#of my following count is from long-abandoned accounts or else the same person following from multiple

[happyandticklish]

A Schooling in Humanity

Notes: Vaguely based off an ask I was sent in by an anon, and inspired by my latest re-reading of Dracula several months ago. Once again, I am here to write about classics no one cares about for my own personal gain, because I care about these characters more than I should. Also, Johnathan mentions something once in the book that vaguely alludes to the fact that he’s canonically ticklish, and I’m fucking running with that.

Summary: Johnathan reminisces on how Mina used to help him when his insomnia took a turn for the worse, and Dracula offers to rekindle the tradition.

The lightning cracked against the window once more, sending shock waves humming through his bones. It was dark in the spacious room, but every arc of electricity lit up the walls in shadows that ran the imagination wild. Normally, something as simple as a storm wouldn’t have bothered Johnathan, but there was something about this house, loud and creaky and full of secrets that taunted him in the dark, that put him on edge. He gripped the covers tightly, pulling them up to his chest and determining to go back to bed if only to prove to himself that this was all in his head.

Until a particularly large burst of wind slammed into the window, throwing it open with a dramatic crash. Heart seizing in his chest, Johnathan jerked awake once more, body stiff with fear. 

Logically speaking, he knew the real monster dwelled inside this very home and so there was no need to worry about outside intruders. Unfortunately, logic rarely won out in most internal debates of Johnathan’s.

Tea. Tea was the solution for most problems, at least in his experience, so there was no reason to believe the same rule wouldn’t apply now. Something warm to soothe his stomach and mind. 

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, shoving on his slippers and resisting the urge to wrap a blanket around himself for protection—a silly notion, but tempting nonetheless. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he wasn’t going to behave like one.

The kitchen was dark and abandoned, setting a crueler air than the bright mornings that usually occupied it. He lit a candle, placing it squarely in the center of the table. His hand trembled slightly as thunder rumbled insistently in the distance. A small blot of wax fell on the table, cooling immediately as it landed. Johnathan watched another sloping line follow its brethren, its crimson hue illuminated in the light as it struggled against gravity. He could only imagine how easily his own blood would fall, stricken by some invisible beast in the night, trickling pitifully down his skin.

“Johnathan?”

The rest of the wax came crashing on the table as Johnathan knocked it over in his haste to turn around. The Count—Dracula, he reminded himself, as they had long since moved past formalities such as titles—stood at the front of the dining table, gazing questioningly at Johnathan. For someone who had long since moved on from the realm of the mortal life, his eyes were filled with a very human concern.

A monster by all accounts, and yet, his presence was inexplicably comforting in the way a wolf can be nice when it’s defending you against the mountain lion. 

Dracula was different than just a protector though. This was something else, almost akin to friendship, but more. Friends hadn’t done the sorts of things they had done, but lovers felt too heavy a term, and wrong somehow. It was too simple, the label constraining any thought of abnormality within the relationship.

Johnathan coughed, clumsily attempting to right the candle, though it did him little good now. “Oh. I didn’t see you there. I apologize if I woke you.”

Dracula smiled, the gesture amused and fond all at once. “It’s alright, I was already awake. I don’t require as much rest as a normal human would. Besides, my night was restless, what with the storm. I presume that’s why you’re awake?”

“Yes. Well. Yes and no.”

Dracula wrinkled a brow. Confusion was a unique expression for the vampire as it occurred rarely, and Johnathan always felt a strange delight go through him whenever he was the cause of it. There was something satisfying about knowing something that an immortal didn’t. “I… see. So not the storm then?”

“Not entirely, no,” Johnathan confessed. It was useless to lie to him, he always managed to see through him anyway. Might as well get the truth out now and endure the judgement that came with it. “The storm merely awoke the unease already festering inside of me. Now, you must understand, this place is lovely and its host are… well.” There was a slight flush that rose to his cheeks, one that he was sure Dracula wouldn’t fail to miss, even in the dim candle light. “You’ve been very hospitable. So, I truly don’t mean to offend, it’s just that this whole situation puts me in a very stressful position, and there’s no guarantee that the ladies from before won’t return, not to mention how worried Mina must be at home. And this house is just so creaky, and—” he broke off, laughing at himself for how he surely sounded like a child, worrying about the dark. “I suppose my imagination must have gotten to me.”

Dracula was silent for a moment, all the time required for a thousand worries to flit through Johnathan’s mind of what he must think of him, and worse yet, if he had accidentally offended him with his implication.

“Is this a common occurrence, then?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The insomnia. I couldn’t help overhearing you rummaging about in your room these past several nights—past several weeks, rather. I wasn’t sure whether it was my place to impose or not.”

Ah. Johnathan had hoped he hadn’t noticed, though of course he would have. It was one of the downsides of living with a being whose senses were so finely tuned. He sighed, pulling out a chair to sit, defeated. He toyed with the candle as he talked, moving it in minute inches across the table. It was a nervous gesture that he wished he could stop, but he was afraid of clamming up if he did so.

“At times,” he admitted. “Mina always called it a restless disposition. Sleep tends to evade me most nights, each visit few and far in-between. Normally, it’s manageable, but that was with Mina. She had ways of calming it. Not entirely, but enough to put my mind at rest for the evening. With her gone and everything that’s happened, I’m afraid it’s gotten worse.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I must be boring you with all this mundane talk. I’m sure insomnia is a child’s joke to a vampire.”

Dracula chuckled, and that alone eased the tension off of Johnathan’s shoulders a bit. “It is a special skill you possess my friend. Somehow, everything you say turns into an apology.”

Johnathan opened his mouth, only to hesitate as a sorry fluttered and died on his tongue.

“You are my dear guest, and above that, my friend. I would never turn away your suffering. Perhaps I can even help.” He strolled casually across the kitchen floor as he grasped the back of Johnathan’s chair—even that simple action seemed unbearably elegant when performed by him. “You said your Mina usually helps you, correct? Maybe I can use her same methods. What would she do at times like these?”

Your Mina. No jealousy, simply stating a fact. He never seemed bothered by how Johnathan still cared for her, still longed for her touch and her company. He wasn’t sure if it had to do with his vampiric state—the nature of an immortal—or if Dracula had always been that way, but either way it caused a comforting warmth to bloom in Johnathan’s chest.

“Johnathan?”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Damn. He said it again. “It’s just that it’s a tad embarrassing. I don’t know if someone like you would be up for it—it’s more of a human thing anyway.”

“Intimate, I take it?” Dracula guessed, his brow arching up once more. Crimson spread across Johnathan’s countenance, and rolled his shoulders forward defensively, physically preparing for the verbal assault he was sure to receive.

“No. I mean. Perhaps a little.” He ran a hand through his hair once, twice, a third time, tangling his fingers in the collected knots at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t tell if the action was calming or not, but at the very least it provided a distraction, something new for him to focus on as opposed to the words falling haphazardly from his mouth. “Sometimes she would sing to me. Other times she read, classics, poems, originals she had constructed that spanned epic tales of romance and intrigue. Usually, it was enough to calm me down. But at other times, when words alone weren’t enough, she would… ah. Well. Try more physical means.”

The words stuck in his throat and he struggled to get them out; it wasn’t a terribly large secret, but it was a special kind of mortifying that would only serve to make him seem weaker in the immortal’s eyes.

In his silence, Dracula garnered at a guess. “Intercourse?”

“What? No! Goodness no! I mean, not at a time like that anyway, obviously we, ah, that is…” he broke off at the amused smile Dracula directed at him—teasing again, in that dreadful deadpan of his that Johnathan always failed to interpret. He coughed again, trying once more. “I mean, no. Not that.”

“Then what?”

“Well, sometimes, to calm my restlessness, she would run her hands through my hair, or…” He coughed, his hand making another yet another round about his scalp. “Tickle me. Relax the nerves and all that.”

There was that adorable confused brow again. “Tickle you?”

“It sounds silly I know,” Johnathan agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips in a self-conscious gesture. “But it really did help. Demons seem so small with laughter at your tongue.”

His thoughts drifted, memories floating through his mind of late nights spent with Mina, fingers drifting softly over his shirt, sensation bubbling beneath the skin and prompting quick bursts of desperate flailing and laughter. His skin tingled, goosebumps rising as he remembered how it felt. Unconsciously, he let his fingers dip down his hairline, brushing against the back of his neck. His nerves registered his touch with a shiver, but it felt more relaxing than anything—not at all the same as when she had done it all those times before.

And then there was a different finger, longer than his, ended in a sharp, elegant nail that brushed against the back of his neck, a cold lump that he recognized as a ring pressing into his skin in its passage.

“So… this tickling helps, hmm?” His voice seemed to both comfort and unease Johnathan all at once. That singular nail played idly with his neck, drifting over the skin in soft swirls and swoops, his other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. The hair on his neck rose with each touch of Dracula’s finger, and Johnathan resisted the urge to shudder.

“Yes,” Johnathan managed after a moment, finding concentration difficult under the circumstances. “Most of the time, anyways.”

“Mm. And would now count as one of those times?”

Johnathan swallowed, feeling too hot and too cold all at once. “Perhaps. I really couldn’t say for certain. I suppose it would have to be tested for me to… well. Know for sure.”

A featherlight touch brushed behind his ear and Johnathan couldn’t help the way his shoulders jerked up helplessly, his body reacting before his mind could stop it. “If you don’t want me to, I’d more than understand. I know that I cannot replace Mina, and I have no desire to, either. However, in this area, I think I could be of assistance if you’d allow it. Though I have to admit that my skills might be a tad rusty. I have not thought of tickling in ages—I apologize if I end up preforming it incorrectly.”

Johnathan swallowed again, more as a way to stall than anything else. In truth, he hadn’t really thought about that particular tradition since coming here. There were so many other more important things to focus on—more life-threatening things—that it hadn’t once had an opportunity to come up. But now that he was here, the offer his to claim with only a nod of his head, he realized how much he had missed it.

He squirmed a bit in his seat, suddenly finding it difficult to remain still, as he nodded once. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind it. If you were willing, of course. I would never want to obligate you to…”

All at once his words trailed off as Dracula set in motion, the nail from before joined by others, all of which teasingly curled about his neck and ears; gentle, dragging touches that sent ripples of sensation coursing throughout him wherever they went. Without his conscious decision, his shoulders jerked up in a rather useless protection. It didn’t tickle quite yet, not in that real way that you felt more in your gut then across your skin. It was an itchy, pleasant thing now and Johnathan fought between the conflicting urge to bolt from his chair immediately and the building desire to lean further into Dracula’s touch.

“Is this working?” Dracula asked, hesitancy dripping from his words. A spiraling loop caught behind his ear, repeating until Johnathan was sure his facial muscles would sprain from scrunching up. “I’m sorry to say I’m a tad rusty; I haven’t had the opportunity to indulge in tickling in quite some time, and I can’t remember if this is right.”

It was a strange thought, Johnathan would later muse when he had the coherency to do so, to think that one could be so alone that something as simple and reflexive as tickling could become difficult. It caused a slight twinge of empathy and bafflement in Johnathan, a sentiment he did not share in the moment. Instead, he merely shifted his shoulder, pretending to be readjusting if only to disrupt those nails for a brief moment. “Not exactly, my friend. You’re close. You can’t be too light or it becomes annoying, and being too rough can become painful.”

Dracula’s hands stopped as he listened, and Johnathan tried not to miss even that not-enough-touch. “I don’t recall there being so many rules to the practice.”

Johnathan chuckled, hiding his smile quickly behind his hand; the vampire could become sullen if he thought Johnathan was making fun of him. “Well, they’re not rules so much as strategies. Here, I’ll show you.” He reached behind the chair, beckoning with his fingers. “Give me your hands.”

Dracula stared at him doubtfully for a moment, but eventually obliged, offering them over to Johnathan who slipped his own under Dracula’s—allowing the immortal to track his movements.

“It’s more like this.”

Making sure Dracula was still holding on, Johnathan moved his own hands down, self-consciously skittering fingers over his own sides. It was odd tickling oneself; his body twitched in vague alarm, before quickly relaxing as it realized the hands’ owner. He felt a bit silly doing it, but he had made a promise to teach, and so he expertly wiggled his fingers over his nightshirt, being careful to dig into his sides as he did.

Dracula watched avidly as Johnathan pointed out different areas that were more effective and just how to attack them, demonstrating the scraping pinch to his sides, the squeeze of his hips, the gentle spider over his stomach. It was a vulnerable process, like showing his hand in a game of cards and trusting that his opponent would be merciful with the information. The only difference here was that Johnathan was aiming for that specific lack of mercy that made this so addicting.

When he was finished, he released Dracula’s hands, a decision he nearly regretted when they came to rest on Johnathan’s sides instead. “So, there you have it,” Johnathan said, unable to hide the nerves creeping into his voice. “A complete guide on how to ruin Johnathan Harker. I don’t think even Mina knows about half the spots I just showed you, so consider it a privilege.”

“A privilege,” Dracula repeated softly, tapping his fingers in a gentle tune against his sides. Johnathan wasn’t sure whether the gesture was on purpose or not, but he couldn’t help the way he curled in slightly at the touch. “I have to admit, I’m honored. You must really be craving this if you’re willing to reveal so much.”

Though he knew they were honest words not meant to be teasing, Johnathan couldn’t help the way a blush spread rapidly across his face. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn’t sound as raspy as it did in his own ears. “Yes, well, I suppose it has been a minute.”

“Am I allowed to try, then?” The fingers curled in slightly in excitement, and Johnathan failed to stifle a gasp. “I’m eager to see what this tickling does to the distinguished professor.”

It was possible that Johnathan should have instated some kind of ‘no talking allowed’ rule before they had started, to prevent the wildfire of embarrassment roaring through him now. “I don’t see why not.”

Based on the earlier attempt, Johnathan had thought himself well-prepared. Evidently, however, Dracula had been listening well to Johnathan’s instructions, and the latter jumped in his chair as fingers set in all at once.

It was much different when someone else was doing it; he had nearly forgotten that in his time here. It was still a hesitant endeavor, but skilled now as it cautiously curled into fabric that brushed against Johnathan’s skin in unfairly distracting ways. He was doing it too slow which Johnathan suspected was out of uncertainty, but if anything it was only making things worse as the nails dragged in devastatingly light manners over his ribs.

He let out a strangled wheezing sound, slipping down in his chair as he flailed for some kind of handhold. Mercifully, Dracula ignored the embarrassing reaction, far too focused on trying to copy Johnathan’s early movements. Laughter was building in Johnathan’s throat, that helpless appeal that was so different from the polite chuckles most offer in day to day encounters. Sensation prickled at his sides irritably and he wanted to swat Dracula away, to call this whole idea off, to insist that he move down damn him, because he was getting far too close to that bundle of nerves under his arms.

“I’d forgotten how fun this could be,” Dracula mused, smiling at the stuttery laughs slipping out at a rather rapid rate now from the squirming man. “You look half insane already and I’ve hardly done anything. Is it really as intense as you’re making it out to be?”

“Y-Yes!” Johnathan squawked out, nearly hitting him in the face when he dragged all ten nails up his sides suddenly. He was repeating himself, making a careful examination of all the areas on his lower torso that made Johnathan want to hastily step out of his own skin, rising perilously high before stopping at his top most rib. Goosebumps broke out with every touch of his hands, and Johnathan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to gather control of himself. He didn’t want this to end immediately but it was growing harder and harder not to bolt out of Dracula’s arms immediately.

He had forgotten just how ticklish tickling could be.

A gasp was ripped out of him as he felt the presence of hot breath at his neck, and along with it, the knowledge of the sharp press of teeth that was sure to follow. It was exhilarating and dangerous and somehow still ticklish all at once, and Johnathan squirmed in his chair, wishing Dracula would stop pinching at his hips so he could concentrate on the pressing presence at his neck.

“This tickling is reminding me of something I’ve been wondering about for quite a while now.” Dracula’s breath hit the shell of his ear as he talked, and Johnathan positively giggled in some kind of mad anticipation that was making him far too giddy for his own liking. “The last several nights when we’ve laid together, you’ve always become nervous whenever I grew too close to this area. At first I had merely assumed you were worried I’d bite you.”

Johnathan’s grin was practically breaking out of his own face, his shoulders trembling with the urge to jerk up in protection.

“But upon seeing you like this, I’m starting to suspect there might have been another reason for your evasiveness.”

Carefully, Dracula removed one of his hands from his hips to tilt Johnathan’s chin upwards, gripping it to hold it in place. Teeth scraped carefully over his neck, a perilous game to play. It was a testament to Dracula’s will power that he did not simply bite Johnathan then and there, the allure of blood all too present as Johnathan’s heart thumped wildly with nerves and laughter. Instead of piercing flesh, however, he kept up this vague biting game, like when a dog gnaws on your hand in play or a kitten attacks your finger. Johnathan’s grin soon turned to tumbling laughter, his face upheld in a grimace of desperation. He couldn’t tilt his neck down, Dracula had made sure of that, and so he was forced to take the unbearably light assault that was quickly becoming too much to handle.

“D-Drahahac—!”

“Hold still, Johnathan, I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Johnathan wanted to point out that one, that was an unfair tactic to play, and two, that Dracula was fully capable of restraining himself if he wanted to. Unfortunately, it was difficult to focus under the circumstances and he was unable to make either protest when an errant snort or yelp would interrupt him every five seconds. He gripped at Dracula’s arm, trying to ease his hold for some vague hope at freedom, but he had as much luck with that as if Dracula had been made of iron. Which was unfortunate, as Johnathan was sure he would die if Dracula didn’t stop soon. 

And yet, when Dracula paused and asked if he wanted a break (it was approaching morning after all, and Johnathan hadn’t had a very restful night due to a variety of circumstances both pleasant or otherwise) Johnathan found himself answering with a steadfast No. There was something so addicting about that specific brand of torture—an intimacy he hadn’t experienced since leaving home. He found himself craving it more and more as Dracula continued, and he wasn’t ready to have that all end now, sleep be damned.

He fell back into his chair with a choking shriek as Dracula began his process once more, this time with added fingers curling into his sides, and allowed himself to sink into the blissful euphoria taking him over once more.  

[actualaster]

Despite being told that people see my comments on posts Escape Containment sometimes it's always still wild to see somebody reblogging some post from months or longer ago that's how many reblogs removed and my comment is there in front of me.

Especially when it's people I'm not mutuals with asdhgkg

Also especially odd when a mutual who wasn't online reblogs a post of mine days later from somebody else because it's still being passed around asdjtjgj

I don't think I'll ever get used to it, it's always a surprise

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.

A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it!   Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff! Word Count: 7.5k

—————————————————

Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”

Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.

“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“I can take you home if you’d rather.”

“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”

I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”

That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.

She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.

“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.

My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.

“Yes.”

With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”

But I couldn’t.

“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”

How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.

“You getting all romantic on me?”

“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.

My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.

She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.

“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.

“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”

I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.

“Like quote Picard?”

“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.

The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”

Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.

But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.

She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.

‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’

But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.

“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.

“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.  

Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”

After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”

From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.

My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.

But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.

“(Y/n).”

“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.

“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”

I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.

“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“

Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.

The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”

“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.  


“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.

“Um… Will you… marry me?”

There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.

“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.

After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”

“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.

I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.

A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.

“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.

The answer seemed clear enough.

“Whatever we want.”

 —————————————————

 Is this really happening?

I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.

Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.

But I did.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.

I was enough.

Enough.

“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.

Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”

Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.

“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.

“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”

He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.  

“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”

But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.

“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”

How could I ever forget?

“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.

Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.

Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”

I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.

“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.

“Say it.”

“Please!”

I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.

He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.

I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.

The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.

“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.

It always has.

“You belong to me.”

And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.

The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.

“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”

For forever and whatever comes after.

The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.

I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.

His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.

“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”

His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.

“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”

There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.

“Spencer...”

When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.

“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.

“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”

Mrs. Reid.

That was going to be my name.

Mrs. Reid.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.

Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.

“You know!”

But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”

He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.

“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”

 ——  The Next Morning ——

 Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.

His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.

“Good morning,” he slurred.  

“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.

“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.

“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”

“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.

… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.

“Have you?”

“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.

My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.

It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.

However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”

“Old man.”

He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.

“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”

“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.

“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”

He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.

“Let’s just… wing it.”

I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.

But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.

“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.

“What?”

“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”

Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”

Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.

“Is that my phone?”

I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.

Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.  

He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.

 “Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”

 The End.

—————————————————

Epilogue

[shuahoonie]

holidays with tom [tom holland]

PAIRING: tom holland x female!reader 

SUMMARY: life isn’t exactly back to normal. with another lockdown in place and the holiday season is vastly approaching, you and tom are stuck in quarantine with each other the problem? there was supposed to be at least 5 of you in that house and tom is the last person you want to be with. shouldn’t be too bad right? 

WARNINGS: in no particular order swearing—err foul language lmao, sexual innuendos, things get heated but not that much??? exuding sexual tension but also fluff??? alcohol consumption, a series of bad decisions??? idk writing this made me experience the 5 stages of grief tbh lmao it’s not that bad I promise lmao

WORD COUNT: 6.9k! 

A/N: hello and happy new year! I was supposed to post this during Christmas Day but guess who got into a writing rut—yet again. I didn’t want to abandon this because I actually had fun writing it. I hope you all had a festive and safe holiday. I know things have been hard but I still hope you guys enjoyed the holiday. 

2020 has finally came to an end and we’re all ending it the same way when the pandemic started—staying at home, hopefully following the appropriate health measures. I can only hope that 2021 is a brighter and hopeful year for all of us.

stay safe, sending u all my love. 

gif credits: @underoos-shield​ 

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Two hours. It’s been two hours since you found out that you were going to spend your holidays alone. You were aware that you weren’t going to spend your holidays with your family as you normally would, embracing the fact that working in a different country whilst in the middle of a pandemic was going to be challenging. 

Working in the film industry, constantly visiting sets while still living in a pandemic means that you threw away your chances of being home for the holidays. However, you weren’t entirely the only one who shares a similar struggle. 

“We should still do something for Christmas, you know,” Tom muttered as he watched you lay down on the sofa, your head is supported by the armrest. 

See—it should’ve been you, Ophelia, Alex, William, and Tom in that AirBnB, not just you and Tom.

The five of you reside abroad, however, you all had to fly to Los Angeles for work. You all collectively knew that it would be irresponsible to fly home for the holidays and it wouldn’t make any sense as you would all fly back for work anyway. 

The five of you had a brilliant idea of renting an AirBnB for the holidays since you were all in each other’s personal and work bubble anyway. Obviously, the three of them bailed as they’ve decided to stay with their partners instead, leaving you and Tom alone—which is the last thing you’ve wanted. 

“There’s just us two, Tom,” You replied as you sent a lengthy text to Ophelia, telling and reminding them about what happened between you and Tom.  “I’m not entirely sure if it’s worth anything if we did plan on doing something remotely festive.” 

There are four more days till Christmas and if you were being honest, the last time you felt festive was on the 18th of December...of 2019. 

“Surely there’s something we can do, right?” Tom’s optimism still shined beneath him. “This year has already been shitty enough, we don’t need to feed more into that.” 

The three dots bubble immediately popped up on your message thread with Ophelia as soon as you sent your passive-aggressive rant. Your focus was now on your phone. 

Suddenly, Tom’s face appeared on top of yours—his face was definitely close enough that it’s not CDC approved. He was standing on side of the sofa, both of his palms planted against the armrest as he loomed over you. 

“What do you and your family do during Christmas?” He dared to ask as if he wasn’t towering over you.

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Uh—give each other personal space?” You answered out of sheer reflex. You always had a problem with keeping your mouth shut, especially when it sounds rude to other people. In your defence, being unable to do so has helped you put people back in place. 

To be fair, you were used to people standing at least 6 ft away from you ever since the pandemic started. 

Tom’s cheeks went bright red. “’m sorry,” He apologized, giving you a shy smile and scratched the back of his neck. You muttered a quick apology too, for acting so rashly. 

You rose from your position and sat upright instead. “Well, we never do anything special during Christmas,” You said as you threw your hair into a bun. “We usually just go to the movies on Christmas Day because that’s the only thing you can do back when life was normal.” 

Tom nodded understandingly as if he was taking this into account. Now you were curious. 

“Do you guys do anything special for Christmas?” You asked him. 

“Well, on Christmas Day, we would usually just lounge around the house and use it as a chance for me and my family to catch up,” Tom replied. “However, on Christmas Eve, my mum always made sure my brothers and I would have this scavenger hunt to look for our gifts—It’s really fun, actually.” Tom smiled sadly. 

You could easily see how Tom was genuinely broken about not being able to be around his family over the holidays. Heck—he really just misses his family. But who wouldn’t? Britney Spears didn’t sing the line “my loneliness is killing me” for nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say. Aside from biting your tongue, being able to easily comfort people was one of your weaknesses too. 

“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry about, darling.” Tom quickly dismissed the genuine heartbreak he was trying to hide. “We’re all making sacrifices and we chose to be responsible for the benefit of other people.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You said softly. “We’ll just try our best to make something out of this holiday season. I mean—we have to or else we’ll welcome 2021 with a fresh face of misery.” 

“I’m sorry!” Ophelia pouted at the screen as they mindlessly walked around their partner’s place, something that most people do when they’re on the phone with someone. “I genuinely forgot about what happened between you and Tom.” 

“Well, Ollie, it seems like you weren’t the only one.” You replied, adjusting your glasses. Tom seems to be genuinely fine around you, no awkward tensions or anything. If anything, it’s just you who feels weird around him. “But I guess that’s a good thing right?” 

Ophelia forced a smile but they couldn’t, for the life of them, say anything about it. 

“Oh my god,” You sighed “Seriously, Ollie?” 

“It’s just—how could he forget?! You were literally on top of him as I recall and that very much left a permanent image on my mind. I—You know, I really tried my best to forget that ever existing in my mind. So really, if anything, it’s your fault.” Ophelia rambled on. 

“I—I wasn’t on top of him. That’s absurd! I was merely pressed against him” You said defensively, in which Ophelia just laughed atrociously. “Why am I friends with you again?!” You asked rhetorically, bewildered by the fact that you two lasted this long. 

“First of all, that is a hate crime. Second, I’m cool—like everyone wants to be my friend and you should be glad that I gave you the privilege to be even on a nickname basis as me.” 

You rolled your eyes at them. Despite the never-ending banter, you were grateful to have Ophelia as your friend. 

“But seriously, Y/N,” Ophelia said, “You can always just stay with me and Ericka. She’ll be glad to have you over for the holidays.”

“Ollie, as much as I love spending time with you two—I can’t stand being a third-wheel, especially when it comes to the both of you. You two are inseparable when you’re together.” You replied. “I appreciate the offer though.” You smiled at her. 

“I’m just saying—” Ophelia replied, shrugging her shoulder. “Unless you and Tom really want to have the house by yourselves.” They sang teasingly.

“Ophelia!” You gasped. 

“What?” They feigned innocence. “I gave you an option to stay with us! Plus, I know Alex and Will are would’ve asked you to stay with them if they had any idea what happened between you two.” 

“I can’t leave him!” You started to whisper “Tom seems genuinely bummed being here. I can’t just do that to him.” 

It’s as if a light came on inside them. Ophelia started to smirk and you recognized that smirk from anywhere. For christ’s sake, their eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. It drove you nuts. “I fucking knew it.” 

“What?” 

“You like him don’t you?!” They teased, but all you could do was blush. 

“I do not!” You denied it as you could still feel the burning heat emitting from your cheeks. 

“His tongue is that good huh?” Ophelia decided to pry even further. They clearly find enjoyment as you squirmed your way out of this conversation. 

“Bitch, I am ending this call.” That was all you could say. Even if you did find a smart retort, it was no use, especially with Ophelia. They can see right through you and there’s no point in trying to hide it. 

“Honestly, Y/N, we’re living through a pandemic. If there’s any time to make any rash decisions, it’s now. Go get that dick, bih—” 

You drowned out whatever Ophelia was trying to say with your goodbyes and proceeded to end the call. The one time you asked your friend to be serious and they come up with this. 

So—what really happened with you and Tom? 

It was two years ago. You were at a party that you didn’t even plan on attending. However, you were dragged by Ophelia and their partner, Ericka—your new friends in the area. You couldn’t say no to them, they were your first friend in LA! 

You thought about it though, saying no. But when you got a message from your friend back in Canada sending a photo of your boyfriend ex-boyfriend (the same guy who had ghosted you ever since you moved to LA), swapping spits with another girl, you suddenly had the strong urge to drink until you die of alcohol poisoning.

You were burning with anger that you really felt tears pricking your eyes. You were so close to crying or punching someone—whichever comes first.  

One thing’s for sure, though, you weren’t going to cry over a man. So what did you do? “Ophelia, where’s the booze?!” You asked your friend whose eyes nearly popped out of their head. 

Well, you weren’t really going to punch a stranger. Though you felt this burning sense of violence, it’d be much more satisfying to punch the living daylights out on your ex. 

