#she wanted two half french braids that connect and half hair down

[zaggyzoo]

today after homework help i also did braids but im so anxious she didn't like them lol

[reverie-verse]

Love Triangle Or Not? (Four)- Pt 1

Here are the other parts

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Anon Request Prompt: Y/N is a trainer (very well known for her badassness) She just came back from a mission; she gets a little jelly that Tris and Four had gotten closer. There’s some feelings but on who’s end? Four asks Y/N to help Tris. Being the amazing person she is, she agrees to help, but in the process she gets hurt. After the mission ends she returns home only to have an argument with Four. Leads to late night confessions  

I’m also making Y/N a Divergent but in secret. 

A couple things, this is ridiculously long, I put it in parts and I am releasing them all at the same time because it makes sense okay. Cooooooollll I hope you enjoy. 

Established something between Tris and Four. 

My Requests Are Open!!

————————————————-

It was less than a few days till the second stage test. You had been tasked to take on the dauntless recruits. You were ordered to train them and prepare them for the mental test. This was not your job, this was not what you were assigned but considering all circumstances this was punishment. You were the best and brightest soldier of Dauntless. You were ranked with Four and Eric, Eric in leadership but Four as a trainer. He denied his leadership role. You didn’t blame him,it wasn’t a responsibility you’d want either. However you were tasked as the infiltrator. You were sent out on missions to spy and gather intel when need be. You took care of business as you should. 

That was the problem: your mind worked in ways that were not acceptable in society’s eyes. So you conformed and adapted the best way you could. You built a wall around yourself for protection. There were times you would slip and cover up the traces but this time it went unnoticed. Hence why you were walking to the training room. You were instructed to join Four’s group. You were thankful not to be with Eric. He irritated you to the core but Four, you had known him for a while. Ever since he had first transferred to Dauntless. Yes you were born Dauntless but that didn’t stop you from connecting and helping out with the newbies. 

Here you were dressed in your black leggings pockets on either side of you. A holster rested on your hip and opposite thigh. Your gun rested in your hip holster. Your thigh held your knife. You had zipped your cropped fitted active jacket half way, showing just a tiny glimpse of your black sports bra. Your hands tucked into fingerless gloves, your hair braided into two French braids. Your combat boots echoed off the walls in the chasm before entering the training room. Sparring could be heard Eric standing off to the side with Four talking to each initiative. Four stops at one particular student conversing with her as she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Eric’s eyes drifted toward you with a smirk on his face. You fought the urge to rip that smirk off his face. You internally groaned. Eric dismissed his student watching you with intense eyes. Four stands with his student watching the two of you  interact, thus causing the rest of the recruits to stop their task.

Eric smiles “ Well if it isn’t our best and brightest Dauntless Assassin.” his irritation and jealousy seeps through his words. You catch onto his words and by the look of Fours face so does he. Everyone in the room looks at you with curious eyes. 

You smile as if you mean it. “ Surprise. I will be joining you for the second stage”. You walk closer coming to a stop. Eric continues his journey towards you to the point he stops in front of you.

“ Oh is that so?” He asked with his arms crossed. 

“ Yeah it is.” At this point you and Eric had a stare down his height allowing him to tower over you. The tension was high and neither one of you was willing to break it. 

“ Everyone mind your business, get back to sparring!!” Four yells at the group walking toward the two of you.The students resumed their task while attempting to silently listen in on the conversation. There was bound to be gossip later on. Four sighed his concern hidden but noted by himself. If the both of you had it your way you both would be doing a little sparring of your own. 

“What’d you do this time? Hm? Follow the wrong orders? Why don’t we ask the leaders.” Eric says to you. The conversation managed to stay between the both of you making it difficult for others to listen in. Good this wasn’t their business.

“ Fuck off Eric.” You growled 

“ You’re in my territory now.”

“ You forget everywhere is my territory.” You challenged Eric.

Four hopped in before Eric could say another word “Both of you need to cool it. We’ve got initiatives to work with. Let's divide the group and run the tests”

Eric rolled his eyes calling out for his group “ Always the savior-My group head to the testing rooms.” He yelled as he walked toward the testing room his group not far behind. Four turned to you, you looked away from Eric and looked at four. Your heart skipped a beat. He caught you off guard with his staring. He always did. His eyes trained in you as he took in your state. Searching behind your eyes with his very brown ones. They peered through the depths of your soul. You held your breath. 

“ You okay?” He asked you, noticing that you have yet to say anything.

 You shook your head and cleared your throat “I didn't need your help”

“ If I didn’t step in, the two of you would’ve fought right there.”

“He deserves to get his ass beat” 

“Yeah well when we are done with these recruits you can take him out back. I’ll pretend I didn’t see a damn thing” Four joked. Yeah he made a joke, on the outside Four is very guarded and stoic but with you he always found a way to be himself.

 You rolled your eyes,  “ Let's head out. Time to do some testing”

Four shook his head as the two of you walked with his group to the testing rooms. As you walked you were silent. This threw Four off. You were never quiet. Not true, only when you were in a room full of strangers. When it came to your friends and Four you were talkative. He became worried, by now you would’ve had a reason to say something and you didn’t. Your arrival here and the reason for it hung in the air. Four and you were both aware of it, he was bound to question you. You sighed and you knew Four wasn’t going to let it go. He stops you at the end of the hallway.

“ You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, crossing his arms blocking your path. 

“ Four. You’re blocking my path”

“ Am I? Or are you avoiding talking about what’s going on? That’s twice now you ended up back here. What happened on your last mission?” At this point he was demanding answers. He wanted details he wasn't about to let one of the people he cares about get hurt. You held a special place in Fours mind and heart. To watch you fall was not a past time he wanted to experience. You were the one person he didn’t have to hide from. He shared everything with you and he only wanted you to do the same. He hated it when you closed yourself off especially when you too have shared so much with him. He knew it was one of your ways to keep him safe. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side so that he could protect you. Ugh it was such a big cycle that kept moving the same direction. 

“ I’m-you-know-ugh fine okay. I messed up and I shouldn’t have. I made a decision against the better judgment of the leaders” 

Four turned his head to the side looking at you knowing that this was about to be something more than what you are making it out to be. “ Y/N” 

Reaching into the side pocket of your leggings you pulled out a small vile. “I took this from the lab at Erudite. I knew something was wrong and I took the serum. No, they didn’t catch me taking it.” 

“ What happened?” He questioned. 

“I had been told my mission was to successfully transport items from Erudite to Dauntless, and to keep an eye on Abnegation. Something about an uprising. One thing led to another and I ended up doing the opposite. I found myself at the lab. Erudite is planning to take down Abnegation and along with it Divergents.” 

“ Y/n” Four pinched the bridge of his nose,” What does the serum do?” He huffed. 

“ I don’t know. I wasn’t able to retrieve much information before having to blow my own cover.” You sighed in frustration. That was the one thing you wished you had seen before taking the vile. 

“ What did you do?” Four uncrossed his arms looking down the hallway making sure no one was around. 

“ I punched Jeanin in the face.“

“ What?” Four’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked back towards you. 

“ Well how else was I supposed to get back to you to tell you all the tea?” You shrugged with a smile. You enjoyed it to be honest. You hated Jeanin with every fiber of your being and that was satisfactory. Four couldn’t help but return the smile. It was contagious. How could it not be? The tattoo on Fours back is a form of you. You're honest, kind, smart, brave and selfless. You were a walking embodiment of each faction. That was a dangerous thing to be. But to Four no, never, you were everything he wished he could be. Before the conversation could continue further the blonde haired girl from before peeked her head around the corner. His attention immediately shifted as his expression changed from a serious one to a soft, kind expression. Who the hell is that?

