#only she may have picked a moment too late in saying those affirming words of security

[michyeosseo]

I am determined to take Shen Li home.

[devondeal]

1, 2, 7, 15, 16, 43, 47, 49, 51 for Kenduli ask game please and thank you 😘

I'd like to once again thank you for introducing me to Kenduli because my god they are hot together and I didn't expect it to be this fun to answer but this was truly a surprise joy for me 🥰

1.) How did they each fall in love?

Obi Wan always had a crush on Luminara since he was a young lad in the same creche as her but he was always too shy to say something. He assumed she didn't feel the same since she was probably too "cool" for him.

Luminara also had a crush on Obi Wan since the beginning and she tried all the flirting however Obi Wan was too oblivious to pick up on it. She probably would have straight up told him but I think that probably got stunted when (and what I'm about to say is my headcanon) she lost her Master. The death of Master Katri probably was so consuming she just didn't have the energy to think of romance anymore.

This in turn would reinforce Obi Wan's belief that she didn't feel the same for him and being a good caring person and Jedi, he put his feelings aside to comfort her as a friend.

Unfortunately by the time Luminara was able to heal and felt comfortable enough again to tell him how she felt, that's when Obi Wan met Satine so she assumed he only cared for her platonically or whatever interest she may have sensed earlier in him, he moved on and she was too late.

2.) Who would confess first and how?

Luminara would confess first and I feel like it happened at some point during The Approaching Storm just given the chemistry and events of the book. I mean they promised to take care of the other's Padawan so they clearly had some intense interactions between the lines and scenes.

I mean a mission that forces them to spend prolonged time together sleeping right next to each other? That's prime romantic potential right there. So I feel like in one of the moments their Padawans were both preoccupied with something, they'd get to talking in the infamous tent and Luminara would let it slip that she had a crush on him growing up.

Obi Wan would be so shocked at this and in turn reveal he also had a crush on her. And the interaction would go something like this and it would all be spoken a little heatedly given their surprise how long they've had to hold back:

Obi Wan: "Well why didn't you tell me?! All those years, I thought you only saw me as a friend!"

Luminara: "And I thought you only saw me as a friend!"

(Suddenly both realize how close their faces have gotten)

Luminara: "We are good friends, aren't we?..."

Obi Wan: "Yes... very good friends..."

(They both start furiously making out)

7.) What's a typical date night for them?

I feel like Obi Wan would always have flowers and a "hello there" to start their dates and they're both all dressed up to go somewhere fancy like a restaurant with a private booth or the theatre which usually ends in one of their rooms in the Temple.

In the more casual version they'd probably stay in and cook together just enjoying each other's company while they can.

15.) How would they express their affection for each other?

They both ADORE using cute titles for each other like "darling," "dear," "love," etc.

Obi Wan is THE gentleman and will always open the door, pull up a chair, all that stuff for his lady. He would also be big on words of affirmation and always reminding her how amazing she is because he knows she needs to hear it.

Luminara would give Obi Wan gifts and souvenirs from her missions. She definitely would give him something significant to Mirialan culture that is some kind of sign of love and commitment. Food is also a love language for her so she def would feed him much like Barriss would for Ahsoka.

16.) How would they comfort each other?

With Obi Wan, like I said he would try to use words to validate her but he also knows that sometimes there are no words so he would just check on her and take care of her, makes sure she's eating, etc. until she's ready to talk about it. Luminara suffers in silence for the most part so lots of holding her for sure.

Luminara would be his safe space for him to cry and express his feelings. She'd just listen and hold him. She'd struggle to not go out there and beat the crap out of whoever caused this. But she'd know that he needs to just spill what he's feeling without feeling judged so she'd let him feel it all.

43.) What does Luminara think of Obi Wan's past relationship with Satine and Ventress being flirty with him?

With Satine, Luminara for the most part just feels really hurt that she missed her chance with Obi Wan. She understands why Obi Wan would still care about Satine years later but also is frustrated because she knows it was not a healthy relationship for Obi Wan. Luminara does still feel bits of jealousy come up and just does not like her.

And if Luminara doesnt like Satine, she FUCKING HATES Ventress's flirtiness with Obi Wan 🤣 nothing gets her straight to big mad faster than the thought of that bog witch throwing her skirt at Obi Wan.

47.) What does Luminara mean by "strategic planning?"

🍆🍑🌋🎆💦

49.) Describe their reunion as Force ghosts

Oh this one is gonna give all the feels 😭 They both would immediately start crying upon seeing each other and Obi Wan would say that he's waited so long to come back to her while Luminara tells him she watched over him the whole time ❤️

51.) Favorite Kenduli moment from either a show or a book?

Onscreen of course I have to mention the "strategic planning," basically the entire Legacy of Terror despite Obi Wan's questionable choices of negotiation 🤣 I do love how worried he got when seeing her holo of her getting captured like the man banged on the table in fear for her 🥺

Also The Approaching Storm is basically the Kenduli bible. But I flipped through some pages for examples and it will explain my headcanons above are the way they are:

This was Luminara encouraging Obi Wan that he is capable of training Anakin

Just Obi Wan being both a feminist and probably blushing furiously too

The man watched her sleep this whole damn paragraph and, get this, "aroused" him

This was toward the end when the main conflict is resolved and Luminara wants to chill with Obi Wan for some "small pleasures".... yeah that's one way to put it

[siriusmydeer]

breakup with your girlfriend, i’m bored.

james potter x fem!reader, platonic!remus lupin x reader, james potter x lily evans

summary: james’ journey onto finding love; just not with you.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: unrequited love, angst, swearing, crying, mentions of food, self doubt/insecurity, pining, mentions of murder, mentions of marriage and kids

— 0:00

‘You got me some type of way

Ain't used to feelin' this way

I do not know what to say

“so, mates, i think m’finally getting somewhere with lils!” the tone of excitement thickly lacing the bespectacled boys words. “m’sure of it.” he continued, a bit of confusion in his words but still the same amount of excitement as before.

his brows were furrowed and he picked at the skin of his fingernails trying to relieve himself, further wringing his hands a few times before looking at his friends for their input.

“m’so— m’so happy for you, prongs. really, that’s great.” your voice faltering as you continued to speak, trying to scoundrel up a tone of excitement that would’ve played off well enough. instead all you were feeling stone cold truth of dejection.

But I know I shouldn't think about it

Took one fuckin' look at your face

Now I wanna know how you taste

Usually don't give it away

But you know I'm out here thinkin' 'bout it’

a fake smile plastered your face, trying to push back the tears that wanted to desperately prick at your eyes. you tried to further block them from escaping your waterline as you hear the boy jabber close to every single day about the red head he had been continuously fawning over.

the day went subsequently normal; potions, transfiguration, break period, plan pranks and dinner. but unfortunately for you, you didn’t have the privilege to share a messy dormitory with the four other boys leaving their conversations and discussions open about you and more your feelings.

“d’you think y/n was a bit off today?” peter asked abruptly from the place he sat on the oak wood floor, catching the attention of the three other boys who were seated on their separate twin beds. furthering to retain all memories of you from that day attempting to identify where you might’ve seemed ‘off.’

‘Then I realize she's right there

And I'm at home like, "Damn, this ain't fair"

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

“maybe a lunch a bit, she looked a little melancholy, i guess.” sirius answered this time, recalling the memory of you speaking in a very disconsolate tone. “y’think it’s anything major, or just stress?” he questioned again, beginning to worry about his close friend.

“dunno, i don’t think so.” the lycanthrope added to the conversation. he recalled james’ new confession about the red headed girl, and your extremely unhappy expressions following; of course noticing a bit at the time when it was occurring but just assuming you had a bad day with evan rosier pestering you for a date.

maybe... maybe she— but they’re best friends? his thoughts were extremely close to scrambled, remus was an observer, he was clever and sharp-witted; but this, he couldn’t figure out.

You could hit it in the mornin'

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right

“oi, y/n!” a deep voice called in the distance, putting your light jog to a stop in the middle of the courtyard leaving you to stand in the grass. swiftly turning around you were met with the taller fawn-haired boy, who looked tremendously determined.

“i’ve, uh, ‘ve got to ask you something, and it may seem foolish, but i think i just still ask you.” his voice hurried like his panting breaths from running across the school to find you, asking around the library and your dorm mates.

“yeah, moons, sure, anything.” affirming the boy who looked a bit confused, and worried but you didn’t know if it was for his sake or yours.

he grabbed your wrist in his palm pulling you on the prickly grass over to someone more private like to speak with you. “d’you— d’you like prongs? more than friendly...” the boy sputtered, further acknowledging your blown eyes like someone had just committed murder in-front of you.

But I don't care

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored’

“i— uhm, well, that’s a bit— why d’you think— remus, what the fuck!” your words taking a halt every few seconds with a recurrent sputter trying to figure out where the question had even came from, or how he even knew.

“i saw— i saw the way you acted at lunch the other day. i jus’ wanted to know if it’s true.” he asserted, no present lingering touches of judgement in his tone.

remus knew what it was like to be judged, so whenever you had the urge to jabber out all of your problems he was the boy you had always ran too first. knowingly, or not. but he felt particularly disappointed in himself that you hadn’t trusted him with this potential secret.

‘This shit always happen to me (Yeah)

Why can't we just play for keeps?

Practically on my knees

“yeah— i do.” you admitted with a breath, guilt taking a pang at your heart. and anger taking a swig at your brain; how could you be so fucking stupid.

“remus, but you can’t— you can’t tell him, or anything.” your tone was hushed, and only meant for remus’ ears. feeling a tinge of embarrassment warm onto your cheeks, knowing someone you loved clearly didn’t reciprocate those feelings.

“i swear, i won’t. but m’here for you, i don’t want you feeling like you can’t tell me anything.” his words soft, and his tone genuine. why couldn’t you have fallen for someone like him? but instead, you crush on someone who was in love with someone else.

But I know I shouldn't think about it

You know what you're doin' to me

You're singin' my songs in the streets, yeah, yeah

Actin' all innocent, please

“c’mon, y/n.” he beckoned you to follow him, resting his arm on the curvature of your shoulder feeling his side press against your smaller one and guiding you to transfiguration with him.

why? why did you have to be so damn foolish? because it was her, with her beautiful red locks, her perfect maroon lipstick, her exceedingly amazing grades, her ability to be silly for a moment and loosen up. why couldn’t you be her? why couldn’t you have what she has.

it’s because it’s simple; you weren’t lily evans and you were never going to be.

When I know you out here thinkin' 'bout it

Then you realize she's right there

And you're at home like, "Damn, she can't compare"’

“guys! guys! she said yes!” james announced whilst scuttling across the mahogany floor of the common room. his actions at a halt flopping his body over the scarlet-red couch and a grin on his lips.

“who said what?” sirius muttered, glancing up from the map for a moment before looking back down in ascertainment.

“lily-pad! i asked her on a date and she was like, ‘yeah, fine, potter. but if you’re late i’ll kill you.’ just like that!” he pretended to play out the conversation for a moment, his thrilled movements and inflection almost animated from how happy he felt.

‘Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

You could hit it in the mornin'

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right’

remus briefly glanced at you, concern swirling in his hazel irises, meanwhile, your eyes widened for a moment. you plastered yet another fake grin onto your lips, about to congratulate your crush on winning a date with his all time infatuation.

“prongs! oh my merlin, that’s amazing, i’m so happy for you!” putting on the best impression of exhilaration for your best friend, the act only remus could piece together and break apart.

“no way! prongs, mate, i knew you could do it!” sirius spoke, his tone fein for his best friend who had been in a pinning coma for the last few years.

‘But I don't care

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend’

the boys continued to congratulate the boy, remus only giving him a nod and a smile. the marauders paying no mind to it and instead james merrily talking about the red head; his red head.

you weren’t his, and you never would be.

yet another realization struck you, the urge and need to move on present in your nervous system almost begging you to find someone else and to hide away from all the pain that could swallow you whole.

‘With your girlfriend

With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend

You could say I'm hatin' if you want to

But I only hate on her 'cause I want you’

you were now sat on the smooth ivory bedding that perfectly hugged your bed, remus’ body right beside yours. except you weren’t comfortable, you wanted to cry a valley of tears that could’ve lasted a life time.

“why is it her? why couldn’t he want me, am i not enough?” you spoke through broken sobs, feeling remus’ agile hands rub up and down the column of your back.

“you’re enough, y/n/n. he’s a bloody git for not seeing that.” remus spoke, sponging a kiss on your hairline. he felt the wet tears graze his shoulder, slightly contracting at the cold feeling but paying no mind to them as he comforted you.

‘Say I'm trippin' if you feel like

But you without me ain't right

You could call me crazy 'cause I want you

And I never even ever fuckin' met you

Say I'm trippin' and it ain't right

But you without me ain't nice’

“m’the bloody git! i fell in love with m’best friend who’s in love with someone else! next thing you know i’m accidentally setting dumbledores beard on fire, and accidentally spawning voldemort for christ’s sake!” your words mumbled and obstruct from the tears that had over come you.

you whipped your face free from tears for a moment, basically scrubbing the black colour of your mascara down your cheeks. “you’re not alone, you know? m’right here.” his tone, yet again, sincere.

you felt undeserving of his coddling, that your messy puppy love was so little compared to his issues. “i can tell your belittling your problems right now, you’re aloud to be upset.” he whispered, trying to assure you all he could, whilst disrupting you from your senile thoughts.

‘Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

You could hit it in the mornin'

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right

But I don't care’

“merlin, she’s fantastic.” the brunette finished his third speech of the day on how ‘amazing’ lily is. yeah as if him pining after her wasnt enough, then what the hell was this?

the devil poking at you for cheating on your herbology test in first year, the time you accidentally tripped peter when rushing to potions, maybe it was the time you put belching power in sirius’ drink everyday for a week because he said you had a flat arse?

what the hell did you do to deserve this incessant torture that had been inflicted upon you. we’re you being dramatic? probably. but the boy you were quite literally in love with could not stop talking about how he wanted to ask another female to be with him, companionship, life, marriage, children. he wanted everything with her.

‘Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, baby, girlfriend

With your girlfriend’

but then again it was also extremely simple.

he just simply didn’t want you.

he wanted lily fucking evans.

‘With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend

With your girlfriend’

taglist: @fathermarty @kittykylax @terr0rizer @aspiringsloth20 @maddoxsmythologicalmind @amourtentiaa @dear-luna @famdomhideout @hufflepogue

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[biggest-stupidhead]

Never Ready

Summary: “It’s not like I’m ready to take her in.”

“And I was ready for you? Kid, nobody is ever ready for things like this. That doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” Levi is faced with the difficult decision of taking in his newly orphaned cousin. But he can't do it alone.You're a newly graduated college student looking to make some extra cash, but get more than you originally bargained for...

Word Count: 2.3K 

--

The day had started just like any other day. He woke up early and worked out before making himself a small breakfast of tea and an English muffin with some jam. Then he got dressed for work in one of his perfectly tailored suits. His routine was flawless, perfected over many years to allow him to seamlessly slip from one task into the next. He arrived one full hour before work actually began so that he could organize his desk and get a jump on the day’s cleaning. He liked working in a clean environment, if this step was missed (or really any of them for that matter), his entire day was thrown off. 

And today was one of those days. About four minutes before the office officially opened, Levi got a phone call. He had the phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he finished wiping down his desk with a clorox wipe. 

“We regretfully inform you that your cousin and his wife were involved in an armed robbery.” 

He froze at this, his eyes narrowing as the woman waited for his response. 

“What was stolen?” He asked before continuing to wipe down the surface. 

“Sir…” The woman spoke slowly and Levi began to lose his patience. 

“Listen, I appreciate the phone call but quite honestly I don’t have time for this.” He said bitterly as he disposed of the wipe. 

“This is very important sir, your cousin, and his wife were both murdered in the process.” The woman informed him and his blood ran cold. Although he had never been close with his extended family, the news was still tragic. 

“I see,” Levi grumbled as a boulder seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m calling regarding their daughter, Mikasa. Seeing that Mr. Ackerman was an only child, as was Mrs. Ackerman, and their parents have passed, you and your uncle are her next of kin.” The woman continued as Levi sank into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What do we need to do?” Levi sighed as he closed his eyes, waiting patiently for her response. 

“You have a few options, either of you could gain full parental rights to her, or she will become a ward of the state.” Some shuffling could be heard on her end of the line and Levi felt his heart rate spike. For a time in his own life, he had been thrown into the system, that was until his own uncle had gained custody after sobering up. 

“I understand,” Levi grumbled, watching as his coworkers set about their daily business as he was dealing with this unforeseen issue. 

“The decision doesn’t need to be made immediately of course. I strongly encourage that the two of you discuss this at length. The funeral is this Thursday, Mikasa and myself will be there and we can talk in greater depth then.” The sound of a keyboard clacking filled the short silence as he considered what an appropriate response would be. 

“I’ll...get back to you.” He leaned forward in his seat and clicked on his calendar, crossing out the lengthy list of tasks and replacing it with, FUNERAL. 

“Thank you, and sorry for your loss.” He hung up the phone and reclined back into his seat. This was quite possibly the biggest disruption he would ever face in his life. He hated that his cousin and his shitty wife had left this burden to rest on his shoulders. But upon further thought, his own mother had done the same thing to his uncle. You know what they say: history repeats itself. 

It seemed that as soon as he had set the phone down, it rang. His uncle’s contact lit up his screen and he let it ring three times before picking it up. 

“Did ya hear?” Kenny’s deep voice crackled over his speaker and Levi grunted. 

“Yeah, just got off of the phone with the social worker,” Levi informed him and Kenny hummed deeply. 

“What do you think?” He pressed and Levi felt his annoyance increase by tenfold. 

“I think that it’s a load of shit. And you?” Levi asked as he crossed his legs under his desk. 

“Same here.” Kenny agreed. 

“It’s not ideal, but we can’t let her go into foster care,” Kenny grumbled and Levi hummed his agreement. Kenny was right, even if she was distantly related, Mikasa was still a part of their family. 

“So are you going to take custody then?” Levi scoffed, knowing damn well that Kenny was pushing fifty and had a chronic case of bad arthritis. 

“Hell no, I’ve done my part by raising you.” Kenny laughed bitterly and Levi’s expression soured. 

“It’s not like I’m ready to take her in.” Levi countered and Kenny let out another bark of laughter. 

“And I was ready for you? Kid, nobody is ever ready for things like this. That doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” Kenny chuckled mirthfully as Levi shifted in his seat. He knew that Kenny was right, and he knew from the moment that the social worker had said that Mikasa needed someone, that it would be him taking her. 

“I’ll need to get a bigger place then.” Levi sighed his fingers rubbing tight circles over his temple as he thought of his bachelor-sized apartment. 

“Damn straight.” Kenny chuckled as Levi shot a look at the clock, it was nearly twenty minutes into the workday already. 

“Look, I’m at work. I’ll talk to you on Thursday at the funeral.” 

“See you then.” Kenny hung up and Levi let out a long exhale. His week was off to a terrible start. 

--

In movies, funerals are usually held in dreary weather. But today was almost too beautiful for a funeral. It was late January and the ground was covered in a thick blanket of sparkling snow. As the coffins were lowered into the two holes the social worker held Mikasa on her hip. She was only four, and there was no way that she could fully grasp what had happened. Levi stood with his hands shoved deep inside of his pockets. 

Kenny stood off to his left, a large distance between the two of them. There couldn’t have been more than seven people here, Levi assumed that they were friends of the family. The other attendees came up to him before and gave their condolences to Levi and Kenny, who both said nothing in return. The service was quick, Levi and Kenny had opted out of paying more than what the state offered. In Kenny’s own words, “Dead is dead, no fancy funeral is going to help them now.” 

To some, it may seem heartless, but it was the way that the family coped with death. Once the funeral was over, Kenny and Levi joined the service worker to get a cup of coffee in a nearby cafe. She had passed Mikasa off to a brunette woman before leaving the cemetery. Levi assumed that she was the foster woman that they had placed her with, or possibly a family friend. 

“So, I understand that you wish to gain custody?” Michelle was a middle-aged woman with graying hair and prominent wrinkles on her forehead. As she flipped through files that were spread across the table Levi nodded as he sipped his tea. 

“That’s correct,” Levi affirmed and she nodded before spinning the paperwork so that he could read the form. 

“I’m sure that you understand that this is no small commitment.” She spoke as she passed him a pen. He scoffed and began initialing and signing where necessary. 

“Of course,” Levi grunted before flipping the page. 

“Before you can gain full custody, the state will need to see some changes in your lifestyle, for starters, you’ll need to move within her current school district and continue to hold a steady job.” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Levi mumbled, pausing to read the paper before signing. 

“Excellent, once these needs are met, she can be placed under your care,” Michelle informed as Levi skimmed over the page. 

“Anything else?” Levi asked as he signed the last form presented to him. 

“Not at this time, I’m sure that you’re well versed in most of our policies, seeing that the two of you went through a similar process.” Michelle continued as she neatly returned the papers to their folder. 

“Yes.” Levi agreed as he brought his cup back to his lips. Kenny had been silent for most of the exchange. If Levi was being honest, he was relieved to have him there, even if he wasn’t contributing. 

“Great, we’ll be in touch then.” Michelle smiled tensely before excusing herself, leaving Kenny and Levi alone at the table. Kenny finished his coffee and stood up, stretching with a loud groan. 

“Well, I’m off to the office,” Kenny said with a short wave behind his shoulder. Levi watched him go, feeling a strange sense of dread settle into his gut. It all felt so surreal, even if he was thirty and most of his peers were already parents themselves, he still felt unprepared. It was just like Kenny had said, nothing could prepare him to take on this role. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t his to take, and he would be damned if he let Mikasa get thrown into the foster care system. 