“Y/N, honey, are you alright?” That line always puts on the waterworks, no?  Ophelia was clearly concerned about your newfound thirst for alcohol. 

You furiously wiped the tears off your face. “Um just found out my boyfriend—er ex-boyfriend, who stopped talking to me as soon as I moved here, is seeing someone else now? I don’t know, am I allowed to feel angry when I don’t even know if we’re still together as soon I moved? Fuck—” You tried to explain as you wiped every tear that left your eyes. 

“Oh—of course, hon.” Ericka who handed you a drink. You weren’t exactly sure what it is, but you knew it has alcohol in it and that’s all that matters. You gulped the entire thing and you wanted more. “Y/N, you need to slow down.”

“Are you sure you want to stay? I mean we can crash at our place, eat take-outs, watch movies and be totally disconnected from the world.” Ophelia suggested, but you shook your head furiously. 

“No, I—I’m ok.” You answered “I can’t let the both of you be stuck in misery with me. I need this. I’ll get drunk and if I'm up for it, I’ll hook up with someone. It’s not a healthy coping method but I really want this night to be a series of bad decisions. I don’t want to be myself, even just tonight.”

 So that’s what you did. You were going from one drink to another in record time. Both Ophelia and Ericka kept an eye on you, just in case someone tried to take advantage of your drunken state. 

You were talking to some guy you met in the kitchen, one thing led to another and next thing you knew, you were making out with this dude in someone’s bathroom. Ophelia and Ericka were drunk enough to pester the guy you were making out with but not drunk 

As you were propped on top of the sink and your legs wrapped around his waist, you felt every bit of his lips explore the side of your neck as his hands explored every inch of your body. With his hand under your shirt and his fingers tracing every part of your skin, it just reminded you of how lonely you were. 

Here you were, a thousand miles away from home, all alone just so you could do the one thing you really love. Your family would sometimes call to check up on you but it just wasn’t the same. Your ex tried to guilt you into staying in Canada, but you couldn’t do that. You love what you do and you love yourself too. 

You were willing to risk everything, even if happiness came at a price. 

Now you were crying, and the guy you were making out with definitely noticed. 

“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked as he pulled down your shirt. 

“No—no, I’m just—” You tried to calm yourself down. “I’m not sure if I want to do this anymore.” 

“That’s alright,” He mumbled wiping the tears off your face. “Do you want to talk about it? You seem rattled.” 

“It’s just I’m so tired of pretending everything is alright—that I’m okay being alone, that I don’t need anyone. But it’s just so hard because I’m—” You sobbed “I’m so fucking lonely. I’m so tired of being alone.” 

The guy tucked the stray piece of hair behind your ears as he carefully wiped your tears with his thumb. He was just silent as he listened to you sob. 

“I’m sorry, I know you definitely didn’t come to this party to watch a complete stranger cry over something stupid.” You couldn’t even look him in the eye, you were embarrassed as this was the first time you felt really vulnerable—especially in front of a stranger. 

“No, you’re alright.” He tried to console you “I think that’s the beauty in strangers, no? You can act and do whatever you want in front of them because there’s a slim chance you’ll ever see them again.” 

You were definitely drunk enough that trying to make sense of who the person was a struggle enough of itself. You tried your best to look at the guy but your vision was getting hazy and you could feel your head thumping that focusing made you feel like you want to crack your head in half. 

A loud knock on the door caused you two to jump. “I’m coming in,” Ophelia yelled and opened the door. Ophelia looked at the guy for a while, trying to make sense of who he was before their eyes widened. “I remember now—You’re Tom Holland.”

Imagine your surprise when you found out that you were going to work with Tom Holland for a while. You tried your best to avoid Tom at work but of course, that didn’t work out. He never brought up what happened between you two and you assumed he probably forgot all about it.

You tried to rationalize that he meets a lot of people every day. Surely, one failed hook-up wasn’t worth remembering (especially with alcohol involved) and you held on to that. 

At least that’s what makes you sleep at night and also one of the reasons why you considered spending the holidays with him. However, you were also expecting your crew friends to stay with you and not just Tom. 

“Y/N, did you like the gift? It’s from me and Ericka!” Ophelia asked. It was the next day and you two were just chatting on FaceTime. You were sorting out your closet out of sheer boredom. You figured if you were going to stay here for three weeks, the least you could do was sort your clothes out. 

You stared at the neatly wrapped box that Ophelia and Ericka dropped off earlier this morning. “I haven’t opened it yet.” You said as you showed them the box. “I wanna open it till Christmas.” 

“Oh my god, just open it. Christmas doesn’t exist this year, babe.” Ophelia waved their hand, encouraging you to open it. 

“Fine,” You gave in. You opened the box and saw a very lush and well-made lingerie set. “Ophelia, what the fuck” You gasped. You held out the lingerie in front of the camera. 

“Y/N, I definitely outdid myself this time.” Ophelia sighed happily, staring at the screen. “Try it on!”

“Ollie, this is gorgeous but when am I ever going to use this?” You asked holding it out on your body and looking at the mirror. 

“Uh—you’re stuck at home with your failed but also potential hookup,” Ollie suggested, wiggling their eyebrows. “Who knows what might happen?”  

You rolled your eyes at them. “Bold of you assume that something might happen.”

“Something won’t happen if you don’t try that one,” Ophelia said. “C’mon, I wanna see.” 

You shook your head and went out of frame in order to strip off your clothes. You tried on the lingerie—it’s a black lace teddy with a very exposing back. IT fit you perfectly—it accentuated your figure and definitely showed off your boobs. You weren’t really fond of showing off your body but you still tried your best to show it to your friend. 

“What do you think?” You asked, stepping back to the frame. 

“You look gorgeous, babe!” Ophelia squealed. “I knew I made the right choice with black.” 

“I still don’t know where I should wear this though—” You were stopped mid-sentence when your door swung open. 

“I know what we’re doing this—Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” Tom stood there, frozen, his eyes widened and immediately shut the door. 

You couldn’t even say anything. You were frozen in shock.

“Was that Tom?” Ophelia asked from the call, briefly forgetting that you were talking to them through FaceTime. 

You nodded slowly, unable to talk.

“What did he think?” Ophelia asked excitedly. 

You snapped out of this haze. “Ollie,” you groaned. “I think he was mentally scarred. 

“What do you mean scarred? You look great!” Ophelia said, appalled. “If he doesn’t think you look banging in that lingerie then it’s his loss.” 

“I gotta go, I need to change.” You said, bidding Ophelia goodbye. “Thanks for the gift, Ollie. Tell Ericka thanks too.” 

You ended the call and changed into comfier clothes. You couldn’t help but wonder how on earth you’re going to face Tom now that he’s seen you practically naked. Well, it’s not like that’s a new sight. He did see you with your bra on when you were making out in the bathroom that one time. But still! 

Are you actually going to spend your Christmas in your room?

It was the next day and there are only two more days till Christmas. You spent the entirety of last night in your room after the incident between you and Tom. 

You were about to make yourself some coffee when you found Tom in the kitchen, making tea for himself. You stood there frozen, wondering if you were going to proceed to the kitchen or just run back to your room since Tom hasn’t noticed you—

“Oh—good morning, Y/N.” So close. 

You smiled at Tom and said, “Good morning, Tom.” 

You grabbed a coffee pod and waited for the Keurig to make your coffee. You leaned back against the counter and fiddled with your phone—all in the hopes that things move quickly and for this awkward tension to be over. 

Honestly, why were you so worked up about it? People have seen you in a bikini before and that’s no different from lingerie. If anything, lingerie is itchier and has lace. You should be able to feel confident in your own body and you shouldn’t have to mind what other people think of it. It’s yours alone and it’s your opinion that should matter—

“I’m terribly sorry about last night, Y/N.” Tom apologized, sincerity was written all over his face. “I should’ve knocked and I just got so bloody excited about what we can do over Christmas—but that’s no excuse for what I’ve done. What I did was incredibly intrusive and you deserve a proper apology.”

“Tom, I—”

“I wanted to apologize last night—over dinner—but you didn’t come down to eat, so I figured you didn’t want to talk. “ He rambled on. 

“Tom—” 

“But even then I should’ve asked you to come down and eat dinner because that’s what any decent human would do! And yet I didn’t. God—I’m just doing one wrong thing after another—” 

“Tom, listen to me.” 

“Hm?” He finally snapped out and looked at you in the eyes. 

“It’s okay. It was an honest mistake and you sincerely apologized, and for me, that’s enough.” You smiled softly at him. “So—what’s this thing you planned over Christmas?” 

“I was thinking we could do both our family traditions over the next two days. My family and I usually do a roast dinner and open our Christmas stockings on Christmas Eve. Then on the 25th, we can watch movies all day just like you do with your family.” Tom grinned, clearly satisfied with his plan. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” You smiled “However, I don’t think we have any ingredients for a roast dinner and we don’t really have Christmas stockings. Well—I don’t have any Christmas stockings and stocking stuffers.” 

“That’s true,” Tom mumbled “But I have to do the food shopping anyway. We’re running low on food and I couldn't really book one of those online delivery things that most groceries now offer.” 

You nodded. “Okay, so I guess I have to get the house sorted then.” 

When you two first arrived in this AirBnB a few days ago, it had already been decorated for Christmas. It had a massive tree in the living room decorated with stunning and intricately-themed ornaments. Christmas garlands were wrapped around the stair-bannisters and foliages were placed by the fireplace and the tables. 

All you really had to do was clean the place—do a bit of vacuuming and get things nice and neat for Christmas. It didn’t take you too long to do it too. It had only been a couple of minutes since Tom left to do the food shopping and you prayed to the gods that he doesn’t get too much attention whilst out. 

You figured you might as well do some last-minute shopping while Tom was out, so you can grab gifts for him as well. After all, this whole thing was orchestrated by Tom and you don’t even have anything to give him for his stockings. 

You arrived at your AirBnB a tad later than Tom. He was in the kitchen putting things away when he saw you walk through the door. 

“Ah, I was wondering whether I spooked you with my plan,” Tom commented, making you chuckle and roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, I would’ve made it very obvious if you did.” You replied, earning a laugh from Tom. “I went out to do my last-minute shopping. Granted, it’s not ideal since we’re still living through a pandemic, but there’s not actually that many people where I went to considering it’s the Christmas rush.” 

You made sure to hide the stuff you bought using the handmade tote bags that a friend gave you for your birthday. No retail bags, no clue. “How did you survive the groceries? I bet it’s busy out there.” 

“Yeah, it was.” Tom chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Remind me to never do that again for Christmas.” 

“Sure,” You said, “That is if I spend another Christmas with you.” You said jokingly, hoping that Tom didn’t find that rude. 

“You’ll never know,” Tom shrugged. “What if you liked our Christmas this year and you’d be begging to spend Christmas with me and my family in London,” Tom smirked, playing along. 

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed playfully, crossing your arms. “If anyone’s begging, it’s going to be you.”

Tom stepped closer, “Wanna bet?” He whispered, a teasing look in his eyes. “Whoever has the most fun during our respective holiday traditions would have to spend the holidays with them next year.” 

“Oh, you’re on, Holland.” You took a step closer. “We will both film our holidays for the entire two days and then we’ll ask Ophelia, Alex, and Will to vote whoever looks like they had the most fun.”

“Okay,” Tom nodded “But no editing! We’ll give them raw footage so there are no chances of tampering.” 

You laughed but you agreed anyway. “Of course, we’ll give them hours of footage. The least we could do is make them sit through hours of content after they ditched us all alone on the holidays.” 

Tom gave a broad smile. “Let the festivities begin.” 

It was the 24th of December—Christmas Eve. You spent the entirety of last night wrapping Tom’s presents for later. Not that you despise Christmas, but it’s been a while since you were actually excited to celebrate it. It was pretty clear that the magic of Christmas dies once you grow up. 

Today was different; you were looking forward to whatever Tom has installed for tonight. 

You went downstairs to make some breakfast only to be greeted by Tom blasting Christmas music and preparing some ingredients for breakfast in the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Y/N, happy Christmas Eve,” Tom greeted with a huge grin. “Say, hi to the camera.” 

“Oh, we’re starting this early, huh?” You asked, putting your hair into a loose ponytail. 

“Why of course, we have to make the best out of this,” Tom said, holding the camera to your face. “I made you coffee.” Tom handed you a cup of coffee. 

“Are you using my love for coffee as an advantage?” You tried to hide your smile while drinking your coffee. 

“Obviously not,” Tom feigned his innocence. “I obviously did not know you were obsessed with coffee—it’s not like I don’t see you on set without one.” He mumbled in which you definitely heard, giving him a smack on the head. “Ow! I’m kidding.” He laughed.

You rolled your eyes at him. “So, what’s for breakfast?” 

“We’re going to make french crèpes,” Tom replied and propped the camera on the kitchen island, facing the two of you. 

“Do you know how to make french crèpes?” You asked, washing your hands. 

Tom blinked, almost trying to decide whether he wants to be honest or impressive. “Do you know how to make french crèpes?” He returned the question. 

“Oh honey, my mom resents me in the kitchen.” You replied, taking a sip from your coffee. “But you know, I manage.” You murmured.

“That’s giving me a lot of hope, darling, thank you.” He said half-heartedly. 

“Shut up,” You nudged him playfully, rolling your eyes. “Tom, honestly, most of the footage is just us bantering for 20 minutes.” 

“To be fair, that’s part of the fun.” Tom smiled. “Okay, I think you just mix all of these in a bowl. Start with the dry ingredients first.” He said, looking at the recipe on his phone.

“Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard,” You commented pouring the ingredients into the bowl. As you started all of the ingredients together, you noticed small lumps forming in the batter. “Tom, did you sift the dry ingredients by chance?” 

“You were supposed to sift it?” He asked, completely clueless. 

You nodded slowly. Panic was now clearly painted on his face. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him. 

It was not fine. The first time you two tried to pour the batter in the pan, you burnt the entire thing. It’s not even the cute, lightly burnt crepe. It was activating the smoke alarm-burnt crepe. 

The next one was pancake-like. The next one after that had pocket flours on the crepes because you two didn’t sift your dry ingredients beforehand. You ran out of the batter when you two finally got the consistency right—you managed to get one proper crepe from the entire batter. 

“I feel like Sam would probably curse me out as soon as he finds out I fucked up a simple crepe,” Tom said, delicately filling the crepe with creme and berries. “My brother’s done so well in culinary school.” He cut a piece with his fork and brought it to your mouth.

“Well, you can’t have everything.” You said taking a bite out of the crepe. “This is better than the last one.” 

Tom nodded, taking a bite of it himself. “It’s not as tasty as Sam’s but I’ll take it.” 

“Now, I’m curious as to what your brother’s cooking tastes like.” You commented taking another bite from the crepe. 

“I guess I’ll just take you home to London to find out,” Tom teased with an annoying grin. 

“As long as I’m being fed, I’m fine with it.” You remarked. What in god’s name are you are you two playing?!

The day rolled by very quickly. It was already evening when you finished wrapping the presents for your friends. You plan on dropping it off tomorrow before you persuade Tom to glue yourselves on the couch for the entire day. 

You grabbed all of Tom’s gifts—Christmas stocking included— when you went downstairs, only to be greeted by someone yelling at Tom through his phone. 

“I did everything right, Sam. I don’t know why you’re yelling.” Tom yelled back at his phone. His back was turned against you as he was putting away the pots and pans that he used. 

You quietly walked up behind him and said calmly, “Why are you yelling?” 

Tom probably jumped six feet away from you, making you laugh. You always forget that he gets scared easily. “Holy shit, don’t scare me like that, Y/N.” Tom breathed out, putting a hand over his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” You said whilst laughing. “I promise I won’t do it again.” Tom rolled his eyes, murmuring something about you being insincere about it. 

“Please do it again!” You heard, whom you assume is Sam, say from the background. You looked at Tom’s phone that’s propped on the island and saw his brothers on FaceTime. 

You beamed at them. “Any recommendations?” You asked, hearing Tom groan behind you. 

“Well, he hates—” 

“This is the last thing I want in 2020, for my brothers and Y/N to conspire against me,” Tom said loudly on purpose, drowning his brothers' voices.

“Tom, don’t be rude. Let your brothers finish—” Tom put his hand against your mouth. 

“I’ll call you guys later,” Tom said “Wave goodbye, Y/N.” He used his free hand to grab your hand and forced a wave towards his brothers. The call soon came to an end and you could only roll your eyes at Tom. You seem to do that a lot around him. You also do a lot of that when you try to hide your feelings towards a person you like but that’s beside the point. 

“So are we going to have dinner first or are we going to do presents first?” You asked fixing your Christmas sweater, a gift from your parents since you and your family usually wear matching sweaters for Christmas. “Or are you the type to wait until Christmas Day to open presents?” 

“We can do the Christmas stockings after dinner tonight, then do the presents tomorrow, if you’d like,” Tom answered with his arms crossed. 

You shrugged, telling him it doesn’t matter since you don’t really go all out on Christmas. Your family on the other hand—the house is always full of people, especially since most of your extended family are usually around during the holidays. You had this ongoing game you made for yourself whether or not you’ll be able to greet everyone with the number of people in the house. 

You could only guess how quiet your family’s Christmas is going to be. You definitely needed to call your parents later. 

“Is the sweater that itchy, Y/N?” You heard Tom ask, breaking away from your thoughts. 

“Huh?” You asked, confused. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been scratching yourself subconsciously. 

“You’ve been scratching yourself since I saw you.” Tom said, chuckling. “It’s a cute sweater on you.” 

You smirked. “That reminds me—I got something for you, Tom.” Tom raised his brow as you grabbed the bag you stashed behind the tree. “Actually my parents got this for you. A little thank you gift apparently for having the tolerance to stay with me over the holidays—as if you had a choice.” You mumbled the last part. 

Tom curiously opened the bag and there revealed a matching sweater such as yours. This year’s sweater was green and had red tinsel all over it, probably the reason why you’re itchy. The real kicker is that—

“No way,” Tom gasped “It lights up?!” He asked laughing. It lights up. 

“Yeah, I don’t recommend turning that on. I did it earlier and I’m pretty sure I was about to combust—it’s a real fire hazard.” You replied, enjoying the genuine joy that Tom is showing on his face. 

“Oh but we have to turn the lights on when we take pictures,” He commented as he put on the sweater. “Thanks, Y/N.” He said softly, surprising you with a hug. 

It’s the first real physical contact that you two had ever since that night when you made out and you were pretty adamant that people were just making up this notion of having butterflies in their stomach—they weren’t. 

Tom’s roast dinner went surprisingly well. You kept teasing him that it’s Sam that you had to thank because you knew that Tom wouldn’t last in the kitchen without his brother’s instructions. Tom pouted the whole time. You eventually had to tell him 

“It was sweet.” You told him as you helped him clear out the plates. 

Tom was confused. 

“I don’t think I’ve known someone that went through hell and back just to make a great effort Christmas dinner —even if it means getting yelled at by your brother.” You said, smiling softly at him. “I mean it’s just us two, really. We don’t even have to do this.”

“Think that’s the reason why I wanted to do it,” Tom replied. Now you’re confused. “It’s because it’s the two of us—that’s why I wanted to do it.” 

As soon as you heard those words come out of Tom’s lips, you tried your best to stay calm. To say that you weren’t overwhelmed with emotions would be a huge lie. For someone who couldn’t hold their tongue, you were speechless. Tom’s giving you a run for your money and you weren’t exactly thrilled about it. 

After dinner, you and Tom opened your stocking presents. The presents were pretty tame at the start—you both got each other socks, which was hilarious but greatly appreciated. You love socks, especially comfy and cushiony ones. You came to learn that Tom does too, which prompted you two to wear the socks immediately. 

You got him candy canes, he got you chocolates. You also snuck in those small, in-flight alcohol bottles in there too—which he ended up loving. He got you those 10-pack skincare face masks, in which you let out a huge gasp, making him laugh. 

“Oh, we have to use this at some point!” You exclaimed happily “Like, we need to have a spa night—where we just watch movies, doing face masks, eating takeouts. Oh, that’s the dream!” You sighed happily. 

“We still have two weeks left till we go back to work, I'm sure we can find the time to do that,” Tom said with a permanent smile on his face, watching you with pure joy made him feel like he accomplished something big. 

You got him one of those Instax polaroid cameras—true, it was a bit too much for a stocking stuffer especially since the box definitely stood out against the stocking, but you figured he’ll like it. 

“Darling, this is too much but I’m thankful,” Tom commented as he took out the camera from the box. “I can’t wait to use this and keep memories using it—why don’t we start right now?! Let’s take a photo of us and our matching sweaters!”  

Tom took a lot of photos of you two, in the end. A couple of overexposed photos, one with the matching sweaters, one with your faces pressed against each other, one with your faces way too close to the camera, and one where he gave you a kiss on your cheek (he asked if that’s okay, of course, you said yes. it’s not like he hasn’t kissed you before— still no conversations about that, by the way). It was a good thing you got him at least 3 boxes of those 20 pack films in his stockings as well. 

The real kicker was Tom’s “small” stocking present for you. He got you this dainty, gold necklace with a crescent moon charm. You were pretty sure it was expensive because of the teal box it came with. 

“Stop,” You gasped “Tom, now this—this is too much.” You stressed out. “I can’t have this. Nope, you have to return this.”

Tom shrugged as if it was nothing. “You deserve it. Darling, you deserve something nice after this shitty year.” 

“Tom, I’m serious. This is too much.” 

“I’m serious too, Y/N. Keep it, please. I’d be offended if you don’t.”

After the roller coaster of emotions due to the stocking presents, you gave your parents a call to wish them a merry Christmas. They insisted to do a video call because they wanted to see Tom in the family sweater—which your mom wouldn’t stop gushing about. 

“I think your mum loves me,” Tom whispered closely in your ear. He didn't have to try too hard. With the laptop propped up on top of the coffee table, you two were sitting close together on the living room floor—knees touching, maximum close skin contact. CDC would never approve. 

“Yeah, I think it’s the accent,” You mumbled jokingly. 

Tom moved his head to take a good look at you, smiling. You could feel his eyes burning your skin. Why does he have to look at you like that? Why does he have to be this close?

The initial video call with your parents turned into a whole family reunion when you found out they set up a group call with your extended family. Imagine the dread and fear in your eyes when you heard your one aunt ask, 

“Finally, Y/N, is that your boyfriend?” 

Your eyes widened as you stuttered to say your defence, making Tom chuckle. You frowned at him and nudged him saying, “Don’t laugh, tell them no or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“No, unfortunately, I’m not,” Tom replied, laughing. “However, I do believe we make a cute couple, don’t we?” He teased, earning an earnest yes from your mom. 

You could only wish for the floor to swallow you whole. 

As the clocks rolled to twelve, it was officially Christmas. You and Tom figured you might as well start opening gifts again because Christmas Day is going to be a drag for the two of you. 

“Okay, start with this.” You said as you handed him a gift bag. You didn’t give him a lot of gifts for the actual Christmas Day because you went all out on the stuffers. 

“Pyjamas?” He asked with a grin. You made a signal for him to give you a minute. You ran to your room and changed into pyjamas. 

“Not just pyjamas, Tom, but matching pyjamas!” You exclaimed, laughing. “I saw it and figured we should do this for my day.”

“Sick!” Tom laughed. Tom got into his pair of pyjamas as well and of course, he didn’t forget to pull out his new polaroid camera to take a photo of you two. “Shit, I forgot to film our entire Christmas Eve.” He said as he saw the camera that was still sitting on the kitchen island from earlier that morning. 

You shrugged. “I’m pretty sure you’ll win either way. Just that content from the breakfast crepes was enough to secure your place.” You said jokingly.

“All I’m hearing is that you’re going to spend Christmas with me in London next year.” Tom sang teasingly. 

“Yeah, maybe bringing you to our big Christmas holidays is a bad idea.” You wondered out loud. 

“I like your family,” Tom commented with a smile “and I think they will love having me there for the holidays.” 

“That would be a nightmare.” You mumbled to yourself. 

The rest of the night dragged on. You and Tom finished the rest of your gifts—you got him a watch, he got you a vinyl player. You two managed to watch the first Harry Potter film before you called it a night. 

You were about to head into your room when you heard Tom say, “Mistletoe.”

“Hm?” You hummed, confused. He placed a finger under your chin and gently tilted your head. There you saw a mistletoe hanging by one of the light fixtures. 

“How did that even—” 

“Can I kiss you?” Tom asked, cupping the sides of your face. 

“Hm?” Tom was definitely giving you a run for your money. How can a girl with a speech turn speechless?

“Can I kiss you?” He asked more softly. All you could do was nod. For if you even dare to open your mouth, all of this would cease to exist.  

His lips gently touched yours and then soon moulded into one. It was soft, sweet—familiar. His lips were something you never thought about—at least not a lot but you craved it. You crave his lips, his touch, him. You were riding a new high and you thanked every single god that you were sober to remember this—because this, this is something you want to cherish. 

“You told me you’re tired of being alone,” Tom whispered against your lips. “You don’t have to be anymore. Not when you have me, not ever.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @quaksonhehe @dark-infernal-instruments @trustfundparker @emsma11​ @tomshufflepuff​ @spider-babe​ @goodgirlgonetom​

[not-bcring]

 “now, honestly…” how do you feel about Kazuhiro ? ' for Kokichi.

-   ✩   「   @romun-muses​​​ ​  」   ✩

「 ☆ 」   Kokichi sits on his ‘throne’, although honestly it’s just a run-down yet plush chair he’d nicked from the curb back when DICE was first moving into their ‘secret base’… It had taken a couple of the members to move it to the seemingly-abandoned building they chose to illegally nestle in. A task that was made even more difficult by Kokichi’s insistence that he sit atop of it the entire trip. Placing his feet upon his desk, shoes hit the wood with resounding clicks that echo through his private chambers.

A leader has to have his own personal place, after all.

It’s a modest room, if one didn’t take into account the cluttered mess of trinkets, momentos, a surprising number of plants, and countless other objects filling Kokichi’s space. Walls covered with all manners of blueprints and half-baked plans that didn’t fit or belong on the cork-boards surrounding him, red string and sticky notes sporadically cover his work in a manner meant to overwhelm and mislead. Important information sprinkled amongst the chaos, hidden away like gems buried by fakes. Tucked away in secret locations, varying difficulties based on how desperately Kokichi wants to keep the tidbits close to his chest.

Not that anyone is allowed in his space without him, made clear by the constantly locked door and harmless yet effective pranks put in place for those who get a bit too bold… but locks can be picked— even ones that are randomly changed depending on Kokichi’s mood —and curiosity can kill the most calculating of cats. It’s not that Kokichi doesn’t trust the members of his team. He trusts them more than anyone else in the world… but even that doesn’t make them immune to the paranoia of someone who has seen what the world has to offer. Very few are exceptions to the rule of survival and Kokichi knows himself too well to think that any of those people would willingly be around him.

DICE is full of misunderstood people. Decent people… But people, nonetheless. Only a fool lets their guard down completely unless they are alone. Even then, Kokichi keeps a firm hold onto his wits, never knowing how long his own mind will allow peace to last.

❝  Kazoo-zu is someone I’d trust with my life… He wouldn’t be in DICE if he wasn’t.  ❞  Kokichi begins, arms crossed behind his head and gaze raising to the ceiling. Counting the glow-in-the-dark stars he plastered on there, he continues in a deceptively-leisurely tone,  ❝  He’s a little too secretive for my tastes… but I’m not one to talk. Hell, even if he spilled his guts to me, I doubt I’d do the same. So- I guess we’re even.  ❞  Expression remains blank, but his mind races behind that calm exterior. Thinking back to his conversations with ‘Windy’, the others mannerisms, inflection of voice, deflecting any prying Kokichi made- no matter how subtle… Those wraps that are always around his limbs.

Brows knit slightly, jaw tightening before Kokichi adds in a low, even tone,  ❝  But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.  ❞  It’s frustrating, not knowing something. Especially when he WANTS to. When it feels almost… important to. But Kokichi knows that’s his own immaturity speaking. His distaste at having things kept from him. Primarily when it’s being done by someone who Kokichi feels— petty as he knows it is —should trust him more than this. Hypocritical, maybe… but it’s what twists Kokichi’s stomach with unease nonetheless. Shaking his head as if shoving aside unwanted thoughts, hands run through his hair with a growl, Kokichi secure in his lair to openly-emote.