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Forever

Pairings: Syverson x OFC (Adele), Sy x OFC

Warnings: Fluff. Just pure fluff

Word Count: 1,356

A/N; So I wrote this story for a creative writing college class. I was listing to my country music playlist while I was thinking about what to write and “Traveling Soldier” by The (Dixie) Chicks came on and this story just popped into my head. So after 8 weeks of critiques, editing, rewriting, and all but pulling my hair out, here it is. @just-chirpin I told you I would tag you when I finally posted this. Class is over and I got an A on this so I am super proud of this!

~~~~~~~~~

Fear. It was a feeling that felt so foreign to Army Captain Jack Syverson but as he sat in the Charlotte airport, impatiently tapping his foot while waiting for his final connecting flight to Savannah, Georgia, it was the only feeling that he was aware of. A gold ring felt like lead in the pocket of his dark blue jeans. The light grey Henley he had on over his muscular chest and arms felt a half size too small. He wondered if she would even recognize him after eight years.

Without thinking he nervously scratched at the short, thick brown beard on his chin before his hand moved up and brushed across the buzz cut he had done after washing years of sand and bad memories off in the shower. The smooth textures beneath his fingertips changed as his hand moved down to the brace on his knee to adjust it subconsciously. He resisted reaching into his tour stained desert brown backpack to pull out the stack of letters he had long since memorized; the ink was starting to fade and the pages had become fragile along the creases from folding and unfolding them, he didn’t want to risk them falling apart like her very first letter had. Those two pages were safely tucked in their envelope, taped together as carefully as his thick fingers could possibly manage.

“Now boarding flight 1721 to Dallas/ Fort Worth at gate D5.” Sy glanced up at his gate number, D2, at the mention of his hometown airport and the fleeting thought of if he was doing the right thing crossed his mind. When he had booked his flight, the only thing he could think about was the gorgeous smile of the stranger he had been writing to for years. The young girl with a bow in her hair didn’t know him from Adam when he sat down in her section at Clary’s Cafe in Savannah the day before he shipped out to California for boot camp. A tour book had recommended the quaint landmark where he was oblivious to the Formica tables and historic prints on the walls and enthralled by his waitress instead.

Her sparkling brown eyes were forever burned in his memory when she agreed to him writing to her while he was deployed. Her French braided, waist length, light brown hair swished freely across her tanned back as she casually led him through the historic squares of her hometown. Etched in his mind forever was the cute, purple with white polka dots bandana wrapped around her head in an impossible attempt to keep the tiny fly aways that framed her face tamed. It was tied in a bow just above her left eye, complimenting her vibrant eye color. The memory of her smile was what kept him going in the desert though. He was forever grateful that he allowed an extra day in Savannah before the last leg of his bus trip to Fort Bragg in North Carolina.

Sy saw that smile every night in his dreams and recalled it during tough times when he sent a fallen or injured soldier home. His thoughts would drift to it during chow, and he could picture it across her pretty face when he would read the detailed letters she sent twice a month. He reread these same letters whenever he needed a pick-me-up when the war got to be just too much for even him to handle. He had long ago memorized the line she had written, “I was never lonely on my walks through the squares until you left,” until it was ingrained on his soul. 

Her smile was the reason he got through officers training. Her freedom was what he was fighting for. That is, it was what he was fighting for until he blew out his left knee breaking up a fight between two blow hard privates that let the desert heat get to their heads. The weeks he spent in the hospital were something he had zero intention of mentioning to her. She had worried enough about him these past eight years to bother her with something so trivial. In his last letter to her he had casually lied and said he was going home to Decatur, Texas in two weeks instead of admitting he was going to surprise her in Savannah.

There went that fear again. Fear that she wouldn’t recognize him when he sat down in what hopefully was still her section at Clary’s. Fear that if it wasn’t, that she would be walking the same route through the squares every Sunday morning like she used to. Fear that he would never be able to find the pen pal that he had fallen in love with. He recalled her comment in a later letter that she “feared the instant connection they had shared many years ago would be gone”, which only added to his anxiety. He hoped to get his feelings in check before his last connecting flight from Charlotte to Savannah. 

Sy’s hands made another pass through his beard, over his head, before scrubbing his tired blue eyes that were most likely blood shot from the sleep he had lost worrying about this trip he was making. The trip where he would finally come face to face with the woman that he loved and yearned to hold. The woman who referred to their one and only day together as the best day she had ever had. In her letters she had claimed she felt like she had always known him.

“Final boarding call for flight 1721 to Dallas/ Fort Worth at gate D5.”

“Wait! Please wait!” a woman cried, catching Sy’s attention. He looked to his right to watch her sprinting through the crowded Charlotte terminal, her long, curly brown hair tied up in a loose bun on the top of her head, and a purple with white polka dot bandana tied as a headband at the front, trying to keep those little fly aways back.

“Adele?” he asked himself as he carefully stood up and grabbed the strap of his backpack. His heart pounding, he limped as fast as he could as she breezed past, dodging an elderly couple that were walking just a bit too slow. “Adele!” She came to a screeching halt, her black Converse sneakers squeaking loudly on the white linoleum floor. She found him instantly in the crowd and all the fears he had been stressing over simply melted away.

“Sy?” she breathed, but they both knew what she was questioning. How was the scrawny boy she met in Savannah now the six foot one, muscular man before her? With the slightest bob of his head in confirmation, she bolted back into his direction and took a flying leap of faith into his arms.

“You’re here,” she whispered with tears in her eyes as they clung tightly together, shocked to find each other in the chaos of Charlotte’s connecting flights. 

“I love you,” was the only thing he could say as he gently leaned back to see her gorgeous smile. He searched her tear-filled eyes as he carefully set her down on the ground and reached into his pocket for the ring that now felt like a brick. “And I will never leave you again. Will you…”

“Yes,” she gasped with a violent nod of her head as she wiped the tears from her eyes as quickly as she could. “I love you, too. I have for years…”

“Me too,” he replied as he slid the band onto her finger. She caressed his scruff covered cheek in her small hand and confirmed her feelings with a gentle kiss. The sights and sounds around them slipped away as they held on to their whole world in that moment. 

“Come home with me.” She whispered when she pulled away to search the sweet blue eyes that she had seen nightly in her dreams. “Please tell me you are coming home. I can’t bear another minute…”

“I’m coming home.” He confirmed with a smile that made her feel whole again. “I’m coming home with you forever.”

[hopefullyandrogynousartist]

Ooh hit me with that oc universe and oc character lore!!

OH I WOULD LOVE TO

I have two oc universes, one where I know the environment and the religion, but not the characters, and the other one is the opposite. No, they cannot be combined. Different vibes, however similar they may be.

(to everyone that doesn't want to read this it's no problem just look at that nice little break there)

So my universe where I have only really figured out the characters has a bunch of characters. I have written down 25 1/2 characters. the 1/2 is because one character is pregnant, and three of the characters are chickens. there are four families, a few couples, and a few miscellaneous characters. another fairly important thing to know is i started building in a Minecraft superflat world, and the people's personalities all come from the builds. I built most stuff first, then came up with the characters. it's useful to know what their space looks like.

the first two characters I came up with are Bob Smushbottom and Nora Goodstock. Bob is a doctor for the town, and he has a dog. He's about 60. Nora is in her mid forties, and has a partner named Lisa. Nora owns an apothecary, and has almost completely gray hair, and it's probably dyed that way, but no one really knows. spoiler, it is absolutely dyed gray, and she looks good in it. The two "most important" (the ones that I would most likely write a webcomic or book about) are Benji and Maria. Maria lives on a farm just outside the town, and Benji is an apprentice for his father's butcher shop. They are 19 and 20, and it is absolutely a love story + getting out of an abusive situation.

the second OC universe is a lot. The first thing I ever came up with was a huge fantasy library. the second thing was the religion. there are seven deities, and everyone has a specific god that looks over them. to tell who looks over you, there will be a specific mark like a rune on the back of your dominant hand. it kinda looks like if your hand was blushing or if you were lightly pinched in a certain pattern.

there's lucky numbers, some magic, and quite a bit of superstition. they have a separation of church and state, and politicians are always in multiples of five. this is set on an island about half the size of Australia. their main exports are clothes and jewelry, and books. I have just now decided to switch a few names around and call the island Lykar.

librarians are extremely important in this culture because they hold the knowledge to almost everything. the library itself is in a separate dimension, which is accessible by 49 different doors on the island, usually connected to what looks like a tree root. the reason for the different dimension is because early on in their mythology, the god of balance wasn't doing their job very well and accidentally created a rip to another dimension. here is my horrible job of showing who is the head god. the gods below them don't have any particular rank except under the goddess of life. also I thought their pronouns were important as about half use they/them and this isn't a male-dominated society, this is a librarian-and-knowledge-dominated society.

I think I haven't already mentioned that clothing and hair pieces are very important in this society. so I will get into it! it's my fav part. they live in a very warm place, so they tend to wear very lightweight clothes and light colors so the fabric won't retain heat as much. braids, French braids, and fishtail braids are very common, along with headbands of some kind holding it together. something else they wear is capelets to keep the sun off their chest, shoulders, and part of their neck and arms. tunics/dresses/anything loose like those things are worn across all genders as a base. pants and a shirt are normal enough to see, but they're not the thing most people would reach for.

there is so much more I could say, but the lore of the second universe is very extensive while the characters of the first one aren't quite as extensive but there 22 characters all of whom I know what exactly has happened to them.

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

[thedoublebunny]

What A Fu*king Night

What A Fu*king Night (JK FF/BTS)

 Paring: Jungkook x Reader (Kat)

Genre: Dating/ Smut/ Fluff/

Words: 6,868

Rating: 17+

Summery: It is Prom Night, and you are out searching for your boyfriend, Jungkook. The entire night is filled with drama and tea, so feel free to come and spill it.

Warnings: Sexual intercourse takes place. Language. Mentioning of alcohol. Sexual harassment. Fights.

Disclaimer: This is my first ever Tumblr fanfic I have ever written. I got inspiration for this from a dream and I plan to take every dream I have and turn it into ff. Everything that happens in this story is not all from the dream, obviously I took the key points and added a lot of details. Also, like I said, this is made up from a dream so none of the characters have participated in any of these events (Just putting it out there). And only the female character’s along with Jonah is my own creation. I do not own BTS. Enjoy!

  She smoothed out her dress before looking over at her best friend in the darkened vehicle. Her light baby blue dress made from silk traveling down to her ankles illuminated the darkness. Where Kat’s pitch black tight one only made it a little above the knees. The sleeves hugging her arms comfortably as they snaked down to her wrists. They both had quite revealing items suggesting both their chests were half on display, but they both knew that it was meant for only one person. Well, a different person for each.

The limo they rented came to a halt just outside the entrance, where it revealed a beautiful velvet red carpet scrolled out on the floor leading towards a beautifully decorated archway.

Kat smiled, already picturing what tonight would have in store for them. “We’re a bit early.” Tyler said beside her. “That’s alright, gives us more time to spend with everyone.” Kat smirked over her shoulder at her best friend.

They got out the vehicle and stood side by side, Tyler’s hair was braided back in a stunning French plait. Whilst Kat’s hair was loose, draping over her shoulders with its recently dyed color.

People who were waiting outside began to gape at the two girls. One blonde, one brunette. No one would think otherwise as they were the duo since kindergarten.

Linking arms with smiles plastered on both their faces, they strid towards the entrance. Pretty white flowers caressed an archway along with vines snaking up the sides.

The bouncer smiled at them both. “Evening ladies. Names?” He held up a clipboard.

“Kat Raymond and Tyler Rhooney.” Kat said.

“Alright, and who are your dates tonight, ladies?” He smirked this time.

Tyler rolled her eyes. “Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung.”

The bouncer’s smirk faltered a little as he ticked off both their names. “Ah, they are already inside, go on ahead.” He gestured.

They both stepped through the archway, Tyler being attacked by a rogue vine in the process before gaping at the interior.

It was huge. Of course, their school had to be over dramatic with renting an entire stadium because the school’s gym was too basic.

They both started walking, taking in every detail. From the various tents scattered around the field to the dance floor set up in the middle of it. To the huge disco lights surrounding the entire place.

Tyler glanced up at the open sky. “God, lets pray it doesn’t rain.”

Kat nudged her as if to say, “don’t jinx it”.

Just as they were about to go off to find anyone they knew, someone was jogging up to them looking heavily out of breath.

“Is that Tae?”

“I think that’s Tae.”

“Is he wearing a bandana?”

“Oh God.”

He halted in front of them, bending over trying to catch his breath. “Hey guys.”

“Hey, babe.” Tyler put a hand on his arm. “Is everything okay?”

“Where’s Jay?” Kat asked, looking around.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Tae gasped.

“Huh?” Tyler patted him on the back.

“I can’t find him.” He coughed.

“What? But didn’t you guys arrive together?” Kat asked.

“Actually no. He left early because someone called him to come help with the lights.” He was still wheezing.

“And what’s that?” Kat pointed at the hanger holding up some black fabric.

“His tux.”

Tyler snorted. Kat gaped. “He didn’t…”

“He did. Left without changing. So, me being the good friend that I am, brought it for him to change, but now I can’t find the dumbass.”

Kat placed her hand upon her temple. “Of course he forgot. Okay, Tae, we will help you look for him.”

“Thanks. But can you find him quick? These pants are starting to chafe.” He said, doing semi lunges where he stood, showing true discomfort upon his face.

Tyler bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“We’ll try.” Kat said, trying not to look over the man’s area.

“Okay, I’m gonna’ check the food court again.” And then he was off, running in such a way that suggested what was going on down under.

They both looked at each other, a small bit of pity in their eyes.

“Okay, I think we should split up. You check the dance floor, and I’ll check the tables over there.” Kat eyes a group of tables where a bunch of people hung out at.

