. “So we’re about to go out for lunch. You two want to join us?”

“Oh that sounds awesome. What do you say babe?” She turns and beams at Logan.

“Yeah sure I could use a bite to eat after all that workout.” He replies emphasizing on the word followed by a grin.

Colt gave a sarcastic eye roll again. “I think I just lost my appetite.” He mutters under his breath but it was enough for Mona who’s sitting near him to hear. She raises her eyebrow but doesn’t say anything at least not yet.

“So it’s settled.. Oh I call shotgun!” Toby beams excitedly and heads for the door, the others follow behind. “Colt, aren’t you coming?” Ximena asked.

“Nah.. You guys go ahead. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do anyway.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have anything better to do a few minutes ago.” Mona pressed.

“Yeah, well I do now.” Colt retorts giving Mona glaring look.

“Alright if you say so..” and left with the others leaving Colt and Mona behind. Colt grabs the TV remote from the coffee table, surfing the channels to avoid having a conversation with Mona.

“So, What’s the deal between your and korean barbie?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb Colt, we both know you’re too smart for that. Now spill the beans or I’ll find out myself one way or the other.” She demanded with her arms crossed.

“Honestly Mona it’s none of your business. And why do you care so much?” He seethes.

Mona snorts a laugh. “I don’t.. But I like knowing things because knowing things gives you leverage. So talk junior.”

“We were friends and now we’re not. End of story, now leave me alone.” He abruptly stood up and starts walking towards the door.

“Colt,wait! I don’t know what went down between you and Emma but that was a long time ago, you were just kids and she’s been trying to reconcile since you got her.” She heaves a sigh. “All I’m saying is you’ve been friends before and I’m sure there were more good times than bad. Emma is a pretty good friend, hell don’t tell her I said this but she’s a great friend. And a friendship with her isn’t worth losing over some silly fight you had as kids.”

Colt gave Mona a thoughtful look. Who knew Mona had a soft side. I hate to admit it but maybe she’s right? He shook his head and without a word walks out, closing the door behind him.

****

A few nights later..

“Emma, oh thank God. Listen what ever happened we can fix this okay. Just talk to me please.” Colt pleaded his voice cracking.

“Colt, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear excuses. We’re over for good. I’ve changed my number so don’t bother trying to contact me you won’t get through. Goodbye Colt, I hope you’ll be happy there.”

“Emma, wait!”

“How could you?”

She turns around and sees.. “Logan?”

“How could you lie to me Em, I thought we promised each other no more secrets.”

“Logan, what are you talking about?”

“I think we need a break and probably shouldn’t see each other for awhile.”

“What? Logan no wait!”

Emma wakes up covered in sweat trying to catch her breath. Logan lying next to her with her head on his chest, she could feel his chest gently rise and fall as he breathes.

She heaves a sigh of relief. It was just a bad dream.

The sound of thunder rumbling, echoes through the night sky and catches her attention.

Great as if the nightmares weren’t enough now there’s rain and thunder outside.

She closes her eyes and tries to go back to sleep but between the rumbling noise of the thunder and thinking about the dream of Colt and Logan, it just made her insomnia go into overdrive.

This is so frustrating! I can’t sleep! maybe I need some milk or a late night snack.

She gently moves Logan’s arm, careful not to wake him. She puts on a pair of bunny slippers and slip out of the room, slowly closing the door behind her before heading down stairs.

*****

The whole place was extremely quiet since everyone was asleep, the only sound she could hear was the loud continuous sound of thunder crashing in the background. She opens the door to the back room and sees Colt bending down in front of the microwave.

“Colt?”

Colt jumps at the sound of Emma’s voice with one hand pressed to his chest. “Christ! Emma you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing down here at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She said and saunters over to the island, taking a seat on the stool. “What are you doing making popcorn at this hour?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Why would anyone make popcorn?” Colt replies in a flat voice. “So what’s got you up at this hour? Prince charming a loud snorer or something?”

“I’ll have you know he sleeps like a baby.”

“So he cries in his sleep a lot?” He grinned.

Emma rolls her eyes at him. “This was a bad idea, I’m going back to bed.” She got off the bar stool and turns toward the door.

“Em, wait.” He stops her before she could leave. Emma turns back to face him. “What now Colt?” Her voice flat when she answers. This better not be another snarky comment about Logan.

Colt nervously rubs the back of his neck. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Look if you want, you can watch the movie with me and I’ll even share my popcorn. It’s.. melted butter and caramel.”

Damn it, that’s my favorite! Emma crosses her arms giving him a skeptical look. “What’s the catch?”

“Why’d you think there’s a catch?”

“Uh… I don’t know maybe cause you’ve been sort of a jerk and Ignoring me since you’ve got here?”

“I wasn’t being a jerk. I was just… Look do you want to watch the movie or not? Decide before I change my mind.”

Well I can’t sleep so might as well, nothing wrong with watching a movie right? “Ok fine. Only because melted butter and caramel is my favorite.” She replies and saunters over to take a seat on the couch.

Colt joins her a few seconds later handing her the bowl of popcorn.“So what are we watching?” She asked while nibbling on a piece of popcorn in her hand.