❝  It’s not fair! It’s so stupid…  ❞  Emotions rarely are fair. Huffing like an impotent child, elbow smacks against his desk, cheek propped up in the palm of his hand as he irritably quips,  ❝  Yeah— He’s a decent enough guy… A bit stand-offish, but he follows orders well enough. Doesn’t ask too many questions, easy on the eyes, has a voice that’d make a nun shiver—  ❞  Listing traits as if it’s not a big deal, trying to convince himself of that, Kokichi slams his palms down on his desk and snaps,  ❝  But that’s no reason for him to BUG me like this! So he’s not racing to tell me his life story— so what? Why should I care? Why do I care?!  ❞  

❝  Well you know what? That’s perfectly fine with me—  ❞  Kokichi huffs, a devious smirk slipping onto his shadowed face, fueled by confusion and a fear he refuses to touch,  ❝  —because TWO can play that game.  ❞  If Kazuhiro refuses to give Kokichi peace of mind, then Kokichi will just have to ensure that the other male thinks about him just as much.

Kokichi is good at getting into people’s heads.   「 ☆ 」

[starswornoaths]

Wild Rose

Not long before the formation of the Crystal Braves, Minfilia bequeathed a special set of armor unto one of the Warriors of Light.

It was just a surprise that it wasn’t her favorite one.

Or:

I love Minfilia, and the Wild Rose Cuirass, and Firion, and none of them get a fair shake, and they all deserve better. Also, I fawn over @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, but what else is new :p

Word count: 2,558

~*~

When Minfilia asked for Serella to hold back a moment, at the conclusion of their mission report, she couldn’t hide her surprise; there had been others in attendance— several others had been in attendance— Hyana among them, and it had been a mundane enough operation, what would merit being spoken to alone with the Antecedent? And why Serella, specifically?

Even Hyana had a look of mild surprise, and had hung back, bouncing in place on the momentum of her abandoned mid-step to turn back, before she could stop herself, and the two Warriors of Light passed that expression between one another for a moment. 

Before Serella could even think to reassure her, Hyana had retrained her features into immense disinterest. Rather than words, she reciprocated Serella’s silent nod of reassurance, a quiet we’ll catch up later, shared between adventurers, and within the next moment, Hyana had wound her spindly, scaled tail round the door handle to shut it behind her, on her way out.

And then it was just Minfilia, and her most stalwart companion, just as she had asked.

“Is aught amiss?” Serella asked, once she had properly faced the Antecedent.

There was nothing but peace radiating off of Minfilia, as she shook her head. When she spoke, her words were sweet, but not sweetened; though she charmed as she spoke, her charmspeak was nowhere to be found. 

With a radiance found only in the warmest sunrise, Minfilia reassured her, “Naught more than we’re already working on! I wished only to speak to you, regarding a matter close to both of our hearts, I should think.”

Curiosity piqued, Serella canted her head in a quiet show of interest, to avoid interrupting. It was obvious that Minfilia was nervous: even without her Echo’s sensitivity to emotions, from the tick of Minfilia’s fingers tapping at the pommel of the dagger, ever slung close to her hip.

When it was clear that Serella was waiting for her to elaborate, Minfilia steadied her hand by laying it over her heart. Her smile eased into something softer, as she said, “I felt it high time to bequeath to you a fitting reward, for all that you have done for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“How formal of you, Antecedent!” Serella laughed brightly, and mirrored her Antecedent’s motion, to tap a hand over her chest in momentary salute. “That’s not necessary, though. You know that.”

“I do. But it’s necessary to me.” 

When Minfilia smiled at her again, it more resembled a wince. “Grant me this one trespass, my friend?” 

Serella wanted to snort indignantly: Minfilia should know better by now. Still, she reminded her, “You can’t trespass where you’re welcome, Minfilia.”

It seemed she had, in fact, been in need of a reminder; her smile widened around a startled, delighted gasp.

“For all my ability with charmspeak, you seem to always know just what to say!” Minfilia beamed at her. “Thank you. Pray, grant me a moment to find the right words to explain, while we walk.”

With another nod from Serella, they made their way out of the Antecedent’s chambers without further delay. As they rounded the bend to walk past the bar counter, Serella turned and happened to catch Hyana watching them hawkishly. There was a burning curiosity in those garnet eyes that watched them; Serella hoped the smile she threw back at her was reassuring enough. Judging by the way Hyana squinted in response, she figured she had failed. Ah well.

The armory itself was as well stocked as it was unremarkable; Serella had been in here more times than she could care to keep track of, in the time since they had moved to the Rising Stones. She could only imagine how many more times Minfilia has had to come in here, for routine inspections, and scheduled maintenance. 

Rather than keep to the main room that Serella had grown familiar with, Minfilia instead guided them over to a door in the far corner of the room, one that Serella had noticed before, but had never had the clearance to inspect— or at least, had no merit to ask, at least. 

A key wrought in iron cleared the way for them, and Minfilia ushered her inside. It was dark, but there was no smell of must that hung in the air; this room still had consistent use, even with its limited access. Save for the singular slice of light that had carved a misshapen streak in the floor, Serella’s eyes could only make out the outlines of several suits of armor, and several miscellaneous weapons, all carefully hung on racks.

Holding the door open with one hand, Minfilia brought the other up in front of her, as she leaned toward the lantern hung on the wall. She scattered her breath over her palm, as though she were gently blowing away the fluff on a dandelion. The air from her lungs ignited in petal-like sparks, that drifted, intently, to the wick on the lantern. Immediately, the mageflame flickered to life, clinging to the wick on the lantern, without burning it. 

Dancing leaves of light fluttered in the air over her palm, as she then swept her arm out, as though she were presenting the room. Those fractals of light scattered, striking the other lanterns in the room in streaks of brilliance, like comets across the night sky.

As it always did, Minfilia’s radiance filled the room with warmth, light, and life. The details became much clearer, and Serella made a noise in the back of her throat, as her brain caught up with what she was looking at.

The suits of armor draped so carefully, the weapons mounted so meticulously, became obvious in the light: this was the reliquary, from the Waking Sands, wherein they had enshrined the arms and armor of heroes past, recovered and restored. 

Serella had wondered whether they would make the move to the Rising Stones, alongside them, but then, she supposed that she needn’t have bothered; some of the pieces here belonged to Minfilia’s father, according to F'lhaminn. It only made sense that they would be here, then.

With another wordless motion, Minfilia beckoned her deeper. Obeisant, Serella followed gamely, curiosity mounting with every step. Worming through the boxes that had yet to be unpacked, the yet barren racks, and the odd armor rack with only some of its set unboxed, they eventually came up to a particularly intriguing set, tucked away in the corner.

Serella had certainly seen other sets that had been designed in the same vein; an understated darksteel set, tasteful embellishments here and there, draped with fine fabric that looked as though it were spun from lilacs. The detailing on the fabric was more bold, patterned, and pinned with a labradorite brooch, at its shield-shoulder.

Combing through her oldest memories, Serella would almost swear she had seen this specific like elsewhere. As if in the fairytale book, read to her as a child, as she had dreamt of a brighter future than this.

Minfilia seemed content to let Serella ruminate on this, as she gathered her thoughts. After a breath, she explained, “It feels as though it were a whole other lifetime ago, the last time I gifted one of my best suits of armor. But the time felt right again— though I must ask that you forgive me, as it comes with a personal request.”

Serella couldn’t hide her surprise for anything today, it seemed; she recalled how Arenvald had been so proud to wear the armor that Minfilia had gifted to him, when they had only known the Waking Sands, and the Waking Sands had only ever known peace. Before those halls were so filled with ghosts, that the living all but vacated.

As Minfilia said: a lifetime ago.

Were it almost anyone else, Serella would have to fight the urge to roll her eyes at being asked a personal favor. But this was Minfilia; if anyone understood what, precisely, she was asking of Serella, it would be her.

Thus, her response was as swift and decisive as her sword strokes, when she said, “You need only ask; if it’s in my power, it will be done.” 

It seemed both the right and wrong thing to say; Minfilia was graceful enough that it was only the ripple of hesitation in her aether, that betrayed her lingering uncertainty. 

“I would bequeath to you this armor— it is among the oldest of our recovered arms and armor.”

Though Serella got the impression that Minfilia was stalling, to try and find the right words, for the heart of the issue. Thus, she entertained listening to Minfilia recall a tale of a Warrior of Light, not unlike Serella herself. “His friends called him Firion,” the Antecedent supplied. “By all accounts, he was a good man, who defended all against the darkness— those who fought alongside him, included. I thought the tale sounded familiar!”

The playful twinkle in Minfilia’s eyes was only answered with a wry twist of scarred lips, though only for a moment, before they both dissolved into delighted giggling.

“Go on,” Minfilia said, once they had gotten their breath back, with a gesture toward the display. “Try it on, won’t you? It’s been fitted.”

With a sigh and a smile, Serella stepped up to the rack, and settled for being grateful that she had dressed down from her armor, upon return to the Rising Stones; it made donning the mantle simpler.

Despite being told that it had been refitted, it still surprised Serella, how well the armor settled on her shoulders. How the cloak draped elegantly around her neck, over her shoulders, how the layers of fabric that lined the belts were made of the supple, soft purple fabric. It hung on her form, as though it had been hammered for her from the first. As if it had always been made for her.

Rowena must have overworked poor Gerolt again. That, or Uthen took on a more personal commission, this time around. Serella could think of no other hand to guide a hammer to making such an impeccable craft, save for either of them.

When she turned to present herself to Minfilia, the Antecedent gave a gasp, as she clapped her hands together, once, in delight.

“Why, it looks just right on you!” She declared, with a giddy bounce on the balls of her feet.

Serella believed it, unquestioningly, because Minfilia always told her the truth. She was one of the few people that Serella could trust, to do so.

“You honor me, Antece—”

“Stop.” Minfilia said, though it sounded like a plea, and shattered her voice on impact, like a brick through a church window, ruining something blessed. 

It sounded wrong. Serella snapped her jaw shut with a click more audible than the rattle of her new mail, when she flinched bodily. 

A motion Minfilia mirrored, though she flinched outward— even in her own upset, she could only think to reach out to comfort. 

“I— I’m not asking, as your Antecedent, that you take this armor.” She said, and slowly curled her arm back into her own chest, as if to self soothe. “Please. I’m asking, as your friend, to accept this gift.”

Softening her shoulders, Serella swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Alright, Minfie,” she said softly, and held her hands up in reassurance. “I’ll put it to good use.”

The relief that she felt, when Minfilia’s posture melted into joy again, was indescribable. It felt like benediction, and dispelled the tremor in her heart. 

Thus settled, she peered around, curious, and searching for a set that would be more befitting one more beloved to them both. When no such mail was forthcoming upon cursory view, she couldn’t hold back the question that formed on her tongue, following that observation.

“What of Hyana?” She asked, looking back at Minfilia. 

The Antecedent seemed surprised at the question. “What do you mean?” She asked, tone touched with a hint of caution.

“If I may speak as a friend?” Serella asked. At Minfilia’s nod, she answered plainly, “You love her.”

The comment didn’t bother Minfilia. It had no reason to. Nonetheless, she fiddled with her hands in front of her, and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, as she contemplated her choice of words. 

“That I do. But we both know her: she would never accept it, as a point of pride, and, in part, in reluctance to have something so claiming, upon her person.” After a moment of further hesitation, Minfilia stepped close enough to flatten her palm across the spot over Serella’s heart. 

She focused her gaze on the back of her hand, pressed there over the breastplate, as she cautiously spoke again, “And...you love her, too. I know, in giving you this armor, that she will be safer.” After another moment, she lifted her gaze, to meet Serella’s. “I have little choice, in sending the both of you out there, to face such horrors as the Ascians may inflict upon us. But I can give you the best chance, of bringing her back to me.”

There was a peculiar ache, in the space where Serella’s heart was meant to be. Not quite raw, not nearly a wound, but still something tender and pointedly ignored. Where Minfilia might have, however unknowingly, pierced something too close to the truth and most certainly unrequited, Serella chose to fill that hole with pride, with joy.

And why would she not? She was a trusted friend to both of them. Trusted enough, by Minfilia, to be sent into battle with armor she could never hope to properly deserve. Trusted enough, by Hyana, to fight alongside her. 

Was that not, in itself, a sort of love? What had she to mourn?

“As you say, my friend.” Serella said, on a soft exhale, and laid a hand atop Minfilia’s. “On all counts. I pray I will be worthy of such trust.”

“You already are, my friend!” Minfilia insisted.

When her eyes glimmered peculiarly in the lamp light, the two of them embraced tightly, and took a few more moments to be human. Not long enough to form the habit, but long enough to be reminded of the feeling.

By the time they stepped back out of the armory, and Minfilia locked up behind them, none were the wiser, that such a conversation had happened at all. 

Hyana had most certainly noticed, however, the new armor that gleamed to an almost headache-inducing shine, in the light of the Rising Stones. Her eyebrows met her hairline, as she watched Serella approach.

“The hell'd you do, to earn that?” She snorted into her drink, and poorly feigned disinterest.

The truth settled heavier upon Serella’s shoulders, than the mantle she now wore. How could she profess to love Hyana, if she were to inflict such a thing upon her.

“My fucking paperwork, Geriel!” She instead half-lied, with a playful elbow to the Dragoon’s side.

A half truth was still true enough to slip by, undetected, it seemed, as Hyana rolled her eyes, and grew immediately bored with the conversation. As was her wont.

Serella took no offense; how could she, when Hyana then pressed a flagon into her hands, with a half-restrained smile. How could she, when that was, in itself, a little act of love, too?

And wasn’t that enough, for her? Wasn’t this, enough?

[richincolor]

New Releases for the Week of May 3, 2021

It's great to see so many new books hitting the shelves this week. I know I've been waiting for several of these and am happy to be able to finally read them. 

The Ones We’re Meant to Find by Joan He Roaring Brook

Cee has been trapped on an abandoned island for three years without any recollection of how she arrived, or memories from her life prior. All she knows is that somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, she has a sister named Kay. Determined to find her, Cee devotes her days to building a boat from junk parts scavenged inland, doing everything in her power to survive until the day she gets off the island and reunites with her sister.

In a world apart, 16-year-old STEM prodigy Kasey Mizuhara is also living a life of isolation. The eco-city she calls home is one of eight levitating around the world, built for people who protected the planet―and now need protecting from it. With natural disasters on the rise due to climate change, eco-cities provide clean air, water, and shelter. Their residents, in exchange, must spend at least a third of their time in stasis pods, conducting business virtually whenever possible to reduce their environmental footprint. While Kasey, an introvert and loner, doesn’t mind the lifestyle, her sister Celia hated it. Popular and lovable, Celia much preferred the outside world. But no one could have predicted that Celia would take a boat out to sea, never to return.

Now it’s been three months since Celia’s disappearance, and Kasey has given up hope. Logic says that her sister must be dead. But as the public decries her stance, she starts to second guess herself and decides to retrace Celia’s last steps. Where they’ll lead her, she does not know. Her sister was full of secrets. But Kasey has a secret of her own. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee Quill Tree Books

Noah Ramirez thinks he’s an expert on romance. He has to be for his popular blog, the Meet Cute Diary, a collection of trans happily ever afters. There’s just one problem—all the stories are fake. What started as the fantasies of a trans boy afraid to step out of the closet has grown into a beacon of hope for trans readers across the globe.

When a troll exposes the blog as fiction, Noah’s world unravels. The only way to save the Diary is to convince everyone that the stories are true, but he doesn’t have any proof. Then Drew walks into Noah’s life, and the pieces fall into place: Drew is willing to fake-date Noah to save the Diary. But when Noah’s feelings grow beyond their staged romance, he realizes that dating in real life isn’t quite the same as finding love on the page.

In this charming novel by Emery Lee, Noah will have to choose between following his own rules for love or discovering that the most romantic endings are the ones that go off script. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

They Better Call Me Sugar: My Journey from the Hood to the Hardwood by Sugar Rodgers Black Sheep

Growing up in dire poverty in Suffolk, Virginia, Sugar (born Ta’Shauna) Rodgers never imagined that she would become an all-star player in the WNBA (Women’s National Basketball Association). Both of her siblings were in and out of prison throughout much of her childhood and shootings in her neighborhood were commonplace. For Sugar this was just a fact of life.

While academics wasn’t a high priority for Sugar and many of her friends, athletics always played a prominent role. She mastered her three-point shot on a net her brother put up just outside their home, eventually becoming so good that she could hustle local drug dealers out of money in one-on-one contests.

With the love and support of her family and friends, Sugar’s performance on her high school basketball team led to her recruitment by the Georgetown Hoyas, and her eventual draft into the WNBA in 2013 by the Minnesota Lynx (who won the WNBA Finals in Sugar’s first year). The first of her family to attend college, Sugar speaks of her struggles both academically and as an athlete with raw honesty.

Sugar’s road to a successful career as a professional basketball player is fraught with sadness and death–including her mother’s death when she’s fourteen, which leaves Sugar essentially homeless. Throughout it all, Sugar clings to basketball as a way to keep herself focused and sane.

And now Sugar shares her story as a message of hope and inspiration for young girls and boys everywhere, but especially those growing up in economically challenging conditions. Never sugarcoating her life experiences, she delivers a powerful message of discipline, perseverance, and always believing in oneself. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Excuse Me While I Ugly Cry by Joya Goffney HarperTeen

Quinn keeps lists of everything—from the days she’s ugly cried, to “Things That I Would Never Admit Out Loud,” to all the boys she’d like to kiss. Her lists keep her sane. By writing her fears on paper, she never has to face them in real life. That is, until her journal goes missing…

An anonymous account posts one of her lists on Instagram for the whole school to see and blackmails her into facing seven of her greatest fears, or else her entire journal will go public. Quinn doesn’t know who to trust. Desperate, she teams up with Carter Bennett—the last known person to have her journal—in a race against time to track down the blackmailer.

Together, they journey through everything Quinn’s been too afraid to face, and along the way, Quinn finds the courage to be honest, to live in the moment, and to fall in love. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Hurricane Summer by Asha Bromfield Wednesday Books

Tilla has spent her entire life trying to make her father love her. But every six months, he leaves their family and returns to his true home: the island of Jamaica.

When Tilla’s mother tells her she’ll be spending the summer on the island, Tilla dreads the idea of seeing him again, but longs to discover what life in Jamaica has always held for him.

In an unexpected turn of events, Tilla is forced to face the storm that unravels in her own life as she learns about the dark secrets that lie beyond the veil of paradise—all in the midst of an impending hurricane.

Hurricane Summer is a powerful coming of age story that deals with colorism, classism, young love, the father-daughter dynamic—and what it means to discover your own voice in the center of complete destruction. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Indivisible by Daniel Aleman Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

There is a word Mateo Garcia and his younger sister Sophie have been taught to fear for as long as they can remember: deportation. Over the past few years, however, the fear that their undocumented immigrant parents could be sent back to Mexico has started to fade to the back of their minds. And why wouldn’t it, when their Ma and Pa have been in the United States for so long, they have American-born children, and they’re hard workers and good neighbors?

When two ICE agents come asking for Pa, the Garcia family realizes that the lives they’ve built are about to come crumbling down. And when Mateo returns from school one day to find that his parents have been taken, he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that his family’s worst nightmare has become a reality.

With his Ma and Pa being held in separate detention centers, Mateo must learn how to look after his sister and himself. The choices Mateo makes, and the people he turns to for help, might reunite his family… or tear them apart for good. With his parents’ fate and his own future hanging in the balance, Mateo must figure out who he is and what he is capable of, even as he’s forced to question what it means to be an American teenager in a country that rejects his own mom and dad. — Cover art and summary via Goodreads

Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan Inkyard Press

Karina Ahmed has a plan. Keep her head down, get through high school without a fuss, and follow her parents’ rules—even if it means sacrificing her dreams. When her parents go abroad to Bangladesh for four weeks, Karina expects some peace and quiet. Instead, one simple lie unravels everything.

Karina is my girlfriend.

Tutoring the school’s resident bad boy was already crossing a line. Pretending to date him? Out of the question. But Ace Clyde does everything right—he brings her coffee in the mornings, impresses her friends without trying, and even promises to buy her a dozen books (a week) if she goes along with his fake-dating facade. Though Karina agrees, she can’t help but start counting down the days until her parents come back.

T-minus twenty-eight days until everything returns to normal—but what if Karina no longer wants it to? — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

All Kinds of Other by James Sie Quill Tree Books

In this tender, nuanced coming-of-age love story, two boys—one who is cis and one who is trans—have been guarding their hearts to protect themselves, until their feelings for each other give them a reason to stand up to their fears.

Two boys are starting at a new school.

Jules is just figuring out what it means to be gay and hasn’t totally decided whether he wants to be out at his new school. His parents and friends have all kinds of opinions, but for his part, Jules just wants to make the basketball team and keep his head down.

Jack is trying to start over after a best friend break-up. He followed his actor father clear across the country to LA, but he’s also totally ready to leave his past behind. Maybe this new school where no one knows him is exactly what he needs.

When the two boys meet, the sparks are undeniable. But then a video surfaces linking Jack to a pair of popular transgender vloggers, and the revelations about Jack’s past thrust both Jack and Jules into the spotlight they’ve been trying to avoid. Suddenly both boys have a choice to make—between lying low where it’s easier or following their hearts. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Luck of the Titanic by Stacey Lee G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers

Southampton, 1912: Seventeen-year-old British-Chinese Valora Luck has quit her job and smuggled herself aboard the Titanic with two goals in mind: to reunite with her twin brother Jamie--her only family now that both their parents are dead--and to convince a part-owner of the Ringling Brothers Circus to take the twins on as acrobats. Quick-thinking Val talks her way into opulent firstclass accommodations and finds Jamie with a group of fellow Chinese laborers in third class. But in the rigidly stratified world of the luxury liner, Val's ruse can only last so long, and after two long years apart, it's unclear if Jamie even wants the life Val proposes. Then, one moonless night in the North Atlantic, the unthinkable happens--the supposedly unsinkable ship is dealt a fatal blow--and Val and her companions suddenly find themselves in a race to survive.

Stacey Lee, master of historical fiction, brings a fresh perspective to an infamous tragedy, loosely inspired by the recently uncovered account of six Titanic survivors of Chinese descent.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VII

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It took me far too long to recover from the discovery I’d made deep beneath the foundation of the Sheikah estate. Who knew how many more had been forced to suffer at the hands of the Yiga over the course of that period? It was high time to end this era of tyranny and grief, and to have anyone but myself take the lead was not an option. Whatever truth was waiting for me at the end of all this, so be it. I had to see it with my own two eyes. I had to see her.

To help set my plan into motion, the only person I had left to turn to was Prosecutor Sigatur, and though she had once held my mother in the utmost respect, she had benevolently volunteered to present my findings to the courts in my stead. As confident as I was in my argument and as desperately as I desired to be there for Link, I couldn’t quite stomach the thought of taking the stand and exposing myself to the discrimination of the public eye again.

And so, as the proceedings went on for the following few days, I spent my time back at the apartment, making myself useful by poring through my mountainous collection of data on the eighteen-year-old incident that I’d amassed over the years and had been keeping in my office until now. Now that I had been let go, my flat was practically overflowing with newspaper clippings, copies of investigation reports, and whatever else not. Every time I would open the door upon arriving home, I’d get hit in the face with the musty stench of dust and old magazines that I had nowhere to properly put away.

Though my collection was indeed vast, it was far more so in physical volume than in information. Most of the documents in it were no more than different accounts of the same basic facts. All the useful info I could glean was that the fire at City Hall had taken the lives of most, if not all, administrative officials who had been there working at the time, and those members of council who may or may not have been killed had never been seen nor heard from again, their bodies left for ash. And according to my sources, Mayor Hyrule had been amongst them.

There was a certain line in her letter to Auntie Impa that had tipped me off to her current whereabouts. “...I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife...” The imagery laced so intricately into those words had struck a nerve. There was only one place in this town that both would’ve been of any significance to her and was covered in ash: the crumbling ruins where the former City Hall had once stood.

Having reached the point of culmination in my plotting, I invited the newly reinstated Constable Fyori over for tea. The two of us meeting in my office would have been preferable, but we’d just have to make do with this for the time being.

“If my hypothesis is correct, then I am about to enter the belly of the beast,” I deliberated. Seated on my settee and restlessly tapping the floor with his heel, Link listened with both eyes and ears as I paced about the room. “Ideally, I’d have some sort of backup at my disposal. Maybe I could phone Urbosa and ask her to lend me a hand, just once more...”

“If I may,” he butted in, “why are you speaking as though you’ll be on your own?”

I hadn’t been nearly as prepared as I probably should have been for such a question. “Well...” I stammered, forcing the shame of admitting that I was too afraid to confront my own mother alone down my throat, “would you happen to know someone who’d be willing to accompany me?”

His mouth gaped at my answer. Then jutting his neck out and laying his palms across his chest, he stood up. “Me!”

I took a step back. “Link, what are you talking about?” If something happened to him as a result of this, which was more likely to occur than not, then his last moments would surely be filled with nothing but fear and regret. Not to mention, I would never forgive myself. “I really shouldn’t have to remind you. She’s the reason your family—”

“I know,” he snapped. His eyes were burning a hole straight through me. It was almost frightening. “Believe me, I’m not about to go forgetting it again any time soon.”

“Then why...?” I half-whispered in the most deathly serious tone I could muster.

“Because I’m tired of hiding.”

A harsh breeze rattled the blinds against the window frame. It took me by surprise, but he wasn’t phased by it in the least.

“I’m tired of turning a blind eye and acting like none of the horrible things she’s done ever happened.” I tried to think of a snappy rebuttal, but none came to mind. He’d said these words as though they’d been burning on the tip of his tongue for an untold number of days. He’d had a lot of time to reflect between his false conviction and his acquittal, so it seemed. He and I were of the same mind, of course, but... “And, because...” He stopped himself. Some of the fire in his gaze had gone out in smoke. I got my hopes up when he broke eye contact for a moment or two, and I could all but sense the resolve in him dying, just a little bit.

But then, emitting a slight sound of frustration, he stepped closer. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pulled me in with the force of a hurricane.

When his lips made impact with mine, my eyes flew open.

He kissed me with what could only be described as reckless abandon. His mouth scraped across my own, and I could feel every ounce of his aggravation in the way his fingertips bit down on my skin alone. It was rough and clumsy and pressed, as if this were sincerely the last and only chance he would ever have.

All of a sudden, we were seventeen again, and standing in the middle of our secondary school’s greenhouse. The scent of dust was replaced with that of lush flora on all sides of us, and sunlight shining in from above caressed the top of my head with its warmth. This was the very scene that I’d used to daydream about time and time again, wasting more hours of each day than I’d have liked to admit at the time.

Now his fingers clung to the corners of my face like I was made of paper, his lips brushing mine almost imperceptibly as his bated breath fanned out against them. When my eyes opened and met with his, his complexion had turned a delicate rouge, and his faultless aquamarines had been clouded over by doubt. In that moment, all I could think to do was to make that doubt vanish. So I ignored the distant sense of guilt that yet lingered and seized the navy blue tie around his neck. Our forms collided, and a sigh like trees swaying at the mercy of a light breeze in summer grazed my cheek.

With Ms. Sigatur’s aid, the constabulary had been more than willing to cooperate and construct a perimeter of officers around the old City Hall’s charred skeleton. Just the fact that the vicinity wasn’t littered in tarps and rubbish and other evidence of homelessness was proof enough of my theory. And yet, the way the wind howled and that the only signs of life were the crows circling up above filled the pit of my stomach with an unease that I could not ignore.

“You know what to do as soon as you sense any sign of danger, I trust?” Urbosa had both her hands planted firmly on my shoulders, bending down to meet my gaze with that same, old look of worry.

I gave a firm nod, never breaking eye contact. “Of course.”

“And you have Fyori and the others looking out for you, so don’t be afraid to call for them if—”

“I’ll be fine, Urbosa. I—”

“No, you will not.”

All I wanted was to get this over with, but she just had to go and remind me of the risks. No matter what I wished for, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was, in all likelihood, a suicide mission. Which was why I’d been so adamant in refusing to allow Link to come along initially.

Said constable was watching the two of us out of the corner of his eye, ever the vigilante as he stood facing the stronghold a mere half dozen paces away.

I heaved a constricted sigh and looked the prosecutor earnestly in the eye. With a deep breath, “I understand how worried you are for me, but please, don’t try to stop me. I’m aware of the risk and I’m prepared to face the consequences. I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t confident in my ability to succeed.”

Her stance softened, if only just slightly. “If Hilda weren’t still alive, her spirit would haunt me for letting any harm come to you.”

“But that won’t happen, because she is alive and she would never try to hurt me.” This much I was certain of, for if she had harboured any such intentions, she would have acted on them already, with how the Organization typically operated.

Urbosa’s lips tightened, and the out of place worry lines permeating her expression faded incrementally. She cast her gaze toward my stubborn guardian in silence, and he offered her a calm, yet resolute, nod of the head.

After a quiet embrace that seemed to go on endlessly, she sent me on my way. I looked over my shoulder as she grew smaller and smaller, then turned my focus ahead of me.