Tyler nodded and set off, picking up her dress in the process.

Kat ventured over to the tables, already scanning each of them. She knew he wouldn’t be here, but it didn’t hurt just looking.

“Hey, Kat!” Someone from one of the tables called her. She snapped her head in the direction and saw Brian with his group. She walked over.

“Hey Brian.” She stopped at the end of the table.

“Looking for something?” He asked her with the creepiest set of hungry eyes she could imagine.

“More like someone. Have you seen Jay?” She asked, folding her arms over her chest, since that was where his eyes were lurking.

“Sadly, no. But you are more than welcome to hang out with us.” He smirked again. The rest of the group snickering.

Kat grimaced. “I’ll pass, thanks.” She turned around and strode off, hearing a few whistles and cheering coming from behind.

Idiots.

She decided to go find the rest of the guys, hoping they might have seen him. They were all chilling in the bleachers. But before she could reach them, someone grabbed her hand.

“Kat! You’re here!” Danny Reebro greeted her with a bright smile.

“Hey Danny! Nice dress!” Kat gestured to her maroon colored dress which flowed out in silk.

She smiled down at it. “Thanks, Jin picked it out.” Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “So, you gonna join us over by the bleachers?”

Kat shook her head. “Unfortunately, not yet. I can’t find Jay.” She scanned the area around them.

“Oh, I know where he is.”

Kat whipped her head back around. “You do? Where?”

“Follow me.” Danny grabbed her wrist and pulled her across the field to one of the tents. “He’s been in the VIP tent fixing the lights since 3pm. You have a dedicated one.” She smirked over her shoulder at Kat, which blushed in response. She did indeed.

They reached the tent and Kat peeked inside. There he was, standing on top the stage before a big turntable covered in wires and such. He looked extremely focused which made Kat a little uneasy on the knees. Something turning in her stomach as she admired crease on his face. Damn he looked hot.

“Come find us when you’re done, okay?” Danny squeezed her hand before disappearing.

Kat simply stood by the entrance, leaning on one of the light stands, arms folded. She waited for him to notice her. He was still in his black hoodie and jeans, hair a mess from running his hand through it too much. He does that when he’s concentrating.

He seemed to be talking to some guy next to him, wearing a beanie and sweats. Scratching his beard as he looked over Jay’s shoulder at what he was doing.

Jungkook seemed to have fixed something, because he looked up in triumph as he made a fist in the air, smiling. Kat chuckled.

He leaned against the table and looked around the tent, his eyes finally landing on her. He stopped dead.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked up at him. He seemed to have gone limp as he dropped his hands from the table to his sides and gaped at her, mouthing the word wow.

She chuckled as he jumped off the stage and jogged over to her, doing a little dance halfway. She laughed even more as she covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. “You are such a moron.”

He smiled at her as he filled the rest of the gap between them. “And you are a stunning piece of artwork.” He emphasized on the word stunning as he wrapped his arms around her.

She pulled him in, smelling his cologne he always wears. Even though he wasn’t wearing a suit, he still looked really good. She just wanted to trace her hand through his hair.

He pulled away and stepped back, observing her. Both hands together on his lips. ”Wow.” Was all he said. “Wow, wow, wow.”

Kat chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Ok I get it.”

“Do you though? Do you get the fact that you look so good right now?” He looked her up and down multiple times, her glaring at him. “You’re my girlfriend?”

Kat scoffed and playfully punched his shoulder. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled, defending himself. “I’m just asking to make absolute sure that you, this beautiful woman standing in front of me with this beautiful, seductive dress is my girlfriend.”

“Yes.” Kat stared at him.

“You belong to me?” His face brightened with every word.

“Yeees, now can we stop with this? You are making feel a little called out over here.”

“Ok, I’m sorry.” He chuckled as he embraced her again, his head in the nape of her neck. “You smell really good too.”

“Mmmm, it’s the one you got me for my birthday.”

“Really?” He pulled back, eyeing her.

“Yes, the vanilla one.”

“Why do I not remember that?” He interlaced their fingers together.

“My birthday was last week.” She gaped at him.

He scrunched up his face, thinking. “Nooo, I don’t think that was me.”

Kat figured he was teasing and poked his stomach, causing him to chuckle. “So, are you done here?” She gestured to the stage.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Ummm, almost. Just got one last light to connect and then I am all yours.” He smirked as he leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her cheek.

Kat sighed. “Ok, then make it quick.”

He winked at her before rushing off to the stage again. Kat found an empty seat in the corner of the tent and sat there patiently.

……………………

Jungkook analyzed the table filled with wires. “Why does everything have to be so fucking chaotic?” He said to himself as he tried to find the last wire.

Jonah, the guy who was lending this entire set with the lights, walked over. “So, who’s the pretty lady over there?”

Jungkook glanced up at him and found his eyes on Kat, sitting in the corner. “That’s my girlfriend.” He stated simply, going back to the wires.

“You fucked her yet?”

Jungkook whipped his head up at him. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. You can not tell me that you got someone as hot as her as a girlfriend, and you haven’t banged her yet?” Jonah took a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it in his mouth.

“I would appreciate it if you continued with your job.” Jungkook’s voiced rasped. He was angry. This man was probably forty, no, fifty and he was talking that kind of shit about his girlfriend?

“Oh, come on, pal. Lighten up. Isn’t that what you school kids do these days? To see who’s the first one to get laid?”

Jungkook was awfully close to shoving him off the stage. “Sir, can I ask you not get too personal with the questions?” He felt his grip tightening on the wires.

Jonah scoffed. “Alright, fine.” He leaned against the table. “All I’m saying is if I had a woman like her, I would have done her already.” He lit his cigarette.

Jungkook’s lips tightened as he looked up, scoffed once, before hurtling towards the man. One punch and he was on the floor, a cracking sound filled the entire tent.

“Jungkook!” Kat’s voice called out in the distance.

He just stared down at the man, grabbing his nose which seemed to be bleeding. “You fucking prick!” He spat up at him.

Jungkook grimaced down at him. “Keep talking shit like that and your nose won’t be the only thing that’s broken.”

He felt a hand on his arm as Kat gasped at the man’s bloody nose. “Jay.”

“You’ll regret that.” Jonah groaned.

Jungkook scoffed. “And what? You gonna attack me? Last time I checked it isn’t me falling to the ground after just one punch.”

“Jay.” Kat tugged on his sleeve.

He looked at her and took her hand. Glancing one last time at the groaning man on the floor. He flipped him off before leaving the tent.

………..

“Let me look at your hand.” Kat said as she attempted to grab his right hand.

He jerked it away. “No, it’s fine, I’m okay.”

Kat glared at him. “No, you aren’t. Let me see it.” She tried grabbing again but he dodged and slid around her to her other side.

“I’m alright, I promise.” He lied once again.

“Jay, stop being an ignorant ass and give me your hand.” She stretched her hand out again.

Jungkook dodged her again and began jogging backwards. “You can’t touch me if I’m running away from you.”

Kat glared at him, shaking her head. “Crackhead.”

Jungkook began laughing until he felt a pair of hands grab him from behind. He swung around and through a punch. Thankfully, the person ducked.

“Are you fucking insane?!” Tae cried, as he knelt on the ground, hands over his head.

Jungkook stared down at his friend. “Oh, sorry, buddy.” He held out his hand for him to take, but he got up by himself, straightening his jacket.

“I could have died.” Tae exaggerated.

“It would have knocked you over, tops.” Jungkook said.

“Coming from you? I would have been punched into my grave.” Tae grimaced at his friend.

“Funny you say that.” Kat eyes Jungkook from the side who immediately looked away.

Tae glared at him. “Who did you kill?”

Jungkook scoffed. “No one.” He shrugged. “Some guy kept gawking at Kat, so I gave him something else to gawk at.”

“You mooned him?” Tae’s eyes went big.

“What? No, I punched him in the- you know what, never mind.” Jungkook rolled his eyes over to the item his friend carried. “What’s that?”

Tae’s eyes went even bigger, glaring him down. “Your. Suit.” He strained.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Ohhhhh, right.” He glanced down at his hoodie. “Shit.”

Tae nodded a bit too fast. “Yes. I have been running around trying to find you for the past 2 hours, man!”

Kat noticed his bandana was drenched in sweat and his suit was ruffled in some places.

“I was in the tent the entire time.” Jungkook pointed over his shoulder to the big tent.

Tae looked over at the tent. “Tents…” He looked like he was going to pass out. “Why didn’t I check the tents?”

Kat squeezed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Hey, you know what, why don’t you take him to get changed and we will meet you by the bleachers?” Kat nudged him next to Jungkook.

“Ok, don’t miss me too much.” Jungkook smirked as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

“Agh.” Tae groaned. “Can you too stop kanoodling?” Tae gagged.

They both glanced at the man. “Like you don’t kanoodle with Tyler?” Jungkook asked and Kat snorted.

Tae scoffed. “Of course not.”

Both Jungkook and Kat stared him down.

He bit his lip. “I’m leaving.” He began walking towards the changing rooms.

Jungkook chuckled and planted another quick kiss on her cheek before catching up to his friend. “Hey wait up man, don’t be so emotional.

……………..

She found her friends still chilling in the bleachers and strode over to them. Danny noticed her first. “Hey! Where’s Jungkook?”

“Changing.” She glanced to where Tyler sat next to Yoongi and Iris. “Tae found him.”

Tyler shook her head. “Let me guess, he was in plain sight?”

Kat didn’t even have to say a word as she gave her friend a look.

“I swear, I want to believe that that man is intelligent.” She shook her head.

Kat chuckled as she folded her arms, looking up at all of them. Yoongi and Iris were sitting together, they were each other’s dates. Jin and Danny were snuggling in the first line. Olivia and Hobi were chatting a few seats next to Yoongi. But she noticed that Jimin and Blue were not there.

Until she caught a glimpse of green rounding the corner from the bathrooms and strode over to them, hand in hand.

“Hey, Kat.” Jimin smiled at her.

“Hey, guys. Out for a little stroll?” She winked at Blue who rolled her eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Kat.” Blue joked.

Kat snickered as she eyed Jimin. His face was turning red. His ears? Even redder.

They both grabbed a seat next to Emma who sat alone on the top level.

“Hey, Emma. I love your dress.” Kat called up to the bored girl, who smiled in response.

She looked rather down, and Kat knew exactly why. She walked over to Danny and bent down to whisper. “Where the hell is Joon?”

Danny gave her a sad look. “I don’t know. He’s an hour late.”

Kat glanced up at the raven-haired girl again. “Well, he better be here soon. She looks like she might just leave.”

“Maybe she should.” A harsh voice came from behind Kat.

She turned around and found Beatrice. Long red hair matching her short red dress. Painted red lips to go with it. Her overly whitened teeth beaming at them.

“You know, since coming to prom alone is the worst thing ever.” She smirked up at Emma, who gave her a vulgar gesture in return.

“Hey, Bea. Shouldn’t you be tide up dangling above the dancefloor? They said they needed a disco ball, and I thought you offered up since your teeth can lighten up the darkest of rooms.” Kat gave her a sweet smile.

“Funny. Where’s Jungkook? Did he ditch you again?” She glanced around as if to try and catch him.

“You know what, Bea?”

“Again?” Jin chimed.

“This was just supposed to be our little groups fun night, and you’re kind of ruining it.” Tyler said.

Beatrice smiled. “Pity. I wanted to come say hi to all the girls.” She stated. “And boys.” She smirked at Jimin who looked a little uncomfortable.

“Well, that sucks cause we weren’t planning to say hi to the bitch queen tonight, so, yeah, it’s a pity.” Kat pouted.

Beatrice, glared at her, before returning her eyes to Emma. “You must be feeling really lonely up there. Looking down at all the couples. Why, oh why did no one ask you?” Beatrice asked in that gut wrenching sweet voice of hers. “Where is your prince, dear little Emma?”

“Behind you.”

Beatrice whipped around and slowly looked up. The rest of the group were smiling like idiots. Emma looking a little confused.

“Really?” Beatrice asked, smiling sweetly at Joon.

“Yes. Now if you don’t mind, you are kind of blocking my path.” Joon smiled sweetly at her in return.

She replaced her smile with a cold stare, as she slowly stepped aside.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers as he walked over next to Kat. His eyes were fixed on Emma’s. “Emma, can you come down from there, please?” He asked.

She scoffed as she slowly got up and lazily walked down the stairs. “What the fuck is this, Joon?” She tried her best to hide her smile as she walked up to him.

“Listen, I know it took forever. I’m sorry, I had a lot of work to do, and I had to help a friend out and then my mom wanted me to- “

Yoongi cleared his throat, cutting him off.

Joon smiled sheepishly and shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I didn’t ask you when I really wanted to. I left you alone when I shouldn’t have. I have gave you too much hope thinking that I was going to-“

“Ok, ok, Joon? The point?” Emma chuckled.

He shook his head again, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. “My point is that I am here now. And I am asking you if you would be my date to the prom?”

He held out the flowers as he looked her in the eyes.

She pursed her lips, trying not to smile as she took the flowers and tilted her head to the side. “You know, this is the most Namjooney thing you could have possibly pulled.”

Everyone chuckled at her statement as Joon scratched his neck. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You succeeded in the end.” She said.

He smiled brighter as she laced her fingers with his.

Sniffing came from Danny and Jin. “Oh my god, Joon. Who knew you were such a romantic?” Jin sniffed again before fake blowing into an invisible tissue. Danny dabbing his fake tears with his tie.

………………….

Jungkook finally got dressed after too many attempts at his tie.

“Which loop goes where?”

“I think it goes this way.”

“Wait no that doesn’t seem right.”

“Are even supposed to have loops?”

“I thought you knew how to do a tie!”

“My mom did mine now stop yelling at me!”

“This is fucking pointless.”

“Want to go without it?”

“No, I promised Kat I’d wear a tie.”

“Why the fuck did you promise?”

“I don’t know, dude!”

“Well, that was fucking stupid! We all know we don’t make promises that would end in us humiliating ourselves in the end!”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me that before?!”

“Do I look like an Advisor to you?!”

But after quite a few attempts, they were able to do it. Jungkook looked himself in the changing room mirror.

“This tie looks fucked up.”

Tae put a hand on his back, guiding him outside. “Well, at least you have one, now let’s go.”

They rushed outside and noticed that it was already dark.

“Shit, how long did we take?” Jungkook checked his watch.

Tae smacked his arm away. “Doesn’t matter, you are dressed, now let’s find out girls.” The walked off toward the bleachers.

Then halted, as they noticed the back of a girl near the edge of the field, sobbing.

“Pick up, pick up!” You stupid piece of shit!” She was yelling at her phone.

Tae and Jungkook eyed each other. Tae immediately shaking his head. “That’s Beatrice, dude.”

“Yeah, I know but-“

“No buts. Let’s just go.” He grabbed his hand and began pulling.

Jungkook stood his ground. “Something could be wrong.”

Tae glanced at her again. She was shaking and sniffing and looking as if she would break down. “She looks fine.” He started pulling his friend again. But Jungkook released his grasp.

He slowly walked toward her, going through what he was going to say in his head. He got arm’s length before lightly tapping her on her shoulder. “Hey, is everything okay?”