Levi set to work on finding a house in the district that the social worker had given him. He had never been a fan of suburbs, but at this time it was all that he could afford. So he found a decent house with four bedrooms, one for himself, one for Mikasa one for guests, and a final for a study. He was lucky enough to have a decent job, and a respectable grasp on his finances, it took him a week to finalize the buy, but in the end, he was glad that he did. 

He had been meaning to get out of his stuffy apartment anyway, (or so he reasoned with himself), he moved his belongings out of his downtown apartment in less than a week. Once the house was effectively moved into, he then began the tedious process of preparing Mikasa’s things. He started by doing research on what four-year-olds needed and then set about buying the necessities. He felt out of place as he shopped through Target in the little girl’s section, buying bedding and such. But he got the job done, he knew that she had to have some clothes, and decided that he’d cross that bridge when he got there. 

It was the night before Michelle was scheduled to visit, and Levi had invited Hange over for a drink. Hange had nosed around for about an hour, acquainting herself with Levi’s new space and gushing when she saw the modest room that he had prepared for Mikasa. 

“I can’t believe that you’re actually going through with this!” Hange cooed as she sat on the small bed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked defensively as he propped himself on the doorframe. Honestly, he had been avoiding this room, it felt that if he acknowledged the space, the heavier the weight of the situation crushed his chest. 

“I just...never thought that you liked kids. But I’m really proud of you.” Hange beamed as she smoothed out the pink comforter as she stood. 

“What made you think that I didn’t like kids?” He scoffed as the pair left the room, he closed the door quietly behind them as they made their way into the kitchen. 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe I just made the assumption based on your obsession with cleanliness.” Hange waved her hand dismissively and Levi clicked his tongue as he poured two glasses of wine. 

“They are filthy.” Levi agreed as he brought the glass of red wine to his lips. 

“What’s she like?” Hange asked, wrapping her own fingers around her glass as she eagerly awaited his response. 

“....I haven’t met her.” Levi felt a wave of panic crash over his chest as Hange’s eyes widened. 

“Never?” Hange couldn’t hide her astonishment. 

“Never,” Levi said with a roll of his eyes. 

“You’re serious?” Hange pressed and Levi glared at her. 

“Do I ever joke about these things?” Levi snapped and she held her hands up in defeat. 

“I’m just surprised is all,” Hange mumbled before taking a long sip of her wine. 

“I wasn’t close with her parents,” Levi explained as he put the cork back on the bottle. 

“Well...maybe you should take some extra time off of work,” Hange suggested and Levi sighed deeply. 

“I can’t, I’ve already taken off more than I planned.” Levi sat on the barstool next to Hange and she swiveled to face him, their knees knocking against each other. 

“But this is not something that you take lightly Levi. She’s a four-year-old girl who lost both of her parents. She’s going to need a lot of attention.” Hange looked concerned and Levi’s expression soured. 

“I understand that, but my job is-” 

“Is not your priority anymore. Have you thought about what you’re going to do for childcare yet? She’s too young for school. Or at least not full days.” Hange interrupted. 

“So I’ll put her in daycare, or preschool.” Levi shrugged and Hange pursed her lips. 

“That could work, but don’t you usually stay late at the office?” Hange pressed and Levi chewed on the inside of his cheek guiltily. 

“Maybe you should consider getting a nanny. Plenty of my student’s nanny, I could give you some good recommendations.” She offered before lifting her glass to her lips. 

“Maybe…” Levi suddenly felt way in over his head, if all went well in the morning, then Mikasa would be sent his way in nearly a week. 

“I’ll ask around on Monday,” Hange said, reaching out to pat his shoulder. For once, he didn’t shy away. 

[jeongvision]

bandaids

synopsis. in the midst of finals season, where routine takes over your lifestyle, you find solace in the voice of your most important person that always seem to know when you’re at your breaking point.

pairing. boyfriend! kim doyoung ✗ student! fem! reader

genre. fluff, angst, slice of life, hurt/comfort, college au, non idol au, established relationship au

word count. 1.8k words

warnings. cursing, mentions of anxiety, depictions of a mental breakdown

song. bandaids by keshi

author’s note. after looking at my calendar, it has come to my attention that it’s that time of the year: finals season. i just want to let all of you know that you are doing a great job. you made it this far and i’m proud of you. i promise you, you will get through this. hopefully this could give comfort in the midst of your studies. love you all.

friends of flowers fragile silence stand beside you stop your crying

If there is one thing that all college students could agree on, it’s that finals seasons are the absolute worst thing to ever go through in college. You’re constantly spending every night at the library with your eyes glued onto your textbooks, your brain rushing to keep up in retaining all the pertinent information needed for your exams. You’re devoting hours onto your laptop with your fingers typing away on your keyboard, internet tabs and pages cluttering your screen as you rush to reach the minimum page count required for your courses.

So many times you have declined all your friends’ requests for study dates or a simple get-together because you just don’t have the luxury to. As much as you’d love to take a break from your studies, you feel like you’re running out of time. It has gotten to the point where your boyfriend has to remind you every now and then to take breaks as he gets concerned for your well-being. And just when you thought you were done with one exam or assignment, you look back on your planner only to find out that there’s more to complete. It’s like your pile just doesn’t seem to lessen with each passing day, your mentality on the brink of collapse.

Just where is the end to all of this?

You are currently perched over your desk, packets of case studies splayed out on top of your corrections textbook. Your laptop screen shines bright at the corner, documents filled with infinitesimal texts and numbers. To your right lies your essential oil diffuser, planted right on your nightstand with fumes of aroma wafting through the air. You took your best friend’s suggestion in purchasing an aromatherapy diffuser to help relieve some stress you’ve accumulated from your studies. Lavender should help out, she said. But to your dismay, you don’t feel a single ounce of it lifting from your shoulders. Forcing your brain to believe its effective properties only puts your head more into a strain.

That’s when you felt a sharp pain rip through your skull. ‘Great,’ you groaned to yourself, ‘another fucking headache.’ You dropped your pen on your notebook and rubbed your fatigued eyes, the pressure from your fingertips massaging away. “God, I can’t wait for this semester to be over with already.”

Crossing your arms, you found your phone lying in the middle of your bed. You forgot that you left it on ‘do not disturb’, finally realizing why you didn’t hear your phone ring in the past few hours. You grabbed your phone off your bed. 2:58 am, it reads. Unlocking your phone, you skimmed through your notifications, your fingers swiftly responding to certain messages cluttered up in your phone until you reached to this one particular conversation:

hey babe (sent by doie <3, 11:01pm)

hope you’re eating your meals and drinking water (sent by doie <3, 11:01pm)

just want to let you know that i’m proud of you (sent by doie <3, 11:02pm)

always am and always will (sent by doie <3, 11:02pm)

love you (sent by doie <3, 11:02pm)

You could feel a smile blooming on your lips. It has been a while since you’ve seen Doyoung, let alone hear his voice. Is it too late to call him? ‘He might be sleeping,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Should I?’ Biting your lip, you mustered up the courage and decided to call him. Placing your phone against your ear, you awaited his call. The sound reverberates through your eardrums, the anticipation of having your call picked up diminishing with each passing ring. And just when you were about to give up, the tune stops short on its last ring.

“Hello?” a deep voice croaks.

You softly smile at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” you whispered. “Did I… wake you up?”

“No, no.” You hear him shuffling on his end, to what you could assume to be from his movements in his bed sheets. “Not at all, baby.” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle, touched over the fact he’s easing your guilt of awakening him from his much-needed slumber. “What’s wrong? You need something?”

You shrugged your shoulders, a habit you’ve developed when talking on the phone with someone. “No, not really.” You run your fingers through your hair before rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

He lets out a tired chuckle. “I missed you, too.”

You hum a little, “How are your finals?”

He scoffs. “Shit.”

“Not surprised,” you giggled. “You only have one more left, right?”

“Yeah. Chem 4. After that, I’m ready to sleep for a whole week straight.”

“Can I join you in your sleeping session?”

“You most certainly can.”

You both shared a laugh, your mind finally distracted from the strenuous documents that resided on top of your desk. “I call dibs on being the small spoon.”

He chortles. “You’re funny.”

“Hey! It’s only fair.”

“That’s what you said when you ate my share of fries the other week.”

His voice was much livelier than before, fully awakened from his rest now. You missed the jolly feeling you’d get when you talked to him. All those days and nights spent by his side where nothing else mattered in the world except for your boyfriend, whispering loving affirmations to you just like always. You really did miss him, and you can’t wait for this semester to be over to spend quality time with him again.

“Hey, y/n?” he called out.

“Hm?”

“You know that all I ever ask of you is to be honest with me?”

Your smile drops. You know where this is going, and frankly, you’re not sure if you’re ready to have this conversation again. Time after time, he would start a conversation with that question followed by his ongoing concerns wrapped in his mind. Sometimes he would ask for your second opinion, but most of the time they were diverted to you, his forever lover. And you knew this time, this is going to be about you.

Your free hand fiddled with the ends of your finger as you chew on your lip again, your eyes peering down to your lap.

“... yes,” you murmured.

You could hear your heart beating through your ears, the silence deafening the space that encompassed you around. Neither one of you uttered a sound to the other, too afraid to whisper through the thick tension planted in the air. Outside your dorm, there are muffled footsteps fading in and out by your door, most likely from your dorm neighbors coming back from another one of their library sessions. He lets out a soft sigh on his end, not one filled with annoyance, but filled with worry, his attention all focused onto you.

“... are you okay?”

And just like that, you felt the dam inside you crumble to ashes. The mask that you’ve held from the past few weeks is finally dissolving, the facade released from its shackles. Weeks of putting up a front, telling yourself that everything is okay, is now coming to end. ‘I’m fine,’ you would say to yourself. ‘This is nothing, I can handle this myself.’

Oh but darling, there’s only so much you could take in. Not everyone is perfect, and not everyone is indestructible. May we all be human, for we laugh, cry, smile, frown, scream, shout, cheer.

Tears burned through your eyelids, blurring your line of vision as you tried to hold yourself together. You shakily let out a sigh. “.... no,” your voice cracks. Another deep sigh, and you felt a tear drip down your cheek. “I’m… I’m tired, Doyoung.” More tears cascade down your cheeks, bringing your sleeves up to wipe them away with each drop. “I’m exhausted, Doyoung. I’m tired.. of all of this. I’m—”

With the phone still pressed against your ear, you sobbed into the night, finally pouring all your boxed-in emotions out to your lover. You cried out your frustrations, your anger, your desolace. Long have your soul been used to routine that you forgot what warmth felt like. To be cared for, watched for, and loved for.

Your sleeves soaked up all your tears, your eyelids certainly swollen from the sudden rush. You take even breaths, calming yourself down from your breakdown. Throughout your cries, never once did Doyoung strayed away from you, ears firmly pressed against his ear. He took in all, every last drop to mitigate the cold shell you’ve developed over time. He said nothing, only offering his presence as a sort of comfort to you for the time being. Once silence took over, all your tears spent, that’s when he spoke up.

“You did well, y/n.”

You breathing hitches for a moment, heart skipping a beat from his words.

“I’m so, so proud of you, y/n. You made it this far into the semester and for that, I’m proud of you.”

And alas, your smile returns. Minuscule it may be, but it’s more than what you could ask for. The feeling of having your shoulders lifted from your burdens made you feel like you could fly again, soar up in the clouds. Your best friend certainly knows how to cheer you up the most.

“Sorry about all of that,” you chuckled.

“Don’t be sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, I am. You literally just heard me have a breakdown and cry with snots all over the place—”

“I don’t give a damn about all of that, y/n.” There’s a slight shuffle on his end. “I love you for you, and that’s never going to change. I will love you at your lowest, and I will love you at your highest. Even when you feel like there’s no hope left in this world, I will bring you back to earth and hold you and remind you that you are hope.”

Just when you thought you had no more tears left in your system, you could feel the waterworks starting again. You bite down on your lower lip, desperately holding it in as love overcomes you.

“You did well, y/n. Only two more finals to go and you’re finally free.”

You wipe away the stray tear that befallen on your cheek. “Thank you, Doyoung. Really.”

“Now go out there and kick some ass for me, alright? Show those professors who’s the boss around here.”

You giggled. With your two fingers on your temple, you did an informal salute. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s my girl.”

Let this be a reminder to you, to all, that there will always be one person that will love you at your lowest, and will always be there to help pick you back up.

i’m afraid that bandaids are no good for heartache not okay, so tell me when your world is falling down

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room. 

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles. 

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.  

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters. 

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans. 

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies. 

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm. 

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away. 

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again. 

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy. 

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket. 

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-” 

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep. 

“It will be.”

[mrsalwayswrite]

Singing in the Shower (Ragnarssons x Reader)

This is just a silly little one-shot that came to mind that I could not stop thinking about. It got a bit deeper than I planned but oops?

Also my first time writing a Ragnarssons x reader! Please let me know if I did all the brothers justice. Except Bjorn isn’t in here. So its just the sons of Aslaug. Sorry, Bjorn.  

Warnings: some brief mentions of abusive/unhealthy past relationships, reader has some insecurities, the brothers being the best roomies ever but also creepers, like one or two swear words, FLUFFY GOODNESS!!! 

Words: 3700

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

 (picture is from Pinterest. Not mine.)

The sound of laughter echoed around you even before leaving your bedroom. It was a Sunday night so that meant the Lothbrok brothers were all over. A tradition Ubbe started some months ago to make sure the four brothers stayed connected in each other's lives. Every Sunday evening, all of them would congregate in the three bedroom flat you shared with Ubbe and Hvitserk. They would order a stack of pizzas and enough beer to put a pub crawl to shame, and watch movies or play video games until the early morning hours. Only twice had fist fights broken out between Sigurd and Ivar with just a table and a lamp damaged in the process, so Ubbe called it a win. 

 It had only been about a year that you lived with Ubbe and Hvitserk. Sigurd chose to move in with a couple members of the band he played in. Aslaug vehemently refused to let Ivar move out due to his many medical needs that she claimed he could only receive proper attention for at home. In equal parts rebellion and to escape his mother’s suffocating attention, Ivar spent the majority of his free time and nights crashing on the couch at your shared flat. 

 At first, you were hesitant about living with the two brothers, having only known them through friends, but you decided to give it a chance. Within a couple of months, you found the strange dynamics of your shared space and your vastly different relationships with each of the brothers to feel eerily familiar….like being home. 

 Standing at your door, you listened to the brothers for a few moments, smiling broadly as you heard Hvitserk taunting Sigurd about how he was going to beat his ass if he threw another blue shell at him. Meanwhile Ivar was yelling something about the undeniable magic of Yoshi and his winning streak. They must be playing Mario Kart again. 

 It was nice to hear them all getting along. Normally Sunday nights you hung out with your boyfriend to give the brothers privacy, even though all of them repeatedly told you it was unnecessary. That was until last week. You had taken a selfie on your boyfriend's phone and went to set it as his background to surprise him….and found nude pictures of other girls and the dick pics he sent them back. Before you stormed out of his flat, you may have thrown his phone against the wall, pleased when the screen shattered just like your trust. Then you came home and cried to Hvitserk about how you were swearing off men and just wanted to be a spinster for the rest of your life. 

 Word must have spread between the brothers. For the rest of the week, they all offered their support in various ways. Sigurd texted you a few times to check on you and remind you that clearly you were better off without your ex. Ubbe gave you long hugs as if trying to soak the pain out of you, and made sure you were eating and getting out of bed. Hvitserk surprised you with a new sugary treat every day ranging from Oreos to ice cream to chocolate muffins; then you two would cuddle on the couch indulging yourselves while watching movies. Ivar threatened to beat up your now ex-boyfriend for making you cry and take pictures to send to those girls your ex had been texting. You made sure to shut Ivar's idea down quickly but pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and thanked him for offering. You hated your ex, that did not mean you wanted him dead. 

 You pushed away from your door and down the hallway. Popping your head around the corner, you saw the brothers in various positions in the living room, eyes all glued to the TV and the race happening on-screen. 

 "I'm gonna shower." You announced, receiving grunts of affirmations as they were too focused to fully acknowledge you. Smiling at their antics, you headed into the bathroom, shutting the door and starting the shower up. Once the water was at the perfect temperature, you stripped and jumped in. Of course, once the mixture of hot water and steam helped you relax, you started singing to yourself, letting the worries of the day fade away for just a moment as the words flowed from your lips and echoed off the shower stall walls like your own little stage. 

 Unbeknownst to you, as soon as the bathroom door shut and the sound of water running could be heard, the volume on the TV was muted. 

 Ivar, surprisingly, was the first one to overhear your singing. He had come over to crash for a few hours after his latest doctor appointment and to work on an assignment for a University class. The bathroom door somehow had not fully latched when you closed it, cracking open while you were in the shower….and you started singing. Ivar sat stunned on the couch at the voice slipping out of the bathroom like a siren's song. He remained there, transfixed as you sang some song he had never heard but he could feel in his chest. Once you stopped singing and the shower turned off, he quickly jumped up and hobbled over to silently shut the door, slightly embarrassed by the idea of you catching him listening in to your shower singing. 

 Later that day after you headed out to work, Ivar asked Ubbe and Hvitserk if they had heard you sing yet. Both of them denied ever hearing you sing. When asked if he knew anything, Sigurd was upset, having asked you on multiple nights to go to a karaoke bar with him and some friends. You always refused by saying you sounded Iike a beached whale. 

 Ubbe was next to overhear. He was walking by the bathroom on the way to the kitchen when he heard your voice drifting from underneath the bathroom door. Feeling like a creeper but curiosity winning out, he pressed his ear to the bathroom door to listen better. To say he had been shocked was an understatement. Sure, he had heard Ivar praise your voice, but he figured his youngest brother was exaggerating. It made him wonder why you never sang in front of others. 

 A silent pact was made between the brothers that they would never share the information of your singing with anyone outside the four of them….and whenever you jumped in the shower, whoever was the closest would go and crack the bathroom door open so they could hear you better. 

 This time was no different. 

 Sigurd was closest, so after Ubbe paused the game, he jumped up and silently cracked open the door so your beautiful voice could flow out. The game picked back up but remained on mute so they could hear you. The first song you serenaded them with was Walk Me Home by Pink. Apparently, one of your new favorites since you sang it so often. Next was Someone Like You by Adele. By the third song, the brothers had abandoned the game and were solely focused on you and the raw emotion bleeding from your voice. This time you started to sing Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi.  

 Ubbe spoke up, keeping his voice quiet just in case you could hear them, however unlikely. "Has she said anything about her ex lately?"

 "Not to me." Hvitserk answered first. "I thought she was doing fine."

 "Just because she's not crying all the time doesn't mean she's fine." Ivar retorted harshly, never removing his eyes from the direction of the bathroom. After a moment, he got up and hobbled towards the bathroom. 

 "Ivar…. Ivar, what are you doing?" Ubbe hissed but was ignored. 

 As quiet as possible, Ivar walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid; your singing managed to cover the sounds of his movement. As he rolled his head to the side, it was to find his brothers had followed him with varying expressions ranging from concern to amusement. 

 Normally you did not spend so long in the shower but today you decided to spoil yourself. You had been doing well all week but this morning you were scrolling through your Instagram and happened to stumble upon a picture of your ex with a new girl, smiling happily and kissing at a restaurant…. the day after you broke up. And seeing them together felt like it ripped a tear into the slowly healing pieces of your heart. 

 Instead of going out like you planned to do, you laid in bed all-day binge-watching movies and feeling like an idiot. So in the shower you took extra time pampering yourself, using a deep conditioner in your hair, shaving everywhere and just letting the hot water cascade down your skin and loosen the tense muscles. 

 At this point you were feeling a little better and decided it was best not to waste any more water. You turned the water off, running your hands down your body to get as much excess water off, before you reached for your towel. Grabbing the plush towel hanging on the rack, you quickly dried your hair and wrapped the towel around your body before pulling the curtain back….

 Only to shriek as you realized you were not alone in the bathroom. 

 "What? What are you guys doing?" You demanded, eyes frantically darting between the four brothers.

 Ivar sat on the toilet lid; head tilted as he watched you with a peculiar expression on his face. Hvitserk leaned against the sink, eyes darting from your towel-clad body to the floor then back up. Ubbe and Sigurd stood in the doorway, both looking the least comfortable but still not moving. 

 "We, ah, we were…. well, we are concerned for you." Ubbe said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 "Concerned?" You asked incredulously. 

 Ivar ignored your question. "Is this about your ex? Want me to pay him a visit?"

 "What are you talking about?"

 "Your singing. They were sad songs." Sigurd answered, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. 

 Heat flooded your face. You dropped your head, staring at the bathroom floor as you clutched the towel closer to your body. Honestly, the idea of them hearing your singing was far more humiliating than them seeing you naked at this point. "You…. you heard me…. singing?"

 "Y/n, are you OK? You know you can tell us anything." Hvitserk said, trying to meet your eye. 

 "Um, can…. can we talk about this when…. when I'm not naked?" 

 "Of course. Come on, brothers." Ubbe quickly agreed, tapping the door as if to signal. He and Sigurd walked away first. Only when you finally met Hvitserk's eye did he push off the sink and head out but not before giving you a flirty wink. 

 "Ivar…."

 He slouched back, folding his hands behind his head. "I'm quite comfortable here."

 "Oh gods, please, Ivar." You begged, almost on the verge of tears. 

 He stared at you a long moment before pushing himself to his feet. "Don't think you're getting out of this."

 "Ok."

 Appeased, he made his way out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

 Once alone, you stepped out of the shower only to drop onto the toilet lid and place your head in your hands. Your chest heaved and your eyes stung as you fought back the tears that threatened to fall. Today was bad enough and now this. It had to be something out of a nightmare. Your own personal hell. 