Staring up at the towering columns before me, I fell into an unnatural combination of wonder, nostalgia, and loss. (For whom or what was I still mourning? At this point, I didn’t even know the answer to that.) For the most part, the only parts of the building left standing were those invulnerable to fire, and even a great portion of that had fallen victim to weathering and decay over the years. Many of the brick walls had crumbled, leaving little in the way of places to hide a single person, let alone an entire crime syndicate.

The wind was unrelenting as it whipped and thrashed my hair about my face. Yet somehow, even as we drew nearer, the air remained as deathly still as ever.

As we finally came upon the scorched remnants of the main entrance, a gust from the north sent a whirlwind of ash in my direction. My arms rose to shield my face in the nick of time.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I took my first step since childhood into the domain of my mother’s workplace. Surely when I crossed that threshold, I’d thought, surely that was when havoc would finally be wrought upon us. But I was met yet again with stillness. Was nothing but my own breathing able to break this seemingly impenetrable silence?

Just then, my question was answered.

I felt my soul jump out of the confines of my body when the caw of a crow reverberated throughout the government building. If my heart hadn’t been pounding hard enough already...

I jumped again seconds later, though not nearly to the extent at which I just had, when Link’s hand came to weave itself between my fingers. We locked eyes, and he gave me the kindest of smiles. It made me want to melt right into his arms and to never let go, lest I lose him a third, and very likely final, time.

But a clearing of the throat from one of the other nearby constables reminded me of the ever present need to stay alert.

I elected to have the group split into two: one to search the ground floor of the ruins and one to search the upper floor. It was hard to say for certain how stable they were, but the stairways connecting the two stories were still almost fully intact. The upper floor itself, however, was another matter. Though its foundation hadn’t been constructed from any organic material, much of its structural integrity seemed to have been lost. About a third of it had broken off and landed square in the middle of the ground floor, leaving a vast chasm between the two sections of the upper floor that remained. The police had come prepared and equipped for the traversal of rough and uneven terrain, though there was still the danger of stray pieces of rubble raining down onto our heads from above.

I adjusted the strap of my helmet, which was beginning to chafe at the skin underneath my chin, before making my way around the monstrous hunk of brick flooring lying along the length of the grand foyer. Beyond that, as I’d remembered correctly, was the hallway leading to where her office had once been. But the scene I would discover there was a far cry from what I recalled.

What I found there wasn’t unlike what we’d found in the other offices up until now. Any furniture that had once filled the space had been destroyed. I could only just make out the contorted pieces of an old, blackened writing desk, its legs collapsed and the only thing relaying the tale of its former shape being the lamp lying shattered beside it. This I’d only noticed after hearing the crackling of shattered glass underfoot.

A clipped, nasal exhale sounded from behind me, where Link was taking in the scene with an expression similar to my own set into his face. He’d been clinging to my side since we’d begun searching, whether out of a desire to protect or to be protected, I did not know. A question rang in my ears that he’d posed to me during our meeting at my flat. “What will you do once you find her?” It was a simple question, one that I reasonably should have been able to answer, but the only one that came to mind would have sounded beyond foolish if said aloud. In the midst of such an era of power, what crime boss in their right mind would be swayed by a meagre plea to stop? But if not try to reason with her, there wouldn’t be many other options at my disposal.

This supposition only applied given that my mother would be found. My inspections so far had yielded no signs of Yiga activity, or for that matter, any activity whatsoever. Everything here seemed to have been here since the very incident that had levelled the place. In a way, this only added onto my already existing restlessness. The longer this search went on in vain, the less likely we were to find anything of worth, and the more likely it was for this endeavour to end in yet another failure. The moment I would finally give into my fear and call off the mission was steadily approaching.

A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision, followed by auditory pandemonium.

I just barely withheld my yelp. Link had turned toward the source of the sound with his hand on his holster.

But it had only been a piece of debris coming down from the floor above. I sighed furtively.

Between how Link’s shoulders had tensed up to meet his ears and the way his hand twitched as he lowered it from his hip, it was plain to see that I wasn’t the only one who was shaken up.

There was one more area of the ground floor that I had left to search: the conference hall. If the Yiga were anywhere to be found across these vast burial grounds, it was there.

What was left of the wood flooring creaked underfoot at a much greater volume than I’d been expecting. The ceiling, though just as high as that of the rest of this floor, somehow felt even loftier. Out of all the rooms we’d visited, this one was the most intact. Half of the risers, though scorched, were otherwise undamaged, and even the podium was still standing tall. But of course, being more intact meant giving sharpshooters more places to hide. One misstep and—

Crack

The floor fell out from beneath me. I let out a shriek, feeling the realm of death open its big, black maw and swallow me whole.

Then I landed with a calamitus crash.

If I hadn’t managed to curl my limbs around myself in time, the concrete flooring I seemed to have landed on surely would’ve cracked my head open, or given me a severe concussion at the very least. My whole body ached from the impact, and it felt as though I may have sprained my ankle, for when I tried to stand, it throbbed in the most violent pain I had ever experienced. I fell to my hands and knees, reeling.

The spot in the floor that I’d placed my weight on must have lost much of its hardiness to the fire. In all the times I’d been here as a little girl, it had never once occurred to me that this place had housed a basement.

“Zelda...!”

I looked up to see Link peering down from the hole in the ceiling that I’d made, his expression poised with worry. My body, covered in scrapes and bruises, cringed when I realized he had borne witness to that pathetic spectacle, making the pain tenfold.

“I’m fine,” I whisper-shouted up toward the only source of light in the room, and some of the fear in his face relaxed. He glanced around him, then looked back down in my direction before standing up and disappearing.

I could only hope he’d find his way down sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I shifted into a position I hoped I’d have more luck rising back to standing from, and I did. Though, maimed as I was, I’d still have to find some way to take some of the weight off my right foot.

The first thing I latched onto was rusty and sharp. I winced and pulled my hand back, looking blindly to see if my palm was bleeding or not.

As my eyes adjusted, I was relieved to see that the cut had only just grazed the surface of my skin. I scanned the room, seeing that the thing I’d touched was a piece of an old oil drum. In fact, the room was full of metal scraps resembling it.

A vision flashed before my eyes. Of City Hall being engulfed in flame within seconds, and the criminal mastermind hiding the evidence in a cellar, where no one would ever find it until the better part of two decades later.

The rest of the basement was still a cluttered mess, but somehow it felt a great deal more lived-in than what I’d seen up until this point. There wasn’t a soul to be found in any of the windowless rooms I came across, but the few things I found lying around with the help of my pocket torch, like an unopened pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards left strewn across a small table, gave me the distinct impression that I wasn’t alone. The numerous corners provided by old, metal bookshelves and file cabinets did little to slow my racing heart.

Eventually, I came upon an open doorway, beside which a small sign on the wall read, “Archive A.” Beyond the barrier, unlike the pitch darkness I’d been wandering through for I’d long lost count of just how long, a few threads of light were trickling in from above, presumably through a crack in the flooring above that I’d failed to notice before.

I stepped through the doorway, turned to face the yawning expanse of the former archive, and saw her. Dressed in pale white and standing radiantly in the center of the room.

My mother. The very image of my ever vivid memory of her was right there.

My feet carried me, with newfound purpose and with minds of their own, toward her. I wanted to reach out and feel her next to me. I wanted to ascertain that she was truly there and that I hadn’t actually hit my head and wasn’t now seeing things. I wanted to run at her, arms outstretched, more than anything in the world.

But then my ankle throbbed violently in protest, and my reason for being here came back to me at full force. I swallowed down my longing and stopped in my tracks. Her smile—that warm, glowing, congratulatory smile that held all the hope and light of the sun within its corners—wasn’t making this any less difficult, however. I was reminded of the simpler times, when at the end of each day, there was someone back at home waiting to hold me close and make all my worries melt away.

She held her arms out to me in a gesture that made my eyes well up with the tears of a child. It felt unspeakably wrong, but for what reason I could no longer place. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it possibly do? It was only natural to want to wrap my arms around her as tightly as I was able, and to never let go again, wasn’t it?

A gunshot ripped through the peace.

Her face turned still as stone. Square between her harmless eyes had appeared an inky black-red orifice—an exit wound—from which a spray of crimson had decorated her visage.

Time slowed almost to a stop as Mother careened forward and fell flat onto the cold, hard floor. A hollow thump echoed throughout the empty space.

Before I’d had time to react, I looked up and met eyes with a painfully familiar pair of icy azures, which thawed in an instant as the owner lowered his weapon. I glanced down at the body, which had landed just two or three paces in front of me, then back at him. Then my own body started to shake.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t control the violent tremors that had taken hold of me. My knees hit the floor, my bad ankle being wrenched one way in the process. This tore a scream from the depths of my lungs as the tears began waterfalling down in spiteful defiance against my will. I couldn’t bare to look at her—lithe arms strewn out limply at her sides and golden hair scattered in every direction—so I hid like the coward I was behind my stinging palms.

A metallic clack, followed by footsteps pounding the cement one after another as they neared. When his arms cradled my head into the shelter of his chest, I didn’t stop him. Nor did I when his hand began its gentle stroking up and down the curve of my back. He could have said something, anything, but he refrained. Instead, the silence surrounding my cries did nothing but amplify them.

A resounding clatter broke the air.

My vision was fogged up like a window pane in the dead of winter, but as I blinked away the tears, I began to make out the shape of an assault rifle lying on the concrete, at the feet of a person who hadn’t been there before and whose face I was unable to make out from this distance. In the figure’s hand was a bone-white mask, which they turned over in their grasp before dropping it onto the floor as well. It shattered upon landing.

In every corner, assassins were emerging from the shadows, each one of them laying down their weapons and turning to face the cooling corpse resting at the axis point of it all. Somehow, the room seemed even more devoid of daylight than ever before.

[p---ink]

Stark Contrasts: Chapter Three

Author’s Note: Hello all! For those of you following this series this is part 3 in my Tony Stark Fan-fiction. Part one is here, and part two is there. So sorry for the late update by the way. Writer’s block is a bitch. But I refuse to post something I don't at least like a little bit. That being said, I loved writing this chapter. Honestly if I can get just one person to read this and say they like it, I’ll be so grateful. It’s full of “angst”. I still use that word lightly, because to me it’s a drama instead of a story that makes you feel dread or anxiousness. Anyway I really hope you guys enjoy it, because this one took me a while. 

Summary: Upon finding about you and Tony’s romance, Edward Stark loses it. Pepper Potts steps in to help mediate the situation. 

Warnings: Angst, Language. No smut this time, sorry. :(

Song: Cry by Cigarettes after Sex. 

Word Count: 8.8k

Parts: one | two | three | four | five

Chapter Title: Mother Knows Best

 The concept of silence was made by man. We know this, because the world around us is never truly silent. You could argue differently though, because in this moment it felt like time stood still. You couldn’t even hear the sound of the clock ticking, as it rang loudly throughout the quiet room. Even the sound of your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage, fell on deaf ears. The one thing that was apparent to you however, was the rage behind Edward’s cool facade. Though it didn’t make a physical sound, it screamed louder than any noise had ever made.

You stopped embracing Tony and stepped away from him.  “By all means, please don’t stop on my account.” Edward chuckled. 

“I thought you were asleep.” Tony admitted, as if his thoughts helped the situation. He didn’t say it in an apologetic or shameful way, more so just stating a preconceived notion.

“Would that have made a difference?” Edward questioned, furrowing his brows inquisitively. “You know believe it or not, I felt guilty for leaving my girlfriend all alone in an unfamiliar town.” He stated, turning towards you and putting emphasis on the word unfamiliar. “When I heard your taxi pull up, I decided to come down and make sure you arrived safely. Can’t say I wasn’t surprised to see such a beautiful declaration of love.” He relayed his thoughts and actions as if he was telling a close friend a funny story. 

“Edward, we—” You start to explain. 

“We?” He interrupts, smile dropping for a second. But as quickly as it disappeared, it was back again. He began shaking his head in disbelief as he repeated the word ‘we’. “So you guys are a ‘we’, now? This is too fucking rich.” He laughed.

His grin was so wide, it almost looked genuine, and had you not known the story behind this reaction, you would of thought his joy made him look even more handsome. Right now, however, all it did was scare you.

“You know. I always thought it was weird how close you guys were.” He confessed, waving his finger in a playful ‘you-got-me’ kind of manner. His voice was sickeningly sweet, and it made your stomach churn. “But I told myself, that it was a good thing my dad liked my girlfriend so much. You know some people can’t say the same. Man was I foolish!” He exclaimed, looking between the two of you. While you gnawed at the inside of your bottom lip and averted your gaze away from Edward in shame, Tony rolled his eyes and scoffed at the display in front of him. 

“Dad tell me” He started again, pausing for a second to meet Tony’s eyes. “This is why you needed me at my desk right? So you could fuck my slut of a girlfriend?” If the words themselves didn’t make you wince, the tone they were laced in certainly did.

“Watch your mouth, when you address her.” Tony snapped through gritted teeth. 

Edward quickly threw his hands up  in defense before saying, “I’m sorry dad, you’re absolutely right. I should have said your, slut of a girlfriend. Please forgive me.” He smiled, watching his father’s fists clench. When you grabbed one of Tony’s hands, and whispered a ‘calm down’, Edward lost it. He focused on the way your chin rested on his father’s shoulder as well your hand on his a little too long. 

“How long has this been going on?” He asked coldly, abandoning the amused act. It stayed silent for a moment, and since he didn’t address a specific person, you took it upon yourself to answer. You felt you at least owed him that.

“A little over—” you try to answer, but your attempt is short-lived. 

“I was talking to my dad” He snarled, raising his voice and a hand to silence you. Turning his attention back to Tony, he repeated his question. “How long has this been going on?”

“Does it matter?” Tony quickly retorted, growing tired of the way Edward had been talking to you. 

“You know what, I think it does.” Edward challenged, eyes turning into thin slits as he looked his father up and down. “I deserve to know when this all started.” He said as if it was a matter of fact

Tony scrutinized him for a second, contemplating on whether or not he wanted to be mature or petty. He chose petty. “Fine. Since you insist on knowing all the juicy details: I’ve wanted her since the first day we met.” He revealed, shocking both you and Edward. “Now you do the math.”

  Now really thinking about it, Edward gradually stood from his seated position on the stairs. He tried piecing everything together, but it was hard because when he was home, he really wasn’t present. The evidence was still there, however, and even a blind man could see it. How could he have missed those longing stares from across the room? The lingered touches that Tony would press against the small of your back. He somehow even managed to dismiss the way the room would go quiet whenever he walked in. The way Tony whispered to you secrets that would make your thighs clench. What innocent thing could he be saying that would make your body react like that? As you two watched anger consume him, Tony gently pushed you behind himself before Edward spoke again. 

His nails had a grip on his palms so tight, you were sure they left blood, or at the very least dents. His chest, was rapidly rising and falling, as if he was having trouble keeping air in his lungs. His jaw produced a slight bulge, that was a direct result from the way he fastened it shut. “Dad.” He growled, his carefree demeanor now long gone.“How could you? She was mine.”

“See that’s your problem Edward. She doesn’t fucking belong to you, or anyone else for that matter.” Tony corrected, matching his son’s hostile energy. “And if you really cared about her, maybe I would have never had the chance to fuck her.” Your brows furrowed at his choice of words, and you gave him a sideways glare. He was purposely trying to evoke a reaction.

He got what he wanted, because as soon as he said it, Edward moved like a blur as he crossed the room to connect his fist with Tony’s face. He caused him to fall to the ground before catching himself with his palms. You gasped, and dropped to the floor beside the fallen Tony, who was now licking a busted lip. 

“I hope she was worth every minute.” Edward spat, kneeling down to clutch his father’s collar.

“Every second.” Tony teased, finding a smirk under the sting he felt from his lips. Edward delivered another punch, this one landing on one of his eyes, then another that found its way under the side of his chin, leaving only a few seconds between each blow. Had you not pushed yourself between them he would have left his father’s face a bloody and swollen mess. 

“Stop!” You shriek, holding your arm up to shield any further blows. He did stop, but you two held each other’s glares. His hand was still fixed in an attack position, and thats when you began to soften your features. You realized that he was seriously considering whether or not he wanted to hit you as well. Before you just knew he wouldn’t harm you, but seeing the look on his face now you weren’t so sure. Was that how bad you had hurt him? 

Edward decided against striking you. Though his father had been taking his hits like a champ, that would quickly change as soon as Edward laid a finger on you. Fire burning in his eyes and a serious conflict within, he stood to collect himself. “You’re dead to me, Y/N.” He stated, lowly. You wanted so badly to say ‘I’ve been dead to you for a long time now’ but decided that now wasn’t the time. 

He began straightening the wrinkles from his shirt and running his long digits through his raven black hair. “I’ll send for my stuff.” Was all he said as he took a step over both you and Tony, walking away in search of his keys.

“Better send someone quick, before they have to sort through ashes!” Tony shouted, rolling to his side to pick himself up with your aid. Edward neither spared him a glance, nor another word. 

When you heard the door click, you helped Tony readjust. Once he was put back together, you pulled your hand back as far you could to deliver a solid smack to his arm.

“Ow” he wailed, grasping the area you hit. “Haven’t I been hit enough today?” 

“No. Why did you have to act so childish?” You asked, demanding an answer.

Still rubbing the sore spot on his arm, he looked down at you with a blank expression.  “He deserved it.” Was what he said in an indifferent tone.  

You rolled your eyes, before saying “Even if that’s the truth, he was upset and he had every right to be.”

“No Y/N, he didn’t.” He said slightly raising his voice, and talking with his hands. “How he could even call you his girlfriend after all of this time, is beyond me. He doesn’t get to be upset.”

“Tony we violated his trust.” You cried, searching his frustrated face in hopes of finding a sliver of empathy for his son. 

“Edward is a self-serving jackass, who relatively no one can trust. Do you really think he holds weight in this matter?” He countered, raising a brow. In realization that his face was now forming bruises, you asked these next questions.

“You have all of the answers don’t you? Was this all worth the black eye and busted lip?” You ask, gesturing towards his face.

“Absolutely.” He answered referring to both questions. “I’d do it again if it meant seeing the look on his face.” He stated proudly.

“You’re impossible.” You grumble, as you walk away to grab a dampened rag from the bathroom. 

“Edward’s the one who’s impossible!” Tony shouted from the other room.

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the tenth time tonight at his comment. “Why is he being so immature?” You mumbled to yourself, before walking back to the foyer washcloth in hand. You found him in the family room instead, studying a younger photo of Edward. He did feel guilty, he was just to proud to show it. You sighed alerting him of your presence. He instantly reacted by sitting the frame back down on its floating shelf, clearing his throat and pretending that you didn’t just capture him longing for the days when Edward was at the very beginning of his youth. You decided to play his game, choosing not to mention his shame, but still acknowledging that it existed. That was enough for you. To you it meant he was a good person. 

“Come here” you quietly say. He sauntered over to you slowly, reaching down to take the cloth from your hands. You playfully jerk it back from him, before giving him a fixed look. Pushing him down on the nearest couch to stand between his legs, he holds onto your waist to keep you steady. The cool washcloth dripped water down your arm, as you reached up to nurse his bruises. Apparently Edward had been wearing a ring, because a cut had formed just above Tony’s brow. He winced when you pressed the cloth over the mark to clean it. You couldn’t help but feel guilty, feeling to be the cause of this all.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Tony asked breaking the silence.

“What did I say earlier?” 

“You said you love me.” You could tell he felt insecure, and your prolonged answer only made it worse.

“Of course I did silly.” You say, pecking the tip of his nose, literally kissing his worries away. “And what about you, did you mean it when you said you’ve wanted me since the first day we met?”

“Every word of it.” He smirked. You grinned back, finding comfort in his words. It didn’t last longs though, as tonights events kept replaying in your mind. 

“So…where do we go from here?” You asked softly, voice just barely above a whisper. Had you not been standing right in front of him, he would have missed it.

The cloth covered one of his eyes completely, so he looked at you with the free one. But even with no eyes, he would be able to sense the worry in your voice, and imagine the worry on your face. He cupped the hand that was on his cheek, and kept his other hand on your hip. 

“We just wait, The hard part is over now.” He assured,  leaning in to plant a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before settling in on your lips, tugging your shirt to deepen it.

After you finished up his face you guys prepared to go to sleep. It was the first night since your being together where you weren’t afraid of being caught. You laid in bed, and thought of his words as you forced yourself to sleep. You wished you could believe them, but knowing the man that Edward was, you knew tonight was nothing compared to what was to come. 

__________________________________________________________________

“You slept with his girlfriend, and you have the nerve to tell me to calm down?” Was what you heard when you woke up. A few days had passed since Edward found out about you two. You were trying not to think about it too hard, but life had other plans. You wiped the crust from your eyes, and slowly sat up to yawn and stretch, focusing in on the conversation unfolding downstairs. 

“Tony, among all of the morally fucked up things you’ve done, this has got to be the worst! And Stark Industries used to cater to the advancements of industrialized weapons.” Pepper. That voice belongs to Pepper. You thought.

“Okay Pepper, you’re being a little dramatic. The weapons are obviously worse.” Tony said, in a fed-up tone. You carefully let your feet hit the floor to silently go eavesdrop from the top of the banister. 

“We both know that’s not the point.” She said bringing her voice down an octave. 

“Then exactly what point are you trying to make, Ms. Potts? Why are you here?” Tony retorted. He spoke in hushed tones, but the annoyance in his voice was clear.  

“I need to see Y/N, so—”

“No.” Tony quickly interrupted, but Pepper continued.

“—So we can figure this mess out.” She cried. 

“Hell no Pepper, I’m not letting you bother her with this bullshit.” Tony bit.

“Edward is really upset!”

“Unfortunately, I am all out of fucks to give about Edward’s feelings.” 

“Tony, look at what he’s threatening to put out.” You could tell she was showing him something, you just didn’t know what “If this reaches the public people are gonna start piecing these things together, and realize it has to do with you.”

“Pepper.”

“Let me speak to Y/N.”

“No.” At this point you began making your way downstairs, curious as to why she came all this way. You liked Pepper. You met her after meeting Tony. They had been separated for months. Despite Tony’s horror stories, she was always nice to you. Perhaps the divorce helped her find herself, because the Pepper you met was nothing like the one he described. 

“Y/N! Please come down!” You hear Pepper yell from the foyer. 

“Pepper, are you out of your mind? For crying out loud.” Tony cries upon seeing you descend. He was facing the staircase, hands on Pepper’s shoulders trying to urge her out of the door. Her back was turned, until she followed Tony’s line of sight, spinning to focus her smoky blue eyes on you instead. 

Her golden blonde hair was done up into her typical tight ponytail. Makeup light, consisting only of a simple peach colored lipstick and mascara. She wore a tan pencil skirt, white blouse and safe nude pumps. As per usual, Pepper was perfectly primped, not a gold lock out of place, save her bangs and a few intentional strands that cradled her face. If only her appearance could match her attitude.

She fully turned her body so that her attention was on you. “Y/N, please tell me this whole thing isn’t true.” Pepper pleaded.

“I’m afraid it is Ms. Potts.” You reply, sheepishly, suddenly feeling ashamed again. To have Pepper disappointed in you, felt worst than getting caught by Edward himself. 

“Jesus.” She sighed, closing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. “You two, have royally fucked yourselves.  Take a look at this.” She stepped closer to you with an iPad in hand, dragging a skinny finger across the screen to reach the content she wanted you to see. She came to a stop and handed it over to you once she reached a page that looked like an article, or at least the rough draft of one. It was clearly about you and Tony, as the entire thing talked about Edward dealing with the betrayal of two people closest to him: a person who gave him life, and a person whom he gave his love. He was the victim, and though he did not put a name to his betrayers, they were clearly the decorated villains. It was very well-written. He even added parts to the story that not even you knew happened. 

Tony watched you panic. He watched the worry lines etch themselves in your skin. He snatched the iPad from your wandering fingers, and then he watched confusion take the place of worry. “You have to get ready for class. Besides, Ms. Potts was just leaving.” He firmly stated.

“What? No Tony. I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to go to school today.” She suggested as Tony handed her the device back. “We have to figure out what we are going to do about this.” Was what she said as he gently pushed her out of the house, and closed the door in her face.

He was really upset with her for upsetting you. Maybe he was also upset about Edward, but he felt his son couldn’t do any real harm. However, he knew you felt otherwise.

“Don’t worry about him.” He assured. “Eddy is just throwing another tantrum.” 

“Another?” You questioned, both worry and confusion working hard to dominate your features. “What are you not telling me?”

“Stop worrying. That’s what I am telling you.” 

“How can I not? Tony you keep telling me not to be worried, but you and I have seen what he can do when he’s upset.”

“Yea well I taught him how to do it. His ‘power’ comes from me, and I can assure you that. Everything will be fine.” He assured once again.

You blow out hot air threw your nose, frustrated with his naivety. He was really acting like the problem didn’t exist. “I have to get ready for class.” You stated, flicking your hands in the air as if to brush off his words before stomping away. 

“Baby?” He yells from the foyer, as you retreat up the stairs.  

“What Tony?” You yell back, once you make the bathroom. 

“Are you mad at me?” He whines.

“Yes!” You scream.

“Well, I love you!” You can practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Fuck you Tony.” You yell, mocking fake agitation.

 “Sure, but we have to wait until after you get home from school.” Well at least he learned his lesson from last time. You think to yourself, smiling as you get ready for the day. 

_________________________________________________________________

It felt like days had passed as you watched Professor Maxwell drone on and on about quantum mechanics. In reality, it had only been about 4 hours since you left the house. This was your last class of the day, so of course he had to drag it on.

You sat alone in his huge lecture hall, half-heartedly scribbling down notes. Though you were easy to get along with, and many people thought you were cool and nice, you found it hard to make real friends with your peers. You attended a prestigious university and most of them came from different backgrounds. Of course, for the most part, there was nothing was wrong with that, but it did make it harder to find common interests from time to time. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any friends though, just not in this particular environment. This fact alone helped you excel in your studies and passions. You found with no social distractions you could get more done. Right now however, you were more distracted than you had ever been.

You kept thinking about Edward’s article. You kept thinking about Edward. You really hurt him. But Tony was right, Edward had been hurting you since the beginning. It still didn’t make it okay for you to cheat, let alone sleep with his Dad. Preoccupied with your self-guilt, you didn’t notice the dings that sounded off around the quiet auditorium. Gasps, and soft whispers, followed, as people looked at you, but you were far too focused on your own problems to pay attention to theirs. You weren’t too focused to not hear the professor signal the end of class though. 

Shoving your laptop in your bag, you sprung to your escape. Bursting through the grand oak doors of your university’s science hall, you rushed to be the first in line at the school’s popular little cafe. Grabbing their pastry of the day became your favorite ritual. 

You leaned down to take in all of your choices. The warm yellow light of the display case illuminating your face. You could hear a faint buzz coming from it over the humming of the espresso machines, the overplayed pop songs, and the chatter from your fellow students and locals that frequented it. Coming here was peaceful. It was much like the library would be to someone who needed to focus. You found the busyness of the world relaxing, because no matter how many problems you faced, everyone else just kept moving.  

You thought about how you were gonna treat yourself. Maybe you would have an apple strudel today. Or perhaps a blueberry cannoli? Peach scone? You decide on the strawberry shortcake, it was a classic and to die for. You pointed it out to the pastry clerk, and he was happy to go and prepare it for you. 

“What, your sugar daddy not giving you enough sugar at home?” You heard a voice ask from behind you. You mentally groaned and rolled your eyes at the sound of Amber. She was a girl from Edward’s past that had a personal vendetta against you for reasons unknown. They were long done before you entered the picture, but Amber must of felt otherwise. 

You turned around to greet her, and as always you were astonished by her appearance. She had these catlike hazel green eyes that could burn a hole through steel. A strawberry blonde curly mane cascaded down her shoulders. She also had a natural sun-kissed golden tan, and she stood at a tall 5’11. She was gorgeous. Why she was still hung up on Edward, you would never know.

She had with her, Cassie, a faithful fan of hers who couldn’t form her own standing opinion . She kissed Amber’s ass so much you were surprised to find out she didn’t live in her toilet. She also brung Jasmine one of her new recruits, a petite mousy-like sophomore. Jasmine was okay, but she was a try-hard in constant need to of approval, hence why she hung out with Amber. 

“Hi Amber.” You smile, mustering up your last bit of fucks to give. You were too tired to acknowledge the meaning behind her comment, but not too tired to throw her a bone. 

“Hi Amber.” She mocked, slurring your words. “You had everyone around you eating out of the palm of your hands, but I knew your goody-two-shoes act was just that: an act.” 

“What are you talking about?” You asked, heart dropping to your stomach. You hoped she wasn’t talking about what you thought she was. 

“So you can’t read now? Let me say this slowly so you can comprehend.” She cleared her throat for a comedic effect before she spoke again. “Edward finally let the rest of the world know what a gold digging slut you are!” She smirked, throwing out her hand to Jasmine who wasn’t paying her any attention. “Jasmine!” Amber shrieked, causing the poor girl to jump. She quickly recovered from her incompetence, and scrambled to pass Amber her phone. Amber passed it to you, careful not to take her eyes away from yours. She didn’t want to miss the face of a girl who’s life was about to fall apart.