She looked up at him and continued to sob. “My date stood me up.” She whaled.

He looked over at Tae who gave him the look and told him to leave. He shook his head.

“Um, well, I’m sorry.” Jungkook felt extremely awkward as he just stood there next to her, watching her cry.

Tae gestured for him to walk away, but he didn’t listen. So, Tae breathed out in annoyance as he strode over. “Hi, Beatrice. I’m sorry you had such a dickhead for a date. Enjoy your night.” He grabbed Jungkook’s arm and pulled.

“Wait!” She called out, causing them both to stop. “You wouldn’t want me to feel alone, would you? On prom night?”

They both exchanged a look. Tae had so many words in his eyes, but Jungkook walked over again.

“I mean, you could join us if you want?” He could feel the daggers Tae was throwing at the back of his head. “Or maybe danc- “

“I’d love to dance.” She said before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the dance floor in the middle of the field. Maybe he should have listened to his friend.

…………………

“Here’s one, Thor, Iron Man, Spiderman.” Blue slurred. Apparently, she had snuck some tequila into her water bottle.

Jin cleared his throat. “This one’s easy. Kiss Ironman, Fuck Thor and Marry Spiderman.”

Everyone gasped.

“What!?”

“No way!”

“What do you mean No way? Thor is Thor!” Jin defended.

“Fuck Spiderman, hands down!” Emma called out.

“100%”

“What?!” Jin protested. “Why?!”

“Because he’s hot!” Olivia bellowed.

“And who knows what else he can do with those webs slingers.” Blue winked at him.

Jin looked slightly impressed. “I mean, I see your point.”

Kat almost died of laughter until she noticed Tae running up to them, looking rather nervous.

“Hey, Tae. Where’s Jay?” Kat asked.

He halted and plastered on a smile. “Oh, Jay? Oh right! Yeah, where….where is he…” He licked his lips, preparing for what he was about to say.

“Tae.”

“Beatrice got him.” He blurted out.

Kat’s eyes bulged. “The bitch did what?!”

He held up his hands. “Nothing serious, she just dragged him to the dance floor and will not let go of him.”

Kat felt her blood begin to boil. She didn’t say a word as she marched off towards the middle of the field. The others close behind her.

“Oh, shit. Jimin, get up! We can’t miss this!” Blue shoved him off the seat. Having them both almost roll down the stairs in the process.

Kat scanned the dancefloor for them, and immediately found the red splotch right in the middle of it. She huffed as she walked faster, her heels keeping her from sprinting.

……………………….

Jungkook looked like he was in pain. He really regrets walking up to her, now he knows that it was just a big scheme. Well played, Bea. Well Played.

She was holding onto him too tightly as if he would run away. Which was exactly what he wanted to do right now.

He glanced around, hoping to find Tae, or any kind of help. But instead found the angry eyes of Kat marching towards them. She didn’t look happy.

“Oh, shit.” He said out loud. Causing Beatrice to look up to where he was looking, and smirked.

…………………………

Kat was ready to smack a bitch. She neared the floor and caught the eyes of her boyfriend, they were asking for help.

She then met the eyes of the bitch herself, as she smirked at her.

Don’t you dare.

Oh, she dared.

Kat halted as Beatrice grabbed his head and pulled it down to hers, crashing her lips on his.

“Oh shit!” She heard Jin chime.”

“Bitch!” Tyler bellowed, which caused heads to turn.

Kat was ready. She began marching again, straight towards them like a fucking bullet, as she watched Jungkook immediately pull his head back. “Woah! What the hell!?” He said to the Beatrice.

Beatrice just simply smirked up at him and then to Kat, who was walking across the dancefloor now. “Come to join our little party?” She called over the music.

Kat stayed silent, still marching.

“Angry are you? What are you gonna’ do? Attack m-“

SMACK!

Beatrice lost her balance, almost falling to the ground as he she held her cheek, mouth agape.

“Don’t you fucking touch him.” Kat said, a little too calmly.

Jungkook just stared at her in pure amazement.

“Oh, she is so winning Prom Queen.” Blue said, Jimin nudging her to be quiet.

Beatrice started to breath harder, tears filling her eyes. “Don’t you dare put a hand on me.” She growled.

Kat raised an eyebrow. “So, we’ve come to an agreement?”

Beatrice gave her a cold stare, then to Jungkook, then to the rest of her friends, before straightening up, removing her hand from her cheek, and simply walked off the dancefloor.

They both kept eye contact, until she was the one who turned away first.

Kat felt a hand on her shoulder. A light whistle sounded by her ear. “Damn. Who knew I wasn’t the only one who could physically disable someone?”

She smiled lightly before looking up to him. “Another reason why we are perfect for each other.” He smirked down at her.

“Amen!” Tyler called out.

Jungkook pulled her in for a hug. “You okay?”

She breathed out, pulling away. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?”

He bit his lip. “Not gonna lie.” He looked her in the eyes. “I’m a little turned on.”

She snorted before nudging him. “After we have a dance.” She promised. He smiled and kissed her.

……………………..

The rest of the night was pretty good. They played some good music which had everyone showing off their best moves. Especially Jin, who proceeded to do some sort of dance he made up himself. “Come on guys! Everyone is doing it these days.”

“Where did I find you?” Danny asked, shaking her head.

There came a time where the boys huddled together and danced and joked around whilst the girls made their own circle and laughed as Blue attempted to twerk.

Everything was great. Jungkook kept catching her eye and winking at her, reminding her about her promise. She would simply smirk back and continue dancing.

It was a great way to end their prom night, until a pair of hands found their way up Kat’s dress.

She whipped her head around and found the person smiling at her. His beard looking a little too scratchy. It was the guy from the tent that Jungkook punched.

“Can I help you?” She furrowed her brows at him.

He raised his. “Oh certainly.” He smirked. “Wanna dance?” He placed his hand on her hip.

“Um, no thank you.” She stepped to the side.

“Aw, come on. Why don’t you play with me like you play with your little boyfriend over there, huh?” He again attempted to put his hand up her dress.

Bad idea.

Kat grabbed his arm and twisted it, causing him to howl in pain. Everyone’s attention was on them now.

“I said no thanks.” Kat said again.

Jungkook saw what was happening and his mind flipped. “Shit.” He stomped over to them.

“I see you like it rough, huh?” The man joked.

Kat grimaced in disgust and kicked his knee, causing him to fall to the ground. All that time in self defense class really paid off as he now lay flat on the ground, Kat still twisting his arm as she kept one heel on his back.

Jungkook stood next to her, immediately crossing his arms. “Well, how many times has the floor become your friend now?”

“Piss off.” Jonah spat on the ground, his cheek smooshed against the floor.

Jungkook scoffed. “Now you know not to mess with either of us, got it?”

Jonah looked up at him, smirking. “I wouldn’t mind it, as long as she keeps wearing that lace underwear every time.”

Jungkook’s smile dropped.

Kat gasped and let go of his arm, stepping back.

Jungkook gave him a smile before grabbing him. Lifting him up so his feet hung off the ground. “You want to run that by me again?”

Jonah struggled in his grasp. “I can take you! Put me down! I can take you!”

Jungkook tried not to laugh at this sad excuse for a man. “You sure about that?” He asked.

And just before Jonah could reply, the rest of the boys came and stood behind Jungkook, staring up at the guy. One after the other.

“Alright, wanna go?” Jungkook asked.

“No!” Jonah gasped. “No…” He stopped struggling. He simply gave up.

Jungkook brought him closer to his face. “Now what you are going to do right now, is pack up your shit and leave. We don’t care, take your goddamn lights, we’ll dance in the dark. But if you come back,” There was pure anger in his eyes. “Don’t be surprised if you wake up in a ditch tomorrow morning.”

Jonah shut his eyes and nodded. Jungkook dropped him, not even bothering to do it lightly. He watched as the man scrambled on to his feet and ran.

Everyone was silent until Tae placed and arm around his friends’ shoulders and yelled in triumph. “Holy Shit, dude!”

The whole dance floor started cheering, clapping and whistling at the amazing thing that just happened.

Kat walked over to him. He was still angry, pissed actually.

He was still watching the man hurry off to the tent. She put both her hands on his face. “Hey! Jay! Look at me!” He glanced down to her, chewing his cheek.

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling her closer.

“I’m fine. Jay-“

“I swear if he touched you-“

“I’m oka-“

“What did he do?”

“Jay! Listen to me!” She yelled.

He stopped, looking her in the eyes.

She traced her hands down his chest. “You’re angry. And so am I.” She pointed.

“I know, I just hate perverts like that-“

“Let’s use it to our advantage.” She whispered into his ear.

He froze. Staring at her. The corners of his lips began lifting as she nodded.

He grabbed her hand and walked over to their friends. “Hey guys, we’re pretty dazed, we’re gonna go get some fresh air.” He told them.

Tae nodded. “Alright, don’t be gone too long. They gonna announce the King and Queen soon.”

Jungkook nodded. “Thanks. See you later.”

And they were off, running towards the parking area.

“They are not getting fresh air.” Blue said.

Everyone looked to her.

Yoongi nodded in approval as Jin snorted.

“Nice.” Jimin smirked, watching the two of them rushing off.

……………………….

They couldn’t get home fast enough. They could have done it in the car, but Jungkook said he didn’t want anything in the way for what he wanted to do.

Even on the way there, she teased him by placing her hand on his sensitive area, which almost had them swerving into a tree.

Thankfully, his house was a few blocks from there, and his parents were on date night, so the house was completely empty.

He swerved into the parking, didn’t even bother applying the hand break as they rushed out the car. Him almost choking on the seatbelt before realizing he had it on.

Kat laughed as she ran off to the door, waiting for him.

He walked past the door and immediately grabbed her, smashing his lips with hers placing a hand above her head. He didn’t care if his neighbors could see, let them be jealous.

“Jay, the door.” She said between breaths.

He groaned and he fumbled with his keys in his pocket. “Shit.” He had never hated keys so much in his life until that very moment.

Finally, he found the right one and opened the door, picking her up to straddle him as he walked in, kissing her.

He didn’t care if he bumped into anything. Heck, his mom’s favorite vase can go to hell.

He kicked the door closed with a bang before proceeding to the stairs leading to the second floor.

But as he got to the second step, his knees buckled, and he almost dropped her. Kat screaming in panic as she grabbed on to the railing.

He swore. “Um, I think just to be safe…”

She snorted and he put her down, both of them running up the stairs, heavy footsteps behind them.

When they both got to the floor, safely, she turned to him.

“Okay.” He reassured as she jumped onto him again, both of them laughing hysterically at what they just did. They were idiots, honestly.

He made his way to his room, placing her on his bed as he kissed her. She then grabbed at his jacket and almost ripped it off.

“Easy now. Don’t waste the anger on anything that doesn’t deserve it.” He smirked as he removed his jacket, and then his shirt. Even the poor excuse for a tie was flung in an instant. Kat gawking up at his finely tanned skin, her eyes following every crevice of his abs.

It was her turn to remove her dress, which took less effort as he simply pulled it over her head, leaving her in her underwear.

He smirked down at the lacey material. “I’m the only one that can see you in these.” He gripped at her underwear. “Only me.”

She moaned as he slid them off, throwing them to the side. He leaned down and kissed her again, letting her feel him upon her bare skin.

She growled and tugged at his belt, causing him to chuckle. “Very impatient.”

He helped her, as the belt fell with a clang and his pants along with it.

She stared at him, in all his glory. They had only done this about three times before, but every time he reveals himself, she is just always thrown off guard.

He immediately fell on top of her, sucking on her neck and she wrapped her legs around him.

Her hands through his hair, she hadn’t even noticed when he removed her bra. He gripped the bed board as he thrusted into her.

Causing her to gasp a little, like she said, she was always thrown off guard. He went slow, not wanting to hurt her, but she bit his shoulder and scratched his back, telling him to give her more.

So, he did.

They went on and on until they could both feel the knot expanding inside themselves. She could feel him twitch, knowing he was close.

His breathing was rigged as he balanced himself above her, his legs shaking. They had never been this hard before.

“Kat.” He panted, sweat dripping from his brow.

She kissed him, telling him it was okay, he knew she was on birth control and already had Plan B at home, but he still wanted to ask. He looked her in the eyes, making double sure.

“It’s okay.” She whispered. Stroking his face.

He gripped the board and threw his head into the nape of her neck, filling her up with everything that he had. She unleashed herself too.

She felt him, all of him. Every part, every touch, every breath. She felt him, and she knew right then and there, that she wanted no other man but him. She wanted no one else to touch her the way he did. To love her the way he did, because right now, he proved to her that all she needed was right here.

They went silent, only the sound of their breathing filled the room. As he kept his head in her neck, her legs around him, her hands in his hair.

He started leaving light kisses from her temple down to her chest, marking her. “So every goddamn man out there will know that you are taken.” He breathed.

She met his gaze and smiled. “Who else would I be with?”

He smiled, laying his head upon her abdomen, resting, gazing up at her. “No one who doesn’t deserve you.”

She stroked his hair, watching as his head bobbed with her breathing.

They were ready to lay there forever until there was a ding from his suit jacket. And then another, and then another. And then the room was filled with the sound as they frowned at each other.

Jungkook groaned. “Agggh, let me put it on silent.” He got up and walked over to his jacket on the floor. He was surprised to see his phone wasn’t cracked.

He opened the messages and went still. “Oh shit.”

Kat glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

He turned around, smirking. “Guess who won Prom King and Queen.”

She gaped at him, unable to speak as he winked at her.

“No way. Really?” She laughed.

“Mmmmh mhm.” He hummed as he threw his phone on his desk chair and strode over to her.

“Well, shit.” She chuckled. “I bet Beatrice is pissed.”

“She’s probably crying in her room with an ice pack pressed to her cheek as we speak.” Jungkook chuckled. He hopped onto the bed, sitting up on his elbows, smiling at her. “This calls for a celebration.” He bopped his eyebrows at her.

She snorted as he crawled over to her. “Alright, but I’m top this time.”

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. “Anything for my Queen.”

[thestraggletag]

Bestial, a Rumbelle Carnival Row AU

Summary: Mr Gold wishes people to see him as a gentleman, horns and all. But the person who he wants to impress the most happens to prefer the beast over the gentlemanly facade.

Rating: PG-13??? Low R?

Dedication: To @phoenixwrites because it’s her birthday! And also because she very recently fell down the Carnival Row rabbit hole and she NEEDED someone to Rumbelle the relationship between Imogen and Agreus. I do have another Carnival AU rumbelle fic in the works, but this might be an interest fic to also explore in the future.

Enjoy!

He spotted her before she did, coming out of the small bookstore tucked between a modiste and a tea shop, slipping a slim volume into the pockets of her skirts. Her dress, as always, was outdated, the silhouette long fallen out of fashion and the colour somewhat faded, from a cobalt blue to something more akin to cerulean. She hadn’t taken great pains to pin her hair in place, which he knew was partly because there were only two maids working for her father, and neither could be spared to help her dress her hair in the mornings. Yet, with her hair only partially up and her modest clothing she outshone every primped peacock strutting around the park, intent on displaying their wealth.