 When you finally composed yourself, you quickly changed into your comfiest sweats and tank top. You wished you could make a run for your room, anything to avoid the impending conversation but you knew the brothers would follow, they were all stubborn and persistent when they wanted to be. 

 With a deep breath, you stepped out of the bathroom and towards the living room. What hushed disagreement the brothers were clearly having abruptly ended when they noticed you. Awkwardly you remained standing, unsure where to sit. The only open spots were on the couch between Hvitserk and Ivar or one of the recliners as Ubbe sat in the other one. Sigurd reclined on the rocker gaming chair on the floor. 

 Averting your eyes, you started towards the open recliner only to have a strong arm snake around your waist as you passed by and pulled you onto the couch. You squeaked as you suddenly found yourself perched on Ivar's lap. Somewhere you had certainly never been before. 

 "Where do you think you're going?" He asked, a cocky grin spread across his face. 

 "Um, over there." You nodded your head towards the other open spot. 

 "No, you're sitting here now."

 "Stop hogging her, brother." Hvitserk reached over and dragged you off Ivar. Somehow you ended up with your back against Hvitserk's side, his arm slung around you and your legs across Ivar's lap, him slowly running his hand up and down them. 

 Ubbe raised an eyebrow at the three of you. "Are you done yet?"

 "I thought we were just fine but I guess Hvitty had other plans." Ivar snarked, rolling his eyes. 

 "We're good now." Hvitserk said with a cheesy smile, making you giggle. 

 "So how are you really doing, y/n?" Ubbe asked, staring at you with those knowing blue eyes. 

 "Um, I'm alright. Today was just…. rough." At the four questioning looks, you quickly explained about what you found this morning on Instagram. 

 Ivar slapped the armrest of the couch. "I'm beating his ass now and nothing you say can stop me."

 You snagged his other hand that was still on your leg and clasped it, as if that alone could diminish his deadly intent. "Please don't. He's not worth it. I just…. I just want to move on. Ok?"

 He grumbled, but eventually gripped your hand and gave it a single squeeze in acknowledgement. 

 Now here was the part that petrified you; but you needed to know. 

 "Um, how…. how long have…. was this your first time?" Your words stumbled out, making you cringe at how ineloquent it was. 

 "What are you talking about?" Sigurd drawled; one foot propped up so he slowly rocked in the gaming chair.  

 You licked your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. You dropped your gaze, as you whispered your answer. "My….my singing."

 "What? You sound bloody brilliant! The others have heard you more than me but you always sound amazing!" Sigurd exclaimed, a beaming smile on his face. "I don't know why you haven't gone out with me before! Oh! I'd love for you to try and sing in my band, we could use an amazing vocalist like you! Gods, we could get way more gigs with a beautiful woman like you upfront singing."

 Soon as Sigurd started talking, you covered your face with your hands. The tears you managed to repress earlier flooded back. Your shoulders hunched over, cowering into yourself at the revelation. They had all heard you. Apparently more than just this one time. It was mortifying. Long ago you stopped singing in front of others, no longer able to face the ridicule, the degrading comments always thrown your way. And now, these brothers that you had become so close to…. if they said anything negative towards you right now, you were sure your heart would fully break and no lyric would ever pass your lips again. 

 Hvitserk shifted behind you, turning you so he could wrap both arms around your waist and place his cheek against the side of your head. "Y/n, talk to us." 

 You shook your head, the barely suppressed tears and poisoned words clogging your throat. 

 Abruptly, a pair of calloused hands grabbed yours, forcing them away from your face. You were immediately met by a pair of piercing blue eyes, only inches from your face. 

 "Whose ass am I killing now? Huh?" Ivar demanded in a low, menacing tone. Between his tone and the fury burning in his eyes, you knew he meant his question, and that sent a nervous chill down your spine. 

 "It's not…. it’s nothing."

 "Bullshit." Ivar spat. 

 Hvitserk nuzzled your temple, his voice lighter but still with an edge of steel in it. "I agree with Ivar. Something happened."

 Biting your bottom lip, you closed your eyes. There were a few things that were just too painful to talk about and this one, they had unknowingly stumbled upon. 

 "Was it your mother?"

 Your eyes flew open, your head snapped over to stare at Ubbe in shock. He met your gaze unflinchingly, and somehow you knew he already figured at least part of it out. He accidentally overheard a phone conversation between you and your mother one time and once you got off the phone, he immediately pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and promised you never had to see her again if you never wanted to, that they would take care of you. Of course, you cried all over him after he promised that. 

 Ubbe leaned forward in the recliner, placing his elbows on his knees, gaze still intent on you. "What did she do?"

 "She…. she hated when I sang. Said I was just desperate for attention. That I needed to just shut up. That no one would want to listen to me anyway. If she ever caught me singing…. once she duct-taped my mouth shut."

 You could hear the gasps at your confession, followed by a round of curses. Hvitserk pressed a kiss to your temple, tightening his hold on you. Ivar squeezed your hands, still holding them within his own. 

 Ubbe nodded as if not surprised. He ran a hand down his face and sighed before stealing your gaze once again. "I have a feeling she wasn't the only one to hurt you."

 At this point, a silent tear trekked down your cheek. You sniffled, dropping your gaze down. "I had an ex who used to make fun of my singing. He used to say 'at least you're pretty'. When we would ride together listening to music, he would tell me to stop singing and 'leave it to the professionals'. At some point, it just….it was better to not sing in front of anyone. So I only sang in the shower cause I thought no one would hear me."

 Hvitserk turned your head, looking into your eyes. "Baby, listen to me. Your singing is incredible. We all love listening to you sing. Please don't be embarrassed about this with us."

 "I'd love for you to walk around the house singing, I could happily listen to that all day." Ubbe said, a tender smile on his lips. 

 "I second that!" 

 "Sig, you're only here on Sundays." Ubbe glanced over at his brother. 

 Sigurd shrugged. "So? I could listen to her sing all day. Maybe she should move in with me and actually be appreciated."

 "No! You're not stealing her from us!" Hvitserk said, practically cradling you against him, like a puppy afraid to lose its favorite toy.

 "It's not stealing if she wants to go!" 

 Ivar butted in. "I am more interested in this other shitty ex and mother...can I find them?"

 "No, Ivar. You have to stop threatening people."

 "Why?" He whined at you, tugged on your hands, your legs still across his lap. "You won't let me teach them a lesson so all I can do is threaten."

 "Also sounds like you have terrible taste in guys. Anymore shitty exes we should know about?" Sigurd asked, rocking his chair. 

 You figured at this point you were spilling all your dirty secrets so what was one more. "Um, I was talking to this one guy but when he found out I moved in here, he called me a whore for moving in with two brothers and told me I was a waste of his time." You softly admitted, having made sure none of them ever heard about that after it happened. 

 For a moment there was dead silence then….

 "I'm going to need his name right now." Ubbe said, malice dripping off every word. 

 "Yeah! Let's cut his tongue out! See what he says about that!" Ivar cheered. 

 You could not stop the laughter that came out. The idea that these brothers got so worked up over anyone that ever insulted or hurt you was both sweet and slightly infuriating, but mostly sweet. No one had ever cared about you as strongly as these four brothers. 

 "It's fine now. How about this? Next guy to hurt me, I promise I'll give you his name."

 "No! I want to cut this asshole's tongue out. Maybe slap him with it after!" Ivar smiled with a pure predatory look. 

 "I think you should just date one of us." Sigurd shrugged, watching everyone with a smirk. "Then you know he'd treat you right."

 "I like this idea." Hvitserk smiled, squeezing you lightly. "We would romance the hell out of you."

 "You guys are being silly. I don't even know what romance would look like." You giggled at the absurd idea. All the brothers were gorgeous in their own ways and could pick up any girl they wanted, why would they want you? Besides, your relationships were just platonic. "Is the interrogation over now? Want me to leave so you can get back to your game?"

 "Nope, you're stuck here." Ivar said, leaning on you now so you were sandwiched between the two brothers. 

 Ubbe chuckled. "We've told you before, you are welcome to hang out with us. Why don't we put in a movie?"

 After many arguments and some mild threats, a movie was finally chosen. You settled against Hvitserk, facing the TV, as you played with Ivar's hair, his head now in your lap. 

 As you watched the movie, you missed the silent conversation between the brothers happening around you. It was decided that your next boyfriend would certainly be one of them and in the meantime, they were all going to romance the hell out of you and make sure you understood how important and incredible you are. 

 Starting with making sure you sang whenever you wanted. 

[calpops]

less lonely | l.h.

You move in with Luke and he realizes all of the time he’s missed out on with you and his son.

From my prompt list: I can’t do this anymore & stay with me

1.3k words

living with luke masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

Luke looks around his house, the once clean and comfortable home turned upside down. Boxes and suitcases litter the floor and footprints sweep across the tile from friends helping in the endeavor to move you and Luke’s son in. Luke’s still in awe and shock at the revelations you brought to his doorstep the previous day but an excitement sits in his heart that he can’t deny. His son sits in a baby swing and giggles as Luke crouches down to face him. Robbie reaches a hand up and gives Luke a grin.

“Hey bud,” Luke coos and takes Robbie’s small hand, the baby’s fingers tiny in his hold. “Welcome home.”

“I think he likes it here,” Luke hears you say from behind him, he spins on his heel and faces you, stands to be at eye level and watches as you place a box on the coffee table.

“I hope so,” he mutters, runs a hand through his hair and eyes all of the things that have accumulated around the house. “Is that the last of it?” Luke asks as the door shuts behind Ashton and Michael both toting boxes. Affirmative nods come Luke’s way. “Lotta stuff for two people.”

You laugh and Luke feels a little lighter through all of the adjustments. “Believe it or not, most of it is his,” you retort and send a fond smile over to Robbie. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

Luke shakes his head, knowing that he would have done the same if given the chance. He can’t imagine what he would have done for his son as a newborn, he doesn’t know what ridiculous things he would have sought out. It hits him once again that there’s eight missing months standing between them. His heart aches and his mind wanders through the time he lost but he shakes himself, knowing that letting himself drown in those missing pieces won’t do anyone any good.

“It’s too bad Cal’s not here to help,” Ashton chides lightly even though everyone knows why and would never hold it against him.

“Have you heard from him? How’s Mila doing?” Michael asks and Luke tunes in for an update; his favorite niece fighting an illness that’s left Calum by her side at all times.

“Better,” Ashton informs and the entire room lightens. Luke catches his breath and peers over at Robbie, unable to imagine what it must be like to be in Calum’s shoes. “Cal said if she’s doing even better by the weekend we can go see her.”

Luke leans back down to Robbie and picks him up, suddenly needing to know that he’s okay. Protective instincts kicking into gear at the mention of Mila and the anxiety that looms. Luke rocks Robbie, swaying himself from side to side as the eight month old delights in the motion.

“We’ll go meet Mila, huh, I think you two will be best buds,” Luke whispers with all of the hope his heart can muster.

Ashton and Michael stay long enough to help build and set up the essentials. They stay until it’s dark and rejoice in the new bundle of joy that’s joined the family. Michael makes promises that Robbie is his favorite nephew and vows that this time he’ll be the favorite uncle. Ashton only chuckles and waves a hand at his friend. The day goes by smoothly and Luke finds himself restless as night claims the sky and silence settles into the once bustling house.

It’s late when Luke finds himself sitting on the couch sifting through cardboard boxes, fingers finding a photo album and curiosity getting the better of him. He pauses, knows he shouldn’t pry but the photo of Robbie on the cover allows him to indulge. You’d already promised he could see photos of the times he missed. Alone and under nothing but moonlight pooling in from the French doors Luke assumes now is better than later. He flips the album open and takes a deep breath.

He’s met with the sight of a newborn Robbie, his height and weight written in the margins of the book. He flips through the pages, watches as Robbie grows bigger and hurt makes a home in his heart. Photos of Robbie with you scatter the pages, photos of Robbie with people Luke has never met blow hard truths into his mind. He keeps flipping, restless in his endeavor to catch up on all that he’s missed. He hears the floor creak behind him and turns to find you tiptoeing down the hall.

“What are you doing up?” you ask.

“Just… looking,” he says, voice low and quiet. He turns back to the album and finds Robbie with a smile that could melt and break hearts. “I can’t do this anymore,” Luke mumbles and snaps the album shut.

“Do what?” you question as you approach and see the album now discarded on the coffee table.

Luke sighs and covers his hands with his face as he leans back into the plush cushions of the couch. He rubs his eyes and then drags his fingers down his face and eventually settles his hands balled into fists in his lap.

“Pretend that I’m okay,” he chokes out and feels the dip of your weight on the cushions beside him. “Pretend that it doesn’t kill me that I missed so much of his life.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” you whisper and Luke hears the pain and genuine sentiment in your voice. It almost makes him feel better to know you don’t expect him to be okay with it, that he doesn’t have to put on a strong front or act detached from his emotions. He looks over at you and a realization hits him.

“I don’t want to”—Luke begins and shakes his head and all of the anxieties inside of him—“but I can’t help it. I look at you and him and how bonded you are, I see all of the time I missed to have that with him. I look at you and I blame you.”

“I know,” you say and shock Luke, leave him coming up short and make his heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest. He didn’t expect that. “And I’m sorry.”

Luke sighs and feels his emotions spike. “Could you really not find me?”

He waits with bated breath, heart beating out the time it takes for you to respond. He feels himself cool, the accusations and blame boiling over and sending a chill up his spine. He instantly feels regret bite at him when he sees how glossy your eyes have gotten and how distant you become.

“I tried,” you say and it sounds like a promise, a plea for Luke to understand. “I wrote you but I didn’t know where to send the letters.”

It goes silent for a moment and Luke collects himself. He realizes you did all you could given the circumstances. One night stands didn’t usually wind up like this. Without his number or address it was all just shots in the dark trying to find him.

“And I was scared,” you admit in a whisper and Luke furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Suddenly I was pregnant and alone and didn’t know how to find you; I didn’t know if you’d believe me if I did.”

Luke sags, his shoulders dropping and weight sinking back into the couch. He didn’t know that. Didn’t think that you might fear his response, fear that he may not believe you or take Robbie as his own.

“I believe you,” Luke says and turns back to you. “I’m sorry too. I don’t blame you, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Moonlight and pain sparkle your eyes as they gaze at the floor. Luke watches your hands, your fingers curling into your palms and dragging across the length of your legs.

“Do you want me to go?” you ask and Luke feels a hidden meaning within the question.

“No, please don’t,” he responds quickly. He reaches a hand out and captures yours, he hasn’t felt a spark simmer under his skin in a long while, but with emotions on high and the night being so dark he feels it under his skin and in his bones. “Stay with me?”

You nod and Luke feels a little bit less lonely as the night fades away.

***

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[knchins]

The Sacrificial Lamb - Chisaki Kai

Summary: The Vampire Chisaki has been searching everywhere for the one, but when he finally finds her she is taken by the League of Villains. He strikes a deal with them in order to get her back.

Pairing: Vampire!Overhaul x Fem!Human!Reader

Rating: E+

Word Count: 6.7k

Server Collab: BNHAREM - Fantasy AU

Warnings: Virgin/Virginity Kink, Blood, Extreme Dubcon, Mysophobia, Kidnapping, Implied Sexual Slavery, Noncon Choking, Biting, Pelvic Examination, Virginity Testing, Mentioned Necrophilia, Marking, Bondage/Restraints, Hair Pulling, Condom Usage, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Mild Aftercare

Notes: Please heed the warnings listed above. I classify this as a dark fic and want readers to take care while reading. <3 My first ever collab with this server and I’m super hype about it! I hope you enjoy!

All over the world, over the past few decades, vampirism had spread across the land like a rampant disease. Once mortal humans were turned into eternal monsters with powers unique only to their kind. The media tended to call them quirks, hoping that a lighthearted term would quell the fear of what the gifts truly were. An abomination, a curse among mankind, and weapons of mass destruction. 

Of course, there were a select few (really, a rare few these days) that used their vampirism for good. They fed only on donated blood, vowed never to take human life, and even protected mortals against others of their kind that were not as righteous as they were. Truly it was a world made up of heroes, villains, and powerless bystanders that were often victims. 

In relation to eternity, Chisaki Kai was rather young. He had only spent his life as a gifted fanged menace for about two decades now, but that didn’t make things any easier. Chisaki has had mysophobia for as long as he could remember. It plagued him as a human long before he was turned by the former leader of the Shie Hassaikai. 

Vampirism had always been nothing but a curse to him. While it was true that his quirk was extremely powerful and was capable of great destruction, the fact that he had to drink blood in order to survive was pure hell. The only blood he could bring himself to consume was that of young virgins, those who had never been tainted with drugs, alcohol, or even sex. 

Members of Shie Hassaikai would kidnap victims for him, but Kai would never feed on them outright. No, touching their commoner skin with his mouth just seemed completely out of the question. He very rarely sank his teeth into anyone. Instead he’d keep them captive, draining a few pints every few weeks until eventually bleeding them dry when he grew bored of them. 

The blood would be stored and consumed as needed by their leader, a small portion of it would be meshed with grapes and fermented into wine. A delicacy that many vampires enjoyed and was graded on both the source and taste. Naturally he only drank that of the highest grade as that ensured there were few (if any) impurities. 

The issue Chisaki was starting to face however was that his food source was dwindling. In this day and age it was difficult to find people that haven't spent time poisoning their bodies. Everyone seemed to enjoy living in filth and he really just did not understand. He was half tempted to start breeding his own livestock to drain, but that would just be too costly at this point. The organization was struggling to get back on top, and while he was a fearsome and ruthless leader, there were still connections that needed to be made. 

As of now he had a...tentative (but tumultuous) relationship with a group of vampires that liked to call themselves the League of Villains. The leader, Shigaraki Tomura, wanted to be equal to Kai however Kai felt that he was equal to no one. He was above all of them, his power to destroy or create on a whim was better than anyone quirk that the league could offer. Negotiations were still being made and every time they took one step forward, they seemed to take two steps back. 

Shigaraki was about the same age as he was and he too was capable of mass destruction. If the two worked together, they could bring down all of Tokyo with ease. Perhaps this would help with Chisaki’s lack of food situation. With the entire city under his thumb he could easily create some sort of facility to house and breed the purest of humans. He’d no longer have to limit himself as he did now. 

Presently he was waiting to hear back from his most faithful underling and assistant, Kurono. He was out looking for what would be Chisaki’s next meal, though it had been a few hours since he departed. When his phone began to chime, he half expected to hear that he had been unsuccessful in finding someone to suit his boss’s tastes. However, it was quite the opposite. 

“I have found a girl you would no doubt enjoy.” Kurono said in a cold tone that portrayed no noticeable emotion. “However, there is a situation.” 

Chisaki was almost always cool headed. He very rarely lost his temper, though when he did it could be quite murderous. “What is it?” He asked monotonously. 

“The League of Villains has taken her for themselves.” He said, and while true he could just find someone else. He had a feeling that his boss would particularly love the sweet little thing he had found. “I believe she may be the one.” 

The One. Chisaki had been searching high and low for a delicate creature to treat as his live in blood source. One that he would control one hundred percent. What she ate, what she wore, when she slept. He had so many plans for this one woman, if she were to ever be found. Hearing that Kurono may have found the one and had lost her to none other than that foul Shigaraki was almost enough to boil his black blood. Almost. 

“She’s pure?” He asked cryptically, though he knew that if she had been selected already then Kurono had already vetted that information himself. He heard his subordinate give him a quick affirmative. Chisaki let his thoughts process for a moment longer, “come back. I will call Tomura and see what he has to say for himself.” 

Clearly this was a ploy to get Chisaki to formally align with him. That much was obvious. However without seeing the girl first it may as well be pointless. He’d need to look over her with a fine toothed comb to determine whether or not she was indeed the one he could make his blood bride or not. A human companion for him to divulge in at any time. If Kurono knew him as well as the thought he did, then he would be correct in thinking that she was special enough to keep around. 

He ended the call with Kurono and looked for the number he had for the league of villains. He pressed it, letting the phone dial the numbers itself before waiting for an answer. A moment later, an annoying but familiar voice cut in. “Overhaul. I was wondering when you’d call.” There was clear devious intent that made Chisaki question again what he could possibly be up to. “I have something I think you’ll just love to sink your teeth into.” 

Kai didn’t appreciate the joke. Shigaraki knew very well that Kai didn’t drink directly from humans. He drank blood through plastic straws because he didn’t even want his lips to touch it unless he wanted to break out in hives. “What do you want for her?” Kai asked, getting straight to the point. “I have plenty that you could have.” 

It was true. Shigaraiki needed to bolster his numbers and with Kai’s help then he could easily achieve that goal.All he needed to supersede the arduous negotiations between them was a little leverage. Leverage Tomura now had in his possession. “You know what I want, Chisaki.” Shigaraki said in the smug voice that grated the yakuza leader’s last nerve. 

But what Shigaraki wanted most was to have Chisaki and his gang of men to work under him. To have control over the small legion of vampires that was ruled by Chisaki’s hand. Of course, Kai could always agree to the negotiation and cut ties as soon as he had what he wanted (if she was indeed the one). Though there was no telling for sure of that now. 

“I’ll need to inspect her first. Bring her to the compound for a thorough examination.” He instructed hoping that Shigaraki would at least agree to that. “Do not touch her with those filthy hands of yours until then. If you defile her then the deal will be off.” 

Shigaraki tutted into the receiver of the phone, “So picky. You want to see this little wallflower so badly? Alright, I’ll bring her in an hour. Be ready for us then, would you? Maybe have some of the delicious blood wine of yours ready to celebrate our long awaited union. Until then I’ll have all of my people keep their roaming fingers to themselves. Does that sound like a suitable arrangement?” 