On the phone, was the same article Pepper had shown to you earlier, only this time it had been updated with even more lies spread throughout. Edward played the part of an unsuspecting, loving, and caring son/boyfriend, who was blindsided by the treachery of his beloved father and girlfriend. 

Again no names, but if it wasn’t already obvious, people knew it was you now. You looked up to Amber, a smug look playing on her features. It didn’t unsettle you as much as she wanted it to. What unsettled you though, was when you looked around the cafe. All the noise and chatter had all but come to a cease. The humming from the coffee machines, the overplayed pop song, and the buzz from the display counter were all that could be heard. They were waiting. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for your reaction. 

No. You thought. I am not gonna give this bitch or anyone else the satisfaction of my reaction. You tighten your jaw, and turn to pay for your pastry, now in a hurry to leave the shop. 

Amber was not having it. “So you have nothing to say?” She scoffed loudly. “I am clearly talking to you.” She harshly grabbed your shoulder to turn you around. 

You were ready to throw hands but before you could you were promptly cut-off by someone else.

“Leave her alone Amber, before I fuck you up.” They commanded. Everyone’s necks snap to investigate the source of noise. Eyes land on the pink-haired girl at the back of the cafe. She had chosen a cozy little corner booth, where she could kick her feet up to watch all of those around her. 

“Excuse me?” Amber sneered.

Nao, if you remembered her name correctly, swung her feet out of the booth to make her way through the crowd. She came to stand in front of Amber’s frame, before she addressed her again. “Let me say this slow enough so that you can comprehend” You smiled, as she borrowed Amber’s words from earlier. “I said: ‘Leave her alone Amber, before I fuck you up.’”

“What are you gonna do to me Nail?” Amber challenged, feeling quite good about herself for the joke she made. 

“It’s Nao, but you knew that already, and you don’t want to try me” She warned. 

“What could possibly be worse than sleeping with your boyfriend’s dad?” Amber asked a little too loudly for your liking, she earned an uncomfortable laugh from Jasmine, and a cackle from Cassie, who playfully tapped her shoulder in approval. There were also a few scattered snickers from other people in the cafe.

“I don’t know, maybe you should ask all of those married men, who you slept with over the summer.” Nao suggested, eyes wide mocking innocence. “If they don’t know, their children and wives might.”

‘Ooo’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ erupted throughout the quiet space of the cafe. Someone whispered, “Did she say ‘men’, as in plural?”

Amber looked like she had seen a ghost as Nao looked her up and down, daring her to spill another word. Cassie took the dare.

“Nao, that’s not true! And even if it was it’s none of your business you nosy little cunt.”

“Don’t get me started on you Cassie. We all remember that time you sucked off Bryson Kidd, for a bag of hot Cheetos and a kiwi strawberry Arizona.” She said as she twisted her neck to look at Cassie’s mortified expression. Then her eyes traveled, landing on Jasmine,  who shook her head as if to say she didn’t want any part of this. 

Nao let her be, then turned to address the rest of the room, “Anyone else?”  She asked, gruff voice now coated in honey. She continued her scan around the shop, trying to bait people. This was fun for her, she knew they were scared. They knew she was a revered tech major, at the top of her class. Her know-how with computers wasn’t the reason she knew about Amber though. She wasn’t invasive like people thought she was. She was just quiet and observant. 

Nao continued her rant, “Are we all forgetting that Edward Stark has slept with at least half the women in this room alone? Mind you while he and Y/N were still in a relationship.” She looked around, disappointed in her peers. She caused some of the women in question to avert their judgy gazes away from you, mumbling profanities about Nao being a snoopy bitch. Nao turned back to Amber, who was still hot from embarrassment. “Where were your words of judgment then Amber?” She said leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Oops my bad. I shouldn’t expect you to say anything to him while his cock is stuffed down your throat.” 

The light pink that dusted Amber’s cheeks, deepened to a crimson that spread across her entire face and neck. She huffed, and turned on her feet to excuse herself from the cafe, Cassie and Jasmine both hot on her trail.

When they were gone, the conversations around you picked up again as people tried not to stare. 

Nao, finally turned her attention towards you. The smile you sported throughout her entire show dissipated as you realized she was about to tear into you now. She stepped closer, and closer to you, instantly making you shy away. When she was close enough to examine the pores on your face, she took out a crinkled 10 dollar bill, that she handed to the cashier. “I’ve got this one.” She declared, smiling in reference to your strawberry shortcake. The clerk handed her the bag, which she handed to you before taking a step back. You could tell she struggled with personal space.

“Thank you” You start. “But why did you do that?”  

She knew you were referring to Amber. “You never bother anyone Y/N. You’re always so nice. If you ever need me, just give me a call.” She motioned to your phone, “May I?”

“Oh yea, sure.” You say, before handing her your unlocked device so she could type in her number. While she input her contact information, you took advantage of the temporary distraction to really survey her features.

She was Japanese,  you remembered that from the icebreaker you had in a shared class a year ago. Brown freckles, that looked like constellations were sprinkled along her rosy cheeks. Long lashes, fluttered every time she opened her eyes to blink. And as mentioned before, she had pink hair, a wavy pixie cut to be exact, that sat on her head like a fluffy cloud. She was tall, but not as tall as Amber. Lanky, with long limbs. Bushy black eyebrows sat above her honey brown eyes. Her nose was so small, you wondered how she could breathe out of it. She, like Amber, was very pretty, only in a “non-traditional” way. 

You had a girl-crush. You were giddy by the fact that a strong woman came to your aid, batting for you like that. When she looked back up at you, you realized you were staring, so you ripped yourself out of your daze of admiration. “Thank you again. Also thank you for this!” You exclaimed, lifting up the brown goody bad. 

“Its no problem. Enjoy it. It’s almost as sweet as you.” She smiled at you widely before turning to leave.

What a great way to start off your Monday. 

__________________________________________________________________

“Tony I’m back!” You called throughout the house. Your echo was the only thing to greet you back. Must not be home. You thought to yourself.

You sit your keys in the dish next to the door, kicking your shoes off, deciding to worry about them later. Grabbing yourself a bottle of wine, and a glass to pour it in , you drift into the living room. You take your seat in your favorite chair, ready to kick your feet up and relax. 

“Hi.” Pepper says behind you, making you spill your grown-up juice on the seat beside you, as well as on Tony’s equally expensive rug. You knew that neat-freak was gonna lose his shit. 

“Pepper!” You squeal, “Why didn’t you say anything when I called out earlier?!”

“I didn’t want to startle you.” She explained rushing to grab some club soda and a dish rag from the kitchen. 

“How is this any better?!” You yell, as she reenters the room, falling to the rug to clean out the stains. She threw you a spare cloth and handed you the soda to tackle the spreading splotch on the couch. 

“I don’t know! Give me a break for at least trying.”

“How did you even get in here?” You ask, vigorously scrubbing into the fibers of the couch. 

“Y/N, I used to live here.” You abruptly stopped as she continued. At the mention of it, you cringed at how awkward this might have been for Pepper. You were Tony’s new plaything, while she was his old one. Not to mention the fact that you also had been with her son. 

“I forgot.” You sigh, before apologizing. “I’m sorry for all of this Pepper. This must be really strange for you.” The spot on the couch was now faint, so you abandoned your previous efforts. 

Satisfied with the removal of her designated stain as well, Pepper stood from her knees to occupy the seat opposite to you. “Nonsense dear.” She replied, giving you a tight smile. “Sit, please.”

“Where’s Tony?” You ask as you do as she says. She must have some idea, since she was here but he wasn’t. 

“On his way to get this article pulled. I can imagine he’ll want to confront Edward as well.” Pepper informed you, crossing her legs to get comfortable. You let out a huff of air, seeing as the last time they saw each other, it didn’t end quite well. “Speaking of Edward, he’s the reason I’ve come to see you. We have to talk about this.”

“Not to be blunt Pepper, but what else is there to talk about? Everyone already knows about it, how much worse could it get?”

“That’s the thing. It will only get worse if you two continue your affair. Edward is talking about filing an injunction against Tony. He could lose his position as CEO of Stark Industries.” You eyed her in disbelief. You knew Edward was capable of being vindictive, just not this much. 

“Can he really do that? Is what I have with Tony that serious?” You were genuinely concerned.

“Ordinarily CEO’s don’t get removed because of their personal relationships, but because you and Tony have something different, I believe Edward has a fighting chance.” She paused to exhale as she surveyed your features. “Tony’s face is plastered everywhere in the world. He is Stark Industries, and a lot of his success comes from his fame. To be associated with such a scandal could prove very harmful to the future of this company.” She finished. 

Just like Edward worked hard to prove himself to Tony, Tony worked harder to prove himself to Howard Stark. He risked everything, putting his all into Stark Industries. Erasing the blemish of  its past with weapons of mass destruction, he had successfully turned it into a clean, and sustainable energy industry that had proven just as, if not more, successful than its predecessor. He also dabbled in AI, robotics, and non-lethal ways to disarm enemies. You would not be the reason that all got thrown away. Still you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your gut.

“So I have to just stop seeing Tony?” You asked, internally pulling yourself together.

“I wish I could say it was that easy, Y/N. But we both know Tony won’t just stop seeing you.”

“So what do you suggest I do?” You asked her now slightly agitated. 

She sensed your irritation, but elected to ignore it, opting to continue her use of a soothing voice instead. “I understand you have an internship in France. I’m also sure that Tony, knows about it. Correct?”

“Yes. What about it?” You ignore the fact that she knows this despite not telling her. You had long given up on how Pepper acquired her information. Perhaps Edward had mentioned it, but you couldn’t see why it would be of interest to him. 

“Well Tony can’t know where you’re going. So how would you feel if I told you, I could pull some strings to get you an all-expense paid internship somewhere else?” 

“What’s the catch?” You ask sighing. This was all too much to process. 

“Instead of leaving in May, you’ll have to start preparing things now. You’ll need to leave as soon as possible so that you can get settled in by next week.” She quickly replied.

“Next week?” You gasp. “That doesn’t give me enough time to prepare. What about my course-load and credits? And my family, my friends? What would I tell them?”

“I already have everything handled.” She said raising her hands in a ‘calm-down’ kind of way. “Also, if you decide to leave you’ll need a place to stay for the time-being. I would offer my home, but Tony is too smart to not look there. You’ll need to stay somewhere he won’t find you until we can get you shipped out.” 

Is she for real? You thought to yourself. “Wait, you’re really serious about getting me to leave.” You say, through a pained chuckle.

“This is what’s best.” She simply replied, pursing her lips. 

“What do you get out of this Pepper?” You ask deciding now was the perfect moment to let your frustration boil over. “I mean, Tony is your ex, and I am the on who cheated on your son with said ex. You should be happy that Edward is about to ruin us. Why should I trust you?”

“Well first, let’s have the Tony conversation, it clearly makes you feel guilty.” She said drawing in a sharp breath. “His and my relationship was over before it even started. We were supposed to remain friends instead of lovers, but we ruined that with marriage. There are no hard feelings, so I don’t care who he’s with, even if it’s you. Now, on to Edward.”

She sat up in her chair to clasp her hands around her knee. “I am the reason he is the way he is. And for that, I apologize. In all honesty Y/N, I always liked you. I saw myself in you, and I still said nothing as I let him ruin you. I felt that you would be good for him. I ignored the fact that he wasn’t good for you. Guilt has consumed me, and the only way I see fit to redeem myself is to do my part in making sure he doesn’t ruin his father and you. I am trying to help.”

You wanted to believe her, but you still had your doubts. “How do I know this is all the truth? This whole injunction thing could be a ploy to get me out of the picture.”

Her patience was thinning. “If you want to risk it, then go right ahead. But don’t forget who you’re dealing with here. Edward has promised to stop if you leave. At least this way, everyone gets to keep what they worked so hard for. That article can do serious damage to your future career and Tony’s current one. And Edward will not stop until he’s satisfied.” 

At this point Pepper had said all that she came to say. So she stood to leave, but not before saying one last thing. “Tony doesn’t know I’m here. I’d like to keep it that way. Also, you don’t have much time to think about this one dear. The longer you stay, the more you risk. Contact me once you’ve made your decision”

You looked at her with your eyes full of sorrow. Pepper’s eyes could only offer you sympathy. You really wanted to believe she was telling the truth. But if she was, you had a lot to think about. You wished someone else could make the decision for you.

__________________________________________________________________

“Sweetheart!” Tony shouted, voice booming off of the walls. “Did you spill something on the rug?!Wait the fucking couch too!” 

How the hell did he see that, we scrubbed the shit out of those stains. You think to yourself, without answering him.

You could hear him as he stomped up the stairs, searching the rooms to find the one you were in. He found you in the laundry room, folding his and your clothes. “We have a housekeeper you know.” He reminded as he leaned against the doorway amused by the sight before him. 

“She’s a little weird, I saw her admiring my panties.” You answered weakly. 

He shook his head, as if you were the one being absurd. “That’s not weird, I do it all the time.  Anyway, did you spill wine downstairs?” 

“Yea sorry.” You reply. He could tell you were a bit off, since you didn’t laugh at his joke. You hadn’t even looked at him since he arrived. 

“Are you okay?” He asks stepping a bit closer. 

“I’m fine.” You responded, absentmindedly folding one of his shirts. 

“You’re lying.” He stated, pretty sure of himself. “If this is about the article, I got the publisher to pull it. It’s gonna be played off like a rumor.”

“It’s not about the article.” You sigh.

“So it is something. What is it?” He pressed, placing a hand over your folding ones to get them to stop

You knew he wasn’t going to give up, so you decided to just get it over with. “I had a talk with Pepper today.”

“Not this shit again.” He grumbled dropping his hands to exit the room. 

“Tony listen. She made a few good points.” You say following him as he strides away to his bedroom. 

“I don’t care about the points she’s made Y/N. I told you that you have nothing to worry about.” He countered, sounding exhausted. He had been exhausted since that night with Edward. 

“If that’s true then why did you go see Edward today?” 

“Who told you that?” He asked, spinning around to eye you suspiciously

“You just did.” You watched his face change from curiosity to awe. It was rare for you to outsmart him. “If you’re not worried, why were you there.”

He turned back around to loosen his tie, before saying “I don’t have to have this conversation right now.”

You exhaled loudly, frustrated with his stubbornness. “Either we have this conversation now, or we never have it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked in an amused tone. 

“It means, you should say all you want to say to me now, before I leave.” You answered. This got him to turn back around and face you. 

“Before you leave? What kind of bullshit has Pepper been spewing now?”

You pause and think before saying another word. You had already said too much. He wasn’t supposed to know you were leaving, let alone that Pepper was even here. If you were gonna do this though, you didn’t want any words left unsaid. That was your reasoning behind what you would say next. “She thinks it’s best if I leave.”

“Leave? For what?” He asked closing the distance between you. 

“Edward is calling for your removal as head of Stark Industries.

“Oh that? I'm not worried about that. Like I said, it’s another tantrum and it will blow over.” He stated, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Your son throws huge tantrums Tony. And this one doesn’t seem like its gonna just blow over. This is really serious, and Pepper feels like he has a fighting chance.” You state, ignoring his fingers that wandered along your skin. He always tried to use sex to take your mind off of things.

“A fighting chance? On the grounds of what? That I stole his little girlfriend.” He teased, grabbing your lower back to pepper kisses along your neckline. 

“Quit it, this is serious.” You whined, shoving him off of you. 

Sighing from both rejection and frustration, Tony lowly replies “It’s really not.” 

“You know what, maybe not to you, but I will not let you throw away your entire legacy. I’m leaving so you don’t mess your life up.” You bite, frustrated with his indifference. You began making your way to your old room to go and pack your things.

You were almost in the door until Tony harshly gripped your wrist, whipping you around to face him. “Who are you to make that decision for me? Huh? You don’t know a fucking a thing about this.” He barked, tone getting more aggressive the longer he spoke. “Who cares about Edward and his little temper-tantrums. Even if he takes the company, at the end of the day, I’m still filthy, fucking, rich. And if I wanna have you, I’m gonna have you. You’re mine. No one else is gonna tell me different.” He spat. 

“Let go,” you said, flinging your wrist free of his grip. Once free, you immediately began to back away. Tony’s glare weakened once he realized how badly he overreacted. He had began to succumb to all the stress that this was all causing him. He took it out on you, which he immediately regretted. You would be a damn liar though, if you said hearing him speak that way didn’t make you sexually frustrated. But you had a face to uphold in that moment. He needed to think you were mad at him. “What happened to me not belonging to anyone? You think because you’re ‘filthy, fucking’ rich’ you can just make me yours?”

Tony let his guilt show, “Kitten, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Goodnight Tony.” You say, as you slink in to your old room, the one you and Edward used to share.

“Wait, please.” He begged, taking a step forward. 

You slammed the door shut before he could reach inside, sliding down the cool wood until you reached the floor. He began knocking against the door, pleading with you to open it so that you could talk things out. Tony was not a man in need of much, so to hear desperation overtake his emotions left you wrecked. 

You immediately began sobbing into your shirt, doing your best to muffle your cries. You did not want to leave, but you could not be the reason his life’s work got flushed down the drain. 

He would be over you in no time. You would get over him as well. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself as you texted Pepper your decision to leave. 

__________________________________________________________________

Jerking awake after your fight, you realized that the sun had gone down. You checked your phone, and saw that it was almost time for you to leave. Pepper would be over to pick you up soon, so you quietly got up to pack, careful not to alert Tony if he was near. 

You packed light. Very light. Everything fit into a bag that you could carry over your shoulder. You were only taking the things you felt absolutely necessary, like your toothbrush, underwear, a few outfits, and anything else that you could fit into the small bag. Pepper insured that she would take care of the rest. You informed of her of your fight with Tony. She was disappointed that you let him know you were leaving but she expected it from you, which is why she never told you exactly where you were going. 

You had to stay with someone else until your departure, because it would be easier to keep the secret of your destination away from Tony among other things. Now the problem lied in where you would stay. He knew all of your friends. He had even met some of your closest family members through Edward. And as Pepper mentioned before, you couldn’t stay with her, because it would be one of the first places he checked. You thought of Samuel and Elise from your favorite restaurant, but decided against them because you didn’t know where they stayed, nor did you have any way of contacting them. 

Maybe Nao. You thought, before shaking the idea out of your head as quickly as it came. There is no way she would let me, we just met and she didn’t mean her offer literally. 

But if she didn’t mean it, she wouldn’t of given me her number. Plus, Tony doesn’t know her, so she’s perfect. You silently debated with yourself. You were desperate so you shot her a text pleading your case. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek. You weren’t one to really ask people big favors like this one, so you were nervous. 

Nao replied back not even two minutes later, offering you an invitation to bunk with her for as long as you needed. You immediately shot her a thank you and continued your packing. 

You had to move quickly before you changed your mind. Everything that Tony got for you would remain here. Not having much money to your name, you could have sold it and made yourself a pretty coin, but that wasn’t the type of woman you were. Besides all of it meant so much to you, everything had sentimental value, just because he had given it to you. You decided to display every single thing he ever got for you on the bed and floor. The shoes, the lace, the bags, clothes, etc. When you came across the jewelry that he got you, it proved to be a challenge. Every one he had purchased on very special occasions, like your birthday, Christmas…Valentine’s Day. You thought when you came across the destroyed remains of the Cartier bracelet he got for you that day. ‘My heart belongs to you, T.S.’  You wanted to take it. You desperately wanted to take it to have something that reminded you of him, but seeing as the small plaque itself probably cost him thousands you decided to leave it. Rubbing the cold metal between your fingers one last time, you set it down. 

You thought to leave your phone. Tony had it replaced it for you when you lost it in Italy  on one of your trips. You weren’t certain about whether or not he would trace it if he was really desperate. Okay now I’m being ridiculous. He doesn’t care about me that much, you thought, before placing the device back in your pocket now heading to the door. 

Even while touching the knob you were careful. Making the slightest sound could set him off to your presence. He was a pretty light sleeper unless he was blackout drunk, so you weren’t wrong for your caution. Turning it slowly, opening the door even slower, you slipped through it once it was wide enough.

“Y/N” you heard him murmur from behind you. At the sound of his voice you stifled a squeal of surprise. When you turned to confront him, determined to make your case for leaving, your eyes had to travel down to the floor where he resided. You saw him fast asleep, back against your doorway. Had he been there since your fight? Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw the flashing of lights outside, signaling that Pepper was there. You were starting to unravel. Tears did not threaten to leave your eyes, they promised. As they spilled down your cheeks you shook them away along with your weak thoughts. The sight of Tony at your doorstep almost made you drop your bags and forget all your previous worries. 

Almost.

  A/N: Please do not claim my work as your own. Please leave a comment, a like, and reblog, it honestly really means the world to me when I get comments. 

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

tell me you care

request: 60 62 and 74 with Joel edmundson or Matthew tkachuk

prompts: “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t care.” & “Hi.” - “Get away from me.” & “You’ve been crying, I can tell.” / numbers 60, 62, & 74 off of this list with Matthew Tkachuk.

summary: first impressions are important to you, but Matthew somehow finds a way to bounce back.

warnings: none

word count: 2.9k

You were, by all accounts, a likable, friendly person. You always wore a smile on your face and got along with just about every person you met. Of course, there’s always a few exceptions. Your grumpy old neighbor who had heard your music loud late at night once and decided to hold a grudge. A few of the girls at your old high school who resented you for not giving them the time of day. One of your professors, who seemed to have a personal vendetta after you forgot to turn in an assignment late. 

And then there was Matthew. 

Your relationship with the curly haired hockey player was something else entirely. He was cocky, which to be fair you could handle, because you were friends with other hockey players on the Flames, but it was borderline arrogance that made your skin crawl. He teased you relentlessly whenever you were in the same room, which, once again, wouldn't be a problem if he actually showed some kindness every once in a while. 

Long story short, you and Matthew did not get along very well. Like, at all.

Which also seemed to be a source of amusement between his teammates, and it seemed to be their personal mission to get you and Matt in the same room as often as possible just to see how you’d react. 

“Noah, I’m pretty sure whatever it is, you don't need my help. You’re pretty capable.” You joked, following your friend’s large frame into the kitchen. You were at a house party, thrown by Matthew himself, though Johnny had been the one to extend the invitation to you. You had considered not even going, but then Johnny had said something about how he wanted to make sure he spent as much time with him as he could before they got too busy with a push for the playoffs, and, really, how could you say no to that? 

But you had seen Johnny twice in the entire night, and only spoken to him once. He had been with Matthew, and you weren’t in the mood to start a fight, so you kept your distance. You found residence at the pong table, making friends with the people there and hung out for a while until Noah approached, saying he needed help getting something in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, but it’s more fun if you come.” He said with a grin, one that should have been your first warning to turn and run, but you were just tipsy enough to overlook it as you walked into what was essentially a trap. Standing in the kitchen awaiting your arrival was not only Johnny, but Matthew and the usual gaggle of women that trailed after him 

You weren’t blind, you knew Matt was attractive. Curly hair, handsome grin, tall with broad shoulders—you definitely got the appeal. But then he did things like open his mouth, and you wondered just why those girls stuck to him like they did. 

Matt didn’t even see you enter at first, too busy chatting with one of the girls to notice you. But then Johnny called your name with a cheer, raising his drink in your direction and opening his arm for you to tuck yourself into his side.

And Matt genuinely might have given himself whiplash with how fast his head snapped to face you. 

“Where have you been?” Johnny teased, squeeing you obnoxiously tight before letting go. 

“Playing pong.” You explained with a shrug.

“How bad did you lose?” Matt cut in, and for a moment you spotted the mischievous glint in Johnny’s eyes as you rolled yours, not even bothering to turn towards the boy who had spoken at first. When you finally turned, you were surprised to find that Matt had separated himself from the girls, but they were still nearby. 

“What makes you think I lost?” You knew you shouldn't have said it, should have turned back to Johnny and asked him how much longer he planned on stay or told Noah off for tricking you into coming into the kitchen. But instead, you took Matt’s bait and met his smirk head on. 

“Well, you’re in here instead of defending your title of champion.” His arms were folded across his chest and his attention was solely on you, and it was devastating that even though you could feel your annoyance at him growing, you couldn’t help but silently acknowledge how attractive he looked.

“I’m taking a break, my partner needed to use the bathroom and Noah said he needed help with something.” You found yourself explaining, though the petty part of you considered just ignoring him. Knowing Matt, though, he probably would take that as he had been right, and there was absolutely no way you were letting him think that.

“Who were you playing with?” He questioned, and he sounded like he was genuinely interested but you were certain he was working some kind of angle, trying his best to try and get under your skin. With your brows tugged together in confusion, you gestured across the open floor plan apartment to the guy you had been playing against. 

The guy was already looking at you, and when you made eye contact, he sent a wink in your direction. You smiled back at him, before he was blocked from your line of sight by a broad chest. Over Noah and Johnny’s laughter, you realized that Matt had physically moved from one side of the kitchen to the other, just to stand between you and your decently handsome pong partner. 

“What are you doing?” You crossed your arms over your chest and raised a brow, spotting out of the corner of your eye as the girls Matt had abandoned from his previous spot huffed in annoyance. 

“I don't want you flirting at my party.” He explained, all traces of amusement void in his tone. You rolled your eyes, and the only thing that stopped you from gesturing to the women who were waiting for him to pay attention to them once more being the fact you didn't want them to think you were rude. 

“Oh, you really don't get to decide that.” Your response, coupled with the way you were clearly waiting for him to try and argue his case, had him spluttering for a response.

“No—not like that, I just meant—” He started, but was mercilessly cut off by one of his teammates barging into the kitchen.

“Hey, Chucky!” Rasmus cheered, swinging an arm over his shoulders as Matt still floundered for a response. 

“Saved by the bell.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at Matt and smiling at Rasmus as you passed. 

An hour and a half had passed in peace. You had been hanging with Noah for the entire time, until about five minutes ago when a girl caught his attention and you shoved him in her direction with an encouraging smile. Surprisingly, despite it nearing one in the morning, there were still quite a lot of people in the apartment, and all at once it felt stuffy. 

You slipped out onto the balcony and were alone for two minutes, tops, before the door opened behind you. You didn’t turn at first, too captivated by the nighttime view of Calgary. But you did feel the person lean against the railing next to you, and it was a voice you were certain you could recognize anywhere.

“Hi.”

“Get away from me.” You snapped, tired from a long day of classes and your buzz had long since worn off. 

“You're so sweet, you know that?” Matt’s sarcastic tone was obvious, but when you turned to look at him he was grinning. It wasn't his typical devilish smirk, it seemed genuine. “What’re you doing out here by yourself?” If he was being civil, then you could too. 

“I needed some air.” You shrugged, turning away from him and leaning backwards against the railing, craning your head sideways to look at him. “I think I’m going to head out, though?”

And it was like a switch had been flicked, all traces of his typical annoying personality vanished, and it was as if you guys didn’t usually bicker whenever you were in the same room. 

“I’ll go with you.” He said easily, as if it wasn't the first time he had offered something like that. You scoffed, raising a brow in his direction. 

“Not a chance, Tkachuk.” 

“Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.” He clarified with a chuckle, only grinning wider when you rolled your eyes. “It's way too late, I’m not letting you get in an Uber alone.” 

And, okay, so maybe he wasn't as big of an asshole he you had originally thought. 

“You can’t just leave your own party.” There was a hint of amusement in your voice, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment. It was strange, usually you couldn’t wait to get away from Matt, but the simple fact that he was thoughtful enough to not want you to get in an Uber alone had you starting to see him in a different light.

“Yeah, I can. Johnny was going to crash here tonight so he can watch the place. Nobody will even notice I’m gone.” You wanted to protest, to argue that his fan club of women that he had somehow managed to lose in the crowded party.

But then he grabbed your hand and tugged you inside, his free hand ordering the car to your apartment. His tall frame was able to spot Johnny through the crowd, and he made his way over to him. Johnny had been in the process of crossing the room, so Matt was able to catch him by himself.

“Hey, we’re heading out but I’ll be back soon.” Matt told Johnny, gesturing to the door over his shoulder. Johnny’s gaze casted over Matt, then to you, and down to where your hands were still connected. 

“Stay safe, you two.” Johnny was clearly hiding a grin, and without your permission a blush bloomed on your cheeks. Matt didn’t notice, thankfully, and tugged you by your joined hands towards the exit. 

It was silent between you and Matt the whole ride to your apartment. It was a little strange, how he didn't let go of your hand until he was opening the car door for you. What was even more strange was how you found yourself wanting to reach back out to him once he settled in the back beside you. 

But, you stayed quiet, hands in your lap and stared out the window. Once the car turned onto the street your apartment was located on, you decided that you needed to say something.