He thought, foolishly, about offering her the refuge of his umbrella. The rain must have caught her by surprise, since she was without and umbrella of her own, but before he could reach her he saw Gregory Aston rushing forward with the same intent. He didn’t have to look around to know that the eyes of more than one woman were on the dashing Captain. He was a mixture of good looks and wealth that attracted a flock of devoted followers, eager single women hoping to snatch up the price of the season. Somehow, for some reason, he had set his sights on Belle, which was just as well. No use thinking about the impossible.

“Mr Gold!”

He turned at the sound of her voice, charmed as always by the way her lingering accent transformed his name. She was smiling at him and gesturing, and he knew that even if it was best to leave he would not. Instead, like the obedient little puppy he was, he approached her, trying to disguise his limp as much as possible. 

“Good afternoon, Miss French. Would you permit me to escort you home?”

She would, he knew that. And without reservation. It made it all the more painful, that she wasn’t scornful of him. That she treated him like a person, like his inhuman nature mattered little to her. It gave unwelcome fodder to his secret hopes and desires. 

‘Just because she tolerates the monster doesn’t mean she wishes to sleep with him’, he reminded himself. She was kind, kinder than anyone he’d ever met. Of course this meant she would not shun him like others. Acceptance, however, wasn’t attraction. Wasn’t desire.

“That’s very kind, Mr Gold.”

She smelled like orange blossoms, and beneath that something headier, a scent that was wholly hers. A scent he could imagine grew intoxicating when she climaxed, or were he fortunate enough to bury his nose in her cunt. He shook his head, chastising himself for his ungentlemanly thoughts. Belle rested her hand on his arm, light enough not to interfere with the movement of his cane, as he was holding the umbrella with the other hand. 

“Might I enquire after your new book, Miss French?”

It made him exceedingly proud to know her well enough to know what would get her talking. She excitedly told him about the poetry tome she had found in the clearance section, and the new novel she had splurged on. He listened intently, silently thinking that if she were his he would cede her control of his entire library. He could see her in his mind’s eye, laying amongst a nest of pillows on the bay window, engrossed in a book, hair half out of its nightly braid and nightclothes still on. An intimate, cosy scene. An impossibility.

They were halfway to their destination when they were rudely jostled by a passerby. His bad hoof protested as it slipped on the wet ground and he let go of the umbrella to hold his cane with both hands, managing to keep himself upright at the last second. The rain was coming down hard and even though he was quick to recover the umbrella they were quite drenched by the time they regained cover.

He turned around to apologise, trying to ignore the burning shame that he associated with his lame hoof, when he saw that Belle’s attention was on his horns. She looked confused but also strangely… in awe.

“Are your horns… gold?”

The polish must have washed away with the rain, he realised. He told himself not to fidget, not to reach up. Nevertheless he moved them both to an alleyway, knowing that there were narrower, emptier streets connecting it to their part of the neighbourhood. 

“Yes. You must have realised, perhaps, that my horns are of slightly unusual shape. Less curved close to the head. It’s because I’m from a different country than most fauns you see. Most fauns come from Puyan. I myself hail from Ildathach. Can’t remember when it was the last time I saw someone from home. It’s something I try not to advertise. Ildathach is… not a place of good repute. Most fauns associate it with… darkness. Evil.” He smiled, a hollow gesture. “Prejudice is not an art reserved exclusively to humans, I’m afraid.”

He caught himself before he could reach for his horns to try and cover them up again. It wouldn’t do any good, he could already feel the shoe polish he used sliding down the sides of his face, making his humiliation complete. He startled when he felt cool cotton against his cheek, and looked up to see that Miss French had taken her handkerchief out and was studiously removing the polish, first from his skin and later from his horns. 

“I’ve always meant to ask… can you feel when someone touches your horns? I apologise if it’s an insensitive question, I honestly don’t know.”

A cursory look at her reassured him she was merely curious. Insatiably so, but with no malice behind it. He nodded numbly, eyes fluttering close when she finished removing all traces of paint from his horns and reached out with her bare hand to run the tips of her fingers across them. She was… so soft. So careful in the way she touched him, so achingly tender. No one had been gentle with him, not once, in particular with his horns. His father had used them to drag him around as a child, and later he had used them to fight and survive. They were something that made him different, unwanted, both with humans and other fauns. 

“Is this… is this alright?”

Her voice was quiet, soothing, and he knew that if he told her no she would stop and apologise profusely, and he could recover some distance and self-possession. It would be the smart thing to do, the right thing to do. Instead, he told her yes, that it was alright, more than alright. He held his breath as she glided the pads of her fingers across the slopes of his horns. They curled outwards more than most, making it sometimes difficult to pass through a door unless he turned his head sideways. They packed less of a punch, so to speak, than most faun’s horns, which meant he had had to adapt to make them deadly in a fight. Now he could use them with ease, flick his head and easily give someone a permanent scar, if not worse. He’d stabbed people in a fight, something most of his kind could not do. And yet Belle touched those horns without fear, as if they were beautiful. As if he was beautiful.

“Oh, Rowan…”

He shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips, tilting his head so he could nuzzle against the palm of her hand. He hated the gesture, so animalistic, so unlike the image he wanted to portray. He had spent decades crawling out of the hellhole he had been born in, cultivating a specific accent, a look and even a walk. And yet all he wanted to do with Belle was feral, animal-like. He wanted to fuck her, in the crudest, basest way there was to, wanted to nuzzle and sniff her and lick her like the fucking beast that he was. And the dangerous thing was that he realised now that Belle wanted that too. Sweet, educated, kind Belle wanted him to have his way with her, wanted things no genteel woman should. He could see it in her eyes, and he wondered at how he hadn’t noticed before. 

He huffed, the sound decidedly inhuman, and dropped the umbrella, taking a few steps forward until he had Belle pressed against a nearby brick wall. He  buried his nose against her hair, enjoying her scent and her warmth as his fingers spanned her small waist, digging into the soft fabric of her open coat. She shivered against him but he could tell she wasn’t afraid, could smell her arousal and feel her body arch into his. Her hands settled on his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of shoving him away, and then snaked up his neck to press against the back of his head. He followed her wordless plea, pressing his lips against hers, trying to retain enough of his composure and sense of self to be mindful of his horns as he devoured her, the kiss more teeth and tongue than what he was sure someone like Belle would’ve ever been exposed to. She mewled against his mouth, an artless, wanton little sound that went straight to his groin. It was only the feel of the rain against his head and shoulders that stopped him, made him realise that he was about to deflower a fucking lady in the middle of an alleyway were anyone could see.

“Belle, we-” she bit his ear and his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. He growled, but tried to keep it together. “We need to leave. Is… is your father expecting you home?”

She shook her head, and when he looked at her he was immediately captivated by her dishevelled look, from her messy, wet hair to her swollen lips. 

“No, he… I told him I might spend the afternoon at the museum. I was about to go there when Captain Aston cornered me.”

The mention of Aston had him flicking his head, his horns itching to dig into the man’s flesh. 

“Come home with me. Have a bath, dry your clothes.” He did not keep servants overnight, a rarity for a person of his means and social status. He rather preferred to be alone. He hired a cleaning service that set the house to rights in the morning, and a cook that was in charge of breakfast and lunch. He ordered dinner from a nearby restaurant. There would be no risk of anyone seeing her.

“That sounds lovely. Will you help me undress?”

The way she bit her lip shyly, a contrast with her bold question, disarmed him. She was like Diana the huntress, and he the foolish prey struck by her arrow. He would do as she commanded, and be glad of it. He nodded, like a good little boy, and was rewarded by one of her wide smiles.

“Let’s go, then.”

[siempre-pedro]

Into You

Din Djarin x Reader | Hella Fluff

Summary: The Razor Crest is in dire need of repair, landing in Cloud City, Mando feels threatened when Y/N and Lando re-connect., making him admit to an unspoken attraction. 

Wrod Count: 2.8k

A/N: Happy Birthday mi amor. Here’s this dumpster fire of a fic! 

The Mandalorian was, in every sense of the word, a confident man. He could walk and talk his way out of a situation, enter a cantina full of jealous bounty hunters in new shiny beskar armor and hold his head high.

Mando’s also had confidence with the ladies, the bounty hunter could wine and dine, flirt, and talk to any woman he fancied. He had been around the galaxy a few times, experienced in the opposite sex but those women were never her. She was on another level, it was basically love at first sight and Mando was hook, line, and sinker.

Mando sat in his chair, twirling the silver ball the kid loved to play with in his gloved fingers, his brown eyes watching the stars fly past him through his visor. A loud bang from the roof above shook the cockpit, a single panel fell to the floor with an alarming thud “Alright,” a woman grunts in satisfaction as she hops down from the ceiling, “That should hold up when we come out of hyperspace,” she explains, shoving a wrench in one of her brown boots.

Mando stiffened, rotating in his chair to face her “Are you sure?” he questions, his voice modulator concealing the nerves brought on by her presence. Of course, he could talk to the woman of his affection, she’d been a part of the crew for a over a year and a half, meeting her at a repair base shortly after helping on Sorgan. He became speechless at times like this, she looked beautiful glancing down at him with a confused look on her face that was splotched with dust and oil from the repairs.

“I was the best mechanic in the Rebellion, do you really want to ask me that?” she retorts, wiping her hands with a dingy cream-colored cloth and moving stands of loose hair off her forehead. Her hair was parted in the middle, French braids going down her head, two messy buns at the nape of her neck, small strands clinging to her dirty face.

The man hums and turns his attention to the monitor “We’re almost there,” he spoke. Y/N loved space, flying in the Razor Crest was a dream! The only part she didn’t enjoy was the jerk coming out hyperpace. “Are you going to be ok?” he asks kindly, his hands working the controls.

Y/N takes in a sharp breath and sits in the cold seat behind the bounty hunter, her dirty fingernails digging into the arms of the chair. She closed her eyes and the stars halted along with the ship with the sharpest jerk they’d experienced, causing her to fall forward into Mando’s chair. “Ow,” she complains, rubbing her forehead.

Her complaints made the man turn around quickly, making sure she was ok “Are you alright?” he asks simply, what a charmer. She rubs her forehead and looks up at the ceiling.

“Y-Yeah,” she groans, “I just hope the ship isn’t destroyed." She takes a final look before returning her eyes to the front window, beautiful white puffy clouds collide with their ship as they descend. Cloud City was in the distance.

Y/N smiles brightly, admiring the beauty of the clouds. Her smile didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian. Din wasn’t always graceless around her, he would feel a wave of confidence and comforting familiarity. He wraps one arm around her waist and draws her close to his side, her arm draping over his broad shoulders in response. The unspoken attraction was in their small gestures, neither of them had to say their feelings it was these moments that said it all. Or so they thought, their minds swirled with questioning, was its genuine affection or just a friendly touch of knowing they were safe for the moment.

The city was bright, a large contrast to what the man was used to, it was a nice change. The Razor Crest landed on the landing strip, guards ready to help them deboard. Y/N eagerly put the child in his basket and stood in front of the door, waiting for Mando to join them. Mando knew who would be greeting them outside, General Lando Calrissian, a notorious ladies man. The thought of now would be a good time to say something pokes the back of his mind.

Standing in front of her the words are caught in the back of his throat, her Y/E/C eyes looking up at him in question. Mando reaches up and wipes away a splotch of grease from her forehead “Y-you had a spot,” he says lowly.

She giggles and touches the spot he wiped “Thanks,” she laughed, wiping her fingers on the leg of her dark down pants. Mando nods and presses a button, a large gust of wind comes as the latch opens. Y/N was the first to rush out, her eyes squinting from the brightness.

“Y/N!” Lando greets with glee, opening his arms to hug his old friend. Y/N laughs and hugs him back, slightly patting the space in between his shoulder blades. “It’s been a while, my ships haven’t been the same.” Mando and the child stood a safe distance away, his eyes never leaving his partner as he watched Lando hug her. He didn’t like it, his hands were moving lower, the lost point of her back covered by his greedy hands. A place he just touched, and he should be the only one to do so. He growls lowly, the helmet modulating his voice, making it darker and more of a warning. Lando soon lets her go and she turns to look at Mando with a wide smile “You must be the Mandalorian. Lando Calrissian pleasure to meet you,” he greets with a confident chuckle and sticks out his hand for him to shake.

Mando firmly shakes his hand, and was he squeezing a little too hard? Possibly. Y/N gives him a warning look and shakes her head.

“Thank you for helping with the ship, you have more supplies and hands than I could think of,” Y/N says, trying to cool the room.

“It’s no problem, you got that one hunk of junk to actually fly for Han. It’s the least I can do, come in I’ll show you around and you can get settled and changed.” Y/N and the others followed, the child flying by her side while Mando stood back a few paces to make sure no harm came to Y/N and the child. He watched the way her hands stayed near his side and how their host’s purposely bumped into hers. He wasn’t pleased.

What he hated, even more, was that he had to talk with the man, looking at what would be their shelter for the next few days and listening to Lando talk about all the security they had. It was good and he knew the child would be safe, but he didn’t have to like it. They walked down the hall, Lando laughing at a joke he made and Mando rolling his eyes at how awful it was when he heard giggling coming from the distance. The way his head perked up didn’t go unnoticed from the man next to him.

The laughter got closer, revealing Y/N rounding the corner the child babbling next to her as his basket floated. She twirled in a long white gown with large billowing sleeves, her hair was down and only pulled slightly back with a white barrette. Her eyes caught the sight of the men and Mando’s heart nearly stopped.

She and the child rushed over, tucking the other side of her hair behind her ear, blushing at the sight of the Mandalorian “What do you think?” she asks, picking up the sides of the skirt.

Lando chuckled responded “You look divine! I’m glad everything fits alright.”

Divine? Divine! Mando mentally scoffed at the word…he could do better. “Mando? What do you think?” The corners of her lips turned upward nervously, her heart pounding at what he would say to her. You can do better than divine, Mando thought to himself, he had to do better. “You look,” he starts, he couldn’t find any words to describe the beauty she possessed “clean,” he ends up finishing like an idiot. Her smile didn’t fade but her eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“Thanks,” she laughs, “I feel clean.” She looks past the men and starts to walk off “I’m going to check on my ship, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“You’re supposed to be relaxing!” Lando calls, causing her to roll her eyes. “I know!”