”The Conjuring.” He murmured while looking through the options on the screen.

“The what?!” She belted sitting up right from her slouched position. “There’s a real scary thunderstorm out there and you want to add to the terror by watching a horror movie?”

“It adds a cool effect to the experience Em.” He emphasized then gave her a questioning look. “You’re not still afraid of some silly storm after all these years?”

Emma throws her body back on the couch, her eyes focused on the popcorn that she keeps stuffing in her mouth.

Colt snorts a laugh. “Really Em? I thought you’d outgrow this silly fear by now.”

“I’m not afraid anymore but that doesn’t mean I like it either. Not everyone can be as cool as you Colt.” She said and gave a sarcastic eye roll.

“There first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.” He grinned.

“Can we just get this over with already? But I'm warning you if some scary shit goes down I’m jumping right at you.”

Colt shrugged. “Fine, whatever.”

The movie played on for about thirty minutes and the two watched it in silence sitting Five inches apart from each other. There were a few awkward moments in between like their hands accidentally touching while trying to grab some popcorn, both quickly shy away as they did..

As the movie progressed and got scarier Emma started to move closer to Colt closing the gap from three to two inches, her hands nervously fidgets with a lock of her hair. Colt noticed this from the corner of his eye and grinned. Damn it, she's still cute when she gets flustered. He subtly shift his body closer to her and clears his throat. “So um, how long have you been with Logan?” He bit his tongue and cringed as soon as he heard the words come out from his mouth.

“A little over a year now.” She answered. “It was at Billy’s party during senior year.”

“Billy? As in big bully Billy? Shouldn’t he have graduated by then?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“The very same, he got held back for failing a few classes. Anyway Logan was there to deliver a car to Brent. Long story short that’s how we met.” She explained and stuff a few more popcorn in her mouth.

“Hey remember that one time you kicked Billy in the nuts?” Colt recalled grinning.

Emma chuckled. “How could I forget, he was going to punch you for calling him a wuss and I guess.. My self defense instinct just kicked in.”

Colt gave a half shrug. “I could have taken him you know..”

The two shared a look before eventually bursting into laughter at the memory of that day. And there it was the sound Colt didn’t realize he missed so much until that moment. It was the sound of her laughter.

Their laughter slowly fades and there was a minute of silence before Emma decides to broach the question back. “So uh.. What about you? Do you have someone special waiting for you back in college?”

Colt gives half shrug.“I don’t really do relationships. I mean I’ve dated a bunch but nothing serious.”

“Oh. Yeah sure I completely understand.” Change the subject Emma you just made progress don’t blow it.

The two continued to chatting and laughing at stories basically ignoring the whole movie. “I really miss this you know... just talking to you.” She confeses giving him a sincere smile. “I miss talking to you too.”

A piece of popcorn got caught on Emma’s long rose gold hair and Colt reaches his hand out to take it. “You um. You have some popcorn stuck on your hair.” He said, his fingers brushed against her cheeks and there was this intense gaze between them for a moment, Emma could feel her cheeks start to blush. Shit Em look away before you do something stupid. Emma tilts her head down, averting her eyes from Colt. “We um—. Should get back to watching the movie.”

Colt blinks and shakes his head. “Yeah totally.” He agreed but there was a slight disappointment to his tone. He leans back on the couch, looking at the TV then back at Emma.

“Hey, so there’s The Conjuring 2 if you want to watch it after this?”

It was well after 2am, the rain was still heavy outside and she found the first movie one scary as shit but somehow Emma didn’t want their time together to end so soon.

“I’d like that.”

The two continued to chat as they watched the movie, both making snarky comments when a character in the movie was being stupid, sometimes debating about what the whole thing was about.

“What’s with the Nun, is it a ghost or something?” Emma asked curiously.

“It’s not really a ghost, it’s a demon. They actually already did the origin story about it.”

There was a sudden loud sound of thunder outside the building at the same time a frightening scene from the movie appeared, Emma instinctive moves right next to Colt, her hands clutching onto his arm while she buries her face in his chest.

Oh.my.god did I just bury my face in Colt’s chest? Damn it, why does he smell so good. Well this just got awkward. Maybe he didn’t notice.

She tilts her chin up and sees Colt looking at her cocking an eyebrow. “Sorry.. Reflexes” She said in a shaky voice. “Do. Do you mind?

“It’s alright.” He grinned.

Emma sits right up and raises an eyebrow at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just..I think it’s cute that you’re still afraid of a little thunder after all these years.”

“Shut up, Colt.” She said then playfully swats him on the shoulder before leaning back right next to him. Colt wiggles his arm from behind her back and wraps it around her shoulders just like old times whenever they would watch a movie together. “If you’re gonna lean on me at least give my arm somewhere comfortable to rest.”

It wasn’t long before the two eventually fell asleep laying on the couch. Colt had one arm wrapped around Emma as she lay her head on his chest.

They wake up a few hours later as the sunlight pierce through the window hitting their eyes. Colt slowly rubs his eyes and lets out a yawn, when he finally opens them he sees Emma fluttering her eyes open. Both still feeling half asleep.