“Uh, thanks, Matt.” You spoke quietly, turning to face him. He was already looking at you, a genuine smile on his face. The car pulled over, and Matt was climbing out and holding the door open for you before you could even think to reach for the handle on your side. 

“Don’t worry about.” He was standing on the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his pockets as he shrugged. It was hard to believe that the man standing before you was the same that not only an hour before you couldn’t stand to be around. But he had shown you the side of him you had only heard about from Johnny and Noah, the sweet and caring side. You bit your lip, contemplating your next move, unable to get yourself to just turn around and go inside. 

If anyone asked, you would tell them alcohol was the reason why you did what you did.

You pushed yourself onto your tip-toes, one hand placed on his chest to brace yourself and the other on his shoulder to keep him still as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You smiled subconsciously at the way his scruff scratched your lips. 

For seemingly the first time in his life and definitely since you had met him, Matt was at a loss for words. His jaw dropped a bit, a slight blush creeping up his neck. 

He watched as you retreated into your building to make sure you got there safe, and only when you were half inside the door did you turn to face him once more. 

“Get home safe, Tkachuk.”

After that night, things seemed to shift between you and Matthew. Time spent with him was filled with more laughter and less annoyed glares, though you were pretty certain that you still rolled your eyes at him just as often. He had shown you his softer side, and it was like you saw him in a different light. He was still a pest, but he was more endearing than obnoxious.

And then you and Matt started spending time one-on-one, and it was becoming increasingly clear that before when he would say the things he did, it was only because that was his personality. He acted like that with everyone, you had even showed up at his apartment while he was FaceTiming his parents and caught him chirping his dad. 

He had introduced you to his parents that night, and that was when you started to feel the shift on your relationship with him. How things weren’t so platonic between you, the way your heart raced whenever he tugged your legs across his lap while hanging out on the couch or how you found yourself wanting to text him whenever something good happened. 

But you shoved that part of you down, and tried to carry on as normal. Which is why you agreed to go on a date, and one date led to two, three, four, and that’s how you ended up crying on the couch by yourself one night. Your phone was still open, his ‘sorry, this isn't going to work’ text mocking you as the device sat on the cushion next to you. 

You felt stupid for crying over this guy, it wasn't as if you felt any real feelings for him, heart already occupied by a mop of curls. But your day had been stressful, and even then it sucked being dumped by a guy you thought things might have worked out with.

Someone knocked on your front door, startling you enough to drag you out of your thoughts. As you stood, you wiped the tear tracks from your face to try and seem presentable, knowing your puffy face and bloodshot eyes would give you away immediately. 

Though, you forgot all about how bad you must have looked when you spotted the person standing on the other side of the door. Matt barely had time to register your appearance before you flung yourself into his arms, a hug which he easily returned. 

He didn’t say anything, just lifted you off the ground a bit to carry you inside the apartment and shut the door with his foot, keeping you out of sight of the prying eyes of your neighbors. Eventually you had to pull away, but he gently cupped your jaw, not letting you get far away. You felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, knowing that he was searching your face for any signs of what could have explained your behavior. 

“You’ve been crying, I can tell.” He said so simply, and it clearly wasn't a question, but you found yourself nodding anyways. He moved you both so you were sitting on the couch, and pulled you into his chest. His hand was rubbing comfortingly up and down your back, effectively soothing you. “Why?”

And so you did, starting from your day sucked from the moment you woke up to the text you’d received ten minutes before his arrival. When you told Matt about the guy, he tensed up underneath you, and you felt his hand momentarily still on your back. 

After a while, Matt had turned on some show and the two of you were silently watching without having separated. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you worried that maybe he could feel it from your position. 

“I know we haven't always gotten along.” He started after a while without conversation. Your head tilted up to try and gauge where he was going with this, but his gaze was set in his lap, where he was toying with the hem of his shirt. “But you’ve gotta tell me you feel the same.” 

“Matthew...” You trailed off, so caught off guard by his confession that you couldn’t even form a response. He must have taken your silence as a bad response, because suddenly he was shifting so that he met your gaze. The seriousness in his expression took the wind out of you, and you couldn’t find it in you to voice how you felt. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t care.” He pleaded, continuing you before you could get a word in edgewise. “Tell me I'm not the only one that feels this.”

And still, you couldn't get any words out, too many thoughts running through your head to pick one and send out into the world. So instead, you cupped both of Matt’s cheeks and pressed a kiss to his lips before he could interpret your silence as notice for him to leave. 

You didn’t want to pull away, but you did need to breath and the whole situation had taken the breathe out of your lungs even before the long awaited kiss. The two of you simply grinned at each other, though after a moment you couldn’t resist a chirp.

“You could’ve given me a minute to respond, drama queen.” 

[missinghan]

「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown. 

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles. 

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals. 

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention. 

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time. 

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself. 

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them. 

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible. 

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time. 

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever. 

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them. 

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them. 

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets. 

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches. 

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time. 

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends. 

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out. 

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks. 

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat. 

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise. 

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars. 

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

[mo-mo-and-porkchop]

42. "This isnt going to have a happy ending" (Seven)

@youbloodymadgenius

(Sorry this took so long.)

[Ala Alice in borderland on Netflix. ]

Oscar stared at the ceiling of his latest dwelling - a small, studio apartment no bigger than a hotel room. A fan whirled quietly, pushing a small breeze throughout the space. He let his eyes drift to the singular window and out to the roadways and parking lots the complex surrounded. Thin walls allowed him to hear everything his neighbors went through, day in and day out. Drab colors covered the walls making the space even more depressing.

What a shithole.

However it wasn't the worst place work had sent him over the years. Given his station in life he had been required to live in some of the shadier places on Earth. Being a hired hand for the most powerful players meant you went where they sent you. No questions. If he had known his experience in spec ops would turn him into a glorified errand boy he would never have replied to his recruitment.

They're lucky they pay so well.

He sat up with a sigh and forced himself from the futon. A female living to his right was on the phone with, whom he could only assume was a friend, complaining about her most recent bout of dieting. Her cat ate better than she did according to her.

Oscar shuffled to his small bathroom and splashed cool water across his face. He'd been there a month already and his target had yet to show up. He huffed silently to himself. He tried to warn the powers that be to move on from their obsession. After the doctor's botched experiments, they turned all of their attention to a nobody, twenty something.

A fucking kid.

As he dried his face two male voices drifted through his walls, catching his attention. They stood just down the hall and were easily heard. He listened as they discussed benign details of their day and, judging by their voices, they were 409 and 411.

Buzz. Buzz.

He glanced into his apartment at a small kitchen table that doubled as a nightstand. His phone lit up before buzzing once more indicating a text had come through. He tossed the towel onto the edge of the sink and went for his phone.

He swiped up and unlocked his phone to see a picture of Dahlia smiling brightly on the beach. Followed by the question:

[sms: jealous?]

A soft smile tugged at his lips when he saw it was his sister. And yes, he was jealous. He huffed quietly and sent a picture of his current view.

[sms: not really]

[sms: stop bragging] was her reply.

A hard, loud series of knocks at his door pulled him from his phone with a slight start. He wasn't expecting anyone. No one knew he was there, save his sister. And his 'boss' never frequent his residences. They did all their business virtually. The less connected they were physically the better.

The knocking repeated itself and he went to check his doorbell camera. Oddly no one stood there. The hall was empty. Silence began to creep in from all around. Then all power crashed.

All power.

The lights, the camera, the ac, the hall lights. Everything electronic had gone down. Not even his phone was working.

'What the hell?' he asked no one as he tapped the screen and shook it a little. 

He wasn't sure what he hoped would have happened by doing it. It was like blowing on the game system when the cartridge didn't work - useless, but somehow hopeful. When nothing else worked he carefully opened his door, peeking through the hall.  His unknown knocker was still at large.

Seeing that things were all clear, he went to neighbor's and knocked. Maybe they knew more about what happened. Silence followed. He waited a minute and tried again. Still nothing.

"Hello?" he called through her door.

He knew she was in there. She'd just been bitching to her cat, jealous of his superior meal plan.

"I'm from 408."

Silence.

Odd, but maybe she was cautious of unknown males. Although neighbors they knew neither beyond a simple greeting in passing. Something that happened rarely since he'd arrived.

He left her door and went to his other neighbor's. Repeating the same process, resulting in the same response.

His heart began to race as each and every door on his floor resulted in nothing more than silence. He seemed to be the only person there which was impossible. He rushed down the stairs and to the lobby, finding it eerily empty.

"Hey!" he called throughout the lobby as he searched for someone, anyone. "Hello?!"

Oscar left his complex and headed for the streets - which he found littered with abandoned cars and deserted.

What the fuck?!

"Hey!" he yelled louder, darting from car to car, his search still coming up empty.

At this point it felt as if his heart would break through his chest it was beating so hard. His mind raced. Panic was not something he was used and he handled it very poorly. The only one who was ever able to calm him on the rare occassions it did hit was his sister.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the black screen. It still wasn't working. He glanced around to try and find his bearings and noticed something.

The marquees had gone black. the street lights were out. Even the cars wouldn't start. Everything electronic was down. Like an EMP had hit, rendering it all useless. But that didn't account for the lack of people. Oscar had no idea what could have caused that since he remained. His mind went to the only explanation he could think of.

This was hell.

But he didn't remember dying. He'd been in his apartment minding his own business. The knocking was the last sound he heard. Not a gun shot or explosion. Just loud, hard knocking.

A month had gone by. In that time he'd searched nearly every part of the city and found nothing. No one. Each building was just as empty as the last. He scavenged supplies as needed and continued searching for anything to explain away this very real feeling delusion.

Suddenly a small tv screen lit up nearby - a lone light in the darkness. He squinted to see it clearer as he neared.

'Game arena this way.'

Game arena?  What the hell? 

A large arrow pointed to the right and looked where it pointed. As if on cue, a spotlight shown into the sky, illuminating a building a few blocks away. A glance between his phone, which still wasn't working, and the screen was all he took before heading where directed. This was the only thing different to happen since arriving.

He came to an apartment building slightly smaller than his. It too was dark save for the spotlights and some emergency lights running on a gas powered backup generator.  It was just as abandoned as the rest of the city.

Cautiously he entered the building. He'd been through a lot of shit in his day, but this was eerier than hell. The silence was nearly driving him mad. Nevertheless he made his way through the hall, arrows leading the way. He finally came to the end of the hallway. A small table with cell phones and an elevator were all that greeted him. The elevator was down and the phones were off, just like the rest of the city.

Great. More nothing.

He tried the nearby doors and found them all locked. He left to backtrack out when he finally ran into others. Instinctively he grabbed one up and held him against the wall, holding his hand out to keep the others at bay.

"What the hell is going on? Who are you?" he asked glancing between the three of them.

They remained silent, but by the looks of thing he wasn't going to get any answers from them. He could almost smell their fear. Once Oscar actually took the time to actually see them he realized he'd overreacted. They were young men.  In their mid twenties at best. Kids. He was an ex military turned merc who had done a great job of staying fit. He must have looked like a monster to them. He relaxed his grip and held up both hands in apology, taking a small step backward, keeping them all in his sights. 

"Sorry. You're the first people I've found since...getting here and I thought you might have been responsible for whatever is going on," he explained.

They silently shook their heads once they were able to overcome their surge of fear. "We are just as lost as you," one of them said.

He looked at the three of them, studying their body language - which told they were being truthful.

"Do you know what is going on?" a second one asked when the silence became too much for him.

Oscar simply gave him a look to convey how stupid he thought that question was considering their initial meeting.

"Right. Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"We don't know anything," the first one admitted. "We were goofing off and then everything disappeared. It wasn't until dark that we were showed the way here."

Oscar nodded slightly. Aside from the length of time they were here, it was the same as him. "I've been here a month if my count is correct and haven't found shit. Except you guys," he said glancing between them.

The one with the stupid question took a few steps, peeking around the corner. He saw the elevator and table full of phones. His demeanor seemed a bit more hopeful at the sight. "There are phones down here," he said to his friends before taking off for them.

"They don't work," Oscar called out, but the other two had already rushed to join their friend.

When they picked them up the screens woke up. Their faces were scanned and a woman's voice came through - explaining registration was closed in five minutes and the number of participants, which as of now was the three of them.

"What the fuck?" Oscar said picking up a fourth phone. It scanned his face and replayed the same message. "These weren't working when I found them," he said more to himself.

Before they could discuss the recent turn of events a woman emerged from around the corner. She was dressed in business casual attire and looked vastly out of place. She calmly walked toward them and picked up a phone, repeating the process as the rest. This time however the registration time had gone down by two minutes.

"What does that even mean?" the third guy asked when he heard her message. "Registration?"

"Its a game," the woman said, breaking her silence.

"Game? What do you mean game?"

Without a word she pulled out some kind of ID badge and threw it down the hall. They all watched as a lazer shot out and precisely hit the tiny card.

"Once you cross the barrier you have now choice but to play."

"What game?!" the first guy asked again, frustration and worry in his voice.

"We are all in this game," she began to explain. "Each one is different and if you don't complete their tasks you die."

"Their?" Oscar asked.

She shrugged her shoulders "Whoever is running it."

A second girl showed up and when she saw the groups of them she rushed forward, happy to find other humans. The trio of guys tried to stop her, but it was too late and she'd crossed the threshold. Quietly Oscar handed her a phone. After scanning her face the voice rang out that registration was closed and there were six participants. It continued stating the game's name - Dead or Alive - the difficulty - three of clubs, whatever the hell that meant - and the one and only rule:

Pick the right door and exit within the time limit.

Just then the elevator door opened with a sign on it's back wall simply stating 'Start'.

Oscar sighed and quietly told himself "This isn't going to have a happy ending" before heading inside it with the others.

[tiredassmage]

Character Page 𓆰 Brooke

A character page for what is, at its core, something of another au for my main, Astor, buttt... it’s basically bc one day I had a random bought of inspiration and followed through on “what if I came up with a deer-like race for XIV” and... then I spent like two hours making lore for them and listening to whitetail deer noises on YouTube. So! He’s different enough to warrant his own lil page! ^.^ I will try to cover enough of this theoretical lore that things make sense, but hopefully without going... ridiculously overboard and keeping you here for hours over a race of my own brainworms. xD

BASICS ---

Name: Brooke, technically like the water feature “brook,” but, somewhere along the line, someone thought it was spelled with an ‘e’ like the more common rendition of the name, and he did not have enough of an understanding of the written Eorzean Common Tongue to know the difference.

Age: It’s a little hazy, but approximately 28 summers by Shadowbringers

Nameday: 17th sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon

Race: Dryad

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Martial Status: Single(?)

OC Tags: ch: brooke

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ---

Hair: Long, falling down about his mid-shoulders when worn loosely and dark brown. Typically worn with at least one braid, and often pulled back in some sort of fashion. Occasionally braids feathers or flowers into it.

Eyes: A pale crystal blue, almost gray. Often wide, curious, and warm.

Height: 5 fulms, 10 ilms, not accounting for a full grown set of antlers.

Build: Lithe, lean, and long in the legs - all traits rather common among his race. As a fully mature adult, Brooke generally grows in a full antler set featuring an average of 4 points that typically form a generally crescent moon-like shape. The typical adult male Dryad will grow anywhere from 4-6 points, while a female will grow 2-4.

Distinguishing Marks: Much of Brooke is rather... distinguishing, given the rarity of his people to the rest of Eorzea. They are generally a reclusive people, living deep within the woods and mountains from the land, migrating occasionally with the season and food supply, but rarely actually leaving. Given such, it wasn’t until prior to the Calamity that Brooke ventured beyond the bounds of his wooded home deep in the Shroud at the behest of his herd that he came into contact with the outside world. Given the antlers and the fluffy ears and tail, most... didn’t exactly greet him with kindness. He was odd and unlike anyone else most had seen. The Calamity has pushed their survivors from their homes and more into the light, but they’re still a relatively unknown factor. Many regarded him initially with the same judgements and mistrust afforded the beast tribes.

Outside of the physical denotations of his race, the only other marks one might occasionally find that could be helpful are the paints he still tries to find some time to don in honor of his kin and ancestors. Life as an adventurer has taken him further and further from his roots, but no further from his respect for their traditions.

PERSONAL ---

Profession: Brooke initially left his herd, sent by their leader, to act as an emissary to the nation of Gridania in the days leading up to the Calamity. While the details of the time after Cartenau are yet fuzzy to him, he had not intended to abandon his post in the Calamity’s wake. In the world that remains, however, he is unable to ascertain whether any of his herd survived. By lucky chance, he has fallen in with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, lending his strength and mixed arcane knowledge to their fight for peace.

Main Job: Brooke and his people are something of an enigma by standard definitions of magical practice. They are gifted in a wide variety of arts, and their semi-nomadic nature has brought them into contact with various remnants of ages past. In Brooke’s case, the closest standard classification may be Red Magic, as he possesses an affinity with a wide variety of skills typically associated with both White and Black Magic, though, unlike the duelists of the Red, Brooke still prefers to focus his energies through a staff or scepter than a blade.

Hobbies: Gathering is more a standard survival skill of his people than a hobby, so he would hesitate to classify his botanical knowledge and pursuits as such. Instead, he would much prefer to count his reading as his favorite one - particularly into history and prevalent folklore and tales. In his role as emissary, he sought understanding between his people and those sharing the Twelveswood with them, even if they had been doing so unwittingly. Thus, it was only natural he needed to seek an understanding of their customs as well as shed some light on his own. He finds the telling of history and belief systems fascinating, marveling at the many differences and nuances to be found within them.

Languages: Though Brooke possesses the Echo, he still struggles with languages, at times. He has steadily grasped a more firm understanding of the Eorzean Common Tongue, but it would not be wrong to say his Echo granted him a better understanding of the language and intentions of creatures, beasts, and elements than any language of man.

Residence: At times, it is still difficult to feel settled among civilization, but his efforts and work with the Scions have afforded him the security of a small residence within the protection of Gridania. At least the more seasoned adventurers aren’t so prone to gawping at his unusual appearance.

Birthplace: His herd lived somewhere deep within the Twelveswood. After the destruction reigned down by Bahamut though, he has found more malms of it unfamiliar to him than ever, and he cannot even be certain they survived - much less that their home may have.

Religion: Dryads believe in something one might call spirts, more than any gods. They revere natural elements such as wind, water, and earth and pay a deep respect to the balance of these things. Taking more than one needs and reckless destruction are considered sacrilegious to them. They host celebrations for each season, each having a representative and associated elemental spirits of focus - the closest one might find to a pantheon of gods in their beliefs. This is something he has held fast to even in the face of their many adventures.

TRAITS ---

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

PERSONALITY ---

Curious, warm, and soft-spoken, Brooke has a quiet love for life that some might find a little naïve. He’s a deeply passionate individual that does not often find a reason to hide the way he feels. He believes strongly in such things as the beauty of a star-dappled sky or a color-changing sunset. He feels strongly about preserving the ways of his people, finding a nostalgic familiarity in them as he uncovers the world beyond the wood. It has been daunting, at times.

But curiosity has kept spurring him forward. Seeing marvels like airships and linkpearls up close are strange, sometimes terrifying, but incredible experiences.

He endeavors to remain honest to himself and true to his beliefs. He does not believe in turning others away over superficial differences. If one is in need, that should be enough. Where they are from or what creed they follow should not restrict them from aid. It might make him something of an idealist, but if it is foolish to believe in and want such things, then he would gladly be a fool. He tries his best to remain willing to learn, and finds joy in understanding and sharing. He’d gladly listen to someone tell stories for hours, if it would make them happy.

ABOUT --

Born and raised with his herd in the secluded depths of the Twelveswood, Brooke thought and new little of the world beyond the wooded reaches of their herd until he was well along to becoming a young adult. In the brewing chaos of looming calamity, their leader bid him go forth to their neighbors of the wood in Gridania in an attempt to reach an understanding and mutual aid. Such levels of destruction would doom them all, regardless, and she bid them not remain idle and wait for the coming darkness.

The troubling times would provide their own draws and setbacks to opening a dialogue with the Gridanians and their Seedseers, but, ultimately, Brooke would succeed in at least opening these discussions, revealing the Dryads’ presence within Eorzea with certainty and agreeing to aid in the developing struggles against the Garlean Empire.

What, exactly, followed is, as many others have described, something of a blur. The only certainty of the matter was that it left the young Dryad stranded alone in a wholly new and twisted realm that was all just... a bit funny. Familiar in ways... Entirely not in others.

He may just have ran afoul of a little cult. Y’know. Nothing major. Definitely not a voidsent interested in aether. Definitely not his. Or... perhaps he did. And perhaps he’s quite lucky he met an adventurer not keen on letting cultists lurk about in underground tombs or let unsuspecting strangers get turned into voidsent treats. Quite lucky, that! But... all’s well that ends well, right..?

With a little to be desired for a solid sense of direction and purpose, Brooke found himself once again woven into a greater tapestry of fate than he could have ever predicted. There were, thankfully, a few... passingly familiar faces along the way, it seemed, but still little in the way of ascertaining the fate of those he had left behind, grown up with.

But there was still their hope - hope for a better future, for a way forward, the dawn of another day they could enjoy and share with their loved ones. That had always been worth fighting for, so fight for it, he would.

[heyitsani]

I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 4

Word Count: 6000

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent (hinted?)

Summary: The loss of someone important changes all of their lives.

Notes: This.  Is.  Sad.  This is your warning.  I cried writing this and I hope that emotion is conveyed onto the screen for you.  Next chapter still expected Friday!

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense.  So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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He had been on his way to the kitchens in search of Ser Jason when he had noticed his mother hurrying out of the castle, dark cloak thrown over her deep green gown she wore for the day.  It wouldn’t have taken his notice if the manner of dress wasn’t so...common for someone like her.  It was no more elegant than what a commoner of the lower levels would have worn.  And after all the lectures he had sat through of her trying to convince him to never lower himself to the status of the people he was to rule, he found it curious she would be wearing that dress.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” one of the staff members called out as they passed.  He gave a hello back, but kept his focus on his mother.

In a split second decision, he turned and followed the woman out of the castle at a distance.  

“Ser Roy, may I borrow your cloaks?  I will explain the instant I return them,” Damian rushed toward the knight, who was chatting with another man Damian wasn’t sure he knew.  The redhead regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes before shrugging the black material off his shoulders and handing it over.  “Thank you.  Ser Kyle, hurry,” he called to his personal guard as he quickly tried to get his mother back in his sights.

The guard picked up his pace and caught up to his charge, brow furrowed as they kept to the shadows. “My Prince?”  Damian shushed him when he spoke and kept his focus on his mother. He watched as she weaved in and out of the people milling about in the streets.  She ignored vendors calling out about their goods and seemed to be focused on a particular destination.  

“Hoods up,” Damian told Ser Kyle as he pulled the hood on the borrowed cloak over his head and saw Ser Kyle do the same out of the corner of his eye.  “Keep to the shadows with me.  I am not certain where she is going, but Mother is acting suspicious.”

Ser Kyle kept quiet and Damian chanced a glance at the man who Ser Jason had personally vouched to be his personal guard and found him watching the Queen as she continued to hurry along.  “Ser Todd asked me to keep you safe.  I cannot say for certain this is safe, but I will follow you until I deem it necessary to leave.”

That was good enough for Damian.

“Where do you think she is going?”

“If I had to hedge a guess, I would say The Narrows.  She is not dressed for the upper levels.  But no woman, not even your mother, would travel into Crime Alley on purpose.” That made sense.  And the further into the city streets they got, the more accurate the assessment seemed to be.  But what exactly was awaiting them once she reached her destination?

The lower into the city levels they went, the cooler the air got and the less people were out milling about. It made it harder to blend in with the crowd, but Ser Kyle seemed to know exactly where to go to be sure they stayed out of sight but kept the Queen in their sight.  Damian allowed the guard to take the lead on following his mother and stayed a step behind so the older man could focus.  When his mother glanced around before stepping into an alleyway, Ser Kyle tugged Damian into the alley just before and began looking around.

“What are you doing?” Damian questioned, frowning as the man glanced around the back of the building that separated them from his mother. When Ser Kyle said nothing, but waved him over, Damian finally caught on.  There was a ladder leading to the rooftop and the pair quickly climbed it.

“You must stay quiet My Prince.”  Damian simply nodded and followed the man to the edge before dropping down so they could peek just over roof into the alley below.  The sight of his mother with her hood down was not surprising.  The fact that she was in a quiet conversation with a soldier dressed in the garb from her home country, Nanda Parbat, was.  To the point where he felt Ser Kyle grip his arm and his entire body tense.

Damian knew enough about his grandmother’s home country to know that they were on good enough terms with Gotham to be allowed into the borders, but that his great grandfather was not the kind of man to not keep tabs on all countries he was allies with.

“…You owe him much,” the home language of Nanda Parbat caught on a breeze and Damian could pick up bits and pieces.  “Ra’s does not offer this lightly.  Your son will bow to him.”  That made Damian tense, pulling Ser Kyle’s attention from the pair below to the boy next to him.  But Damian kept his focus on the two and strained to hear more.

“I will hold my end of the bargain.  Or my life is forfeit.”  The solider gave a nod and a bow before turning and walking away.  He watched his mother look at a small vial in her hand before slipping it into a pocket in her cloak and returning the way she came.

Sitting up, Damian tried to sort through what the pair could have possibly been talking about.  What was in the vial?  Why did his mother owe the king of her homeland her son’s allegiance?

“Your Highness?”

Looking at Ser Kyle, Damian frowned and tried to think of an explanation.  But there was none.  Had she even done anything wrong when he didn’t have the whole story?  Not by their word of law.

“My Prince, did you hear anything they said?  I do not speak Arabic.”  Without considering the consequences, Damian shook his head.

“I could not hear,” he lied, though he wasn’t certain as to why.  “We should return before anyone else notices we have gone.  I promised Ser Harper an explanation, but I do not know what kind of explanation this will be considering.”

He knew the older man was regarding him closely, but Damian also knew he could lie with the best of them. His mother had made sure he could play his cards close to his chest.  This was one of the few times her lessons were actually useful.

For once he was grateful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Damian, come,” his father had said softly as he passed the room where he had been reading one of the books his mother had assigned him.  Since it was an incredibly dull account of the history of Nanda Parbat, Damian was happy to mark his place and follow his father as they headed down the hall.

“Where are we going, Father?”  He questioned, looking up at the man as they made their way closer to the exit of the castle.  

“Ser Jason is to ride,” was the answer he received and the shortness made Damian frown.  He hadn’t heard of any pods coming close.  The last he had heard they were a fair ride away, but he wasn’t the Dragon Slayer.  And only Ser Jason could really say if it were necessary for him to ride.

Bounding down the steps after his father, he smiled at the sight of the Slayer in his armor.  Damian had always loved the gold and red he wore. The fierce strength the ensemble screamed.  “My King,” Ser Jason greeted his father as Damian took the last few steps to reach them. “My Prince,” he said in a tone that Damian had come to recognize as one only used with him.  His fatherly tone Damian had coined it.

“I received word that you are to ride.”

“There have been sightings coming through of a pod of three out near the Ethiopia boarders,” Ser Jason said as he straightened from his expected bow.  A bow that was so pointless in his eyes.  But propriety must stand, or so he had been told before.

“That is a far ride,” Damian said, surprised that the man would venture that far.  He didn’t see the point of traveling such a distance when their lands were not in danger.

But the man nodded and looked down at him with wise eyes.  “It is, but I would rather them not get closer to our lands.  Not whilst we approach the dry season.”  And he supposed that did make sense.  Didn’t make the decision to go so far any easier to accept though.  But Ser Jason was the one who knew how to handle these situations.  And if his father trusted him, then Damian could. Even if his instincts told him something was very wrong with this.  

“You go alone?”

“I do, for now,” Jason answered him.  Damian could tell his father didn’t like that answer.  He had seen that narrow eyed look plenty of times when he was speaking with his mother.  But Ser Jason seemed to find it amusing instead of intimidating.  “I have allies within the lands and can call upon them if the need arises,” he laughed softly, calming Damian’s own nerves that had asrisen.

Then he remembered.

“Will you bring the scale like you promised?”  It had been promised so long ago, but Damian asked each time the man rode.  At this point he didn’t even expect it anymore but enjoyed the laughter it brought to the older man’s eyes.

“I shall do my very best.” Damian let out a soft shout before smiling over at his father.  With a nod from the king, Damian sent Ser Jason one last smile and farewell before he bounded up the stairs to return to his book he had abandoned earlier.

He had almost reached the study when another set of footsteps caught his attention.  “Ah, Nephew!  Where are you coming from?”

“Aunt Cass,” he greeted, stopping so the woman could catch up to him.  “I was saying farewell to Ser Jason.  He is riding after a pod near Ethiopia.”  The look of surprise on his aunt’s face reminded him of his own concerns at the matter.  “He said he didn’t want to risk them coming closer to our lands when the dry season was approaching.”