Once she and the child were out of sight Lando bit his lip and looked over at Mando who was still looking in her direction “So uh… you sweet on her?” he asks.

Mando quickly looks at him “Excuse me?” he questions gruffly. “Do you like her?”

Mando pauses and thinks carefully if someone was going to know he loved her it was going to be Y/N herself… no one else. “I’m very fond of her,” he replies simply before walking off, leaving Lando there with a puzzled look on his face.

The clouds turned from a brilliant white to a mix of purple and orange as the sun was beginning to set. Mando paced along the room length window in his quarters, his beskar reflecting the beautiful colors. His mind was moving faster than the clouds, he felt nearly helpless imagining Y/N eating with Lando. The images of laughter and him holding her hand fondly made his blood boil. He wanted to take off his helmet and eat the food that sat on a silver platter at the foot of his head but he had to make sure his fears weren’t true.

The dining room was filled with laughter, reminiscing the two’s past in the Rebellion. Y/N helped the child with the tough parts of the meat in his favorite stew and smiled down at him. “Remember when the engine burst and it took five men to figure out how to fix it?” Lando laughs in between bites.

“How could I forget!” Y/N exclaims, “they had no idea until I told them to change a couple of wires.” Lando started to cackle at the memory, making Y/N laugh along with him. The joyous laughs ceased when the door slid open violently, revealing a stoic Mandalorian. Now Lando couldn’t decipher his posture or the emotions radiating off of the bounty hunter, but she could.

Her eyes lower, he looked briefly at the child and then at Lando who was across from you. He wasn’t happy, his chest was rising and falling rapidly as if he rushed to the other side of the building. Which he did! Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

His fears started to calm, they weren’t sitting side by side and he wasn’t touching her…but he still hated the image of the three of them. They looked like a family at dinner with their child, it should be Mando in the general's spot. “Mando?” Her voice brings him out of his thoughts, her concerned expression melting him “Are you alright?”

“I just wanted to check on the child,” he answers her.

“They made his favorite stew, he’s having a good time,” she tells him happily. The green child grinning, his large eyes blinking up at his ‘father.’

Mando nods and starts to back away “I’ll leave you to it.”

Y/N sighs as he leaves, rolling the fabric of her dress in between her fingers “Y/N be honest with me,” Lando requests, her joking tone molding into a more serious and concerned tone. Y/N looks at him and hums in confirmation.

“You and the Mandalorian… are you seeing each other? Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Y/N looks down and bites her lip, her heart swelling at the thought of being Din’s, more than just a mechanic and a helper with the child. “No we're not,” she answers shaking her head. Lando crosses his arms and leans back in his metal dining chair.

“But you have feelings for him?”

“Since I met him,” she whispers, “I’ve loved him for a while now.”

Lando reaches over and holds out his hand, she offers a half-smile and takes her friends hand “Maybe it’s time you tell him,” he encourages, patting the top of her hand with his free hand. She nods and pulls away to pick up her fork.

“Maybe after dinner,” she lies. There was no way she was going to tell him, they had a good thing going. She fixed the ship and she had a place to stay and credits here and there, and he got well, of course, a fixed hunk of junk and someone to help with the child. She didn’t want to mess with the unspoken attraction in fear of ruining everything with him.

The cloud turned dark, puffy and angry with water as the sky transitioned to darkness. The rain was inevitable and Y/N hoped the child would sleep through the close thunder. She leaned against the headboard of the bed that felt like the clouds outside, her hands fiddled with a small part to the engine and a screwdriver. One of the thin straps to her long white silk nightgown slid down her shoulder but she was too focused on getting the screw to fit “Fucking go in,” she grunts, shoving the screwdriver in harder.

Suddenly, the door slides open violently startling the mechanic. She tosses the part and tool to the side and gasps “Mando?” she breathes heavily. The bounty hunter stands at the entrance with his hands nearly shaking. Y/N slowly stands up and crosses her arms over her chest to cover her barely covered breasts.

He looked different, a way she had never seen him look before. The beskar was gone, he wore a simple dark drown tunic and a pair of matching pants that capped mid-calf, his helmet still covering his face.

The amount of skin drew her to stare, he was so tan and the veins of his hands made her knees weak. Her eyebrows furrow as he crosses the room, standing in front of her by the large window “I’m not good at these things,” he admits nervously. Nervous, that was another thing she had not encountered with him.

“With what?” she asks in almost a whisper, looking at the dark parts of his helmet where his eyes would be.

“Telling…you how I feel.”

“A-and how do you feel?” He didn’t answer, his brain was moving too fast, he knew his words would have to have more meaning than you look divine. Saying I love you sounded so easy in his head, but his lips wouldn’t move, they were stuck in a tight line.

Y/N took a step closer to him “Din,” she whispers. Din. She hadn’t said that name since the incident, it felt really good to say his name.

“I adore you, Y/N,” he finally says. The woman breaks out into a soft smile, tears starting to well up as the rain begins to tap on the window.

“You do?” Din nods and places his warm hand against her cheek, his thumb swiping her soft skin. She leans into the touch and unfolds her arms. Her finger tips cautiously trail up his exposed forearm, feeling his skin against hers until she placed her hand over his. “I love you.”

He lowers his head and places his forehead against hers, sending a cold shiver down her spine “I love you too,” he responds, closing the gap between them so that their chests were touching.

“I wish I could kiss you, Din,” she says, moving her forehead.

“I’m not ready to take it off.”

“I know… I understand.” Din senses the sadness in her voice, he moves his hand and wraps her in a loving hug, purposely touching her lower back. She was his and he was hers “Come to bed?”

“I shouldn’t leave the kid.”

“He’s next door, he’ll be on for a few hours,” she persuades and backs away from the hug, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bed. He reluctantly agrees and gently pushes her back, leaning in he removes a lock of hair from her face and cups her cheek. A spoken attraction.

[reiven2017]

The difference in numbers.

At 8, realized that she was beautiful. At 13, he realized that had fallen in love with her. At 17, he realized he loved her.

The first time he saw her, he was 8. Damian stole a fashion magazine from his sister, in retaliation for the taunts. He was not interested in this brilliant book with a lot of strange women dressed in colorful and quirky outfits and a mountain of gossip. He was going to burn it, tear it up, or eventually just throw it in the trash, and then watch with glee as Barbara was killed by the magazine. But childish curiosity took over and Damian cast a sidelong glance at the thing in his hand...and froze for a moment. She was there, in the spotlight, a little girl on a huge glossy magazine cover. She was surrounded by spotlights and people, exultation and admiration, soft light and in a pearl dress. Her full pouting baby lips gently curved in a smile and Damian was ready to argue with his father with fervor when he said that there is no more beautiful smile in the world than his wife's. Her long purple curls, fading to pink and crimson, fell over her shoulders. The boy felt a faint warmth passing into bright sunlight in the very center of his chest and he smiled out of the corner of his mouth. It seems to be where adults and young children have their hearts. This light spread to all the limbs as he looked into the girl's eyes. Her beautiful violet eyes looked at Damian from the page wide and open, radiating not fake happiness and joy. Logically, Damian knew it was just a shiny piece of paper transmitting a picture, but her eyes were so alive that his analytical mind gave up. The boy quickly scanned the printed letters on the cover. Rachel Ariella Mouth. Really. Damian tensed, from the top, on the stairs heard hurried footsteps, and then the screech of his sister, when she discovered the loss and the boy quickly tore off only the cover, threw the magazine on the floor.

When he was 13, his friend John took him to a concert by an uncomplicated rock band. They didn't sing very well, and even that deep growl wasn't singing, but Damian went anyway. His two older brothers had returned home after a six-month absence, both annoying and insufferable, so he had willingly accepted Kent's offer. And of course to support him. But of course, this is the most important thing. It took a big half of the concert, when he realized that he was not even listening to the happy words of John who was trying to shout over the hall full of people and bass music. His emerald eyes were fixed on the far end of the room. There was an unsightly shadow. The girl seemed to be trying to slip past the crowd of people as unobtrusively as possible. Damian frowned. Fans don't usually sneak around like this. He waved at Jon, who looked amused, and disappeared into the stream of people, trying not to lose sight of her. The girl pulled the hood of her sweatshirt tighter over her head and brushed past another group of people who were panting to the side. An uneasy feeling rose in his chest as he watched her every quiet and strange step, and Damian's expression took on a stern start. The girl glided smoothly along the edge of the hall until she came to an inconspicuous door and quickly slipped into it. Damian tensed and went into the back room without leaving her. Fuck. The girl, standing with her back to him and not noticing Demian, pulled off her hood and her hair, braided in a weak ponytail, fell to her shoulders. Fuck. She exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumped, and finally turned to face him. Damian's heart began to beat faster and he wasn't sure he couldn't hear it in the silence. Damn. On Demian again, as in that time, only not from the cover, but in the live looked wide and open violet eyes. Only now there was shock. & ..upset? Before he could even connect two words and think about the beginning of this situation, her warm hand closed over his mouth and he was pinned against the door. He was in a dark back room, in the middle of a concert, pinned to the door by his childhood love, model Rachel Roth. Yes, it will be very difficult to understand when his brain is back on track.

- Shh. Just try to shout. her voice was fierce and commanding, despite the fact that she was far below his weight. Demian had already experienced his growth spurt and now looked at many of his peers from a high point. He should have said something, protested in the end, not just stood there staring at her, not entirely sure what was going on. For a moment, Rachel didn't respond. The adrenaline in her blood subsided, and common sense returned to its place, and she finally realized with all clarity that she was pinning a guy in the dresser. Well, let's say it's quite beautiful. But Demian was not up to it now. She smelled of spicy soap and something sweet. The warm feel of her soft skin against his lips was a good distraction. His heart jumped several times in his chest before it froze in place, and the oxygen in his lungs turned into a mixture of something heavy inside and Damian swallowed convulsively. Although this is not as good as when he realized that his hands were resting on the curve of her waist and gently squeezing the fabric of her black hoodie. Goodbye earth, see you soon! He did not immediately realize that na was saying something to him, keeping his eyes on his hands, but when his hearing and strength to breathe returned to him, Damian looked up at her and only now realized that she was saying something to him. AFI-iget. He should have been more careful and restrained, but if this was Heaven, why bother?

"Can you please not tell anyone that you saw me here?" she went on talking, interrupting herself at the word, and then went on excitedly again, in a little panic, seemingly oblivious to that frown from Demian. He gently squeezed her waist, I don't quite know where he took the courage to make her look at him. The girl fell silent, seeming confused by the position in which they were standing, and Demian reluctantly released his hands, releasing her. She stepped back and awkwardly tucked a strand of hair out of her ponytail. Damian exhaled heavily and restrained himself from hitting himself. - Oke'y. You can exhale. No one will know that I saw you here, Rachel Roth. - Bravo Damian! You're alive. And you didn't stop. Amazing... He wanted to say something else to calm her down, but the words stuck in his throat and his brain choked as she gave him a soft, apologetic smile. No, Damian, you're dead again. She faltered as she ran through the words he'd said in her head. - You...you know who I am, don't you? her voice was grim and mirthless, and the dark shadows were thick on her face. "Yeah. "he was going to punch himself for it." He'll even ask John to slap him on the back of the head. But this is not accurate. The girl, satisfied even with this answer, was silent for a moment. Her shoulders slumped again, and she cast a long, thoughtful look at Damian as she considered something in her mind. With a nod to her own thoughts, Rachel straightened up and there was no sign of the pinched girl. - Well. Then let's do this. You will not tell anyone that you saw me here, and I, for example, will take a picture with you in return? Damian cleared his throat, ready to say something worthwhile under her gaze. He would do anything for her if she just smiled at him again. He was close to doing anything for her, just like that. A blush rose to the top of his neck, and Damian was grateful that there was only one dim light in the back room. What? "Look, I'm not going to tell you what happened here. You don't want to return the favor. "no, he'll definitely ask John to punch him." The girl jumped, surprise on her face reflected, replaced by a sweet smile and the shadows on her face disappeared. - Yes? Wow. Boy, you're the first one to say no to me. the girl grinned mischievously, and before he knew what he was saying, Damian replied, " no." - I'm not sure that there is a person in the world who refused you. - Perfectly. She quickly ducked under his side, trying not to get too close, and looked expectantly at Damian. Although, a minute ago, she was literally burying her entire body in it. Well, that was a minute ago, wasn't it? He realized that now, he will be taking pictures with the model Rachel Roth, almost dropped the phone because of sweaty hands. Rachel chuckled softly in the hands of the sweatshirt, watching him from under her brows. Damian paused again for a moment, absorbing the enchanting sound of her voice before adjusting the camera on his phone. There was a click. Rachel pulled the hood up over her head and ran to the door. She froze, already halfway out of the room, and glanced back at Damian, who was still staring at the photograph. "What's your name?" - guy paid attention to her sheepishly and swallowed, not realizing he should be happy or worry. "D-Damian Wayne." "Nice to meet you, D-Damian Wayne." she gave him a mischievous wink, parading his stammers before rushing out of the room, hiding her blush in the darkness of her hood. A minute or an hour later, it was not known, before Damian let out a pained groan and ran a hand through his hair in shock. He will ask to be slapped not only by John, but also by Jason.