Chisaki sat back in his chair. While Shigaraki couldn’t truly be trusted, he saw no other choice than to agree to this. “One hour. Don’t be late.” He hung up before the petulant man could say anything else, He let out a long sigh before standing. He had a lot of preparations to do before his visitors arrived. 

An hour later, Chisaki had just picked out one of his finer bottles of wine when a subordinate brought in his guests. Shigaraki was alone with a girl bound in rope standing next to him. She had a cloth gag tied around her mouth to keep her from talking, something Chisaki thought was a little barbaric but it wasn’t that surprising given who her captor was. 

Despite her bindings, he could already tell just how beautiful she was and more than that she smelled absolutely divine. Chisaki felt his mouth water, hunger panging in his stomach. This visceral reaction was incredibly rare for him. The urge to sink his fangs into the tender flesh of her delicate neck roared in his brain, yet he did his best to silence it. Outwardly his masked face remained the same, though his mouth twitched into an unseen smile. 

He held his hand out, but Tomura hesitated before handing over the rope leash. “You break our deal then I’ll snap her pretty little neck. Got it?” He asked, putting a gloved hand on the back of her neck and squeezing lightly for emphasis. Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, already he knew that no one would ever be taking her away from him. Shigaraki just didn’t know who he was dealing with. 

“If she passes the examination, then we will have a deal.” Chisaki reminded him, “if I find that she is unclean, then you can do what you wish with her. I do not care.” Though the words came out bitter and assured, deep down he knew that that was untrue. Something about her was so captivating already. He didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of her not being the one. Kurono had seemed so sure of himself when they spoke last. 

The young yakuza leader led his potential pet into a back room that was made specifically for examining humans. He had it built shortly after he took over in order to sort out his cattle in any way he saw fit. 

After ushering her inside, he cut on the harsh bright lights that nearly blinded her. Shigaraki chose to perch on a stool in the corner while Chisaki untied the ropes that bound the girl’s arms and then the gag. He let the thick braids fall unceremoniously to the floor, noticing how she shook with each brush of his fingertips. Scared already? Well, they always did taste better when they had adrenaline coursing through their veins. 

“Take off your clothes and get on the table.” He ordered, watching her eyes dart to a table adorned with stirrups. It was similar to one you might find at a gynecologist's office. With much hesitation, his new subject began to disrobe. Her clothes puddled around her feet as she grew more and more embarrassed with each less layer covering her sensitive skin. An odd heat was pooling between her legs as she clenched her thighs together.

Chisaki was taken off guard by her arousal. He had been assured that she was a virgin, however if stipping down before two vampires was turning her on then certainly that wasn’t the case. Both he and Shigaraki could smell the slick that was accumulating within her folds. His sharp eyes cut to the snickering vampire in the corner who was nothing but amused by this turn of events. 

After she finished undressing, she climbed up onto the steel table that had minimal cushioning. Chisaki changed his gloves out to a fresh pair, wanting to make sure that any dirt he found wasn’t something that had already been on the ones he had been wearing previously. A fresh slate was needed for this examination. 

“Put your feet in the stirrups.” He said coldly, his doubts beginning to overwhelm him internally, though his face did not show it. Even if it did, the lower half was still obstructed by his black face mask. How could this girl possibly be the one if she enjoyed disrobing in front of two murderous vampires? Was she one of those that got off on fantasizing about creatures of the night? The thought disgusted him. 

Her knees were shaking, causing the metal arms of the stirrups to rattle. Even curiouser she was this nervous while also being excited? What a peculiar creature indeed. 

His eyes swept over her seemingly frail mortal body. There were no bruises, no cuts. There wasn’t even a scar on the flesh he could see. Hair was all neatly landscaped. Her outward appearance was up to par with his wishes, but it was time to check the inside of her to make sure. 

Chisaki gently spread the moistened folds to see if that thin sliver of tissue was still intact. While true, it wasn’t uncommon for girls to rupture their hymen through activities other than sex, he still found it to be a great indicator. If it was torn then he would have to check another way. 

To the vampire’s pleasure, there was the tiny half moon membrane just a centimeter into the vaginal canal. This was all he needed to see in order to believe that she was, in fact, a virgin and that he wouldn’t need to probe any further in order to find any inconsistencies that disputed that fact. 

He delicately checked over the rest of her sex, searching for any indication that she wasn’t as pure as she seemed to be. Again he was thoroughly pleased to find none. He took a step away from her, walking around the table to closer examine her nude form. His sharp eyes moved over every last inch of visible skin, trying to detect any kind of abnormal marking or sign of dirt or grime. 

The stirrups were still rattling with the tremors of her lower limbs, a tinny sound that bounced off the walls of the small room. Her eyes were shut tightly, afraid to look at the man looming over her. What the two villains in the room didn’t know was that she had been saving herself specifically for this sort of situation. Since she came of age she longed to be some vampire’s little fuck toy to use and abuse. Despite her pure body, her mind was anything but. Upon learning of the League of Villain’s intentions with her, she hadn’t been able to stop the grotesquely loud thumping of her heart within her chest. 

She didn’t know exactly who the vampire they referred to as Overhaul was, but she could tell that he was especially gifted and powerful. The way he commanded a room was enough to make her weak in the knees. She kept herself meticulously well kept and it seemed as though all her work had been for something much greater than she could have ever anticipated. 

“Put your legs down and roll over.” He ordered in that monotonous and apathetic voice that only made her shutter even more. She obliged, removing her feet from the pads of the stirrups and rolling onto her stomach after scooting back up onto the steel table a little more so that she could be more comfortable. 

Shigaraki was watching with mild intrigue. He had never seen Chisaki look over a potential meal before. It was quite entertaining how thought out his observations appeared to be. 

He inspected the areas that he could not see before, again finding nothing out of the ordinary. He even inspected her hair, looking for any signs of lice or debris. Nothing. Every item on the list within his mind checked off one by one. She was intact. She was clean. She was pure. And she would be his and his alone. 

Chisaki left her side to order an underling to bring him a fresh clean robe for her to wear. In the corner of the room was a glass shower that he instructed her to go to in order for her to scrub herself down even further. He assured her that when she was finished he would have something for her to put on and to not worry about the rags she had been wearing. 

After she had stepped into the clear shower and began to wash as per his instructions, Chisaki made his way to a nearby sink. He removed the gloves that had been soiled with her arousal and threw them in the bin to his right before scrubbing his hands clean and putting on a new pair. Once he was finished he made his way back to Shigaraki. “We have a deal.” He said plainly, not wanting to show how very important this girl was to him now. If he let on how great of a find this truly was, then there was no telling what his adversary would ask for in return. So far the exchange they had worked out was simple enough. He didn’t need for it to become any more complicated. 

He couldn’t see the twisted grin on Shigaraki’s face due to the false hand mask obscuring it, however he could tell that it was there simply due to the way the seated man’s eyes creased with sick glee. “Let us toast to this new alliance then.” Shigaraki drawled as he stood from the wooden stool he had been sitting on. 

Kurono stepped in to deal with the little lamb that was his boss’s new plaything as the two leaders left for the kitchen where Chisaki had prepped the dry blood wine. A servant poured them both a glass of the viscous burgundy liquid before handing it to them with a slight bow. 

Both men removed the masks they were wearing, through they stood a good six feet apart. Chisaki was not about to breath in whatever sin Shigaraki exhaled. It was the first time Tomura had seen his full face and immediately thought that he looked even younger than he was. He waited for Chisaki to drink the wine first to make sure it hadn’t been tainted. 

Chisaki took the first sip with an apathetic look on his face. Only once he had swallowed did Shigaraki follow suit. Both of them revelled in the bitter and metallic taste. Only once the glasses were half empty was a word spoken. “We will be making our next move soon.” Shigaraki said, “make sure you and your men are ready for my command.” 

“Don’t worry about us not being ready.” He replied simply, “we are always prepared for anything.” 

Shigaraki chose not to comment, knowing that there was an allusion to his own gang’s sometimes lack of preparedness. It could be hard controlling a group of particularly talented vampires. While he too had great power and they did listen to him, some of his subordinates could get out of control at times. 

He threw back the rest of his wine, letting it flood his senses for a moment as it ran down his throat. He replaced the white hand over his face before standing. “And Chisaki, do not forget my warning. If you do not hold up your end of the bargain, then that delicious specimen will be all mine and your dick won’t be the only one that has been buried into that cute little cunt of hers.” 

Chisaki finished his own glass before slipping the black cloth back over his mouth and nose. His eyes were fixated on his new partner, clearly irate to the thought of someone else having his new most beloved pet. He said nothing, letting his gaze say it all as Shigaraki took his leave finally, wanting to get out before his welcome was possibly overstayed. They’d talk more about the future of their alliance later. Now it was time for Chisaki to see just how great of a gift had just been bestowed upon him. 

By now she was finished with her shower and Kurono had showed her to her new living quarters where she had been locked inside. Inside it looked similar to a medium sized hotel room. She had her own private bathroom, a closet full of clothes that certainly weren’t hers before but would be hers from now on. A full bed that was made with soft sheets and a thick duvet. The only thing she would have liked was a window, however there was nothing to suggest that she was even on the ground floor. It was much more plausible that she had been taken underground instead. 

She was wearing nothing but a silk robe and the man who had brought her here had told her not to put anything on that his boss would be there in a moment. She took a seat on the foot of the bed, wondering if this was to be her life from now on. A slave to a vampire. Would it be everything she had ever dreamed of? If it wasn’t...would there be any way to escape? She had a sickening feeling that her fate was sealed either way. She could either please her new master or die at his hands. There were no other alternatives. 

Being a living blood bag was not a conventional kink to say the least. Maybe it would be enough to keep her alive in this turbulent world. 

The door opened and the leader of the Shie Hassaikai walked into the room, closing it behind her. His golden olive-toned eyes were fixated onto her, a thin inhale caused the black cloth mask to momentarily press against his nostrils. Hunger throbbed in his stomach and he felt himself aching to do something that he never dreamt of doing. Saliva pooled into his mouth as his gaze fixated on the untouched skin of her neck. He could see her pulse fluttering in her jugular, strong and healthy. 

He was pleased to find her in the white robe he had chosen for her. An obvious symbol of what she was to him. The sacrificial lamb. Fuck, he’d drain every lost drop of that sweet innocent life force without a second thought. Sure he had come to make her his but his sudden need to feed was definitely making that difficult. Of course he could still do that even if she were dead. Though a compliant corpse wasn’t quite as much fun. 

He shrugged off his green jacket, setting it on the back of a nearby chair. “What is your name?” He asked, though he already had the intent of giving her a new name already. He still wanted to know what it was. 

She told it to him, voice wavering with anticipation. Was tonight the night she’d finally experience sex for the first time? The thought alone had her gushing again and the smell caused Chisaki to quirk an eyebrow with curiosity. He had only asked her her name, why did that make her so aroused? 

He loosened his tie before taking it off completely, “Take off your robe.” He ordered as he stepped closer to the bed. She stood up and untied it from around her waist, letting it fall open before she shrugged it off of her shoulders. The white silk fell to the floor and immediately her hands moved to cross over her exposed chest in order to attempt some form of modesty. Even though he had already stripped her and examined her most intimate parts, it was still awkward to simply be nude in front of her new master. She did have some morals afterall. 

Chisaki grabbed her arms and unfolded them before forcing them behind her back. He wrapped the fabric of his tie around her wrists tightly before weaving a knot into the bindings to keep her from getting out of it. Her shoulders pulled to accommodate the new position, causing her chest to lift and breasts to bounce in protest of his sudden and rough movements. 

He observed the wince of pain that crossed her face and the look caused his cock to twitch inside of his pants, begging to be freed. “If you struggle too much, Angel, it’s only going to hurt you more in the long run.” He said, voice edged with a thinly veiled threat. She immediately stopped pulling at the tie and became still before him, eyes too afraid to look at his face as she felt the skin of her cheeks heat painfully with embarrassment. 

He took off his shirt and unbuckled his belt, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to wrap it around her fragile throat. If he did so then he’d been obscured from possibly savoring it for himself, though the thought of that caused a sudden wave of nausea. His stomach urged him to tear open the flesh of her jugular while his brain protested at the mess it would make. 

Chisaki decided to remove the black mask from his face and placed it on a nearby table where it would not get soiled. He heard her inhale sharply at the sight of his unblocked face. He was much more handsome than she had originally thought, and while all vampires had some denotation of enhanced beauty, his was truly magnificent. 

His mouth opened and she saw the glinting white fangs inside of it. Both the canines and lateral incisors were pointed sharp, though the later was a fraction shorter than the other. Truly he could reduce her into nothing in seconds if he wanted to, all with the quick use of his dangerous mouth. She couldn’t help another wave of slick from coating her sex at the thought of what all he could do with it. 

He didn’t bother to take off his pants just yet as he leaned in to gently sniff the flesh of her throat right above the pulse point. She felt a droplet of something wet hit her collarbone and instantly she knew it was saliva. 

“P-Please,” She stuttered for him, “bite me.” She practically moaned the order and he growled at the distastefulness of it. He didn’t want her so willing. Not for the first time. He wanted this to hurt. She heard the small hiss that came out from between his teeth, felt the small puff of air against her neck. Instantly she knew she had made a mistake as his gloved hand wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze. 

She gasped for air, typing to break free from her ties once more but was unsuccessful once again. Her vision blurred around the edges, dark black spots blobbing before her eyes randomly as she struggled for air. Now this was a sight for sore eyes, Chisaki thought. He could easily see the life in her eyes fighting to stay lit. If he held his grip for a few more minutes then she’d lose consciousness completely. Even longer and she’d die. 

He released his hold on her suddenly and she inhaled sharply and painfully. Her lungs expanded fully as she gulped in the clean crisp air of the room. The vampire watched her closely, looking for any sign of long lasting damage. He didn’t even need to command her to not say another word. She got the point loud and clear by his actions alone. 

It was then that he decided that it was better off if he marked her as his own. While it wasn’t a very common practice (his cattle literally got branded with an iron in the shape of the family’s crest), it was something that vampires did to protect humans that they were particularly fond of. While fondness wasn’t the right choice of words here, he did want it to be known that she was for him and him only. 

The best part is that it would hurt. He wanted it to hurt, through fear he could have complete subordination. He wanted a helpless lamb, not a conniving wolf. The only downside was that it would require him to bite her. Though truthfully he could use his quirk to do it, he knew it wouldn’t have quite the same effect. 

Without warning, Kai suddenly sank his teeth into her shoulder, around her right collarbone. His sharpened fangs easily tore through the soft flesh, sweet rich blood pouring into his mouth as she let out the most deliciously pained cry. She tried to shy away from him, tried to get him off, but his hold was vice. 

Pain ripped through her entire body, not just her shoulder. Some sort of dark magic was pulling at her skin, making it hot with fever. Her forehead broke out into a sweat as large tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her neck. She had never known such pain before and she thought she may pass out at any moment. 

He was pulling the blood from her, making her feel lightheaded and almost weightless. The taste was almost too much for him. The thought of just taking every last drop flooding into his mind at such an alarming rate that he was almost unable to stop himself from pulling away at last. Her eyes connected with his bloody mouth, a thick trail of blood seeping down his chin and dripping down onto her bare chest. 

Unfortunately for her he could not use his healing quirk on this particular wound. He needed it to heal naturally in order for the mark to leave a scar. If he healed it completely then it would be all for naught. 

He quickly disappeared into the private bathroom and scrubbed his face and lips clean, though wasting even a drop of her blood made him rage. The good thing about humans was that they could produce more. It wasn’t a finite source. He had to remind himself of that as he willed the hives that had crept up his neck to disappear. Nausea turned his newly full stomach. A glance in the mirror at his now clean face caused the urge to vomit to recede. He grabbed a hand towel and some medical supplies. He had to take good care of his little lamb if he wanted her to last. 

Once back in the bedroom he began to clean the wound. Thankfully the blood hadn’t made it to the bedspread. He cleaned the wound with a surprising amount of gentleness, being sure not to hurt her as he bandaged it up with gauze and medical tape. Once the square of white material was firmly in place he took off his clothes and retreated back into the bathroom to wash his hands. 

After drying them he returned into the bedroom to see her looking at him, her legs quaking beneath her shuddering frame. “Lay down on your stomach,” He said monotonously, watching as she struggled to get onto the bed without the use of her arms and lay down for him. Chisaki put on a new pair of gloves and grabbed a condom from the box that had been placed in the room. They had been specially made to hold up during the certain amount of zeal he tended to have in the bedroom, though he rarely found a specimen good enough for his tastes. Typically after he soiled them he discarded them, but this time would be different. Now she was marked, the skin of her shoulder still burning with pain. 

Chisaki dropped his pants and underwear, watching her thighs continue to shake. “Up on your knees.” He instructed and she did just that, keeping her chest on the mattress with her arms tied behind her back. The view was absolutely magnificent. Her wet folds now on display for him, the tiny whines that came from her throat. How could a virgin be so fucking needy? He didn’t know and didn’t care, somehow her being more willing than he expected was a good thing. Going in dry could be painful and he detested the stickiness of lube. 

He rolled the condom onto his hard cock, a thrill tingling up his spine at the thought of what he was about to do. He’d fix her up nice and good after working her over. Even if she was aroused, this was still going to hurt. 

He positioned his tip at her entrance, looking over her shuddering form. Honestly he had never seen such a beautiful site before. All the virgins he’d taken before were nothing like this one. He kept one gloved hand on her lower back while his other guided his twitching member into her. 

He wasn’t slow or gentle. In fact, he pushed his way in with brute force, knowing that it would be ripping that delicate hymen of hers. He could smell the blood spilling onto the bed and once more his mouth filled with saliva. His little lamb cried out in pain because there was no pleasure to be had here yet. It was much too soon for that. 

Chisaki held back a curse at how tight she was, her pussy clamping down on his cock in a vice grip that had him wanting to blow his load already. He did allow her a moment to adjust to the new feeling of him stretching her out, though it wasn’t long before he dragged himself out and slammed back into her once more. 

Another cry of pain, she wanted to beg him to stop and give her time. Let her get acclimated more before he moved, but she feared what kind of punishment she might receive for such an outburst. Her cries though were music to his ears and he wouldn’t let up, not when he could hear that precious sound over and over again. 

The pain didn’t last forever. Not like she had feared it might. Which each powerful thrust it dulled more and more, until her screams of agony became moans of pleasure. Chisaki wasn’t sure which he liked more, they were both so sweet in their own way. Feeling her body relax, her walls loosening ever so slightly so that it was easier for him to move, did make the act much more enjoyable. He could increase his pace, pounding into her with relentless force that had her toes curling with delight. 

She felt an odd pressurized sensation welling in the pit of her abdomen. It was so foreign and tense that she was at first worried something may be wrong with her. Chisaki grabbed a fistfull of her hair and yanked it backwards, pain searing into her scalp as her walls tightened around him enough to make him let out a groan. 

He pulled her upwards more by her locks, making it so he was entering her at a new angle, one that had her feeling dizzy with ecstasy. The coil tightened even more and she felt like she was going to shatter into pieces if he didn’t stop. One more good thrust and it snapped completely, her first orgasm blossoming and overtaking her in waves. Her already dripping cunt flooded around him and the feeling of her juices on his upper thighs had him breaking out all over again.

Chisaki let out a grunt at the feeling of her coming undone around him. Her walls pulsating and fluttering had him unable to hold back as he hit his peak. His thrusts became incredibly shallow and without rhythm as he pumped white cum into the latex condom. 

He released his hold on her hair, making her fall forward onto her face. She was in too much of a state of bliss to move as she caught her breath. He slowly pulled out of her, allowing her hips to fall onto the bed next. He observed the mix of blood and cum that dripped down her legs and onto the bedspread. Again the sight and smell of the ruby liquid was too much for him to hold back from. Besides, his little angel did so good for him. She deserved a little treat too for taking his dick so well for the first time. 

He untied the tie in order to give her shoulders a break, though they hung limply as she was still dazed from the ordeal. He gently guided her to roll over onto her back, letting her get into a comfortable position as he moved his face between her legs. His nose was practically inside her as he inhaled her natural perfume, his tongue licking at the droplets of blood on her lips. His little lamb shuddered, too tired to make any sort of noise. She was still so incredibly sensitive that his probing tongue had tears leaking from her eyes. 

Chisaki devoured every drop of spilled blood that hadn’t made it to the duvet. Tiny nips of his teeth over her femoral artery had a new wave of arousal building within her. She had no idea that she could feel so much at once. It was maddening already and only became worse when his mouth latched onto her engorged clit suddenly and sucked powerfully. 

She let out a weak cry of protest, the overstimulation simply too much. How could someone want something and not want it so much at the same time? There was an ache between her legs from how much he had stretched out her innocent little hole and now his tongue swirling around her clit had her seeing stars. 

Unable to stop herself, she rutted her hips against him, whimpering through her tears as his eyes snapped up to watch her squirm. Two gloved fingers snaked their way into her pussy, curling with her natural curve before coming back out. He repeated the process, forming a speedy rhythm of fingers and tongue until she was screaming for more. More, more, please, and she was cumming again in no time at all. 

Chisaki removed himself from her, disappearing into the bathroom to clean up his face and take off his soiled gloves and condom. He washed his hands and penis though the hives were still taking over the edges of his face. He’d have to take a full on shower after he was done cleaning her up. 

He came back out with a warm wet towel and a dry one. First he placed a hand on her belly, using his quirk to heal her lower half so that she would no longer be in any pain. He also took the time to repair her hymen so he could deflower her all over again sometime soon. 