Shit! Did we just fall asleep on the couch together? Damn, I forgot how cute she looks when she’s tired. Okay, play it cool like it’s no big deal.

“Morning.” He smiled.

Shit, did I just fall asleep in Colt’s arms? He’s so warm and comfortable to sleep on. Not that Logan isn’t.. Oh shit he just said good morning to me. Is he freaked out? He doesn’t seem freaked out. Play it cool Emma.

“Morning.” She sheepishly smiled back.

“Ahem!” Mona croaked.

Emma and Colt’s eyes go wide open when they realize they weren’t alone. They turn their heads to see Mona grinning with her arms folded, Ximena with her hands on her waist and Toby munching on some fruit loops.

They both sit up with a jolt, the other three continue to stand and stare. “We um… Anyone hungry?” Emma nervously chuckles, getting up from the couch. “I could really go for some omelettes and bacon.”

“I need to use the bathroom.” Colt mentions and excuses himself from the bathroom.

“So this is going to be a whole thing now?” Toby murmurs to the other two ladies.

“Apparently…” Mona replies with a grin. “Now let the games begin.”

*****

It was quiet around the table as the five ate their breakfast, so quiet that Mona could hear the sound of Toby’s teeth crushing the fruit loops in his mouth from across the table. Colt was seated in front of Emma and Mona between them, her eyes move back and forth at the two, who were awkwardly trying to avoid looking at each other for a second there they failed but quickly move their gaze away.

Ugh… Watching these two is more depressing than that finally episode of Game of Thrones. I wonder what’s going on in their heads?

What were you thinking Colt? Last night was a mistake, you weak son of a bitch! It only takes one smile.. One smile and suddenly she’s all I can think about. Who am I kidding I’ve been thinking about her since that night at the sideshow and that was before I knew who she was. It’s like we're magnets and there’s this strong force trying to pull us together.

He quickly tries to get a glance at her and it’s as if she could read his mind, she tilts her head up and gazes back at him. They both quickly avert their eyes mere seconds later. Colt shakes his head.

No You can’t do this, she broke your heart Colt. There’s a reason why You have all these walls up and You don’t plan on letting them down anytime soon. Just get through this summer as friends and nothing else. After that you won’t have to see her again.

Emma you’re such an idiot, falling asleep with Colt Kaneko, even if it wasn’t intentional and you didn’t do anything wrong but still! Why, after everything that’s happened between us, last night hanging out, it somehow still feels like home when we’re together. No! No! Get yourself together Emma you have a boyfriend who’s sweet and kind, who loves you and would never break your heart. OMG! I forgot about Logan, he already hates Colt’s guts. I can’t imagine what he would do if he found out and not just about falling asleep on the couch thing but about our history. I haven’t told him yet about the part where we dated at least and I don’t know if I should, Colt’s only going to be here for the summer then he’s back to wherever he came from. We can get through this few weeks as friends. Hmm.. Honestly I’m surprised Colt hasn’t said anything to him, since he seems to like getting into Logan’s skin.

“Morning.” Logan announces himself as he enters. He glares at Colt before taking a seat on the empty chair next to Emma.

“Morning beautiful.” He grins and kissing her on the lips. She could see Colt roll his eyes from the corner of her eye but pretends to ignore it.

“You’re dressed early today?” She smiled

“Boss needs me to get somethings done today, thought I get an early start.” He pauses to look at her. “Why aren’t you dressed? You’re usually the one who gets ready before I do.”

“Yeah.. Umm… I decided to take it slow today. Bacon?” She offers Logan a piece on her fork and he takes a bite, moaning as he did. Colt merely oggles at the site, if he keeps it up at this rate he is going to get a headache before noon.

“Aw how sweet, I’m not even pregnant and I suddenly got morning sickness just by looking at the two of you.” Mona said in a sarcastic tone.

“You jealous Mona?” Logan sneered.

Okay time to stir up some tension. Mona pretends to clear her throat. “So Colt, I heard you slept well last night. How bout you Emma? How did you sleep?”

Emma slightly chokes on her orange juice and tries to kick Mona under the table but hits Colt instead.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Colt bellowed and quirks an eyebrow at Emma.

“Sorry.. Hrk.. reflexes.” She apologizes trying to compose herself, her eyes fixed on Mona with a glare.

“Babe, you alright?” Logan asks in a concerned voice, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“Yeah… I’m fine… totally..” I mean I fell asleep in the arms of the boy I once loved but other than that totally fine. Emma replied trying to hide how nervous she was. “I um.. need to get ready. I’ll see you when you get back?”

“Sure. I’ll be missing you till then.” Logan leans in to kiss her but she quickly gets up before he manages to. At the same time Colt gets up from his seat and walks out the opposite way.

Logan looks curiously at the group that were still seated at the table. “Did something happen while I was asleep? Everyone’s been acting weird all morning.”

“You’re reading into things too much pretty boy, nothing happened.” She answers trying to hide a grin on her face. Not yet anyway.

****

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I’m using tags from my other series and also tagging people who are Colt and RoD stans that i think would be interested. Just Let me know if you want to be added to perma tag or a specific series tag. Or if you want to be removed from the series.