When he turned 17, Demian did not immediately realize that something had changed at the Academy. It was the beginning of the year, the holidays were over, and he and Jonnat Kent were back on campus. On the first day, nothing surprising happened. Rise, study, sleep. The next week also passed without changes. Well, not including the failed French test...but what is sad about? But, and after, a rumor went around the Academy that this year a famous model will study with them. An echo of hope crept into Demian's heart, but he roughly shoved it away. You've only seen her live once in your life. In a dark back room, at some crappy concert four years ago, and hoping for something? You're pathetic, Wayne. So he ignored the stupid and probably false rumor and continued on his merry way. Until the moment when the Gotham Academy literally screamed with delight. She appeared suddenly. The world stopped, and shock contorted his face before he could hide it behind an impenetrable mask from the nearby John. His eyes took in every detail of her, passing over her chiseled figure, and he earned a chuckle from his friend, but he would think about that later. Now before him was the love of his life, and he is not concerned with the sarcastic remarks of his narrow-minded friend. The girl was in school uniform and with a complete bewilderment and confusion in her eyes. She stood in the middle of the hall, covered with a thick layer of students, flushed from the amount of attention, and Damian could have sworn before all the Gods that he had never seen a more beautiful creature than her. Demian stood at a distance, leaning against the column with a mixed expression on his face, but happy. He felt happier than most people on the planet. and his heart was pounding. In four years, it has become even more beautiful. Her hair was longer. She grew up well and now could not wear a platform that would look similar to models in heels. Not that he followed her career, right?...Yes. Her violet eyes were still so alive and happy looking at everything around them, illuminating every detail and making it not just a thing, but something magical, and he finally understood why he fell in love with her like a fool. The girl turned around in a circle on her axis, catching Demian's eye. A moment of deep thought crossed her face before she arched an eyebrow and winked at him. Oh, my God. She sweetly gave a smile to each of the tight circle, apologizing probably if not a hundred times and smoothly moved in his direction. She remembered him, didn't she? The way she winked at him was exactly the same as it had been four years ago. She couldn't remember it. He was sure that na had forgotten his name as soon as she entered the back room. Yet she was walking toward him now, graceful and confident, and it made his heart flip in his chest. He gripped Kent's forearm convulsively squeezing and probably crumpling his school jacket. Screw it. John grimaced and looked up from the phone. "What is it, Wayne?" John followed Damian's gaze, and then his face turned a snide shade and he seemed to forget about the sleeve. "Oh, she's coming right here. - Yes. I got it without you, asshole. What should I do?! - Well, first of all, relax. You've only met once in your life, and that doesn't mean that she'll throw her arms around your neck and kiss you. - Shut. You're not helping. - Wayne, listen, she's rich and hot, really hot ... Oh! and she's also a top model, which is enough to know that you're not on your way with her. So relax. - Now you are my former friend. - Demian scowled, being in full ass from the words of his new friend John. His words were perfectly reasonable and infuriating. She came up to them, stopping a meter away from the guy and gave Demian a malicious smile. "Hey, D-Damian Wayne. Damian heard a burst of laughter from his friend, and his brows drew together sternly. He's going to kill him. Very long and painful. - Hi. he tried to give his voice a more casual tone, not so that his words came out in snatches and rough jerks. He had once disgraced himself in front of her, and his pride would be ruined if he stuttered in front of Kent. She didn't seem to betray the significance of it, for she was looking straight at him with a wide and affectionate smile. "You know, back in the back room, I didn't think we had time to meet, did we?" she gave him another sly smile, and the sarcasm in her voice slipped like a thin ribbon. - Consonant. - Damian didn't fully understand what she is asking her something. No, he might understand, but he didn't believe it. "I suggest we fix it." - TA dam. He raised an eyebrow, confused by how easily she said it. "This is my first time here, will you join me?"

[luckyjak]

essek week: day seven

For @essek-week day seven: AU. In this case, modern AU

TW: Homophobia, tw: implied transphobia, TW: Outing, Brotherly Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, religious conservative family trauma, Mighty Nein as Family, boys crying about feelings, Modern AU. 

most of the trigger warnings are implied not explicit but I feel the need to warn regardless

He’s late.

He shouldn’t have come at this point, but something keeps tugging at him, making him move forward despite the rain of the city and his general tardiness. Perhaps it’s the fact that he bought a gift that makes him keep moving, or maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen Essek in three years, or any number of reasons, but his feet keep moving, and he doesn’t stop.

When he arrives at the location his GPS tells him is the venue, he hesitates even as his hand is on the door.

It’s not a church, Verin thinks, smiling in spite of himself. Mother would have kittens if she knew Essek was getting married not in a church.

She'd have a conniption over the fact that he's marrying a man, too, of course. Not that she was coming to the wedding. No one from Essek’s side of the family was likely to come to his wedding, except for Verin, and it was that thought that gave him the courage to open the door.

At first, he wonders if he’s wandered into the wrong location, if he perhaps misread the invitation he received. But a quick glance tells him that, no, this is the right location. The planetarium looks like a garden exploded in it: there are flowers everywhere, and none of them match. But the chaos actually sort of works, aesthetically, as all of the flowers seem to glow with the night sky overhead.

He’s like, the only drow here, but the place is packed with people dancing and drinking. He tries to see if he can spot his brother anywhere, but before he gets too far there is a blue tiefling in his face.

“Hi!” She says to him, very bubbly. She looks like a princess, wearing a bright pink sparkly dress and a tiara. Across her chest is a sash that says Maid of Honor. “Are you related to Essek?”

He blinks at her, slowly. “I am. Is he, ah, still here…?”

“He is,” she bounces on her tiptoes, still grinning. He realizes suddenly that she is wearing matching pink converse shoes as opposed to heels. Another thing Mother would have a fit over, he thinks.

“Can I, uh, see him, or…”

He feels a large, rough hand on his shoulder, and he turns and finds himself staring at a very tall, pink haired firbolg. “We just want to have a little conversation, first.”

“I’m sure you are a very nice guy!” The tiefling tells him, still bouncing slightly. “But Essek said a lot of his family are dicks, so we just wanna check.”

“Yeah,” comes a new voice, and he turns to find a dark skinned human woman in a blue suit. She is also wearing a sash, although her’s says Caleb’s Best Friend Fuck Gender.  “We just wanna make sure you aren’t here to start shit. Say something homophobic or something fucked up on his wedding day.”

A part of him feels warm on his brother’s behalf. The Essek he used to know never had friends who would stand up for him like this. He blinks slowly, and tries to find a kind smile within himself. “I’m not our mother,” he tells the three friends of Essek, and hopes it’s enough to convey his sincerity.

The firbolg slaps him on the back. “Good enough for me!” He points in the general direction of the center of the room. “He’s dancing with his husband.”

He wanders, for a little bit, but he still doesn’t see his brother. Instead, he decided to amuse himself by counting how many other people are wearing sashes like the tiefling and the woman in the suit. The firbolg is wearing one, too, he realizes, only his is on backwards; it says Made of Tea. There is a halfling in a yellow dress who has a sash that says Mama Bear. A half-orc wearing a ridiculous pirate hat whose sash says Best Captain. An incredibly buff woman with dark hair is dancing with a purple tiefling in a dress, and both of them are wearing sashes, too. The woman’s sash says Made of Honor (Also Guns) while the tiefling’s says Best Dead. The woman dips the tiefling as part of their dance, and the tiefling immediately cracks a joke in someone’s direction, which is how Verin finds his brother.

No wonder he couldn’t find Essek at first. He hardly looks like himself. Gone is the quiet boy who used to hide up in his room, or when forced out into public, hid behind several layers of thick robes. Instead he’s dancing in the center of the room, and the center of everyone’s attention, too. His brother wears a silk white halter top that sparkles in the starlight. Verin thinks it may be slightly translucent, too, but he’s too far to tell at this distance. His top is tucked into high waisted dark trousers with shiny gold buttons on them. Unlike many of the women here, his brother is wearing high heels, and more makeup than most of the women, too. He wears gold eyeliner and thick purple and blue eyeshadow, but it looks nice on him. Makes him look ethereal, which, Verin thinks, might have been the theme.

The man Essek is dancing with is half a head taller than his brother, and human, too, from the looks of him. He looks like a wizard, Verin thinks, which is sort of a ridiculous outfit to wear to a wedding, but it kind of works for him. He wears a long, light blue cape, robe thing? But the top half of it is sparkly, woven with silver thread to look like stardust. The man’s hair is very long and a vivid red, going down past his shoulders, but it’s been braided in an elaborate French braid, with bright flowers woven into his hair.

He’s also wearing makeup, Verin notices and grins. A light blue eyeshadow.

The song they are dancing to ends, and the newly wedded couple kiss, and Verin turns away immediately so he’s not looking at them, like they’ve done something embarrassing. Shame sinks into the bottom of his stomach as he does so, and he feels himself flush with anger and embarrassment. This is Essek’s wedding, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with him kissing his husband.

Why is it so hard to unlearn every toxic thing Mother ever taught me?  Verin thinks, ashamed of himself. His hands grip the present he brought tightly, and he turns to try to find the gift table, to put what he brought there and then go home, and of course, that’s when Essek spots him.

“Verin?” his brother calls to him, so he stops and turns to face him. His brother looks so shocked right now, it’s hard to read any other expression on his face; Verin can’t tell if he’s happy to see him, or angry, or both. “You came?”

“You invited me,” Verin says sheepishly, although he knows that’s not a good excuse. They’ve not seen each other in three years. Part of that is on Essek; he left the family in a storm of anger and hurt, but part of it is on Verin, too. He didn’t reach out to him, even after Verin left the family, too.

“I invited the whole Den,” Essek says, gesturing around the room as if to point out the distinct lack of drow here. Most people are still dancing, but a few have stopped to watch his and Essek’s conversation; most of the people with sashes, he notices. “But they didn’t seem to make it.”

There’s so much Verin wants to say, then. He wants to say I’m sorry, he wants to say I was bigger and stronger. I should have protected you from them. He wants to say I’m trying to be a better person now and I should have contacted you sooner and it’s so hard, unlearning everything they taught us, how did you do it? And did you know Father died, the night you left?

But he doesn’t, can’t seem to find a way to make any of those words come out of his throat. The room is too crowded and too hot, so instead, he deflects. “Perhaps their invitations got lost in the mail?”

His comment causes Essek to grin. “All seven hundred and eleven of them, huh?”

“Seven hundred and thirteen,” Verin corrects with a gentle smile, his nerves vanishing with the familiar banter he’s missed from his brother. “Cousin Gwylyss’s wife had twins two years ago.”

“Those poor kids,” Essek muses. “I hope they don’t take after their father.”

“Oh, they absolutely do,” or at least, they did, before Verin left, too.

Essek practically doubles over with laughter, and when he stops laughing he smiles sharply at Verin, fangs poking out of his lips. “Did you know, Great Aunt Beszrima sent me a wedding gift? It’s just money, but it was still a surprise.”

Now it’s Verin’s turn to practically double over. “Did she really?”

“Oh yes. My theory is that the old bat saw the name Thelyss on a wedding invitation and sent money without looking any closer at it.”

Both brothers are laughing now, a shared joke no one else gets, and it’s so nice, he’s missed this so much. This connection, the shared past and the shared trauma. For a moment, they are just two brothers laughing at their extended family, and they can pretend that three years ago, Verin didn’t accidentally out his older brother to their religious, conservative family. That the fight that broke out between Essek and their father hadn’t turned violent. That, when the storm finally broke, both Essek and their father left, and the next time Verin saw their father he was in a casket, and he thought for years the next time he’d see Essek, he’d be in one, too.

His thoughts sober him up quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Essek.

It’s not enough, it won’t ever be enough, but he doesn’t know what else to say. How can you apologize for not knowing any better? He was young and stupid and impulsive, but that’s not an excuse. How do you apologize for ruining someone’s life without realizing it?

But he doesn’t get the chance to say anything further, because Essek is doing something he’s not done in years, and hugging him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

He sobs before he can stop himself, and Essek is crying, too, he thinks, because he can feel the wetness on his jacket. He wraps his arms around Essek's back and hugs him tightly, sobbing because he feels too much.

“Enough of that,” Essek says shakily, pulling away. His makeup is smudged and runny, and he is trying, desperately, to stop crying. “It’s my wedding day. I’m not going to cry any more.”

Verin makes no such promises, and wipes his eyes on his jacket sleeve.

There’s a gentle hand on Essek’s shoulder, and the man he was dancing with earlier--his husband, Verin thinks--hands Essek a handkerchief without saying anything, although Verin can tell he’s been watching their exchange like a hawk. “Oh fuck,” Essek says, laughing as he blows his nose into the handkerchief. “Verin, would you like to meet my husband?”

“Of course. That's why I came,” Verin says, holding his hand out, wishing he looked less like a mess. “Verin Thelyss. Essek is my big brother.”

“Caleb Widogast,” the husband says, shaking his hand. The Zemnian accent is a surprise, but then again, Verin doesn’t know what he expected Essek’s husband to sound like. “Essek is my husband.”

Verin holds his head down, shame filling him again slightly. “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony.”

“It’s okay,” Caleb Widogast tells him with a soft smile. “Better late than never. We are glad you are here.”

“We are,” Essek assures him. He grabs Verin’s hand, and squeezes it gently. “I am so glad to see you again.”

Verin cries again, and squeezes Essek’s hand back. “There’s so much I’d like to say,” he says, his voice cracking as he speaks. “But I don’t want to ruin your wedding.”

“You wouldn’t,” Essek assures him, and squeezes his hand back. “You haven’t.”

“I think,” Essek’s husband looks around, and Verin notices suddenly that they are in a closed circle of people--all the people he noticed wearing sashes, the people who must make up the wedding party. They are circling them to give them privacy, he realizes suddenly, and he feels overwhelmed with gratitude towards these strangers who must love his brother so very much. “That perhaps, if you two wished to talk more privately, we could provide a distraction.”

Caleb’s Best Friend Fuck Gender  whistles. “We are very good at distractions.”

Best Dead smiles sharply with his fangs pointing. “Something of our specialty, you might say.”

Mama Bear wiggles her fingers. “Chaos crew.”

“Go on then,” Essek’s-- Caleb, Verin corrects himself, tells them, squeezing Essek’s shoulder. “We’ll find you later.”

Then a firecracker goes off (where did that even come from?) and people are shouting and running about, and Essek drags his brother off to talk, privately, for the first time in three years, and it feels, a little bit, like forgiveness.

[starrybethany]

Pierre Engvall: Rewind by Rascal Flatts

Word count: 2331

Music video link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPcASvgb7yg 

Lyrics link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LEJRDWJYG8 

Wish I could reach up and reset that sun

Reverse these wheels go back and re-pick you up

Went by so fast, oh, so sweet

Make me wanna remake a memory

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were working today,” my co-worker squeals excitedly as I walk into the quaint coffee shop.