Her heavy breathing slowed as the pain dissipated. Though exhaustion was setting in, his delicate healing touch had her feeling warm. He wiped her clean, drying her off before discarding the dirty towels. “Can you sit up, Angel?” He asked in a soft voice that she had no idea he was even capable of. “I need to replace the duvet.” 

She nodded, scrambling to the head of the bed so that he could pull the bloody blanket out from under her. “Get under the sheets.” He said, though it was an order it didn’t sound as cold as his previous orders had. She managed to get under the silken sheets, eyes growing heavy as she rested her head on the pillow. She had been too scared to sleep since she’d been captured by the other gang of vampires. Now the events of the day were making it very difficult to keep her eyes open. 

Chisaki grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and put it over her so that she would not be cold. He observed her tired, frail face. “Sleep, little lamb. I’ll have food waiting for you when you wake.” 

She didn’t even have the energy to nod, simply falling into a much needed state of slumber before he could say anything else. As he observed her, Chisaki couldn’t help but think to himself that Kurono had been right. She was definitely the one.

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[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic “Always and Forever” Chapter 3

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 3 (4753 words)

Kurt stares out his studio window at the neighborhood below. It’s 10:15 a.m. and a Tuesday, so it isn’t as if the place is teeming with activity. Everyone living on Colony Lane seems content to stick to their own spaces, abide by their own schedules, and go about their lives without much interference from the world outside.

Kurt hates to hand it to Sebastian, but that’s what he wants as well. Isolation in a quaint fixer-upper is precisely what he needs.

Another point for Sebastian. 

Damn. 

He seems to be racking them up lately, while Kurt…

Kurt can admit that he’s not trying as hard as he should be, but he’s giving himself permission to be selfish. There shouldn’t be a timetable for bouncing back from loss, and Kurt got the double-whammy. 

Sebastian gave him betrayal to get over, too. 

Kurt knows that he should deem repairing his marriage a priority, but he also needs to do what’s right for him. 

He hasn’t figured out what that is yet, but it'll come to him.

Underlying childhood guilt has him believing that he should introduce himself to the neighbors. Etiquette and all that. It’s what his mother would do. Every time his family moved, and there had been a handful of times, Kurt’s mother would bake a batch of cookies for the neighbors. She'd put a baker's dozen into colorful cellophane bags, tie the tops with curled ribbon, and take them door to door to say hello. She wouldn’t wait for people to show up on their doorstep with a casserole and a smile. She believed in being proactive. She would tell him, “New neighborhood, new life. Go out and be a part of it.”

But Kurt doesn’t want to, and the neighbors seem fine with that. 

It’s been three days, and Kurt and Sebastian have only gotten one visitor – the technician who came to fix the heating. Of course, the neighbors could be waiting for them to get settled. Then they’ll pounce over with perfectly iced Gingerbread Bundt cakes and Chicken Kievs, church invites, and Girl Scout cookie order forms, like a swarm of Stepford Wives. 

Kurt doesn’t care about being proactive, and his mother isn’t around to scold him for behaving like a hermit. 

That may sound harsh, but it's true. 

The clouds pulling together in the sky overhead, threatening rain, give Kurt an excuse to shut himself away and work on the house - an excuse he can ply without the assistance of a tragic backstory. With his laptop open on the floor in front of him, he browses those websites that feed his design fetishes: Ethan Allen, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie. 

But he's not the least bit inspired. 

He’d decided to start small, take things room by room instead of attacking everything at once. But he gets stumped, staring at the screen in front of him, unsure whether the chair he’s been mulling over for the past half hour is gorgeous or gaudy. 

He should focus on bringing the living room together since it’s where they do the bulk of their entertaining, provided they ever start entertaining again. And he should do something about the master bedroom, which, for the moment, houses a bed, a TV, and a dresser within the confines of four ashy walls. 

Opinions on the topic vary, but Kurt has always felt that the bedrooms are the heart of the home. They’re sanctuaries where dreaming, planning, and affirmation happen. He only has the one to worry about, so he should put extra effort into making it comforting, relaxing, sensual on the off chance he ever plans on touching his husband again.

The jury is still out on that one, unfortunately. 

The kitchen, he’s not looking forward to decorating. Aside from his studio, he and Grace spent much of their time together in the kitchen. They baked daily: cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else they could slop onto a baking sheet and shove into the oven. They also made jam, pickled fruit, and taught themselves (using YouTube videos mainly) to prepare various types of cuisine. Some were a hit, others a miss, but it was always an adventure. 

Kurt had done something similar with his mother and her collection of vintage cookbooks, congregating around the kitchen island in the afternoons to shed the angst of public school, and spread the wings of his stifled creativity. He and his mother discussed everything in the kitchen while sifting flour and creaming butter. It was a tradition he had so looked forward to continuing. 

Now, he’d rather not be bothered going into the kitchen again.

He could pick a page out of the IKEA catalog and recreate it. That should offend him. It did when Sebastian suggested it the first time Kurt redecorated their penthouse. But Kurt hardly cares. It doesn’t matter as much as it did. He can’t remember the last time he stepped into the kitchen and prepared anything more elaborate than toast and coffee, maybe dry scrambled eggs. Sebastian took over cooking duties after Grace died, which, nine times out of ten, means ordering out, if for no other reason than he gets to leave the house to pick up the food.

He knows Kurt appreciates the time alone more than he does a home-cooked meal.

Then there’s Sebastian’s office, which Kurt is decorating for the first time. He has tried to start a shopping cart for it numerous times, but, unlike the windfall of ideas he had for his studio, he can’t get into a groove. He remembers a time when thinking about decorating Sebastian’s office put a hundred ideas into his head. 

Currently, he has only one.

The cheap, vomit-worthy, knock-off furnishings of the no-tell hotel room he pictures whenever he thinks of Sebastian sleeping with another man. 

Kurt shivers in disgust. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. 

The room or the infidelity.

But how would Sebastian react if Kurt decorated his office to look like the business suite at the Marriott?

Kurt snickers, envisioning the sitcom-worthy shock that would erupt on Sebastian's face if he presented that to him.

"As you can see," Kurt would say, strolling through the room with his head held high atop the straightest spine pettiness can deliver, "I have chosen the most flame-retardant carpet available in subtle hues of tan and beige, a color combination well suited for concealing cum stains. This ergonomic, curved leather loveseat, for when you want to get adventurous with your afternoon romps, which, at your age, requires plenty of lumbar support. Plus, it cleans up in a snap with just a Clorox wipe, so that's a useful feature. Faux fireplace, faux aquarium, faux chandelier... are we sensing a theme? And in the corner, I've provided you a foldout of your own, for when you bring... ahem... work home."

The grin on Kurt's lips slides when Sebastian, wearing a gutted expression, pops to mind. It's an expression that Kurt didn't believe possible for Sebastian till their daughter died. He's only seen it once. He doesn't want to bring it back.

He sighs. 

Revenge-dreaming isn't helping. 

It isn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He’s not breaking through his creative block anytime soon. He puts his plans for the other rooms on the back burner and decides to spend time picking out furniture for his studio. With the exception of his sewing machines, he didn’t bring anything from his penthouse studio here, so he’s starting over fresh. He switches tabs and starts filling his online shopping cart with the basics: a new drafting table, a cabinet, a chair he’ll have to custom-upholster, a bolt of drapery fabric he can repurpose to make a bedspread (if he goes through with his plans for a foldout), and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing worth wasting too much brain-power over.

The clunk-clunk of Sebastian stacking cans in the kitchen cabinets reaches Kurt upstairs, as does the water running in the sink while he washes dishes and the squeak of the sticky pantry door when he fixes it. Kurt plans on redoing the kitchen and giving the entire room a facelift. Sebastian knows that. But repairing the door gives Sebastian something to do.

Sebastian has been considerate enough to let Kurt do his thing undisturbed for the morning. Kurt’s reluctance to talk to anyone extends to Sebastian, which Sebastian understands. He’s keeping his distance. But it’s nice to hear him puttering around the house. It gives Kurt comfort, the same way listening to his father snore in the middle of the night helped Kurt feel less alone after his mother died.

He may want to be left alone, but it’s nice to know that he’s not alone.

Especially not today.

Today did not start out good for Kurt.

Kurt woke up later than he’d intended, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he was. Sebastian had woken up and gotten out of bed hours earlier, leaving Kurt alone to sleep in. Kurt climbed out of bed and wandered around frightened, hands crawling along the walls, searching for something familiar. Footsteps passed somewhere underneath him, and he froze. He didn’t want to venture downstairs because he didn’t know who could be there. Maybe someone had broken in, or worse - this was somebody else’s house, and Kurt was the intruder. 

His heart raced. He started hyperventilating. He went from room to room, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. It wasn’t until the second time he went into his studio that he began to remember. He saw his bag on the floor and, beside it, his sketchbook. He remembered sitting in there the day before, making plans. He remembered the wood grain of the floor, the dusty glass, the tree outside, the wallpaper, and that ripped corner by the window, which Kurt refuses to acknowledge any more than he has to.

He feels it behind him, like the sun on his back, trying to get him to turn his face to it, but he refuses. Of all the things he needs to deal with, that ripped corner and the word beneath it don’t make the list. It isn't doing the palpitations in his chest any favors.

It confuses him. 

It angers him. 

It saddens him.

It makes him consider what could have been, forces him to face everything he's lost. He didn't succeed in running away from his problems. He ran headlong into brand new ones.

But this is his house. He has to get used to it.

These episodes aren’t uncommon. They crop up whenever Kurt needs to adapt to change. They’re unexpected, like mines in fields he discovers he’s been running through when a second ago he was picking flowers in the park or strolling down the street.

It's their unpredictability that is the true torture. 

They show up even on his good days.

His life for the last ten years revolved around his daughter. When she was a baby, he adjusted his work schedule to match her sleep schedule. They had the money to afford the best nurses in New York, but Kurt didn’t want that. He didn’t want his daughter raised by a governess. He was as hands-on a parent as there ever was. 

As Grace grew, her schedule changed, and Kurt adjusted: daycare, Gymboree, kindergarten, ballet, elementary school. He dropped her off in the mornings, then picked her up in the afternoons. They spent the rest of the day going over her homework until it was time to make dinner, which they did together. 

That was the great thing about being a designer and freelance editor. Kurt could work from anywhere, and, aside from doing consultations at Vogue, he could work any time. 

When Grace became sick, her doctor visits and her medication regimen dictated Kurt's schedule, then her chemo.

Towards the end, there was only one item written in Kurt’s schedule - lie beside his daughter in her bed, holding on to her for dear life. 

And not just her life.

His, too.

In sickness and in health, Grace kept Kurt’s life regulated. 

Things flipped drastically when she died. 

He felt adrift. Detached from the life he had gotten used to, he didn’t know what to latch on to. His internal clock would wake him up at six to get Grace ready for the day, only to find himself walking into a vacant bedroom. At the supermarket, he would grab her favorite cereal out of habit and put it in his cart, even though it wasn’t on the list. He would jolt when he'd come across a song he thought she’d like or saw an advertisement for a movie he thought she’d enjoy. 

He has yet to stop the automatic deposits from his bank account to hers, her weekly allowance piling up on top of birthday and Christmas money. She had earmarked it for college (her decision, not his). Now it waits to be donated to the children’s hospital that took such incredible care of her. He doesn’t have the heart to empty it. She was so proud of it.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him to see the balance at zero.

But the worst moment of all, the absolute worst, was when he tried to go back to work right after they lost her. 

There are many moments after Grace’s death, during Kurt’s own struggle for acceptance, that blur together, but this one he remembers so vividly, it brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes. 

He was in the middle of a brainstorming session with his team. His boss Isabelle was there. She had dropped by with a box of cronuts and a grande nonfat mocha. Kurt hadn’t been eating. Everyone could tell. But Kurt overlooked the signs – the sharper than normal angle to his cheekbones and chin, his collarbone that showed through his skin a little too much, his hands that never stopped shaking. He had waved the food away when she offered. 

An hour later, he was on his third one.

The tension of his presence in the office so soon after his daughter’s death slowly dissipated, making way for the familiar, though attenuated, back and forth banter he had so missed. Without knowing it, he was paving the way for a potential comeback. He wouldn’t have a line up for a while, and he would need to keep an eye on fashion trends as they came and went in his absence. But this, this felt so natural, so normal, it almost seemed like it was. He got caught up in the rhythm of this impromptu jam session. He smiled, he laughed.

He felt alive again.

Somewhere in the middle of outlining a rough schedule, he glanced down at the time on his phone. Mid-sentence, he got up from his chair and walked over to get his coat off the hook by the door.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle over Chase’s last clap back at a jab from his boyfriend Ian, “thanks for everything, you guys, but I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk about this more when I come in tomorrow.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Kurt didn’t notice.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked, getting up from her seat on the corner of his desk and approaching, knowing that he would need her in a second, the way she always knew. Kurt has referred to Isabelle as his Fairy Godmother ever since he first walked into Vogue fresh out of high school and trying to find a foothold in the hectic Gulf Stream that is New York City. She became his pillar of support, a sympathetic ear, and a clear head whenever he needed one. She had thrown his bachelor party. Hers was the condo he stayed in the night before his wedding. She’d hosted Grace’s baby shower.

Also, Grace’s wake.

She didn’t have children of her own and didn't plan on it, but she loved Grace as much as anyone.

And hers was the shoulder Kurt cried on when he found out Sebastian had cheated. 

Kurt looked at her, confused, wondering why it was that everyone around him seemed to be holding their breath. “I just… have to go pick up Grace. From school. I’m going… I’m going to be late.”

Isabelle shook her head and put a hand on his. “Sweetie… ”

It took Kurt a second. 

Even after one person gasped and another sniffled, with Isabelle’s sorrowful eyes staring at him, begging him to remember so she wouldn’t have to say it, he didn’t catch on.

When he did, it hit him like an electric shock straight through his body, rendering his muscles useless, and he crumbled to the floor. Isabelle held him for over an hour in that spot until Sebastian arrived. Kurt didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go to their empty penthouse and face the truth about his empty life. He wanted to stay at Vogue with Isabelle and live in that moment where everything was alright again for one shimmering second, even if it wasn’t real.

But he had to go. He had to leave with Sebastian, who had hurt him, back to his home, even if it killed him because even though he felt like his life was over, everything else continued on. People lived, and people died. The sun set in the evening, but in the morning, it would rise again.

He just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. 

Not without his Grace.

He was cried out by the time Sebastian got him home. Sebastian undressed him, helped him with his cleaning and moisturizing routine, and then put him to bed. It was Friday evening when Kurt shut his eyes and went to sleep. He lived that horrible moment at his office over again a hundred times before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was Sunday morning.

Like this morning, but to a greater extent, when these attacks happen, locked in his own brain, sifting through the pieces to find one big enough and sturdy enough to hold on to, Kurt loses time.

In a blink, hours go by, sometimes a day. He’ll climb in the shower in the morning, turn the water on hot, and by the time he realizes it’s cold, it’s close to noon. He has sat at the dining room table for breakfast, staring at a bowl of oatmeal, and when he found the will to pick up the spoon, the oatmeal was old and stiff, and it was dinner time. He’s gone to bed on Monday and stared at the black behind his eyelids till Wednesday. 

As far as Kurt knows, it’s only around lunchtime, but he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen to make sure. 

12:45.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He double-checks the date to make sure he has a reason to and sighs again.

Still Tuesday.

Kurt switches back to the IKEA tab he’d been laboring long but not hard on earlier. He looks at the shopping cart he’s been steadily filling, scrolls through his selections of personality bereft, assembly line furniture, and groans. This isn’t him. This house, this blank slate, should be an endless fount of motivation. 

But he's numb. 

Maybe he's rushing into this. He should give this house and the neighborhood time to grow on him before he sentences it to the mundane.

He needs a break. (Kurt Hummel need a break from shopping? Since when?) He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. For shits and giggles, he tries drawing a sketch for his husband’s office. He starts with the easy part – Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian didn’t leave that in the penthouse, so Kurt will make it the linchpin and design around it.

Things flow surprisingly easily from there once he gets started, with a pencil in his hand writing on paper instead of working on a screen: an ornamental rug, a matching leather chair, burgundy velvet curtains, a chainmail style Tiffany desk lamp, 1930s art deco décor with a soupcon of Persian flair. But he doesn’t want the room to be too dark. No. Kurt wants nothing in their house to be dark. He adds a Salento chandelier over the open portion of the room and a sweep of color – one wall, opposite a window, a lighter shade than the rest. He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s office looks like, but there has to be a wall in there that will fit the bill. 

An enamel and copper vase, a Khatam inlaid photo frame, a few Negar Gari…

Kurt stops.

Would Sebastian want that? The softer elements countering the strict lines of the art deco pieces, what could be described as feminine influences, are Kurt’s signature touch. But might Sebastian prefer the art deco without Kurt’s fingerprints all over it? Isn’t that what Sebastian meant by Kurt being heavy-handed with the pastels? 

Back in high school, Kurt had decorated his bedroom so that he and his stepbrother could share it. He'd skipped school so he could complete it in one day. He’d worked hard on it, trying to fuse a masculine air with his theatrical influence. What he thought was an eclectic representation of the masculine and the feminine turned into a Moroccan-themed disaster.

The word his stepbrother chose to use at the time was faggy, but there were ulterior motives behind it.

Sebastian made jabs in high school about Kurt not wearing boy clothes, comments that adult Kurt recognizes as the teenage boy equivalent of pulling Kurt’s pigtails. But at the time, they stung. Sebastian wouldn’t have made those comments if there weren’t a grain of truth to them, would he? 

Sebastian has never retracted those statements, so as far as Kurt is concerned, they stand.

Kurt flips his pencil over and starts erasing. He’ll pare down the extras – trade the Tiffany lamp for a banker’s lamp, replace the rug with something more Brooks Brothers than Pier 1.

Maybe he should just opt for another IKEA recreation, but that feels like copping out, going back on his word. 

He could always ask Sebastian. He swears his husband has passed by a few times, his footsteps rising and falling outside his door, but Kurt didn’t think anything of it. He figures Sebastian is passing through on his way to get something from the bedroom that he needs downstairs. Kurt doesn’t imagine the man is pacing the hallway, even if he is, trying to find a way to tell Kurt that lunch is ready. Little things like lunch, innocuous things, have become huge divides over the past few months. With anyone else, Sebastian has a history of railroading over them, hurt feelings be damned.

But Sebastian has learned his lesson. He paid a hefty price learning it, too.

Contemplating between clearing his throat so that Kurt knows he’s there and letting another meal go cold, he sees Kurt’s head lift up. It seems like an opening. Whether or not it is, Sebastian takes it.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt mumbles, brushing eraser shavings aside.

“Are you… are you coming downstairs?”

Kurt erases again, then pencils something on a sheet of paper that Sebastian can’t see. “Hmm… mmm?” 

It sounds like a question and an answer, but since Kurt doesn’t follow it up with anything, it most likely means that Kurt will be skipping lunch… again. Sebastian knocks idly on the door frame, giving Kurt a second longer to tell him for sure.

“Alright.” Disappointed, he turns to leave. “I guess I’ll come back up at dinner then.”

Kurt doesn’t know why the thought returns when he wasn’t even thinking about it, why it decided to nag at his brain when he had been able to ignore it for this long, but that’s the way his brain works now. His thoughts don’t always travel straight paths. They twist and turn, taking one thing and linking it to something unrelated. Erasing the ideas he’d sketched out, removing every inch of himself from Sebastian’s office, made him think about how eager he was to be rid of that word darling from above the window, and that ripped corner returns to his mind with a vengeance.

Well, as long as Sebastian is there, he might as well ask.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, not daring to move. “Yes?” 

“When was the last time you were here?” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the idea when it originally came to him. When would Sebastian have come to this house that Kurt didn’t know? They traveled Upstate once a year, but they always did it together as a family. And while they were here, Sebastian rarely ventured out alone. Sebastian isn’t the kind of person who would buy a house sight unseen. 

Unless he had found it during one of his outings with Grace. Which would mean that Grace had seen the inside. 

Grace would have seen this room and thought it would be hers, thought that they would someday live here, and Sebastian hid that word darling by the window for her and not Kurt.

The thought is so painful, it makes Kurt want to tear his nails out with his teeth so he’ll stop thinking about it.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked to Kurt’s profile so he won’t miss the moment Kurt decides to look at him instead of the floor, the wall, or the ceiling.

“I found this house online. It wasn’t even on the market when I stumbled on it. To be honest, I’d only driven by it once. I hadn’t been inside until we moved in.”

“But you saw the inside,” Kurt asks. “Otherwise, how would you know about this room?”

“I took a virtual tour,” Sebastian admits sheepishly, “but it was extremely thorough. I’ve seen the blueprints, gone over the permits and the zoning. I had Tristan from the office look over the place when he came up to visit his folks. He facetimed me while he was here.” Sebastian furrows his brow. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Kurt’s heart beats regular again. Grace hadn’t seen it. 

Thank God. 

His eyes find the torn section of wallpaper, but they don’t stay there. He doesn’t want to clue Sebastian in about it if Sebastian doesn’t already know. He wants to uncover this mystery on his own. If Sebastian gets to keep secrets, big ones at that, then Kurt wants this one for himself. 

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just curious, you know. Wanted to understand your process. Why this house, why this neighborhood, that sort of thing.”

Kurt’s sentence comes out choppy. It’s odd how awkward talking has become for them. Sebastian used to think that the two things they had mastered were talking and fucking. They did both together with such ease. There were never any boundaries between them, emotionally or physically. Even when they were cutting each other down, which they did in the beginning, they did so with such finesse.

Not like now, when Sebastian is walking on eggshells and Kurt doesn’t want to hear half of what he has to say.