His aunt hummed and nodded, eyes drifting as she took in his words.  But her reaction unsettled him.  He knew the woman observed much and said little.  She knew far more than most members of the family just because she watched more than she acted.  And he often wondered what kinds of secrets she kept from them all for their own sakes.

He wondered how many secrets she had been told without anyone actually meaning to tell them.

“He is not wrong,” she murmured as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him in the direction he had previously been heading.  “But you are worried, I can see it.”

“It’s so far.  He doesn’t usually go so far.”

“But he told you why he was doing so.”

Damian shrugged.  Sure, the man gave a reason, but that feeling of something being wrong still bothered him.  It still told him there was more to the situation.  “I do not know why, but I feel like that was not the full reason he was leaving.”

But his aunt didn’t say anything, she simply hummed again and walked with him.  He didn’t know if she was waiting for him to say more or if she simply had nothing to add, but he could feel his shoulders tensing with each passing moment.

Once they reached the study he had been using, he stopped walking and his aunt paused with him.  

“You should try not to worry about Ser Todd.  He is the best of the line and he loves your father too much to not return to him.” Nodding, Damian let his shoulders fall and tried to convince himself that she was right.  “But if you figure out why it is you feel this way, then you can always talk to me.”

“Thank you, Aunt Cass.” The woman nodded and leaned forward, giving him a hug before she continued down the hallway, leaving Damian to return to his lessons.  But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind remained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you,” Damian said softly as he took the letter from his manservant as the tray with his breakfast was sat down on the small table he liked to take his first meal of the day at. At thirteen, he found he appreciated the quiet morning in his room as opposed to the lively breakfasts in the hall with the other members of the family.  

Especially the mornings when Ser Jason was still out on a hunt.  Meals were not the same when one of his fathers were missing.

Sitting on his plush chair, he carefully broke the official seal of the council and opened the letter. He couldn’t imagine what they could be sending to him in such an official capacity at this time of day, but he went along with it all the same.

But the words written on the parchment made his blood run cold.

And the paper hadn’t even hit the floor before he was throwing open the doors to his room and looking for a servant.  “Please, have you seen my father this morning?”  He gasped at the elderly woman carrying a stack of blankets and sheets.

“Yes, My Prince.  I saw him rushing out of the castle not long ago. His personal guard was with him. Barely chanced a glance at anyone as he hurried.  Must have been important,” she told him, and Damian called out a thank you before he ran off in the direction she had mentioned.

He didn’t look back when the sound of someone hurrying along behind him appeared, knowing it would be Ser Kyle since it was his job after all.  He wasn’t sure where his father would have gone, at least not until he stepped out of the castle and realized.

The Sept.

“Your Highness, where are we going?”  Ser Kyle questioned as they continued to hurry, almost running to get to the building Damian knew he would find his father in.  “My Prince, what has happened?”

Pausing in his rush, he turned to face the man who’s heart he was probably about to break.  “Ser Jason has fallen.”  Ser Kyle paled and gasped out a ‘no’, shaking his head.  And Damian wished he could say it was a cruel joke, a whim of a lie.  But he could feel his own heart fracturing and he could only image what his father was feeling right then.  “He has returned for his final rest and I must get to my father.”

The other man was silent, but nodded and they hurried to the Sept.  

When they reached the building, Damian was unsurprised to find his father’s personal guard there, blocking entrance to anyone who might want it.  But the instant Ser Victor spotted Damian and Ser Kyle, his eyes went from hard to incredibly sad, understanding.

“My Prince,” the guard gave a bow and stepped aside so Damian could head inside.  “We shall keep unwanted persons out.”  Glancing at Ser Kyle, Damian watched the other man take a few deep breaths before nodding and steeling himself.  He was so thankful for the two of them in that moment, knowing that his father’s grief would be protected for the time being.  

Stepping into the Sept was always a moment of wonder, even in the saddest of times, the room with it’s colored glass and natural light, was always breathtaking.  In that moment though, Damian couldn’t take in the beauty. He couldn’t revel in the rainbow of colors that graced the floors and the sparkling of the metals embedded in the walls.  He could only see the lower half of a body covered in a red shroud and the back of his father; shoulders low in grief.

“Father,” Damian called out softly, not wanting to startle the man.  Or maybe he couldn’t speak louder if he had tried.  He couldn’t be certain.  He could be certain that he would never forget the look in his father’s eyes when the man turned to look at him briefly before turning back to look at Ser Jason’s body.  “Father, I am so sorry.”  He felt his voice crack on the apology, his own pain breaking through.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting out of his father in that moment, but he didn’t hesitate to take the older man’s hand when it was offered.  Seeking the comfort of his father as well as trying to offer the man some of his own.  But what could he possibly offer in a moment like this?  What could he possibly do to make the pain less?

“Do you think he knew I thought of him as another father?”  Because of course he had never told the man.  Of course he had never said the words out loud, despite having felt the affection from a young age.  King Richard and Queen Catalina might have been his biological parents but Richard and Jason were his parents in every other way.  How could he not have loved the man his father loved so strongly? How could he not love the man who so obviously loved his father just as much?  Who treated him as though he were of his own blood?

He didn’t look at his father when the man looked down at him.  Instead, he kept his green eyes on the body of the man in question.  “You love him so I, too, love him.  He always had words of wisdom and tales of his travels. I will cherish those.”  But that didn’t even breach the surface of how he really felt.  It didn’t tell of the times they had spent laughing over a snack in the kitchens while the staff bustled around them.  It didn’t tell of the encouragement that the older man had provided while Damian trained with the swords and learned to be the best fighter he could be.  It didn’t tell of the quiet conversations between them in the library when his mother had gone too far.  When she had forced him to cut off the only friendship he had ever cherished.

It didn’t tell of so many things he would hold close to his heart for his remaining days.

“He felt the same for you. He…”  Finally glancing away from Ser Jason’s body, Damian looked up at his father and pressed his lips together to fight tears of his own.  The man before him would never be the same, he knew that with every fiber of his being.  He knew his father would never be the man he was.  “I do not know that I will recover from this loss.  I feel as though the world has been stripped of all its color, all its joy.”  And what was he supposed to say to that?  What comfort could a son give when a love like theirs had been stripped away?

Opening his mouth to say something, anything, he was cut off by the sound of one of the various guards who had apparently come to watch over them.  “Your Majesty, your father is on his way.  His manservant thought you would like the warning.”  

His father nodded and Damian watched him reign himself in, in a way that he had only ever seen his father do it.  It made him frown, heart aching more prominently for the man.  That he felt he had to compose himself for the sake of his own father instead of allowing himself to just be honest in his pain.  But when his father gave him a small, albeit sad, smile, he accepted the action.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No, my son.  I feel I would be much better should you be willing to remain at my side.” And though Damian felt it would be better for him to step out and let father and son be alone, the squeeze of his father’s hand put an end to that line of thought.  “Father,” the man greeted as Damian spotted his grandfather hurrying down the steps.

“Richard, I am so sorry.” And while Damian had been concerned his father would try to hold it in while the former king was present, he was glad and heartbroken to watch that not be the case.  He watched his grandfather gather his father into his arms and felt the quiet sobs like a knife to his heart.  Never had he seen his father cry.  There had been plenty of emotions he had seen in the other man, but never sadness in this way.  Never sorrow.

Never grief.  

It hurt to watch, to hear. But it didn’t make him want to run, it made him want to come closer, to provide comfort he wasn’t yet qualified to give.  But he did what he could.  He moved closer and grabbed onto his father’s cloak with the hand not still holding his and pressed close.  

And the look in his grandfather’s eyes over his father’s shoulder told him he had made the right choice. That this was exactly where he needed to be right in that moment.  That nothing else mattered.  No one else mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had kept his gaze on his father for most of the meeting and he knew that most of the Council had done the same.  The usually vibrant and cheerful king was dull in his smile and his eyes.  Not that any of them blamed him for his current demeanor.

Not when Damian had spent the entire night up with the man as he cried silently into his pillow.

But the Council had been called and the discussion had been the procedure for the lack of a slayer, despite the body having only been in the Sept for a day.  It almost seemed cruel to expect the king to go through this, but appearances had to be kept.  Or so everyone told him when he had voiced his displeasure at forcing his father through this.  

“The kingdom still needs their king and they do not know the connection between the two men the way those close to him do,” his grandfather had reminded him.  But Damian knew most of the country at least suspected the truth of it all.

“Is there anything left to bring to the table?”  One of the councilmen asked, standing in a spot a few seats down from where Damian sat just to the right of his father.

Pushing to his feet, he drew twelve sets of eyes to him as he took a deep breath.  “Council, I know my presence is technically not one of authority yet, but I would like to bring forth a request regarding honoring our fallen Slayer.”  There were some murmurs amongst those at the table and for a moment he thought he would be denied, but at the clearing of his father’s throat any complaints were kept silent.  “For as long as our history has been told, we have celebrated and honored our royal members with the Feast of the Seven after their passing.  I would like to formally request that we grant that honor to Ser Jason.”

“Impossible.  It has never been done,” one of the older members called out from the far end of the table and Damian frowned, looking down at his father.  The man was already looking up at him, pride and adoration in his sad eyes.  At his nod, Damian steeled himself further.

“We have broken tradition plenty of times in the past,” he pointed out.  “When King Thomas and Queen Martha were taken before their time, the Council granted the Feast to be fourteen days.”

“Because we were honoring them both.”

“But it was unnecessary as you were honoring them together.  Ser Jason was not of royal blood, but he is one of us.  My grandfather loved him as one of his own children.  Other members of the family have loved him more deeply then they would ever be able to say,” he kept his voice steady, despite building emotion.  Not just for the sake of his father but for his own. Because he loved the man more than he was allowed to admit without casting shame on his mother.  “He was the last of a legacy and he deserves to be honored as such.”

One of the women near the middle of the table carefully stood and looked toward the king with a firm nod before sending a smile to Damian.  “I second.  The Kingdom of Gotham deserves to honor the Last Dragon Slayer and this would allow those who wish to travel into the city to pay their respects the opportunity to do so.”

“I third and call it to a vote.”

Dropping back down into his seat, Damian let his father slip his hand into his smaller one as they watched the council members go through the motions of the vote.  Damian let out a relieved sigh when it passed unanimously.

“Thank you, My Son,” his father whispered, squeezing his hand.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Grandfather, may I speak with you?”  Damian called out from the doorway of his grandfather’s study.  The older man was seated at his desk, but his attention had been on the window instead of the papers in front of him.  The tired, blue eyes of the older man turned to take in the sight of his only grandchild and waved him in.

“Of course,” he agreed, and Damian nodded, stepping fully into the room and letting the door fall shut behind him as he made his way closer to the desk.  “Is everything all right?”  And the question made Damian frown, wondering how he could answer it honestly.  “Perhaps that is not the right question to ask.  Given the situation.”

Sighing, the young man nodded and dropped down into one of the plush chairs.  “I have a question regarding the pyre tonight.”  His grandfather’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silent so Damian could say his piece.  “I wish to break tradition again.  I know we are giving…that we are honoring him with the Feast of the Seven, but I wondered if I might light the pyre after Father?”

Damian had studied up on and been to enough pyres to know that the acting King and the still living previous kings were the ones to traditionally light the pyre, especially when the person was of the high ranking Ser Jason was.  But there had also been a few moments in time when that tradition had been broken under special circumstances.

“May I ask why?”

“He did not contribute to my blood, but he was still a father to me.  I deserve the right to stand by Father’s side and say goodbye to…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands that he had clasped tightly in his lap.  He hadn’t said his name since he had found out that he had been slain and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to without a deep ache in his chest.  

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and got himself under control.  His mother’s voice sounded in his mind, telling him to act like the Crown Prince that he was.  To act like a Wayne.  His father had been strong outside of the moment in the Sept the other day and Damian knew he could do the same.

Once he felt like he had gotten himself under control, he looked up to find the former king regarding him sadly.  “Though I thought of Jason as a son, I will relinquish my right to the pyre light. You may say goodbye to your father in this manner, if that is what you really want.”

“It is.”  His grandfather nodded and leaned back in his chair.  

“Tell me how my son is. I have not seen him since yesterday and no one I have asked has either.”  Damian felt a sad smile curl his lips just slightly.  He had left his father to come here.  He had hardly allowed himself to be apart from the man since the Sept.  Despite his mother’s protests and demanding he keep up with his studies, he had not allowed his father to be alone for long.

“He was sleeping when I came here.  I have been close ever since hearing the news,” Damian admitted to his grandfather.  The man looked relieved and pained at the news, a conflicting set of emotions if Damian had ever seen them.  “I do not know how to help him other than make sure he sleeps, and he eats.  I think the Feast will be good, give him something to focus on other than his broken heart.  But until then, he deserves the chance to mourn in his own way.”

“It is good of you to look after him.  That is not a burden a son should have to carry.”  And perhaps his grandfather was right, but Damian couldn’t help but wonder who would carry it if he didn’t?  Who else would his father allow himself to be honest around?  Who else would he trust with this pain?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Everyone is already in place, Your Majesty,” one of the guards spoke softly.  His father glanced back at him before looking to the guard and nodding.  Without another word, Damian walked behind his father with his mother at his side and headed up the steps where the funeral pyre was being held.  And in the short walk, Damian couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of all the people who had gathered to watch.  People who had loved the man in their own way.  Including the women from the local brothel that he had heard Ser Roy and Ser Kyle discussing on the training fields.  

Damian had made a mental note to mention it to his father so they could be sure they were still looked after.  But he had a feeling his father already knew.  Even in the depths of his grief, he was still good at caring for his kingdom.

When his father took his designated seat, Damian came to a stop beside it and stood tall.  With his mother so close, he knew it was expected of him to remain strong.  He wasn’t sure how she would react to him being the second to light the pyre tonight, but he told himself whatever she did or said would be worth it.  She had already proclaimed her displeasure at him having gotten Ser Jason honored with a Feast of the Seven.  This couldn’t be any worse.

“It is no secret that House Wayne has always held the highest respect for those of the Dragon Slayer occupation, but Ser Jason always held a special place in our lives due to the fact that he was the last remaining slayer.  The last of his line and the last of a profession of bravery and strength.” The words of his grandfather washed over him as he looked out over the crowd, taking in each of the faces as they listened.  He watched tears fall and hands clasp together.  He watched whispers and hugs of comfort.  He watched people give to each other what he was not allowed to give to his father in that moment.

“We will honor Ser Jason Todd with the Feast of Seven Days as we do for members of the royal family because he is one of ours.  The doors to the palace and sept will be open to each and every citizen of Gotham to pay their respects and to join us in our grief.”  And despite his mother’s discontent at his actions regarding this, Damian felt his pride swell when he watched the approval of the citizens.  

He hadn’t suggested it for them, he had done it solely for his father.  But he was glad that they approved of the motion all the same.  He was glad to give them something that had been somewhat selfish in its origin.

The movement of his father standing pulled Damian’s attention away from the crowd to the man as he walked toward Ser Jason’s closest friend to retrieve the torch to light the pyre.  The look that passed between the two men was meaningful and Damian knew that Ser Roy was grieving just as much, though in a different manner, for the man they all had loved.  He knew Ser Kyle, who he would find if he bothered to glance back, was struggling with the grief as well.

Something precious had been stolen and they were all struggling under the absence of it.

With a shaking breath, his father stood before Ser Jason’s shrouded body and looked out over the crowd.  “To the last of the Dragon Slayers, to the greatest of the line, to the fallen soldier, and to the man behind the sword. The world is a colder, darker place without the splash of crimson from your cloaks and your sea colored eyes. May those of us who have been left behind honor your legacy and never forget your bravery.  May we never forget your strength and your character.  May we never forget your love and kindness to those who surrounded you.”  

A scoff to his right drew Damian’s eye for a moment and though he couldn’t be certain, he was fairly sure it had come from his mother.  But her stiff posture and blank face gave away very little.  And not for the first time, his mind flashed back to the exchange between her and the guard from Nanda Parbat he and Ser Kyle had witness in the Narrows.

“You owe him much.”

But what did she owe King Ra’s for?

“Damian,” a voice cut through his thoughts, pulling his attention to his grandfather as he stood in front of him.  With a nod, Damian moved forward and ignored the motion his mother made to try and stop him. He knew his grandfather had probably positioned himself between them on purpose, so he could step up behind his father.

No words were exchanged when the older man passed the torch to him, but he could she the surprise in his eyes.  The question as to what was happening.  But Damian ignored it in favor of stepping forward to the pyre to light the opposite corner that his father had started.  And though he was expected to step away from the fire once the act was done, he felt he couldn’t move away just yet.  The heat from the flame warming him, but the sight breaking him with each crackle.  

Ser Jason had said this would happen.  That there would come a time when Damian and his father would have to bury him.  Not because he wasn’t good at his job or that he was reckless, but because that was the way of the Slayer.  Families always buried them long before they joined them. And though he had believed the man, he had hoped beyond hope that Ser Jason would be wrong.  That this once he would be proven incorrect.  

“I’ll take that, My Prince,” Ser Roy said softly as he stepped up next to Damian.  Glancing up at the older man, Damian allowed him to take the torch but still did not move.  There was a beat of silence and Damian found himself waiting, knowing there was something the solider wanted to say.  “He loved you very much, Your Highness.  I know he was never able to tell you how much, but he was not so shy with his words with others.”

With a stilted bow, the solider walked away and Damian felt himself move away from the pyre to stand next to his father and grandfather, ignoring the look his mother was sending him. Because despite knowing she would find some way to punish him, he would never regret his actions as of late.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 9

It was concerningly easy to lie about the circumstances of their hospital visit. All Ford had to say was ‘there was a bear-’ and the nurse was already taking Stan off of his hands, nodding like this was an everyday occurrence. No questions asked or police notified or rangers called.

Then again, this was Gravity Falls. That seemed to be a sentiment that never got tired.

The nurse also didn’t bat an eyelid at Stan’s jumpiness and apparent inability to communicate with anything other than body language – whether that was a symptom of shock, or of his… condition, remained a mystery. However, when Ford had last seen him Stan seemed to be relaxing somewhat, enough to mutter ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to the doctor’s questions.

Ford had only suffered some scrapes and bruises and minor puncture wounds, so once those had been cleaned and covered he was just… left in the waiting room. To wait, presumably.

Ford hated waiting.

And now he was stuck here in this practically empty sterile room, listening to a clock on the wall tick idly. Tick, tick, tick. It set his teeth on edge. But it couldn’t begin to distract from the complete and utter confusion swirling around in his skull.

Ford pulled his journal from his pocket with shaking hands and began jotting down information, in the hopes of organizing his mangled thoughts.

·      Rebus appears to be some sort of shape-shifter

·      Is also Stanley???

·      Why didn’t he tell me who he was?

·      Why is Stanley here at all?

·      Stanley is a human. But this isn’t a human.

·      By all accounts, it seems to be him.

·      Stan – Rebus? He protected me. Rebus has always been protective of me.

·      Stan was protective of me before he was kicked out left

·      Same person?

·      Why is he so scarred? What has he been doing these last nine years?

Ford hesitated, seeing fresh wounds crossing old scars in his mind’s eye. They’d been visible under Rebus’s pelt and on Stan’s skin alike. Stan’s – pelt? Try as he might Ford couldn’t reconcile the two individuals in his head. There simply wasn’t enough data to come to any conclusions!

No, he could still work with this. The first step in the scientific method was having a question, coming up with a hypothesis, speculating on possible solutions before investigating. But where to start?

Stan certainly hadn’t come to Ford of his own free will, not with Ford rescuing him from being beaten to death and then locking him up. The thought of that cage made Ford feel quite ill, now. The thought of trapping his brother behind steel bars and studying him like any other specimen…

And for some reason, Stan hadn’t revealed himself, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of it. But why? Ford resisted the urge to pull at his own hair in frustration. His life’s work was studying and quantifying the anomalous and unexplained, but somehow his brother’s decisions baffled him far more than any Manatour or gnome civilization ever could!

“Mister Pines?”

Ford startled at a nurse’s voice in front of him. He snapped his journal shut and hurriedly straightened his glasses.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your brother’s ready to be discharged.”

“Already?” Ford found himself saying. The nurse shot him a funny look.

“It… it’s been several hours.”

…oh. Ford may have been a little more lost in his thoughts than he’d realized. He flushed and cleared his throat. “Ah.”

The nurse roused himself and glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. “He sustained a lot of flesh wounds, but luckily no bones have been broken except for a few ribs. Those have been bound and he’s on pain medication for it, but there’s not much else we can do for those. He needed quite a few stitches on that arm, and – well, just about everywhere else too. That being said, he’s in surprisingly good shape. The doc cleared him to leave but you’re gonna have to pick up his pain meds and antibiotics from the front desk before you go on your way. Wouldn’t want injuries like that getting infected.”

“No.” Ford agreed uneasily. The nurse continued, talking about the importance of taking the full course of antibiotics and proper dosage of pain medication and how Stan shouldn’t be operating any heavy-duty machinery, which Ford filtered out because he already knew it all.

There was paperwork, and a prescription to get filled, and then finally a familiar figure approached, arguing loudly with a nurse about how ‘no, he didn’t need a wheelchair thank you very much, he wasn’t an invalid’ and ‘he’d had worse, who cared about a little blood loss’. He had recovered from his shock enough to be difficult, it seemed. Stan shut his mouth once he caught sight of Ford.

Ford scanned his brother quickly – he was dressed as well as he could be in shredded clothes over bandages and assorted wound-dressings. He was also obviously doped up on some kind of medication, given the slight slur to his words and his unsteady gait. It didn’t help that one arm was pinned to his chest by a crisp white sling.

The nurse sent Ford a harried look that seemed to say ‘he’s all yours’. Stanley shuffled on the spot and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Ford sighed. “My car is just outside.”

Stan still quiet as he followed Ford to the car. It made him uneasy – Stan was meant to be loud and exuberant and big, not quiet and… small. He wouldn’t even meet Ford’s gaze. He stared out the window as Ford turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road.

Ford opened his mouth, realized he didn’t know what to say, and closed it again. They drove in silence.

They had just started on the winding forest path when Stan mumbled, “You can just drop me off here.”

Ford slammed on the brakes.

The wheels squealed and both brothers were jerked against their seatbelts as the car jerked to a halt on the thankfully abandoned road. Stan swore and rubbed his chest. Ah yes, broken ribs. Whoops.

“Shit, I’m going, okay-”

“You owe me answers.” Ford didn’t mean to sound so accusing. But good grief, he’d been kept in the dark for long enough. He twisted around in his seat to face his drugged-up brother. “Stanley, you are not leaving this car until you explain to me exactly what is going on.”

“Alright, jeez!”

“Rebus.” Ford said. It wasn’t quite a question. “The whole time, that was you?”

Stan grunted an affirmative, shoulders curling in.

“Just… how. Just how.”

“Apparently I’m a werewolf now.”

…well. Not the weirdest thing Ford had heard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna get kicked out!” Stan snapped. “Okay?”

Ford spluttered. “What on earth gave you-”

“Obviously that plan’s bumpkus now. Well, I had a good run. Later, Sixer.” Stan rambled as he fumbled for his door handle. Ford gaped.

“You’re leaving?”                        

“Well, yeah. No use overstayin’ my welcome.” Stan was still struggling one-handedly with the door. “Now, just – gotta get my stupid car – if it hasn’t been impounded – I’ll just get outta yer hair-”

“Stan!” Ford said loudly. Stan jumped. Ford sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not telling you to leave.”

Stan stared at him like a fish out of water. “But – you-”

“It is quite literally my life’s work to study the paranormal. You really think I would throw you out?”

Something Ford had said must have hit a cord with Stan, because he slumped and turned his face away. “…no. Not when you put it like that.”

Ford nodded, pleased that his brother was finally getting it. “Good. Let’s go back to my house, it’s – well, you already know where I live.” And wasn’t that strange? “I have several tests I’d like to run; and I’m going to need to hear about how this whole thing started. In my studies I’ve never come across conclusive proof of the existence of werewolves. Knowing how it came about would be very useful for classifying…”

He trailed off when he noticed the click of the car door and the fact that the seat next to him was empty.

The crunching of footsteps through leaf litter snapped him out of his shock. Ford undid his seatbelt hurried from his seat to follow his brother, who was currently making his way into the forest.

“Stan!”

Stan whipped around to snarl, “Fuck off, Ford!”

Ford blinked at him like a startled owl. “I… what?”

“Ya made yer point!” Stan’s words came somewhat garbled through fast-growing fangs. The glint of them sent a shiver down Ford’s spine. “M’no’ gonna be yer science ‘periment. ‘Tha mithtake thtaying here a’ all.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ford demanded. Stan growled out an answer but it was lost in the distortion of his no-longer-human vocal cords. Stan threw up his hands and turned to stalk off into the woods.

“Stanley! Where are you going? Stanley!”

Ford shouted after him, but Stan had already disappeared.

 _______________________________________________________________________

Something’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

His head was stuffed with cotton wool. It made the world around him blurry as he stumbled deeper into the forest. The forest was Safe. Trees were Safe. They felt almost like home. Now that he was surrounded by them, he couldn’t even remember what he was running from. Or where he was running to…

He hadn’t been in this form for so long. He’d forgotten how weak humans were. His vision blurred and smeared (to be fair, that could be the lack of glasses), the cold nipped at his skin, his hearing was muffled as if he were underwater, all he could smell was dirt and sweat. He felt naked without his thick coat of fur, only jeans and his torn jacket chafing against raw skin. Everything was wrong. And that wasn’t even counting the oil-slick taste of wrongness that seemed to have pervaded his throat, making every rasping breath taste awful, like he was biting into that weird bear all over again.

But worse was how fucking intense this hurt felt. His chest pinched and it felt like his lungs were tied together with an elastic band, unable to inflate. He almost wanted to crack open his ribs to give them space to breathe. But… he couldn’t remember what he was even upset about. Why did hurt so much? What was he forgetting? Think, think, think.

He staggered and leaned heavily against a tree trunk. The light was all wrong, it glinted and glared and threatened to blind him. Was that his head buzzing, or had hornets encircled him? He swiped blindly at the air around him and his claws bit into bark. Why were his claws out…?

Ugh, it was getting hard to think and his mouth still tasted awful, like the air around that weird crystal, and the blood of the thing that had attacked them. His whole body was buzzing now. He tripped on not-so-human legs and fell forward into a more comfortable stance, spine shifting with a grinding crunch. The cloth binding his throbbing arm ripped and tore at the shifting of muscle and bones beneath it. This… this was wrong, he wasn’t in control here, what was going on? Where was Ford?

Ford. Ford, who didn’t care for him. Who saw him as an oddity to be investigated, and later discarded. He had been stupid to think that his brother would want him around. That hurt, enough to make his eyes prickle. Of course Ford wouldn’t want to help him.

(Yes he would. Brother is Safe.)

(But he only likes not-me.)

(Wait, that’s… me? Who am I…?)

Maybe it was easier to just let go.

Just for a little bit; let the hurt fade into numbness until it wasn’t quite as hard to bear anymore. Let himself forget the ache in his chest. Close his eyes and no longer be…

…who?

Someone who was already dead, just a ghost of pain and frustration.

It was all too easy to let go.

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Stone Hearts | Geralt x Reader | Parts I - III

Summary: A/U(ish). When fate landed you at Kaer Morhen, you were mostly just happy to have meals to eat and a place to sleep. But, as it turns out, fate may have led you to much, much more. (Basically, you and Geralt are students at Kaer Morhen together. These stories chronicle your lives together.)  

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: Violence, smut, the usual.

A/N: I originally planned on posting this as a series of short stories all at once, but as it is such a long story, I decided I’d split it up into groups of stories instead. So, this one is Part I, II, and III. Let me know what you think – and thank you, as always, for taking time to read my work 😊.

Thank you so much to @jesseswartzwelder​ for the request/amazing idea!

If you enjoy my work, consider reblogging this post following me for more Witcher fics here and on my personal/original writing blog here. You can also check out my masterlist! 

Part I

The sun is hot, bearing down on the crowded courtyard and making you sweat through your leathers even more than you usually do. Still, you refuse to give any inkling of the fact that your blood is absolutely boiling, like your body is burning itself away. You know that it is more than the hot sun—you’ve started taking a new elixir, and ever since, you’ve been aching with fever. One moment, you are burning out of your skin, the next, you are shivering and sweating at the same time.

Your feet move of their own accord, purely out of instinct, as you dodge and parry, pirouette and deflect. You try as hard as you possibly can to breathe deeply and slowly, so as not to exert yourself even more. And yet, the sharp sound of dulled iron striking dulled iron reverberates you your head, loud enough to make you want to flinch.