“If you come down for lunch, we can talk about my process. If you’re curious, that is.” Sebastian watches Kurt expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

And while Sebastian does, Kurt looks at his sketch – Sebastian’s office, the same way Sebastian always has it decorated. This is Sebastian without him and Grace: bland and emotionless, no light, little color, and no joy. Nothing exciting, nothing nuanced, nothing to indicate that he and Sebastian are together.

Not even those snapshots he’s so proud of.

Kurt hasn’t decided whether that’s a bleak picture or not. 

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec,” Kurt decides because he does and doesn’t have an answer to that one. It changes as the day changes, and the days change too quickly. 

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.” Sebastian walks away, or Kurt thinks he does. He checks the time on his clock. It’s closing in on 2. 

Kurt glances up at the window, the dangling wallpaper bouncing with the breeze coming from a draft near the ceiling. It would be so easy to tear it down – grab an edge and rip, be done with it once and for all. It might even feel cathartic, exposing whatever is underneath it. But lunch is ready. He’s already left Sebastian waiting long enough.

He leaves that mystery for another day.

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Little steps (George Weasley x reader) | pt 5 - Affirmation

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

Word count: 1652

Summary: Y/N visits Grimmauld Place for the weekend and on her last evening she stays up late with George.

warnings: none, fluffy fluff

a/n: We’ve reached the finale, my loves. It’s been nice, I hope you liked it. As always, let me know what you thought I listened to Imagine Dragons - Only; or HUNGER - amused while writing the ending, if that interests anybody 😅

The second gif was made by yours truly

July, 1995

 From the very start, you knew these summer holidays were going to be unlike any other. You were still going out with your friends in London – Merlin, you even got back on speaking terms with Matt, after he pulled his head out of his ass. But the night after Voldemort came back Dumbledore assembled the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation that was going to oppose him.

It didn’t mean much to you just yet – all the adults were keeping you and your friends in the dark. Your family, or rather its adult members, were a part of it. That meant they visited the Weasleys, who were now living at the headquarters in London, a few times since July started almost two weeks ago.

You went in and out of there quickly a couple of times – you even managed to convince Molly to let Ron go out with you and your friends. George saw you flash through the staircase opening, but you were gone before you could notice him.

He kept true to his word and wrote to you the day after you parted on King’s Cross. You exchanged owls often, sometimes they carried short and sweet letters, full of innocent pet names; sometimes long tirades – about how damp and dusty his room at Grimmauld Place was, how Ron annoyed him that day, how you were trying to redecorate your room and broke the wardrobe door; sometimes they contained discussions worthy of shower thoughts.

This weekend you were going to stay over, your older brother escorted you and Hermione, who planned to stay the whole summer. From the moment you stepped over the threshold you were a little tense with excitement, your subconscious expecting to see George around every corner.

You had dumped your bag in the room you were going to share with the girls and you were currently laying on the empty bed in Ron’s room, examining the ceiling.

“It’s a dump. A damp and dusty one. And not to mention the cobwebs – have you seen those? Bloody hell, I can’t imagine living in here until September. And mum’s gone crazy with the cleaning!” “Oh come on, Ronald, I’m sure it’s not that bad. The place’s not been lived in for long, it just needs a little work!” “And the house-elf, he’s horrid – he wanders around at night, mumbling about his masters…”

You got up to go use the bathroom. You went out of the room and stepped down the creaky stairs to the floor below. As you followed the narrow corridor, suddenly in front of you -CRACK!- “Bloody hell! Merlin’s beard, do you want to be responsible for my premature passing?!” you eyed the tall redhead standing in front of you as you clutched the bannister for dear life. His grin only widened, “Fancy seeing you here, princess, finally.” You straightened up and tried to fight back the smile at that nickname. He had his hair cut – he mentioned it in one of the first letters, but you didn’t expect it to look this good. He spread his arms and motioned for you to come closer, giving you puppy eyes and an innocent smile. You gave him a hug that lasted far too short. Pulling back, you said “the haircut” and reached for it with your hand. He helped you a little bit, bending down “I like it” you said with a smile, running your fingers through and ruffling it a bit. “Well in that case I might have to go to my mother and take back everything I may or may not have said about it previously.”

That little encounter left you hungry for more and all the small interactions with him you were already used to felt different than at Hogwarts. It wasn’t school anymore, it was a home – perhaps not the Burrow, but still.

You didn’t see him much the next day, busy with Molly, but in the evening you, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George attempted playing a muggle card game you and Hermione knew. The game was going really slow, but you were having fun. Fred accused you of helping George out, which you – of course – denied, even though it was Ginny who won in the end.

The Sunday evening was much slower, the whole house stayed in the kitchen long after dinner, chatting and exchanging stories over butterbeer. It was getting late now, you rested your cheek on your palm, elbow propped on the table. You got distracted from Arthur’s story by a light tap on your foot. You glanced at George, who was sitting opposite you and he looked up, then to both sides and avoided your gaze. A few seconds after you looked away, another tap. The same thing again, except a smirk was creeping up onto his face.  This time you prodded his foot and he finally looked at you, feigning shock. You had to bite your lip to fight a grin.

He picked up his napkin and started folding it up. You watched and figured he was trying to make a shape out of it. He kept glancing at you every once in a while and the napkin still wouldn’t look like anything recognisable.

You picked up your own one and made the one origami shape you knew how – a butterfly. You looked at him in triumph, saw his eyebrows scrunched up looking at your butterfly, then he pretended he was unimpressed.

Molly decided it was time to wrap up and people started heading out, but she must’ve been in a good mood and left without ushering you all to beds.

“D’you wanna hang out a bit longer?” George caught up to you as you were getting up from your seat. “Uh, sure..” you said, looking at Hermione, who tried not to smile when she saw you and then left with everyone else, leaving you two alone.

You swallowed and couldn’t look up at him just yet, feeling your heart start to hammer. You walked to the huge fireplace and George followed you, then sat down in front of it. “So, how are you doing?” he asked and leaned back on his arms. You did the same and answered, “I’m alright.” Both of you watched how the firewood was slowly cracking in front of you. “You’re going home tomorrow, aren’t you?” “Yup. Before lunch.” You said and he nodded slowly.

George’s heart sank a bit, thinking about waiting Merlin knows how long again, writing letters before he would get to barely spend any time with you when you visit again.

“That blows.” You chuckled, looking at him. “Why don’t you just move here? I think that would be the best for everyone” he said very seriously. “Move here?” you laughed, “and help Molly’s cleaning crew every day? I don’t think so. I mean, what would I get out of it?” “My attention?” You blushed a bit, “I got plenty of that the last few months, Georgie, I don’t think I could handle it.” You were silent for a bit, your heartbeat going crazy as he studied your face carefully. “..And how would you feel about getting my full attention?” Your lips parted slightly in shock, you watched him carefully but you didn’t even notice when he moved closer. You were looking for something in his eyes, something that would tell you he wasn’t serious about it, that it didn’t mean what you thought it did. But they were just as sincere as they always have been when he looked at you. Those warm, brown eyes that made you feel so much, that made you feel so welcome that you could look into them forever.  “…as my girlfriend..?” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. Looking at him with all the love you had in you, pushing all the weight off your shoulders, very slowly you leaned in and stopped just as you were about to meet his lips. You felt his breath on yours for just a second, and he closed the distance. Your lips fit perfectly in a soft kiss that felt like nothing before and even better than you could’ve imagined before. A tide of euphoria washed over you. One of his hands rested on your waist and you moved one of yours to the side of his face to deepen the kiss.

“Is that a yes?” George asked after pulling away.

You smiled and kissed him again, with more passion this time, at first slow and tender. He was intoxicating, his smell felt like you’ve always known it and so, so comforting. The warmth from the fire hugged you from the side and mixed with his body warmth. George pulled your body even closer and your hands travelled along his shoulders, the back of his neck and his hair as the kiss became more demanding. The silence of the night broken only by the gentle crackling of firewood and your rapid breathing. When the need for oxygen became too much, you placed last few, slow pecks onto his swollen lips and pulled away.

“Was that affirmative enough?” you asked breathily. “I’ll take it.” he chuckled and he gently pulled you to the floor to lay on top of him. He held you tight against him and you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, cherishing the closeness. You breathed in his smell with a wide smile on your face. His was just the same as he stroked your back up and down and placed a soft, loving kiss on your temple. It was just you and him that mattered, you relished in the feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath or his heartbeat next to yours.

You stayed up together until your eyes started closing on their own. You made your way upstairs and parted ways in front of the girls’ room, but not before one, last, goodnight kiss. Or a few.

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Two

Link to Masterpost

So I realized today I hit 50 followers! Wow. That’s amazing, and I love you all so much. Plus, it was so inspiring I got to work on some more prompts for this wonderful little AU. I combined two prompts in this part:

1. “Are those slippers?” / “Is that you being mean? AGAIN?” 

-and-

2. “You don’t know how to change a tire?” / “Give it a rest, would you?”

As I mentioned last time, I am still taking prompts for this universe! It’s been a great time playing in this particular AU, and of course I have the rest of the story vaguely sketched out but it’s been way too much fun incorporating these prompts. Hope y’all enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin was still marveling at the turn in her morning as she got dressed for work in the afternoon. She and Rowan had spent an hour or so finally getting to know each other a little like they probably should’ve when he first moved in, only stopping when he had to leave to go on a run with one of his coworkers. They still had quite a ways to go, but Aelin already felt more at ease than she had previously.

She still felt a twinge of embarrassment at how it had happened, but she had gotten herself into more awkward situations before and Rowan had seemed content to not bring it up further.

Aelin hummed along with the music playing on her phone as she wriggled into the dark pants that served as the bottom of her work outfit and then sat to braid her hair back. In her month and a half working behind the bar at her current job, she had learned in a single shift that leaving her hair down was absolutely not worth it; the golden waves that she was so proud of had an annoying tendency of getting in the way while shaking drinks, and choosing to tie them back instead left her hair much neater at the end of a long shift. Lately she had taken to braiding the long strands into a crown around her head, the style elegant enough to please her but practical enough to survive the night.

Smiling with satisfaction, Aelin pinned the last few strands in place and stood to leave. She took a few extra moments to glance in the mirror and make certain that her shirt was presentable enough for work before grabbing her keys and heading down the stairs.

She made it all the way to the driveway before her good mood evaporated.

“Fuck,” she whined as she stared at her car. It had been fine when she had gotten in, or she thought it had been. But now in the daylight the left rear tire was obviously flat, almost cartoonishly so. There was no way she would be getting in to work on time, not with her car out of commission.

If he had been home she would have asked Aedion for a ride, but he was absent and his car was garaged wherever it was he put it while away so that he could save on his insurance payments. That left trying to get in touch with her coworkers to see if they could pick her up.

Taking a deep breath and preparing to grovel, Aelin scrolled in her phone to Lysandra’s contact information and was about to press the call button when she heard a surprisingly welcome voice from the edge of the driveway.

While Rowan’s voice was a relief, his words certainly were not. “Are those… slippers?” he asked.

Aelin crossed her arms, not ready to deal with this kind of interaction when she was still trying to figure out how she was going to get to work. “Is that you being mean again?” she retorted, shuffling her feet. The motion only served to draw attention to her choice of footwear, however, and when she looked back up at him she was met with an expression she could only call amused exasperation. She sighed and decided to end this probable fight before it could begin, if only to preserve the remnants of her sanity after an already-stressful day. “I always wear slippers when I drive to work,” she admitted. “My work shoes are great when I’m actually on my feet, but I hate driving in them.”

“All right,” he allowed. “I can’t say I relate, but I suppose that makes more sense than anything else I was coming up with. Doesn’t explain why you’re staring at your phone like it’s your only lifeline instead of actually driving to work, though.”

At the reminder of exactly why she was stuck here and not at work, Aelin sighed and wordlessly gestured to her tire. He glanced down at it and then back at her, clearly confused, and began to laugh.

“Oh, what is it now?” she demanded, immediately on edge again.

He crouched beside the tire and braced his hands on his knees, inspecting it as he continued to chuckle. “You don’t know how to change a tire?”

Just as it had a few hours ago, Aelin felt heat flood her cheeks. “Give it a rest, would you? So what if I never learned, I didn’t exactly have anyone around to teach me.”

Aelin bit her lip to stop the words from coming out, though she had already revealed far too much. Even if it was true, and even though the theme of the day had been building some kind of camaraderie with her roommate, she firmly believed there was such a thing as oversharing and that had been it.

A small part of her brain noted that she felt more exposed now than she had been literally exposing her backside to him just that morning, but she carefully stifled that thought to be dealt with hopefully never. Instead, she blurted out, “And I’m not sure I have a spare anyway.”

Rowan gave her a skeptical glance. “Open your trunk.”

“What?” Aelin asked, stunned. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

Deciding to humor him, she did, and in less than five seconds he had opened a compartment and revealed exactly what he had been looking for, a spare tire as well as a few tools. “Oh.”

Rowan shook his head. “Most cars have the essentials in case this happens on the road. The replacement isn’t meant to be driven long-distance, it’ll only get you to the nearest repair shop. I’m assuming you don’t have time for that.”

Aelin nodded. “I’ve only got about an hour before I’m supposed to be at work.”

“All right. You have tomorrow off?”

Aelin checked the picture of the schedule she’d saved to her phone. “Yeah, tomorrow and Monday are my ‘weekend’,” she replied.

Rowan pulled the tools out of the compartment and straightened. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to put the replacement on now, because that tire’s flat enough that you’re risking damage to the rim if we let it sit and that gets expensive fast. I can drive you to work tonight, and tomorrow we can take it to someone to see if you can get away with patching the tire or if you need new ones.”

Aelin stared at him, surprised. “Wait, you’d drive me to work?”

“Would I say I’d do it if I wouldn’t?” he retorted.

Before today, she would’ve bristled at that comment and perhaps even snapped back at him. However, through their talks after his aunt had left she’d learned that he had an incredibly dry sense of humor bordering on outright sass. With that knowledge in mind, she bit back her immediate urge to fight back and instead simply said, “Thank you.”

Rowan’s head spun around to stare at her, and she shrugged, uncomfortable under the intense focus of his gaze. “What?” she asked. “You didn’t have to offer, but I appreciate that you did. Honestly, before you got here I was running down my list of coworkers, trying to decide who was most likely to pick up.”

“You may still want to see if one of them can bring you home,” he cautioned. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, but I’m not exactly used to staying up that late and I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”

Aelin laughed at the admission. “And here I thought you were the life of the party. Have you ever done something just because it was fun?”

“Says someone who is currently reaping the advantages of my lack of a social life,” he snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be grateful.”

“I can be grateful and still comment on your life choices.”

Rowan carefully set one of the tools next to the tire and got to work, pointedly ignoring her and leaving her with nothing to do but watch him.

Even before today she’d noticed in a distant kind of way that her roommate was unfairly attractive, for all that he didn’t seem to do himself any favors. That recognition was only affirmed as she watched the muscles of his shoulders and back while he worked to change her tire. He hadn’t even had the time to change out of his running clothes, and sweat lingered at the back of his neck, darkening the short strands of his hair.

She’d never bothered to ask if he’d naturally gone completely grey at a strangely young age or if he simply dyed his hair that color, but either way she could admit it suited him in a way she wasn’t sure would work on anyone else. Paired with piercing green eyes and angular features, what would have been a noteworthy feature on anyone else was a stunning combination on him.

It was really too bad that they barely tolerated each other. And now that they were roommates, she knew too much about him to be swayed by looks alone. All it took was one recollection of him reorganizing their living space and those thoughts retreated to the back of her mind where they belonged.

It was just in time, too, because she realized belatedly he was speaking to her. “—got lucky,” he was saying. “I’m no expert, but I think they should be able to just patch this and you won’t have to get new tires.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, curious.

Wordlessly, he rotated her tire—which she noticed was now freed from her car—and pointed at a large nail driven right through the rubber.

“Oh.”

“Here, stuff this into your trunk while I get the spare on and then we’ll get you to work,” he said, rolling the tire in her direction. She rushed to comply, and by the time she had tucked it away as neatly as she could manage he had finished his part of the job as well. “All right, get what you need and we’ll go.”

“I already have what I need,” she replied.

He looked at her, gaze moving from her braided hair down to her slippered feet, and said, “Your work shoes?”

“At work,” she said.

“And you’re not bringing food when you’re working a full shift?”

“Rowan, I work in a bar. They have food there.”

Her statement granted her a withering look that promised a painful end to her admittedly-unhealthy usual diet. “Do you even have food in the house?”

“If you’re going to judge me, I’m not going to answer that,” she evaded.

“Fine. We don’t have time to fix that right now anyway,” he muttered. “Get in my car, and I’ll get you to work.”

They drove in silence the entire way to the bar, but it was somehow less uncomfortable than Aelin would’ve expected. Maybe there was something to be said for utterly humiliating yourself in front of your roommate, after all. She could only go up from here.

As they arrived, before she could slip out of his car she turned to face him. “Hey, thank you,” she said. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He waved off her thanks with a single gesture. “I know you have my number. Just text me if you need me to pick you up as well.”

As it turned out, Lysandra was able to get her back home after her shift and she texted Rowan about a half an hour before her shift ended, receiving no reply. But as she crept into the house, she noticed a sight that made her freeze and then smile. Rowan was passed out on their couch fully clothed, phone prominently placed on the coffee table as though he’d fallen asleep waiting for her message.

Not willing to risk waking him, she quietly crept up the stairs to her room, but the image lingered for quite some time as she prepared for sleep herself.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

[kid-karoshi]

Death has no escape - Final Chapter

...Together, they hurried up the cellar stairs and sought shelter behind the house by a massive rock. Claudette began to do something to stop the bleeding. Ash had crouched down beside her. "Wait, you don't have to do this yourself. Let me help you." He hummed and tended to the wound extremely meticulously with the resources at hand. Until, in the last moment, he conjured up out of his back pocket another band-aid. He presented it like a trophy in front of her nose. This one was pink and had a thick print of a stupid looking bumblebee on it. At least this one seemed significantly fresher than the one he had given to Dwight. Responding to the questioning look, he gave a blunt attempt at flirtation, "There's more where that came from." Winking at her, already squeezing the tape tight. "Thanks for saving me, but wow...you could be my grandfather!" she snarked, leaning backwards while giving him a head-to-toe eye check. The grin fell off his face for a second upon that. "Ouch sweetie, I may have a bad knee, but I'm certainly not a grandpa. He gently placed his hand on hers and purred "Don't be sad, There was no future for us anyway." Claudette furrowed her forehead and withdrew her hand in disgust. "Come on sweetie, let's go save the others then."

art: @alexpdcl

They crept across the area in a crouched posture. Claudette grabbed his forearm after a while and pointed to a hill. "There." she whispered.

"Really? They're completely tired of living..." he hissed back at her. Dwight and Felix had chosen a generator on a hill as THE final workpiece. This one, however, was located not far from a mighty gate. "Okay little lady, you just run straight ahead and hide in the bushes over there, when the electric supply is up, your sweet ass will only worry about opening the gate, do we have an understanding?" Claudette was about to argue that she wasn't going to be talked to like that, but by that time Ash had already gained a few feet of ground. All she had left was an exhausted gasp. She froze in shock at the sound she heard afterwards. Right next to her, the air flickered and the gurgling monster passed her by. It was too late to tell those men what was happening.

"Hi girls, do you have a spot left for me?" fluttered Ash as he joined the others. The machine had already made good progress. There were still a few little things to do. "Busy." he grumbled with satisfaction. "Is Claudette all right?" enquired Dwight.

"Sure she is. I've got her patched up. She's fine and now let's get this done. At the end, I'll give each of you a piece of cake as a reward." Ash grinned broadly.

Dwight lifted his gaze, spied his girlfriend and tossed his arm from left to right very energetically but also extremely awkwardly. Claudette, on the other hand, frantically pointed in his direction, which he completely misunderstood, after that he pointed at Ash and with an outstretched thumb he responded to her. Then, without waiting for the next reaction, he quickly continued with the fixing. Felix, however, interrupted his work and spoke in a reproachful voice. "You arrogant son of a bitch, you knew that we were risking our asses out here while you were playing the hero. I know you for maybe ten minutes, but that's enough to see what a pathetic fraud you are, admit it, you're a chickenshit, you don't have a plan, you're just reacting to the circumstances around here! You may be able to fool the others but not me!" Dwight faintly looked back and forth between the two, convulsively trying not to provoke a short circuit. "Guys, uh, so I think you should discuss this later," he stammered. Ash, on the other hand, lowered his head and grumbled to the ground, "You seem to think you're a pretty big deal yourself. Do you think I chose to be the 'hero'? Evil always finds me, it is obsessed with me. There is nothing but death around me and that has been the reality for far too long. But what cheers me up anyway today is that your snooty life is also about to change," he chuckled darkly.

The chiming of the bell abruptly broke up their discussion. Dwight hopped to his feet and, with a cry of horror, he sprinted for the nearest shelter. As the ghostly figure revealed itself, the two men were still sitting at the machine, trying to crank it with their last ounce of strength. "Come on, come on, come on , damn it!" roared Felix "Get out of here!" screamed Ash at him, who also continued repairing. " Screw it! HHNGH!" groaned Felix as the killer's blade sped across his back, cutting the fibers of his designer suit, ripping open his flesh and severing some tendons of his scapula. At that moment, their eyes met. Ash snorted and lunged suddenly forward to knock Felix off the top of the hill and out of harm's way. As the killer, mesmerized detached the shredded skin from his blade, Ash sat right in front of him and plugged the last cable into the right connection. A shrilling sound was emitted and finally the exit gates had enough power to be opened. Claudette had taken position and immediately flipped the switch wich crackled electrifyingly. Dwight ran toward Felix and helped him up to drag him toward the exit gate. "NO! Ash is still up there!" he yelled painfully.