But flinching is not an option. Not with Geralt, anyways. You don’t like losing, especially to your de facto partner. As usual, the two of you are the last pair left sparring, the others standing around drinking deeply from waterskins or laying on unclaimed ground nursing whatever wounds they incurred over the course of the day. You wish you were one of them, but only a little. If you are honest, you love being the center of attention; you love being one of Kaer Morhen’s Golden Children. You thrive one it.

“Getting tired, Witcher?” you quip, avoiding a slash of his blade with a rolling dodge, landing on your feet in a flash and only just missing him with your next attack.

“Not a chance, Witcher Girl,” he responds with a parry leading to an attack of his own. You manage to block him with the flat of your blade, but you can tell that you are off – not enough for an ordinary eye to see, but Geralt does not have the eyes of an ordinary man.

He’s got you backed up nearly to the wall, leaving you less room than you’d like, and distracting you enough with his smile, a dangerous flash of white, that you nearly lose your footing. But after another turn and other quick flurry of attacks and counterattacks, you do lose your footing – but it has nothing to do with Geralt’s smile and everything to do with a sudden blinding pain that seems to start in your head and travel down your body at lighting speed. You crumple to the ground.

Geralt drops his sword before you even hit the dirt, rushing to you side and placing a calloused hand gently on your shoulder, speaking urgently, “Y/N,” he says as he gently pushes against your shoulder to turn you over, “Are you alright? What happened?” What has him so worried is not that you fell – the two of you never went easy on one another, and each took your share of tumbles. No, he is worried because you had been steady on two feet one moment and wincing, dropping your sword, and thudding to the ground after it the next.

You have, of course, told him nothing about the extra elixir. You’d tried so many at this point that you’d grown into a sense of security, like something that couldn’t possibly harm you. After all, the really deadly shit was saved for the Trial of the Grasses – but even then, the strong ones usually made it, and you are one of the strong ones. But, no matter how many times you tell him not to worry – he always, always does. The same way that you worry about him every time you learn they’re giving him new mysterious concoctions to try.

He is you closest friend, and he has been since the moment you walked onto the grounds of Kaer Morhen and he punched Eskel in the face for lobbing an ill-timed joke at the very timid new arrival and making you cry.

Vizimir was not happy with any of you, and all three of you managed to earn yourselves extra cleaning duties that week. Geralt for punching Eskel, Eskel for making ‘unnecessary remarks,’ and you for crying. Coincidentally, that week was also the week that the three of you began a friendship that spanned even to this day.

You blink up at him, unable to speak, though you want to. Something is wrong, you want to say, Get Vizimir. But, try as you might, you aren’t able to make your mouth form the words. Instead, you just stare up at him with wide eyes. His brown curls are stuck to his brow with sweat, and his eyes are searching your eyes for an answer you can’t give him. You are also vaguely aware of other students abandoning their carefully staked out plots of grass to come and see what the fuss is about.

The only other girl, Estra of Ard Caraigh, chews her lip nervously as she looks on, though you can’t see her. The two of you aren’t particularly close, mostly because she is two years older, so you are surprised when you hear her voice from the growing crowd of onlookers, “They gave you that elixir, didn’t they? The one that’s to make sure you can train every day of the month?”

In your bleary half-consciousness, you see a flash of long auburn hair as she rushes to your side, pressing a hand to your forehead. Her face blanches and she turns back to shout to no one in particular, “Get Vizimir, NOW.”

You try once more to make some sort of sound, but all that comes out is a choked sob. You had not cried since your first day here, and the fact that tears were streaming down your face seemingly of their own accord was mortifying. The only thing that kept your from screaming in pain was Geralt as he took your hand in his own and held on tightly, leaning down to whisper that it was all going to be ok in a voice surprisingly calm given the red-hot fire burning in his eyes and his tightly clenched jaw.

Part II

Your fingers tap the glass impatiently as you peer out the window, checking for signs of life on the road that winds from the gate of the Keep out into the forests surrounding Kaer Morhen, twisting its way through the wilderness surrounding the Snow Pine Mountains. If you’ve calculated correctly, Geralt should be returning today. He left nearly two weeks before with one of the Witchers to help with a contract on a Drowner infestation plaguing a nearby town on the banks of some manmade lake.

Leave it to Kaedwen. Perhaps the people of Kaedwen had grown too comfortable. With Witchers nearby, there wasn’t much to fear from monsters, was there?

This particular excursion was his reward for being the first to return from the Trial of the Medallion – the chance to muck around in the swamps for a few days, cutting down drowners at thirty crowns a head.

Thirty crowns a head.

You still remember a time when thirty crowns seemed an unobtainable amount of money; money that could have lasted your family near a month if it had to. To think that once this was all over, you would be able to fulfill contracts earning multiples of that for each monster slain. Being considered at once a poor victim of a stolen childhood and a mutant freak who had no place existing was a small price to pay for such a steady income.

“Show me a lake, and I’ll show you the drowners,” as Vizimir would say.

Pulling yourself back from the objectively horrifying daydreams of hacking drowners to shreds in return for a sack full of coin, you resume your vigilance.

Accounting for the four days ride from Kaer Morhen, maybe five if any monsters appeared on The Path, and then three days at most to deal with the drowners, and then another four to five days ride back accounting for the supplies they’d be carrying back from the village, he should be arriving back today. Unless of course… No. You cannot allow yourself to even consider the possibility that anything had gone wrong.

You tell yourself you that the nervous energy that has you buzzing is simply born of boredom, or maybe out of frustration that you’d have to spar with Eskel today. After nearly two weeks pouring over books, Vizimir had finally determined that it was time to get back to swordsmanship and, most importantly, sparring. It was about the only thing that broke the general dullness of school.

And without Geralt, you tell yourself, sparring will be just as dull as the bloody books. You determine that this is at least a half-truth. Geralt was the only sparring partner quite at your level. So, it went without saying that sparring with anyone else was dull, mostly a waste of time. In your opinion, fighting an easy fight is not fun. And that’s not even your ego talking; it is purely factual.

And a bit of ego.

And then there is the separate issue; the fact that you hadn’t exactly realized – or had at least pretended not to realize – just how much time you spent with Geralt until he was gone. You’d been happy for him when he won the Trial of the Medallion, of course, but you hadn’t been quite as thrilled when you learned what the prize was. Sure – it was a chance for him to escape form the stone fortress for two weeks, a chance to get out and see the world. But drowners, no matter how easy to kill, could always be dangerous. Or maybe you were just upset that the second place winner – that just so happened to be you – didn’t get to go along as well. You’d finished only second behind him; it seemed unfair.  

Despite its unfairness, it was reality. So, instead of out hunting monsters, you were stuck here while time dragged on at an excruciating crawl.

You’ve got other students with whom to pass the time, but to be honest, exploring the grounds of Kaer Morhen Of course, you still have your other fellow students to pass the time with – which you do – but it’s not the same. There is a bond between the two of you that far surpasses your bond with anyone else. No matter how adamantly you try to ignore it, there’s just no way around it.

You sigh in frustration and turn away from the window; you have too many things to do, regardless of how absolutely tedious everything is. Studying with Vizimir, of course. And you’ve got to spar today. At least that is somewhat interesting – even if none of the other students can quite match you; with the exception of Geralt. It is a convenient way for you to explain away any feelings. Perhaps sparring with people who cannot keep up is just boring. As much as you enjoy winning, there’s no excitement winning against people you could probably best in your sleep.

You pull on your last bits of armor – a belt with a small sheath for your dagger, and of course your leather jerkin. Your dulled iron and silver are slung over your back. You won’t receive your silver – a real silver sword – until you pass the trial of the grasses. It would, of course, be a waste to supply every one of Kaer Morhen’s students with new silver swords, considering the unfortunate reality that a majority would never need one.

Gods, you hope you need one.

You move silently through the ancient hallways, bracing yourself for the certain boredom that will greet you in the keep’s library. It is a large room full of old books, most of which are yellowed with age and feel as if they might fall apart beneath your fingertips. Vizimir explains that new books are not necessary, because monsters never change.

“Wonderful of you to finally join us, Little Vampire,” Vizimir says as you push open the wooden door to see several students sitting at the old tables all in various states of half-sleep. You just shrug in response and make your way to an empty chair. You earned the nickname Little Vampire after, during the week you spent delirious with fever, you apparently bit Vizimir’s hand hard enough to leave a scar when he tried to force a potion down your throat.

“Probably off waiting for Geralt,” you hear Stefan say under his breath to Eskel, who is sitting in the chair next to him. You pretend not to hear him; you’ve given up on trying to explain your relationship with Geralt to your peers. And anyway, it would be impossible to explain even if you tried – you cannot even explain it to yourself.

But then, you hear Eskel mutter, even quieter – “He probably won’t be back until tomorrow. Off spending that hard-earned coin the right way.” You know that it shouldn’t bother you; Geralt can do whatever he’d like. And what you’d learned from hearing Eskel and the others when they spoke about their time outside of Kaer Morhen, there was a very specific way they tended to celebrate. It wasn’t your place to be upset about it. And, yet, here you were.

Whatever, you tell yourself. He’s only following the Code. That fucking Code.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Eskel spits, pushing himself up from the ground, heavily favoring his left ankle. You smirk, sheathing the blunted blade. You don’t need to say anything – knocking him out of the fight as quickly as you had spoke volumes.

“And all this time, we thought Geralt was just letting her win, eh, Eskel?”

You turn and narrow your eyes at Stefan, their dark amber burning like coals as you bore into him. You aren’t daft – you are fully aware of this particular rumor, as ridiculous of a rumor as it is.

“Would have been quite the charade to have been pulling off all these years.”

You have a hard time suppressing your smile at the familiar baritone, but you turn around with witcherlike reflexes regardless. And Code be damned, for all the elixirs they’d given you, emotion flooded you. You refuse to call it love; to be a Witcher and admit to such a feeling would be laughable. But you will call it joy – joy at seeing your absolute closest friend in the world after all this time.

A whole two weeks.

Not wanting to make yourself, and Geralt by extension, the butt of jokes for the next month, you stop yourself from barreling toward him and throwing your arms around his neck like you want to, you settle for smiling instead.

“Finally,” you drawl, “A real challenge.”

Your friend smirks, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve just returned, and the first thing you want to do is cross swords?” he fakes offense.

“Of course,” you retort, “This is Kaer Morhen, after all.”

“Damn,” Geralt responds, “Thought it was Ban Aard.”

Several others who had abandoned their activities to listen laughed at that one – you included. Fucking mages and their fancy schools, preaching about the importance of magic Witchers’ reliance on it. Ban Aard and Aretuza were the butt of a good number of jokes at Kaer Morhen, like Kaer Morhen certainly was to them.

“Enough standing around and talking,” you goad, “Grab your sword, Witcher.”

You ignore the hushed conversations around you as Geralt replaces the silver sword slung over his back with a dull iron one.  The usual nonsense – something about the two of you thriving on attention and showing off and something else about the two of you needing to “just fuck already.”

He seems to be ignoring the group just as you are, reading himself as you do the same.

“Alright, Witcher,” you smile dangerously, “Let’s see if those Drowners sharpened your skills."

Part III

“It just doesn’t feel real,” you muse, turning over your shoulder to glance at Geralt who sits with his back flush against yours, “Only two days until the Trials.”

“Mhm,” he answers from deep in his chest. While you have chosen to cover up your panic and fear with excitement and fierce pride, Geralt has turned to philosophizing – existentialism and cynicism being his philosophies of choice.

“Geralt…” you mutter, wishing that you could get more than a syllable or two out of him. “It’s going to be ok.”

You are trying to convince yourself just as much as you are trying to convince him. And, given your tendency to turn everything into a game of logic – very useful in calculating opponents next moves – chances are high that you are correct.

“We’ve both responded well to all of the elixirs they’ve given us, hardly any negative reactions at all,” you expound, but Geralt scoffs, making your mouth snap shut.

“Yes, except that one time two years back when you almost died.” His voice is laced with worry, and though you are facing opposite directions, you know exactly what his expression by his tone alone. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his amber eyes are narrowed such that from a distance, someone might not notice that he was undergoing mutations at all. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and his curls fall into his face. That, combined with his bulky form, would make anyone stay away. Anyone except for you.

“That was one time,” you press, “One elixir out of hundreds. It’s a better record than most people.” Kaer Morhen was your home and you truly wanted to become a Witcher. If you’d been left alone in Crookback Bog, you would have died years ago. And if you’d grown up in some backwater village or in the poor district of a city, plague or pox could’ve taken you. For you, the potions and elixirs and the mutations they induced were just the inevitable tradeoffs to life here. If you couldn’t survive the trials, you couldn’t be a Witcher, and if you couldn’t become a Witcher, you’d be on your own with no skills to speak of, no way to make a living. At least Kaer Morhen gave you something akin to a family – it had given you Geralt.

“I don’t care to remember any details of that week,” he mutters, looking at the ground and shaking his head, “But I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About you laying there burning with fever, calling out in your sleep.”

You are stunned. Geralt, while not as closed off as the other students and Witchers liked to say, was not apt to speak with such emotion. You can’t remember the last time you heard him stumble over his words like that – or if you ever had, for that matter. You open your mouth to speak, about how that was quite a regular occurrence for Kaer Morhen’s students as they underwent mutations, but he is already speaking again before you can get a word out.

“You kept saying that you were on fire, your bones were on fire,” you pick at the grass as he continues, “And the elixirs to help the pain only made it worse.”

Truth be told, you don’t have much memory of that week of your life. You were delirious with fever, and only remember brief moments that you could not definitively place in the “real” category or mark them off as hallucinations. But, as he speaks, some memories do pop into your mind. One in particular where it took three grown men to hold you down and force one of the elixir’s down your throat. Vizimir started calling you Little Vampire after that, thanks to the fact that your perfectly average canines managed to dig so deep into his hand that he still had a scar. Now, you supposed, you understood why Geralt didn’t like that one.

“I just… I can’t…” as Geralt stumbles over his words, you cannot tell if you are hearing his heart hammering or yours. You follow your immediate urge and turn around to sit next to him, both of you now looking out towards the grounds of Kaer Morhen through the trees. You’ve had this secret meeting place for years – a place where the two of you would go to talk or just to sit. A peaceful place, away from the constant chaos behind the castle walls.

“Geralt,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder and shifting so that he is facing you, “You’re the strongest of all of us. Even Vizimir said…well, you remember!” You are referring to a conversation you overheard one evening when you were prowling around places you shouldn’t be. He was talking to one of the other instructors, the two of them comparing notes.

“Geralt, Y/N, and Eskel will be this year’s Three, mark my words.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” you add after a moment, voice quiet. You hadn’t known he was so scared to undergo the mutations. He was always the best in your training exercises, always the strongest, the fastest, the one getting all the special elixirs. You hadn’t even thought that he might still be worried.

Quite suddenly, he turns, placing his hand over the one of yours that is resting in your lap, “I’m not worried for myself. I just… I can’t… It makes me so angry to think of them putting you through that again.”

You look down, staring at his hand on top of yours, which is suddenly the only thing that you can focus on. Relationships at Kaer Morhen aren’t forbidden, but they aren’t common. There had been a handful of moments like these – none of them that went farther than stolen glances and they always left you feeling somehow empty, aching for what you couldn’t have.

Silence stretches between you. The only sound either of you make are the thundering of our hearts and carefully controlled breathing. Though, you notice, each time Geralt breathes in, there is a slight unsteadiness to it, a shakiness, as if he is trying as hard as you are to keep your breathing in check.

Finally, you draw a breath that would be noticeably shaky, even for a person who hadn’t undergone all of the mutations that the two of you had. You tear your eyes from your hand to look up at him and say, “I’m an adult, Geralt. I’m going through the trials willingly.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw and lets out a huff, so you continue, “We’ve always known about the Trials, I agreed to it when I came here, and I’ve continued to agree to it every time that I’ve taken any of their elixirs. I’ve...We’ve been training for this for our whole lives. Without Vizimir I would have died without getting a chance to experience real life.”

“I know the speech,” Geralt shoots back almost immediately, pulling his hand away and leaving you feeling hurt.

“Geralt.” You are struggling to keep your voice steady. You can’t decide if you feel like screaming or crying, so you keep to the Code and shove both of those urges down as deep as is possible given the situation. “It’s not my fault we have to undergo the mutations, so don’t fucking snap at me.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says, shaking his head and burying it in his hands, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know.”

He is silent for another moment before he finally lowers his hands and looks up at you. You realize in that moment how close you are, your faces only inches apart. You can see the gold flecks in his amber eyes and the stubble on his cheeks and have to fight to ignore the urge to reach out and see how his skin feels beneath your hands, and what his eyes would look like if you did.

But then, he reaches out with one hand, hesitantly and ever so gently, to cup your face. You shiver as the pad of his thumb brushes just beneath your lower lip and the very corner of your mouth. Time feels suspended, as if the two of you are floating on some separate plane where the day of the Trials will never come and the two of you can just stay right here, just as you are, forever.

“I hate the idea of you undergoing the Trial because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you, Y/N.” The words are like a punch to the stomach that is somehow pleasant, knocking all the breath out of your lungs.

He leans even closer, until your foreheads are touching. “I know the Code, and I know I’m not supposed to, but I love you.”

You breathe in, memorizing the smell of him. You’ve only ever been this close during sparring exercises. You decide you like this a lot better.

“When I had the fever… The one thing that kept me, you know, here was you, you know,” you breathe. You’ve never told him because you know that no matter how much he had pretended to hate it as of late, he sticks to the Code. The Code, which doesn’t look highly on Witchers being in relationships – especially with one another. “And that’s why—and you’re the reason I know that I’ll survive the Trial.” Your eyes have drifted down, unable to meet his as you confess this – the secret you have been hiding from him for so long.

He is silent for a moment, frozen there with his deliciously warm hand on your face before finally letting his and slip lower, resting under your chin and gently tilting your head up so that he can meet your eyes. “Fuck the Code,” he says, eyes flashing before pressing his lips to yours.

It is your first kiss, and it is pure bliss. Your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the sensation has you drunk with pleasure before he even deepens the kiss. And, when he does, you are ready. You part your lips for him, and he greedily explores your mouth. You keep thinking that it can’t get any better, but yet it does. You moan involuntarily as his hand slips from your chin, ghosting along the curve of your neck and coming to rest on your shoulder, calloused thumb sweeping across your collar bone.

His touch is electric, leaving your skin feeling hot and charged, and longing for more. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. He responds with an appreciative grunt, moving his hands to explore your body, starting by sweeping down your sides, just barely grazing the sides of your breasts in the process.

With his hands now firmly wrapped around your sides, he breaks the kiss, leaving you in a huff of frustration and disappointment – you hadn’t had nearly enough of him. But before you can get too out of sorts, his lips touch your neck and you moan, tipping your head back to grant him complete access. You don’t even have time to worry about the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing – that you have never done this before – because Geralt is so thorough, so in control of the situation. It’s like he knows all the right places to touch, and exactly what to do with his mouth to have you breathing heavily, small sounds of pleasure slipping through your lips.

Tentatively, you begin exploring his body with your hands. You love the way that his muscled form feels beneath your fingers, and it makes you want to explore every inch. As your hands move down his chest, you find yourself tugging at his shirt. You don’t know if it is an involuntary reaction to his teeth grazing your neck as his lips continue down to your collarbone or whether it is simply a feeble attempt to pull the fabric away because you would very much like to know what his sculpted abdomen feels like beneath your fingers without the offending material in the way.

Geralt’s hands, on the other hand, have gripped your white linen shirt, identical to his own, and already began pulling it over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, and the moment it is off, you greedily reach for his own tugging the material up and over his head. For a moment, you just stare at him, drinking in the sight of him shirtless before you. It wasn’t as if you had never seen him this way – but you had always done your best not to look too long, afraid that he would notice as question why.

However, he interrupts your moment of slightly embarrassing admiration when he wraps his arms around you, hands grazing your hyper-sensitive skin. You sigh, content to let him touch every inch of you. Encouraged by this, his hands wander up to unlace your bra and you bite your lip in anticipation. You cannot wait to feel his hands on them, arching your back, willing him to make faster work of it.

He grins as he slips the material off your shoulders, grin turning into more of a smirk as he sees you staring back at him with wide, expectant eyes. He slides one hand up your back, easing you down so you are laying beneath him, eyes drinking in the sight of you naked form and making your feel suddenly exposed. But, given the way his pupils dilate, he likes what he sees as much as you do.

He leans over you, lowering himself so that he can bring his lips to yours once more. You greedily bite his lower lip, hands back to their game of exploring as much of his body as you can reach. And then all of a sudden, you feel his stubbled cheek graze against yours as he leans to growl in your ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Witcheress.”

His words add fuel to the fire burning in your core, and you whimper as his fingers brush your nipple. It feels so delicious it is almost painful. You’ve never even allowed yourself to fantasize about this scenario, as much as you may have wanted to. You never thought it would happen – and you weren’t one to dream of impossible things. And yet, here you both were.

“Geralt,” you breathe, completely lost I the feeling as he kneads and pinches your breasts. And then… his lips. The feeling of them against your breast and his tongue flattening against your nipple is warm and soft and better than you could have ever imagined it feeling. Your eyes roll up into your head as he makes use of his free hand to gently twist and pinch the bud not currently receiving the attention of his tongue.

Heat pools in your core, twisting and tightening and aching for his touch, and, oh gods, for his tongue. Any nerves you thought you would have doing this for the first time have evaporated. There is no room in your pleasure-drunk mind for nervous thoughts.

Once again, seemingly able to read your thoughts, he slips a hand between the two of you, unfastening your belt and unlacing your trousers. For a brief moment, your mind blinks to a thought of just how practiced his hands are – but you don’t dwell on it for more than a split second. You are burning with need, and you could care less how many women Geralt has had before you – if the stories of the young man’s exploits on those rare occasions when Kaer Morhen’s young Witchers in training were given leave to take on smaller contracts here and there under supervision of elders – it doesn’t matter to you right now.

It matters even less when his hand slips into your waistband, expert fingers finding their way to where you need him most. His finger dips between your folds, gathering the wet heat pooled there for him, humming appreciatively against your chest as he lets his finger trail back up to the little bundle of nerves. His touch is perfect parts gentle and firm as he circles the small bud, making you cry out into the open air.

“You like that, Witcheress?” he asks gruffly, swirling his finger again and making you buck your hips against his hand. Making yourself form words is pretty much hopeless at this point, with his finger dancing over the hard little nub that no one save yourself has ever touched before, but your pleasured cries are more than enough answer for him.

He loves watching you like this – writhing beneath him, hips moving of their own accord, eyes blinking open and closed again. He especially loves your little gasps; the way your pretty mouth stays open in a constant ‘oh’ as he works you with his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns him on even more; your breasts rising and falling at uneven intervals as he increases his pace and pressure. And, oh gods, he loves the groan that escapes your lips when he does.

“Gods,” you say with a great deal of effort, “That feels… G-geralt!”

He watches you as your body tenses for a moment, amber eyes fixed on you as he watches you fall apart, already committing this image to memory; the first time you’d come for him. You are still twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body when he grabs your waistband and tugs your pants off roughly, breathing in your scent and greedily taking in the sight of you.

Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips to the inside of your calf, peppering the soft skin with kisses as he moves his way up your leg. You are still reeling from your orgasm, but already you need more. His hands follow his lips, massaging the seemingly always sore muscles of your legs and making you sigh with pleasure.

You reach down to run a hand through his hair, and he lifts his amber eyes to meet yours as he moves to your other leg, pressing kisses across ever inch of your skin. His tongue traces the crease between your thigh and your most intimate area, and your hips thrust towards his face of their own accord. But then a thought enters your mind, and you tug at his hair, “Geralt.”

“Yes, Witcheress?” he says, locking you in his intense gaze.

“I should… Shouldn’t I? You know…?” You can feel his bulge through his pants, and you are eager to touch him, to feel his hardness with your fingers, your tongue, and inside of you. But for now, Geralt clearly has other plans.

“Shh, Witcheress,” he says, nipping gently at your inner thigh with his teeth, “I’m not done with you yet.” His words send your mind into a whirl as his hands slip under your thighs to your ass, letting his shoulders hold your already quivering legs apart so that you are completely exposed to him. You whimper as he blows cool air on your heat, making you shiver.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says gruffly, eyes locked on yours once again, “But first I want to taste you.” He lets his tongue just barely graze your clit, and you whimper again, on the verge of begging. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Y/N?”

You can only whimper in response, your need for him an almost painful ache in your core.

“Hmm?” he rumbles, looking up at you with an impish grin, “Didn’t hear you.” You cannot think of a more beautiful sight than Geralt – the boy who was your first friend and the man who you fell in love with little by little until you were mad with it – looking up at you as if you are the only person in the world.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice laced with need.

“Mhm,” he growls, finally running his tongue from your opening to the little bundle of nerves. The feeling of his tongue touching you there has you seeing stars. It feels even better than his fingers as he explores you, paying particular attention to the places that make you gasp and tighten your grip on his hair.

He takes his time, savoring the way you taste, better even then he imagined – which he often had despite his efforts not to think of you that way. He’d tried to stick to the Code, he’d tried everything to keep his mind busy – every time he made a trip out of Kaer Morhen, he’d tried to distract himself, but now, as he explores you with his tongue, breathes your scent, feels your soft skin beneath his fingertips, and hears your soft gasps and moans, all he can think is that he has abided by the Code for way too fucking long.

You are absolutely lost in the feeling of his mouth on you. And, when his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and attacking it with his tongue, you cry out so loud you are almost convinced everyone back in the Keep can hear you, not that you care. He moans against you, delicious vibrations making you cry out again.

His hand has been traveling closer and closer to your entrance, and you find yourself desperately moving your hips, urging him on. This time, he obliges without teasing, seeming as if he couldn’t pull away from you if he wanted to.

He groans along with you as he slips a finger inside of you, stretching you gently. He takes his time here, too, slowly pumping his finger in and out, committing to memory every place that makes you gasp and writhe until he finds that spot. He adds another finger, focusing on the sensitive place inside of you. Your eyes screw shut as he curls his fingers in time with his tongue; he has turned you into a senseless mess.

The pleasure is too much. Every muscle in your body tenses before finally, you release. Your back arches as you cry out, thighs trapping Geralt in place as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure until finally your body goes slack and you fall back against the grass, breathing heavily.

For a moment, Geralt doesn’t move, yellow eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there slowly coming back to your senses. When your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, he slowly kisses up your body until he reaches your lips, capturing you in a kiss that seems to last forever, but still not long enough. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it drives you mad.

You are already reaching down, desperately and clumsily attempting to yank off his pants, wanting there to be nothing between the two of you. He helps you with the task, kicking off his boots and tossing his remaining clothing to the side. You watch him, eyes committing every muscle and every scar to memory, and finally you allow yourself to look lower.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re staring, eyes wide as you consider the size of him. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but he is huge, and, considering the only thing that had been inside you before this day are your own fingers, you shiver at the thought of it. He lowers himself back onto his elbows, eyes finding yours as he brushes stray strands of hair from your sweat-soaked forehead as you blink up at him through your lashes, chewing your lower lip, feeling equal parts nervous and impatient.

As your heart hammers in your chest, he leans down to press his lips against the sensitive spot at the crook of your neck, positioning himself between your legs. You whimper as he teases you with the head of his large cock, sliding it from your entrance to your clit and back again, pausing there when all you wanted was for him to push himself inside you.

And all at once, he does. You draw in a sharp breath at the mix of pain and pleasure. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him. You hadn’t thought it’d feel this good. You’d not had much in the way of women to tell you about things like this here at Kaer Morhen. Most of what you learned, you learned from the boys – and you’d learn to take anything you heard from them with a grain of salt. But this – gods. It felt like pure bliss.

Finally, he slowly drew out and thrust back in again, groaning into the space between your neck and shoulder. By his third thrust, you were already raising your hips to meet his, wanting more, faster, harder. But Geralt was taking his time, despite your fingers raking his back, leaving red marks that could be mistaken for claw marks, in all honesty.

“Geralt,” his name spills from your lips in something between a sigh and a moan. He responds by kissing your neck, then moving up to kiss your lips, the two of you lying there, drinking each other in, hips moving harder and faster as he fills you up over and over again, somehow hitting every single spot inside of you, making you whimper beneath him.

You are both sweating, breathing heavily, and clawing at each other as if your lives depend on exploring every part of one another. His thrusts are even, though. A perfect rhythm that has you repeating his name over and over like a prayer. Each time, he hits that spot, and you feel that tightening in your belly, like a coil. And then, all of a sudden, it snaps, and you are lost in a sea of pleasure.

He finishes almost immediately after you, thrusts growing more and more sporadic as he finishes inside you.

The two of you lay there, half-clothed but unworried. No one will stumble upon you out here. Code be damned, you are in love. And for tonight, you are just that – not two people about to undergo the Trials, not a future Witcher and Witcheress – just two young lovers, all tangled up together, staring up at a sky fully of stars, watching the moon rise over the Snow Pine Mountains.  

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