He was standing on top of the hill and noticed that the gate was already in the second phase, so it was going to burst open for the next few seconds. "Run, you fools!" he shouted. "... I've always wanted to say that, and now on to you, you ugly critter! Guess you think you're the greatest, huh?!" at this he bent his head back to stare brashly into the creature's face. The killer faced him with a growl, paused for a second, and to Ash's amazement, nodded in affirmation.

His eyes widened as he understood that he was now in serious trouble. He almost rolled himself over as he tried to make a run for it. At the same time, the exit gate sprang up with a loud clatter. His three teammates set out to leave this terror all behind. Beneath the great arches of the gate, Dwight and Claudette tried to heal the injured man, who was losing gallons of blood. Ash was running away " You better not let me find my shotgun...". That'll make you all get stale looking, you slowpoke! Then it's you who have to hide from ME! God have mercy on you, or whatever your kind is worshiping." He dragged the killer tauntingly behind him for a few more feet until he leapt through a boarded shack toward the exit. He turned his gaze to the others. At that very moment, his fate was sealed when his meniscus tore. And Ash knew it. *damn, not now the fucking knee!

The others screamed his name "Go!" He huffed as the enemy appeared behind him and cruelly struck him down with one hit. The wraith had gained in brutality and efficiency after the gate was opened, so it was practically impossible to avoid this curse. Felix felt terrible about the last words he had said to Ash. He wanted to undo everything he had said, but was dragged by his companions through the portal that prevented him from returning.

When Ash was picked up from the ground, badly injured, the pain seemed eerily familiar. After spending some time on his opponent's shoulder, he whispered in the killer's ear, "You could have just asked for my number, honey." who, visibly confused, dropped his victim right next to a hatch in the ground, from which a strange rumble and dark smoke rose. As the Killer was still reflecting on his feelings, the old man robbed himself into the dark abyss. Before he was closing the gate behind him, he raised his middle finger in the direction of the killer, who mournfully lowered his weapon.

Felix and the others, who had been running for quite a while, reached a campfire, at which they settled down. "We're safe here," Dwight said, and took Claudette in his arms. Felix flopped down and buried his fingers in his hair. Everyone was exhausted to the utmost and stared silently into the flames. The oppressive silence was accompanied by the crackling of the dry wood. Suddenly Felix recognized the outline of a figure looking through the flames.

"What are those long faces about?" interrupted Ash the melancholy. Three astonished pairs of eyes locked on the badly battered man, who magically pulled out a sugar-coated mess from his denim shirt.

"Look, there's no blood on that piece of cake," he sneered, before joining the others and shared it among the survivors.

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

FE3H Love Language Series: Blue Lion Edition

[What love language would each fe3h character dominantly express?]

Check out the previous submission!: {Golden Deer}

Dimitri: Words of Affirmation, Giving Gifts, & Physical Touch

When Dimitri is happy, he shines like the sun. When he’s angry, he’s feral as a predator. The same applies for when he loves! When Dimitri cares for someone he glows when they’re near. They’re magnetic pull yanks at him to follow wherever they go despite his desperate grasp at some sense of self-control. His long for close proximity grows more intense the morfe he resists. With his life as cold as it is, if there’s any sign of warmth he will latch onto it desperately. If they’re bonds are close enough, he might occasionally slip them a present, all of which are homemade. He isn’t a materialistic person in the slightest, but what he does like is to see the joy on someone else’s face when they receive something. His heart rarely allows him to hide his emotions (good and bad), so often he’ll vocalize his feelings. In short, Dimitri is an overall open book.

 Dedue- Acts of Service & Quality Time

Dedue is a man of modesty who treats those that he cares for with integrity and respect. He may not be verbal with them, but his sentiment shows through his actions. It’s a known fact that being a retainer to the future king does not leave him much free time. He also prefers to use his time wisely, and hates being unproductive. If he cares for someone then he’ll show it by sharing his time with them. He’ll accompany them on errands, help with tasks, engage in conversation, and join them in their hobbies (or offer for them to accompany him). It’s all a matter of choice with Dedue since he won’t give up any of his responsibilities despite Dimitri’s insistence. So, if he chooses you over being alone -everyone knows he works more efficiently by himself- then the action speaks for itself.

 Felix: Acts of Service

If there’s one word to describe Felix, it would be ‘dependable’. He may not be the nicest, he may not be emotionally expressive (aside from anger, determination, and annoyance), and sometimes he’s downright just an ass. However, once someone breaks past his walls, they’re stuck with him for the long run. It’s what makes his affection special. On the outside it might appear to onlookers that he hates everyone and everything, but when the going gets tough he’s the first one you can call. It is not simply over large issues either. Albeit begrudgingly at first, Felix will never turn down a request from someone he cares about. He may make a stink over how it’s a ‘pain,’ but he won’t say no. Loyalty, honesty, and dependability are what he uses to show he cares.

 Sylvain- Giving Gifts & Words of Affirmation

 ‘Truth’ is what defines Sylvain’s affections. Everyone pegs him as the smooth-talking Gautier heir that would probably use wind magic to send skirts flying up. While it may be partially true, he doesn’t have the confidence that everyone assumes he does. Sylvain can be a smart mouthed brat, and if he cares about someone then he’ll show it. Not because he’s comfortable but instead to see if they’ll accept it. That they won’t try to change him. With those he cherishes his heart is on his sleeve and they get to see all sides of him. Angry, happy, sad, and loving. Sylvain values communication and affirmation because he’s seen what negligence can do to someone. He can and WILL remind the people he cares about of how he feels.

Ashe- Acts of Service & Words of Affirmation

Ashe likes to help, everyone knows this. He loves to see people happy and to hear laughter. It reminds him of what he’s been working towards while at the same time proving that the world is still worth living in. You don’t have to be someone he personally cares about for him to help you but connecting with him on a personal level does change the situation. The hurt of people he cares for is his own. Their wounds sting him just as much, and in addition to helping he will offer moral support. When Ashe loves he does so with his whole heart and won’t hesitate to remind people of all their good qualities. He’s as open as his books even though his communication skills sometimes flop on him.

 Mercedes- Quality time & Giving gifts

The best way Mercedes knows how show people that she cares is through simply spending time with them. She’s the person who will stay awake through the night to help someone. She could be lost in the hottest desert and still offer her last ration of water to another person. There is only so much time one can live, and Mercedes plans to use her time to live for others. If she cares for someone, they are always a priority. If she doesn’t have time, then she will make it somehow. At bare minimum she will be sure to greet them whenever their paths cross, no one will ever feel as if they’re alone or ignored with Mercedes by their side. She’s aware that being with everyone always is impossible, and that there will be times that she might be too late. However, her thoughts are and always will be with those she cares about.

 Annette- Words of Affirmation & Physical Touch

She’s a touchy-feely person in general. Annette is always open to give out free hugs, high-fives, etc. at the drop of the hat. If there was a personification of optimism in Fodlan is would be Annette-hands down. She’s the type to offer encouragement when someone needs it most, and to stick by their side when the going gets rough. While she has her down moments, everyone does. Though during those times she’ll remember all the people in her life that she cares for, and all the happy moments that they’ve shared. When Annette cares for someone, she does her best to be a driving force. They won’t have time to feel down because she’ll always be there to pick them back up. There will be plenty of laughs, much encouragement, and more than enough hugs to fill her quota. She’ll link her arms with them when walking and talk about anything and everything. There’s never a dull moment with this clumsy ball of sunshine involved.

 Ingrid- Physical Touch

 Despite her rough exterior, Ingrid is human. She’s not the most verbally eloquent with expressing her feelings. Some believe it’s pride, but she is just as embarrassed over being expressive as the next person. Hence why her tells can mostly be found within her actions. How far away she stands, her posture, etc. When it comes to body language Ingrid is one of the most expressive lions because she rarely lets her guard down. She only will act casually with those she trusts and cares for. A hug from her may seem like it’s miles away, but they’re not that rare to those she is close with. In addition to this, her teasing side shines through the stone exterior strangers see when Ingrid is with people she cares about.

Up Next? : Some eagles that make even the goth kids seem pop culture

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 14: Help

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~4100

Rating: R (language, 30 diamond scene)

Summary: About three weeks since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: With my state surging so badly that the CDC had to come up with a new category for coronavirus monitoring, and my hospital group changing policy constantly, even the illusion of an update schedule is pretty much out the window at this point, so thank you to all of you who are still sticking with this series! I saw that in canon, our crew just now decided to go on the run, but my MC and Drake have been on the lam for a while at this point, hahaha, so thanks for going on this wild ride with them!

This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Olivia let out a sigh as the privacy divider in her town car finally finished closing, tipping her head back and tugging the pins out of her hair. “God, what a nightmare.”

Liam hummed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the palace tonight? It might be good optics, keeping you in the thick of things since the social season just started.”

He shook his head as he shifted slightly next to her. “After Hana’s conversation with Kiara and all its revelations, we need to be able to discuss things openly. With everything that has already happened, I don’t trust my assigned quarters at the palace to not be bugged.”

All Olivia could do was let out a little shrug. She knew he had a point, but she was worried about his overall approach here. All the strategizing and discussing in the world wouldn’t matter if he didn’t maintain an image of strength and dependability. Trotting back to the seclusion of Lythikos consistently would absolutely weaken the perception others had of him.

“So, I think we can safely assume that Amalas knows about this alliance between Barthelemy and Auvernal. It would explain why she was so eager to strike a deal with us,” Liam continued, reaching up and loosening his tie as he stretched his neck.

“But why would Aurvernal agree to work with Barthelemy? He wasn’t exactly supportive of them when they were trying to force Drake and Riley to solidify the betrothal. Hell, he used that mess to argue against their suitability to raise Bridget.”

Liam frowned, his eyes dropping to his lap for just a moment. “The latter part of your statement I can see him spinning over the coming months. He can argue that he has met with neighboring leaders and struck more beneficial alliance terms than I was ever able to foster, making him better suited for the role of monarch. With the delay in the start of the social season, he’ll have plenty of time to sell it as believable.”

“We had to push Rashad to delay. Hana told us that we need to make sure-”

“-Kiara represents House Theron, I know. It’s just unfortunate the delay may also be desirable for Barthelemy’s camp as well as ours. It would be nice to catch a break for once.”

“Liam…”

He ignored her attempt at sympathy. “Oh well, that’s just the reality isn’t it? We need to figure out how Auvernal played into Landon’s decision. Have you been able to buy off any of their staff?”

Olivia shook her head. “Not yet. I have a couple of leads on a maid and a driver who might be loyal to you, though.”

“That’s something, I suppose. I guess we should probably try and gain some intelligence about the motives of Bradshaw and Isabella as well, shouldn’t we?” He sounded tired, his hands working to remove his cufflinks.

“Yeah, we definitely need to hit this from multiple angles, find out their goal and what they might have done to sway not only Landon, but Hakim and Adelaide. Barthelemy is absolutely going to challenge Bertrand for control of House Beaumont, so we need to gain at least two of those votes. Counting on keeping the Beaumont vote in our camp is just too… dicey at this point, don’t you think?”

Liam nodded, but didn’t seem to want to say anything, so Olivia just kept going. “Now, I think since it’ll be Kiara voting, and she’s been very willing to divulge things to Hana, that is probably our best bet. And I know I’ve been focusing on getting some dirt on Landon and Emmeline, but maybe Adelaide would be the easier pick up? She’s never had much interest in actual politics, so maybe if we had Maxwell just socialize with her repeatedly at the upcoming events, that might be enough? For whatever reason she’s always loved him.”

She glanced over, surprised to find Liam with his eyes closed, his head tipped back. Had he fallen asleep that quickly?

“Liam?” she hissed out.

“I’m still listening; I promise you I’m not asleep.”

“Do you have anything to add?”

He shook his head against the back of the seat without opening his eyes. “No, you seem to have things under control.”

“But, I was-”

“-I trust you, Olivia.”

His words should have been affirming and confidence boosting, but instead all she felt was fear. He should be more invested than this. He needed to be more invested than this. And honestly, she was sure he knew that fact. He would go through the motions of strategizing with her on a regular basis. But he always faded quickly, becoming distracted or introspective. He was ruminating instead of focusing and channeling that hurt and pain into something productive. 

But that wasn’t going to stop tonight. It was very late, and the drive back to Lythikos was a long one. So, Olivia just let him rest, pulling out her burner phone and scanning for any news bulletins about the Walkers being found in Athens, letting out a small sigh of relief when she found none. It looked like Leo and Riley had managed to pull it off. Combine that with Hana’s intel, and she knew the night had been more successful than not. She just needed Liam to start to see things that way. Otherwise, the upcoming months were going to be even bleaker than anticipated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley kept her head down as she shuffled past a man in the hallway. With two large duffels, it was a bit awkward, and she didn't want the man to remember anything about her other than the fact that it was a bit of a tight fit with all her luggage.

Once he was out of sight, she unlocked the door to their hotel room, opening it as narrowly as possible to slide into the room. She had barely closed and locked the door when she felt a pair of familiar strong arms engulfing her. She dropped the duffel bags to the ground and spun in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his back.

"You're back," Drake murmured into her hair. She could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, his whole body practically trembling. "You were late, and I thought…"

"Leo was almost an hour late," she said, her voice somewhat muffled by his chest because of how closely he was holding her. "I wanted to text you, but-"

"No, you made the right call." They had decided early on to avoid using their new phones to contact each other if at all possible. That way, if one of them got picked up and taken into custody, the other wouldn't be instantly traceable. It meant a lot of anxiety and fear when they weren't together, though. "I just… I… I was worried that…" Drake kept trailing off, almost as if he was unable to say his fears out loud.

"I know, Drake. I know. But it's okay. It all went okay." She slid her hands up, tracing between his shoulder blades, running her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe both him and herself. To call tonight stressful was a mad understatement.

“Leo had our stuff?”

She nodded against his chest. “In his hotel room. I obviously didn’t take the time to dig through it all, but I saw toys, clothing, documents, money.”

Drake ran his hands through her hair, then loosened his hold on her enough to lean back and look her in the eyes. “Did anyone… were you...”

“I don’t think anyone noticed me, Drake.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and then he was kissing her. Not some gentle, tender peck, but hard and deep. Like he used to kiss her when they were alone. Before she turned their lives upside down.

She missed this. She knew it was stupid. They were wanted fugitives and barely getting by in a foreign country. They were hungry and stressed and sleep-deprived. On top of that, they shared one room with their soon-to-be 11 month old daughter, so they had no privacy. Their sex life was far from their most pressing concern.

But… she still missed it, that sense of shared connection and intimacy, and that encompassed more than just the sex. She honestly felt like his teammate or coworker more than his wife far too often. They just spent so much time on the practical, discussing next steps, trying to arrange logistics. Moments of shared laughter and warmth were few and far between these days. And sure, they didn't really have much to laugh about, but it was still a loss.

When she’d sat on his lap yesterday after dyeing her hair, it almost felt like a sliver of their old life and dynamic was back. She’d teased him, he’d held her close. But moments like that were just not the norm for them anymore. Most of the time, even any physical affection was more focused on comfort in light of something negative. Holding hands, hugs, that sort of thing seemed to only happen when their world felt like it was crumbling around them. It’s like they shared nothing but worry and fear most of the time.

There was also the fact that Drake hadn't opened up to her about his own emotions. She knew him. She knew that his fractured relationship with Liam must be weighing on him, that he must feel mad guilty about so many things. But he wasn't telling her anything. He hadn't kept things from her like this in years, and it honestly scared the shit out of her. At first, she thought he was just trying to shield her from his own pain. She knew that her initial panic had probably sent him into hyper-protective mode. But that was weeks ago. She was pretty sure she was holding it together better now. At the very least, she didn't think she was a walking mess anymore.

But Drake was definitely still keeping everything bottled up, and she had to wonder if that was in part because he didn't trust her. Whether it was because her initial panic had meant that she had not considered him enough or because he resented her decision to take Bridget out of Cordonia and away from their entire support system or because he couldn't help but see her as the reason he was named a traitor she had no idea. And maybe he was still just trying to shield her from his own worries and anxieties, but the fear was there that in her efforts to protect her kid, she was slowly losing her husband.

While Drake was off busting his ass to keep their family afloat, she'd had a lot of time to think, and she knew that wasn't helpful. When Bridget was awake, playing with her kept her mind off of those awful thoughts, but they kept creeping back in when she napped and slept. There was only so long that playing Dopey Cat could provide a distraction, after all. So instead she wondered endlessly if she had only been able to keep Bridget by her side at the cost of the foundation of her marriage.

For so many years, those fears of never mattering enough to someone else, of always ending up alone in the end had led her to keep relationships superficial. She’d avoided vulnerability, and therefore pain, at all costs. But then she came to Cordonia, and she had Drake, Hana, Maxwell, and Liam. She’d come to trust and feel and it was beyond anything younger her could have ever dreamed up. But now she’d ruined things with Liam, was disconnected from Hana and Maxwell, and it seemed all too likely she’d damaged things with Drake, too. All those people, who actually cared about her. She’d made a mess of the best parts of her life.

And maybe she was overreacting. Drake still clearly loved and cared about her. Worried about her constantly, in all honesty. But she also worried that he was gradually pulling away from her, that some day would creep up on them where all they would share would be concern for Bridget. But tonight, after all the stress and anxiety and fears of the evening, he was kissing her like he wanted her, like he loved her, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

She let out a pathetically needy moan, the sort of noise that would usually draw a smirk and some teasing from Drake. But tonight, he didn’t. Instead, he just surged forward with a groan of his own, driving her back into the wall and hooking his hands around her thighs, hoisting her up onto his waist before she could even process what was going on.

Riley clawed her fingers into his shoulders, dropping her head back against the wall as he moved his lips across her jaw. She began rocking her hips against him, tilting her head to the side as he worked his way down her neck, biting down lightly as he went. She tugged at his t-shirt, and after a few moments, he finally got the hint, sliding his hands out from under her thighs, letting her drop to the floor as he pulled off his shirt.

Deep down, Riley knew they had a lot they still needed to talk about and that doing this wasn’t going to fix the ache that had been growing in her heart, day by day. But she also knew that after weeks of stress and the horrible possibilities about tonight that had been running through both their minds, maybe this was just something they really needed. So she scrambled to tug off her shirt and jeans, kicking her sandals somewhere towards the door as Drake unbuckled his pants, and in almost no time they were both adding their underwear to the pile of clothing on the floor.

They were back on each other in an instant, hands grabbing and stroking, mouths everywhere. Riley felt her feet leaving the floor, so she wrapped her legs around Drake’s waist as he held her under her thighs, slamming her back against the wall. And then he was sinking into her, dropping his head to her shoulder to muffle the groan he let out as he did so.

It was all quick and frantic, both of them thrusting against each other wildly. She could sense that Drake was just as desperate as her. Desperate to feel something besides anxiety and guilt and pain. She knew she was going to have bruises from his fingers with how tightly he was clutching her thighs, but she didn’t care. Hell, she wondered how badly she was scratching his back. None of that mattered.

She hissed out his name as his lips latched back onto her neck. She knew this was going to be quick, so as she slid one hand up to his neck, tugging on his hair, she also dropped her other hand down between them, letting her fingers trace circles right above where they were joined. It didn't take long before she felt a warmth spreading out, down her legs and up her back, and then she was gone. Drake must have felt her climax, because he muttered "Fuck" into the skin of her neck, only driving into her a couple more times before she felt him spilling inside her. He slumped against the wall, his weight the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor.

After a few moments, Drake let out a sigh, placing his hands back on her thighs and easing her down as he took a step back. “You okay?” he asked, his head slightly downturned.

Riley closed the newly-created gap between them, stepping forward and sliding a hand up to his cheek. “Drake, I’m fine. Are… are you okay?”

He nodded, tugging her into a gentle hug. “I just… I think I…”

“It’s okay, Drake. I get it.” She didn’t like that he still apparently couldn’t talk to her, but if he’d needed a minute of physical comfort and reprieve, well that was pretty fucking understandable. So she didn’t push him, just joined him in getting cleaned up and dressed in a t-shirt and underwear. While Drake washed the day’s clothes in the bathroom, she checked on Bridget, passed out in the travel crib Drake had picked up a few weeks back. They hadn’t used it to this point, and Riley wondered why Drake had dug it out of the car tonight. It had been safely tucked away with the tent, sleeping bags, and ground pad since he bought it.

“I thought we should probably start trying to get her used to it.” Drake’s voice cut through the room, startling Riley and answering the question she never got a chance to ask. “We are looking at months of being on the run. We need to start… I don’t know, making things… stable for her, I guess.”

“Makes sense,” said Riley, giving her daughter one last look before turning around to face Drake. “How did she handle bedtime?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I think she was scared or upset because you weren’t here. She was basically inconsolable. I contemplated taking her on a drive just to calm her down. I kind of figured the night couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well try the crib. She screamed for about an hour before she wore herself out.”

Riley walked over and wrapped her arms around Drake. He struggled more with the sleep training than she did, even if he talked a way bigger game about letting Bridget “cry it out” in the light of day. “Well, she’s asleep now at least.”

Drake nodded, running a hand up and down her back. “You ready to go through the bags?”

She nodded and gave him a little smile, sitting down on the end of the bed as Drake grabbed the duffels and brought them over. They slowly worked their way through them, item by item. Hana had included so many useful things, from the practical, like clothes appropriate for a variety of types of weather and spare contact lenses and Riley’s glasses, to the unessential but truly missed, like Bridget’s stuffed corgi and Riley’s good hair brush. There was a lot of money in there, too. Thousands of Euros, which probably wouldn’t be enough to get them all the way until January, but at least made their situation a lot less dire. Their passports and birth certificates were tucked in there as well. For the first time, it felt like they might have some options when it came to their next steps. 

After twenty minutes or so of sorting and unpacking, they reached the bottom of the bags. There were a handful of framed photos. Riley hadn’t mentioned any pictures as being something they wanted, so this must have been Hana’s idea. There were a couple that had been displayed in their bedroom and den. A candid Maxwell took on their wedding reception, Drake sitting down as Riley stood behind him, her arms looped over his shoulders, both of them looking at each other with stupid, cheesy grins on their faces. The two of them with Savannah, Bertrand, and Bartie taken down in Texas, the day before the wedding. A photo of the three of them that Hana had taken in the privacy of their home the day after the anointing with them in casual clothing, just curled up on the couch holding Bridget, a stark contrast from the pomp of the formal portrait for the history books and press release the day before. There were a couple of new ones, too. The corgis snuggled together on their massive cushion in the den. Hana and Maxwell grinning with arms thrown over each other's shoulders, clearly a selfie taken by Maxwell at a formal event. Liam and Olivia sitting on a couch at what appeared to be the Lythikos keep, Olivia with an eyebrow raised, Liam with a hollow-looking smile.

Riley glanced over at Drake, unsure how these photos would affect him. He just swallowed roughly before placing the stack of photos he was holding on the bed next to him. Riley leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. They were both silent for a few moments until Drake finally spoke.

“Was that everything?”

Riley shook her head. “No, there’s a letter. At least I assume that’s what it is. It’s an envelope with Hana’s writing.”

Drake didn’t say anything, so after a few seconds, Riley leaned forward, grabbing the envelope with “Riley & Drake” looped in beautiful cursive sitting at the bottom of one of the duffels. She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a sheet of stationary with delicate pink and cream flowers in the corners. She held it between them so that Drake could read it at the same time.

Riley and Drake,

I hope that you and Bridget are all doing well and in as good of spirits as the circumstances will allow. I can only imagine how incredibly difficult this must be for you. 

In these bags, I’ve included the items you mentioned as well as a few more toys for Bridget and pieces of clothing that I thought would be suitable for when the weather gets colder. I know it isn’t much, but hopefully this will make your lives just a little more comfortable.

I also sent some pictures I thought you might like to have, both old and new. Whenever things get tough, just remember that you have people who love you and want the best for you and your family.

While this is probably the furthest thing from your mind, I want to assure you that I am not taking my position as Duchess of Valtoria lightly. I am setting up citizen meetings for the upcoming weeks. Judging by the protests outside of the estate, you have a lot of support still here, and when this is all resolved, I will step down if you would like to rightfully reclaim your titles.

I love and miss you both, and tell Bridget that Aunt Hana misses her, too. Maxwell said I should include paw prints from Anderson, Vera, Ellis, and Ilsa, but for the sake of the staff who would need to clean up that mess, I will just settle on saying they clearly miss you as well.

Keep safe, Hana

Riley twisted to look at Drake. She knew he would already be done since he was a faster reader than her. His face was very still as he stared over at Bridget’s crib. 

“Drake?”

He jerked his head over to look at her, giving her a very empty smile as he did so. “Your best friend is really something, huh?”

She frowned, trying to suss out how much she should read into that statement, but he kept his expression blank. When it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate more, she settled on a light response, knowing he probably didn’t want to delve into things too deeply at this point. “She really is. But her assumption that we would be at all worried about our former titles is adorably naive.”

Drake let out a little snort of a chuckle, so Riley kept going. “Can you imagine us just rolling back to Valtoria after all of this and challenging Hana for the title?”

His smile became a little more genuine at that. “Well, being out of touch with reality is a common trait amongst the nobility. Maybe it would just be us finally catching up with the rest of them.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, let’s pack this stuff up and get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan, Walker.”

Riley stood up and offered a hand to Drake, tugging him to his feet as well. There was still a lot they needed to sort through and take care of, both practically and emotionally. She knew that. Even with everything given to them tonight, the months ahead were hardly going to be a cake walk, and she knew she would have to get Drake talking at some point. But for the first time in weeks, she felt true hope. Hope that they could make this work, that they weren’t two seconds away from failing their daughter and each other, that they were moving forward. And for tonight, that felt like enough.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff @sarahx206

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know @iplaydrake

FoF: @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby​

[allsassnoclass]

Hazel! Can I submit ““i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years” for lashton??

as you wish my dear

Ficmas Day 2

Rating: teen and up

Read on AO3

Ashton knew he was screwed the moment he picked Luke’s name out of the hat for Secret Santa, but it doesn’t fully hit him until the night before the last day of school before break.  They’re going to exchange gifts once all of the students leave at the end of the day, and Ashton has to admit that he went a little overboard.

He’s supposed to wrap and bring one gift.  He has six.

“Hey, Calum,” he says once the other person picks up the phone.  “So.  I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“Why?” Calum asks, voice tinny and almost overpowered by Michael’s very loud singing in the background.  He gasps.  “Ash, tell me you didn’t leave Luke’s present until right now.  There’s no way I can help you with less than 24 hours to go.”

“How do you know I have Luke?” Ashton frowns.  “Have you been snooping?”

“No, but I saw your face when you drew the name.”

Ashton sighs.  “Fuck, do you think he knows?”

“Well, he’d have to know that you’ve been in love with him since he started at the school, and we both know Luke is not self-aware enough for that.  You can’t drop hints with him, because he won’t pick them up.  Remember when we all went to eat and the waitress was tripping over herself to flirt with him?  He didn’t even notice.”

Ashton remembers that night well.  It hadn’t been the first time a stranger tried to chat up Luke, and just like every instance before Ashton had to tamp down his jealousy.  Luke is an attractive and appealing guy.  He can’t fault other people for noticing that too and shooting their shot.

“That doesn’t help my crisis.”

“Which is…?”

Ashton glances at the presents sitting on his floor with wrapping paper next to them.

“Can you come over?” he asks.

“You didn’t get him another dog, did you?” Calum asks dubiously.

“Of course not,” Ashton says.  “I’m not an idiot Calum.  Dogs aren’t surprise presents.  I just… still may have gone a bit overboard on this one.”

“Overboard how?”

“I have six presents and I need you to help me choose.”

Calum sighs.

“I’ll be there in five minutes, and I’m bringing Michael.”  He hangs up before Ashton can protest.  

Great.  Now instead of being subject to Calum’s quiet judgement, he’s going to have to deal with Michael laughing at him, too.

They find him sitting on the floor of his living room, wrapping paper tube in hand but no closer to figuring out what he’s doing.

“Hey,” Calum says, sitting down next to him.  Ashton grunts.  “Walk me through the presents.  Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

Michael flops down on the couch behind them.

“Well, I got him a cookbook, because I saw it at the store and know he wants to start cooking for himself more, plus it says they’re easy.  But cookbooks are so bleh, so I made a donation to the shelter he got Petunia from in his name, but I don’t want to show up and have him be the only person who doesn’t get to take something home with him at the end of the night, so then I started thinking about how he’s always late so I got him this personalized watch with his name and an engraving on the back, but I don’t want him to take it as something passive aggressive so I got him a framed artistic map of his hometown since I know he misses it, but then I thought that’s lame because he can get a map anywhere, so I called up his mom and there are these rings that you can get thumbprints engraved on so I worked with her and got one of those with her fingerprint because I know he misses her like crazy, but that’s way too much and I wasn’t sure if it would arrive on time so I got one of those books of affirmations and personalized a few for days when he feels bad.”

Calum gapes at him.  Michael pats him once on the head.

“I think you should just fuck him for Christmas.”

Ashton groans and buries his head in his hands.

“Shut up, Michael.  No one asked you.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Ashton,” Calum says slowly.  “We are teachers at a public school.  There was a $20 cap on the presents.  How much did you spend?”

“Um,” he says.  “If the cookbook was paperback it might have been less than $20.”

“Well,” Calum sighs, “at least you aren’t the economics teacher.”

“If you fuck him, it would be free.”

“Shut up, Michael!”

“Babe, stop antagonizing him.”

“But I’m right!”

Calum gives Michael a look that makes him sulk off to the kitchen, probably to eat all of Ashton’s ice cream.

“Okay,” Calum says.  “You can’t give him all of that in front of everyone.  He’ll definitely know you’re in love with him, and it’s not fair to everyone else getting smaller $20 gifts.  Wrap the cookbook and give him the rest later.”

Ashton grimaces.

“Luke deserves better than just a cookbook, though.  He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Ashton has known Luke for three years and is still no closer to figuring out how to describe him.  He’s an English teacher, yet all words fail when he thinks about the math teacher who’s classroom sits down the hall.  It makes him want to read more Shakespeare or Browning or EE Cummings to see if someone else can say it better than him.

Luke is a breath of fresh air when he’s been underground too long.  He’s flowers in bloom, meteors visible from Earth, and rain when the sun is still shining.  He’s incredibly grumpy in the mornings when he comes in to work, but always gives Ashton a smile.  He gives his students pop quizzes but doesn’t count them towards their grades, only uses them to see what concepts need clarifying.  He has his students complete logic puzzles for extra credit and brings snacks on Fridays.  He has stupid rhymes and songs to help people remember formulas and they actually work.  Ashton had never seen a group of students truly excited about math until Luke joined their staff.

“He deserves better than a stupid cookbook for his present.”

“Meet him later to give him the rest,” Calum says.  “Unless you want everyone else on staff to know you’re hopelessly in love with him, too?”

“You don’t,” Michael calls from the kitchen.  “If you think I’m bad, you have no idea what Sierra is capable of.  When she found out I like Calum, it was brutal.  Hey, do you have any chocolate sauce?”

“You were no help tonight.  You don’t deserve chocolate sauce,” he calls back.  Michael appears in the doorway with a bowl and spoon, distressed.

“I said you should fuck him.  If you need different advice, then do what Calum says.  He’s smart most of the time.”

“Aw, thanks,” Calum says.

“Most of the time,” Michael emphasizes, brandishing his spoon.  “You’re still stupid for liking the lesser science.”

“Please don’t start that again,” Ashton says.  “If you two start arguing about chemistry and physics I’m kicking you out.  I know it’s foreplay for you, and that makes it weird.”

“Well, Michael and I do have a lot of chemistry together.”

“Nice,” Michael says.  “We should use my lever to shift your center of mass.”

“I hate you both so much,” Ashton groans.

“You’d hate us less if you had a boyfriend of your own,” Michael says over his shoulder, already heading back to the kitchen.

“That’s not the point,” Ashton says.  “I’m not trying to get a boyfriend right now.  I just… I don’t know.  I want him to have nice things.”

Calum clasps his shoulder, giving him a small shake.

“You’re a nice thing, too.”

Ashton buries his head in his hands again.

“Hey.  He’ll love his cookbook, and if you give him the rest he’ll absolutely love that, too.”

Something crashes in the kitchen.

“I’m going to go check on him,” Calum says.  “Give Luke the cookbook.  Ask him to meet you later so you can give him the other presents.  I’ll be right back to help wrap them.”

Ashton nods miserably and unrolls the wrapping paper.

-/-

Ashton wakes up the next day with a headache already pressing against his skull.  Calum and Michael had stayed late the night before, helping wrap the presents and then poking at him until he agreed to play a few rounds of MarioKart with them.  Halfway through the first race he remembered that he still had papers to grade that he promised the students would be done before break, so he moved his grading to the living room and listened to Michael and Calum trash talk each other and the cheesy music of each course.  Nothing managed to fully distract him from the presents sitting in the corner, though, and even when he eventually went to bed he spent most of the night tossing and turning.

The kids are always squirly the day before a break, but the lack of sleep only makes his patience shorter.  The end of each class period brings a sigh of relief for everyone, and he relishes in the few minutes he gets where he can relax instead of teach as long as he doesn’t dwell on the impending gift exchange.

Not even seeing Luke this morning and having lunch with him had managed to ease some of the tension pressing against the base of his skull.  He can’t fully enjoy his company when he’s the source of his problem.

When the final bell rings, Ashton wishes he could rush out of the building with the students, but instead he puts his classroom back to rights, monitors the hall for a few minutes, then grabs his present and heads to the staff lounge.

“Hey,” Michael says, sliding up to him after he deposits his present on the middle table.  “How’s it going?”

“I’m shitting bricks,” Ashton says.  “And I slept like shit because you and Calum didn’t get out of my house until midnight.”

“Relax, dude.  It’s Luke.  What’s the worst that could happen?”

Ashton doesn’t say he could hate my present and then hate me or he might figure out that I’m hopelessly in love with him.  He shrugs.  Michael snorts, then promptly forgets about Ashton as soon as Calum walks in the door.  Luke walks in right behind him, so Ashton pretty much forgets about Michael, too, because Luke is wearing a red button up and black slacks and his hair is a big curly mess.  His math classes seem to be perpetually bursting with activity, and Ashton loves seeing the transition from grumpy and put-together to beaming and unkempt throughout the day.  Luke is the only person he knows who gains limitless energy from his students, always bouncing after the last class instead of exhausted by a full day of work.

Ashton doesn't have a chance to greet him before Principal Feldman walks in, promptly starting the gift exchange since "so many of us will be happy to go on break and there are a lot of us to get through."  He takes it upon himself to start passing out the presents.  Ashton joins along with everyone else "oooo-ing" and "ahhhh-ing" at each gift, but he's too distracted to try to help people guess who their particular Santa may be.

Michael gets a stapler and a gift card to an office supply store because he keeps misplacing his desk materials.  Calum gets a shirt with a chemistry pun from Anne in the office. Ashton ends up getting a small care package from Calum with some bath bombs, chapstick, and a scented candle because Calum says he needs to learn how to relax more.  Ashton is just happy it wasn't another mug with a book pun on it, because Calum likes sending him pictures of those whenever he runs across one but Ashton already has too many to fit in his cupboard.

Luke is one of the last people to open his gift.  He comments on the cute snowflake pattern on the wrapping paper then tears through it, flipping the book around to fully read the cover.

"It's a cookbook!" he enthuses.  "I need this.  Who knew I needed this?"  He looks around the room, lighting up once he locks eyes with Ashton.  "Ashton!  Is it you?"

"Yeah, that's from me," Ashton says.

"Thank you!" Luke beams.  Feldman quickly moves on to the next present and Luke opens the cookbook, pursuing the pages instead of paying attention.  By the time everyone has their present and starts to filter out of the lounge, Ashton has been doing breathing exercises to ensure he doesn't psych himself out.  Michael pats him on the back when he drags Calum out, which does less to encourage Ashton and more to ignite his nerves, but he's not about to let the other five presents he has go to waste.

"Hey, Luke," he calls.  Luke pauses in his tracks, stepping to the side to get out of the doorway and let the rest of their coworkers pass.  "Can you stop by my classroom?  There's another part of your present I need to give you."

"There's more?" Luke asks.  "Ash, the cookbook is already amazing, I don't need anything else."

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Ashton asks.

Curiosity wins out over any lingering politeness.  Luke eagerly follows Ashton out the door and through the halls to his classroom. It's tucked into a corner, which Ashton likes because it means he has a lot of windows, and he's been there for long enough that the walls are covered in posters, quotes, pictures, and some particularly striking student works.  Four boxes and an envelope sit wrapped on the desk in the same snowflake wrapping paper.

"Are all of those..."

"Yeah," Ashton says.  "I got a little carried away."

"Wow."

"Here."  Ashton hands him the envelope.  "Start here."

Luke tears open the flap as messily as he tore open the wrapping paper earlier, pulling out the donation receipt inside.

“This is the place I got Petunia,” he says.

“I know.”

“Thanks,” he says.  “I try to donate to them every year but… thank you.  They’ll be able to do some good with this.”

Ashton clears his throat.  “You’re welcome.  Here’s the next one.”

He unwraps the map next.

“I know you miss it,” Ashton says.  “There’s some star stickers in there, too, if you want to mark important places.”

Luke’s eyes glitter with memories as he looks over it.  He gasps and turns the frame towards Ashton.  “Here’s my house!  Right there.  And then over here was my school, and the movie theater…. Sorry.  You don’t want to listen to me go on about this.  What’s next?”

Ashton could listen to Luke tell him stories about his hometown all night, but he’s looking expectantly at him and there’s still three presents sitting on his desk.

He tosses him the watch next.  Luke fumbles when he catches it.  Ashton is extremely thankful that it’s packed in the box well and won’t break, especially when Luke shakes it.

He laughs when he sees what’s inside.

“I get it.  I won’t miss our lunch dates anymore.”

“Sure you won’t,” Ashton teases.  “There’s an inscription on it, too.”

Luke takes the watch out of the box and flips it over.

“‘Education is our passport to the future.’”

“‘Education is our passport to the future,” Ashton recites, “for tomorrow belongs to the people who prepare for it today.’ Malcolm X.”

“Appropriate,” Luke says.  “Thanks.”

He puts the watch on, struggling a little with the clasp.  Ashton reaches out and helps, careful not to make it too tight or too loose.  Luke’s wrist is soft beneath his fingers, a patch of smooth pale skin covering his pulse.  When he finishes, neither of them move away.

“It’s wonderful, Ashton.  Thank you,” Luke says.  “I’m going to wear it every day.”

“It suits you.”

Luke gives him a smile that sends Ashton reaching for another present before he does something uncalled for like lean forward and try to kiss him.

“This one’s for bad days.  It’s not much, but I wanted you to have reminders of how amazing you are.”

Luke rips off the paper and softens like butter once he starts flipping through the book of affirmations.

“A lot of them are generic, but there are a few personalized ones in there, and all of them are true anyway.”

“Ashton, this is too much,” Luke says.  “This is insane.  You went above and beyond Secret Santa.”

“Well.”  Ashton scratches the back of his neck, the feeling of a blush prickling under his skin.  “I can’t exactly return them since they’re personalized.  I kept seeing things that made me think of you.”

“Thank you.  I don’t--” he laughs-- “I don’t know what to say.”

“Save it until you get your last gift.  Then you can judge them all.”

The last box is the smallest, but it’s heavy with a phantom weight.  Ashton went above and beyond for this one, going so far as to contact Liz when he’s only talked to her a few times before, and Luke is either going to think it’s sweet or creepy.

“It’s small,” Luke says, testing the feel of the box in his hands.  He glances up at Ashton before taking off the paper, then again when he sees that the box is a ring box.  Ashton holds his breath while he opens it, wanting to spare himself from seeing Luke’s reaction but not able to look away.

The silver ring glints in the light, a thick band pinched between Luke’s fingers so he can look at it closer.

“What…” he trails off.

“I talked to your mum,” Ashton says.  “The engraving on the outside is her fingerprint.  I know you miss her, and this way you can have a piece of her with you all the time.

“I can’t accept this,” Luke says.  “It’s too much.”

He tries to hand it to Ashton, but he closes Luke’s hand around the ring and pushes it back towards his chest.

“It’s personalized,” he says.  “It doesn’t mean anything to me, so you need to keep it.”

Luke briefly looks down at the ring again.  When he meets Ashton’s gaze, his eyes are glistening.

“You’re going to make me cry,” he laughs.  “Sorry.  Thank you.  So Much.”

He reaches for him, and Ashton’s thankful that Luke seems to fit perfectly in his arms.

“I can’t believe you got all this for a stupid Secret Santa,” he sniffs when he pulls away.

“You deserve it,” Ashton says earnestly.  “I kept seeing things I knew you would appreciate.  Guess I got a bit carried away.”

“A bit,” Luke teases.  Ashton smiles.  Luke’s teasing is a different kind, always giving the impression that it’s somehow an inside joke between them instead of Luke laughing at him.

“I have something for you, too,” Luke says.  “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but if you got me so much I feel better giving you this one thing.”

“Oh?”

Luke reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a book.  Ashton can tell what it is even before Luke hands it to him.

“Leaves of Grass,” he says, running his hand over the vines and leaves adorning the hard cover behind the gold leaf of the title.

“You said you wanted another copy since your old one is full of annotations.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, tracing the swirling script of Walt Whitman’s name.

“Okay, Mr. I-got-a-billion-presents-for-my-Secret-Santa.  I wanted to give you something nice.”

It’s a thought Ashton has had thousands of times during his own gift-buying process, and that’s what compels him to finally ask “Do you want to go on a date with me?  We could go to dinner or a movie, maybe ice skating or something more festive?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

Ashton grins, smile threatening to split his face in two.

“Maybe not ice skating, though,” Luke says.  “I’m all legs and no coordination.”

“Dinner, then,” Ashton says.  “Do you like Italian?  I could pick you up next week.”

“I love Italian, and getting picked up.”

“Good,” Ashton says.  “Great!”

“Great!”

Ashton knows his smile is verging on dopey, but it’s okay because Luke has the same stupid-happy look on his face.  Luke’s phone rings and shatters the moment, but Ashton can’t even be that upset when Luke takes a few steps away to answer, glancing back with immense fondness and answering the person on the other line with vague and distracted noises.

“I’m so sorry,” Luke says when he hangs up.  “I have to go.  I promised Sierra I’d help her with some last-minute classroom things.”

“That’s okay,” Ashton says.  “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Luke smiles.  “Please do.  I mean--yeah.  I’d like that.’

“I will,” Ashton says.  Then, because someone has to be responsible and get Luke out the door instead of locked in a staring contest, he stacks Luke’s gifts and passes them off to him.

“Okay.  I’ll see you later!  On our date!”

“See you, Luke!”

Luke stumbles on his way out the door, too distracted trying to look back at Ashton.  He’s right: he really is all legs and no coordination.

Watching him leave with his new book in hand, Ashton thinks that he got the best gift of all this year.