“Yeah, my plane landed yesterday,” I inform her, pulling my apron over my head and yanking my hair out of the strap.

“How was Sweden?” She asks.

I know I could tell her so much. I could tell her about the beautiful weather and how my classes were so informative and how the culture is just so amazing.

But I also just want to tell her about one person who made the whole experience perfect.

The one person who could convince me to avoid my responsibilities and stay in that foregin nation for the rest of my life, the person who I could stare at forever without noticing the sun rising or setting.

I could tell her about how he would pick me up from my host family’s house to go to the bar at night in his expensive little convertible and it would make my host dad shake his head and laugh and my host sister smile with jealousy.

Or how he would push me on the swings at the park practically every night and would tell me all about his hockey team in Canada and funny stories about how stupid his teammates are.

“Y/N?”

I snap out of my thoughts, remembering her question. I don’t want to tell her any of those things. I feel like my relationship with Pierre is too personal to spread around- I want to remember him intimately.

“It was good. It was really, really good.”

Wish I had me a time machine

Oh, I float the moon back up in the sky

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

“2012.” He squints those brown eyes that I spend too long looking into at the bottle, reading the label.

“You spent $200 on red wine from 2012?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Well it’s from France.”

I laugh at that and he cracks a smile, popping the cork and holding the bottle out as an offering. I hold my glass out towards him, watching as he begins to pour.

“Pierre that’s too much,” I giggle as he pours practically half of the bottle into the glass.

He laughs himself, pulling the bottle away and giving himself half of what he’s given me.

“It’s like you’re trying to get me drunk or something,” I tease.

“Or something,” he repeats, watching as I take a sip. “Can I braid your hair?”

“What?” I ask, confused by the sudden question.

“Can I braid your hair? I’ve just always wanted to try and your hair is so pretty.”

I can tell he’s becoming nervous by my delayed response so I nod, turning so my back is to him. I tug my locks out of it’s loose ponytail and ask, “Do you know how?”

“I can figure it out,” he answers. I can feel him move behind me and the Swedish music he put on to ‘cultivate me’ as he put it, becomes distant as his fingers grip my hair.

I lean back into his hands, closing my eyes and enjoying this moment of the two of us together. I don’t know how many more moments like this I’ll get. I have to leave to go back home in a couple of months and I don’t know if I’ll ever see Pierre after this.

It’s a summer love kind of thing.

His hands move to rest gently on my shoulders as my hair rests down my back.

“It’s not working,” he says in a hushed voice.

I hum in response, just enjoying the feeling of his company in mine. He lets it happen.

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

“I used to be obsessed with astrology when I was younger,” I admit, staring up at the stars.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Um,” I point up at the stars and feel Pierre’s burning skin on my own as his hands slide down to grip my waist. “Do you want to know where the stars are or do you just want to fondle me all night?”

“I can do both,” he replies, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek. I laugh in response.

“Do you see that bright star, right there? Follow it down and there’s the Big Dipper. And where the Big Dipper is the Little Dipper is.” My eyes scan the sky as Pierre squeezes my waist, mumbling something quietly to himself.

It takes me a while to focus but as soon as I locate the constellation I light up. “To the right and down is the Little Dipper.”

“What about, uh, Halley’s Comet?” He questions, leaving a kiss on the back of my neck.

“Babe, Halley’s Comet comes once every seventy five years,” I tease, turning around in his arms to face him. His arms slither to rest on my lower back loosely and he leans forward, connecting his chapped lips to my own.

I will never get over kissing Pierre. Everytime we kiss it feels like the first time and I could live with that feeling for the rest of my life. He pulls back and smiles at me, brown eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Then he gives me a kiss. And another one. And another one.

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

“I hate to end this,” I mumble into his chest. “But I have class early in the morning so I should probably sleep before then.”

“Or you could just pull an all-nighter,” he suggests, tugging me tighter into him.

I grin. “If I pull an all-nighter you won’t be seeing me tomorrow night.”

“Then let’s get you to bed,” he responds, holding his hands out to help me rise to my feet. Our hands stay interlocked once I’m stable on my feet and they stay that way during the walk to the car.

I turn back that radio dial re-open your door,

Try to talk George Strait into giving us an encore

“Oh, a gentleman,” I tease as he opens the passenger’s door for me. He rolls his eyes but waits until I’m seated in his car, closing the door and running to the driver’s side.

“Are you going to play some more of what we were listening to on the way here or are you going to switch it up?” I question.

Pierre likes to put on a Swedish singer whenever we’re in the car to educate me on how many talented people come out of Sweden. I’m aware of it already since plenty of NHL players, including him, come from this nation but I don’t mind listening to music so I don’t say anything.

“Let’s change it,” he decides, “Have you listened to Avicii at all?”

“Only the songs that they play on the radio,” I admit.

“Oh, he has a lot more hits than that.” I watch as he pulls up his Spotify, smiling secretly to myself as I see his ‘Y/N’s hits’ playlist. I didn’t even know that he made a playlist of songs that I like. I wonder if it’s songs that I said I liked or if it’s just songs that we listened to together that I said that I like.

‘Wake Me Up’ begins to blast through the radio and I comment, “They play this a lot on the radio.”

“Then you have to sing along,” Pierre demands, beginning the drive back to my host’s home.

“Only if you sing too,” I protest.

“Y/N, I don’t sing.”

“Well, then I’m not singing,” I cross my arms as if to prove my point.

He gives me a look and sighs. “Feeling my way through the darkness…”

Re-spin you around

Replay that sound

Of you laughing when we hit the ground

“What are you doing?” I squeal as he pulls my door open and tugs me out of the car.

“I didn’t know I was lost,” Pierre sings along, wrapping an arm around my waist and gripping my other hand in his like we’re ballroom dancing to the song we’ve been listening to on repeat the whole car ride. “I didn’t know I was lost.”

He picks me up, gripping my waist and twirling me around, chuckling as I squeal in surprise at the action.

“Pierre!” I giggle as he continues to twirl us around. Finally he sets me on my feet and I’m laughing so hard I have to lean into him, too high off of life and love to be able to stand properly.

I can see it now how 'bout we

Float the moon back up in the sky,

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. His lips ghost over mine as he says in a hushed voice, “I think you’re about to get in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

He pulls back, nodding his head towards the front door of my host family’s home. I follow his eyeline to see my host father standing on the porch, arms crossed, but a fond smile on his face.

“I guess that’s my queue.” I kiss his cheek, a tradition we’ve started since he first picked me up at the beginning of summer. “Thank you for the wonderful night and the delicious wine.”

“Thank you for educating me on constellations,” he teases, kissing the back of my hand.

I roll my eyes at his gentleman-like behavior, giving him a final wave before walking up the sidewalk and stepping past my host father into the house.

“Don’t say a word, papa,” I warn him lightly.

“Young love is beautiful,” he tells me, ignoring my words.

 Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

“I love your hair, it’s so much longer now,” my coworker snaps me out of my daydreams once again, brushing a hand through my long locks.

“Yeah, thanks,” I tell her, pulling it back behind my shoulders. Everything in me is telling me to fight the urge but I can’t help it as I begin to French braid my hair, pretending my fingers are Pierre’s.

It seems like a pointless act because as soon as the braid is perfected, I let it go.

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

I wanna re-fall and re-fly

Baby, re-live this night

“Do you remember when we went to that museum and saw that painting of that woman without her top on and you said that your boobs looked exactly like hers, and then didn’t  show me your boobs so I could agree or disagree? The nerve,” he shakes his head.

I smile, watching him drive. I know he’s trying to get my mind off of my plane ride home and the fact that I’ll probably never see him again. Our whole relationship has been based off of teasing and lust, so he’s just helping me the best way he knows how to.

“And then you spilled your drink on my shirt to try to get me to take it off,” I continue, causing him to nod.

“I wanted to see them titties.”

I snort, leaning over to shove his shoulder. He jokingly swerves like I caused him to do so with my push and I squeal, not expecting it.

“That was a good date,” I mumble, sitting up and suddenly remembering that a date like that is never going to happen again.

Pierre doesn’t respond but reaches his hand over the center counsel, gripping my hand in his gently and raising it to his lips, leaving a kiss. It’s enough for me.

Float the moon back up in the sky,

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

“Why did you have to book a nighttime flight? I’m so tired,” he yawns dramatically as he pulls my suitcase out of the back of his car, holding out his hand for me to grip as we make our way into the airport.

“So I could sleep on the plane. Let me remind you that I didn’t know you when I booked the ticket home, I thought my host father would bring me back to the airport.” I try to bump my shoulder into his shoulder teasingly but hit his arm instead because of our height difference.

“Well, you got something better,” he responds, stopping at the check-in station.

We face each other and he pulls me tightly into his arms, squeezing me like he’ll never let go. I’m not sure I ever want him to let me go. My arms wind around him in return and I grip him as close to me as possible, savoring the last few moments we’ll get together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a goodbye gift,” he mumbles into my hair. “I was going to get you some red 2012 wine but I completely forgot when I was at the store, if I’m being honest with you.”

I laugh into his chest. “I couldn’t even bring it on the plane with me, babe.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he pulls back, gripping my shoulders, “American customs and all.”

He gives me a fond smile, leaning in for one, last, passionate kiss. We suck all of the air out of our lungs before he pulls away, pushing me jokingly towards the counter. “See you later.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

The door chimes and I look up from the counter I’m wiping, freezing once I see who stepped in. It couldn’t be- no. Why would he be here, in America? I thought he played on a team in Canada? He stops once he sees me and I watch him for his reaction.

A smile beams across his face and he practically skips over to me, ignoring the questions that the boys he’s with are asking him.

“Hi,” he breathes out.

“Hi,” I repeat. I watch as his eyes flicker all over my face, from my eyes to my nose to my lips. They stay on my lips, the lips he’s kissed so many times.

I feel electric now that I’m in his presence again. I feel alive, like something left me when I left Sweden and is now coming back now that I’m with Pierre again.

(Float the moon back up in the sky)

I'm wishing I could rewind

(put a cork back into that sweet red wine)

I wanna re-live this night

So good, so right

“I never thought I would see you again,” he confesses, reaching up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, me neither. What are you doing here?” I question.

“We’re visiting the hockey team here.”

“This city has a hockey team?” I ask, bewildered.

His laugh rings through the small coffee shop. It’s a beautiful sound that I haven’t heard in a long enough time.

“Do you maybe want to go out tonight? And get some dinner and drinks and just catch up?” He suggests nervously.

“I would love that.”

[persephonescat]

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

Chapter 3!!!!!!! Wow. 

Ch. 1      Previous    Next    Masterpost    AO3

________________

Ch. 3: I Came Here to Have a Good Time...

The problem with making friends with a villain past midnight and getting into an hours-long debate on psychology with them? 

Well, you know the thing when you lay unconscious in your bed in order to function? It kinda gets left out.

Marinette drank two cups of coffee in the morning - she didn't even like coffee -, and she still wanted to kill everyone she laid her eyes on and then herself. (Guess who spent their practically non-existent free time reading memes?)

It was too early to check on Luka and Kagami, plus they made her promise she would at least try to have a good time, and Kaalki had absolutely no interest in taking her to Paris if there wasn't a clear threat. Normally, she wouldn't have thought about going on a school trip at all. For two years, she managed to "get sick" every time there was an outing on the horizon, and she took no pleasure in going to a different continent for two months, while Paris' population was completely vulnerable to a terrorist. 

However, Gotham might've had been even more dangerous than Paris, and she couldn't let her classmates go without protection either. Not to mention how the whole trip was... kind of her fault.

In her protection, last year, when Mrs. Bustier presented the class with the opportunity, she didn't think they had any chance. So when the woman said she was going to speak to her colleagues in her favor if Marinette filled out the application and convinced the class to reach the requirements, the girl didn't think twice. They shot a cool campaign-video, got recommendations from Jagged Stone, Cheng Shifu, Nadja Chamack, Penny Rolling, Gabriel Agreste, Audrey Bourgeois, the major, the principal and even the Kitty Section for good measure, then she wrote a five pages long essay about the ways they could spend the vacation and the money that came with it. Now that Marinette was thinking about it, they might've overshot the mark a little.

Thanks to Mrs. Bustier, this way she could at least maintain her grades a bit, which came handy after the late-night patrols she was still getting used to at the time.

Giving the Miraculouses to Luka and Kagami after swearing never to use them again was hard, but necessary. As Ladybug, she fed them a story about having to go to the east for a Miraculous-mission two weeks before Marinette actually left, so she could see them in action - Hawkmoth was getting sloppy; he only sent out one akuma during that time period, and it was a pretty weak one too -, and so it wasn't that easy to connect the dots, 'cause... Ladybug and your friend, who magical camouflage or not, look pretty much alike, leave and come back at the same time. You have three guesses.

She made them promise to call her if there was any damage she had to "Cure" or if an akuma was too difficult for them to handle, and she hoped that at least Kagami, being the more responsible one, would keep that promise.

Alya's voice, still hoarse from waking up, pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Mornin'." She stopped to yawn and tried to smooth her red tornado of a hair out. "Where did you get coffee?" 

Marinette pointed at the pot on the counter. Alya shuffled towards it with closed eyes, muttering "coffee" under her breath over and over again, her hip hitting every chair on the way there. She might've cursed a few times, but it came out so tangled, Marinette wasn't sure.

Then came Nino storming down the stairs, probably waking the entire city with his steps, humming Jagged Stones' Jeudi soir. He put a hand on Alya's back, lead her to a chair, then poured her a cup of coffee and smiled at Marinette while mixing two spoons of sugar into it. She smiled back fondly. 

She wasn't sure when she and Alya stopped being best friends. Things just... changed. Marinette started growing out her hair, wearing it in a braid instead of piggy tails. Alya's usual shirts were swapped to fandom T-shirts and crop tops. Marinette's clothes got more red and black, Alya started running another website beside Ladyblog, about her everyday life and various topics from movie-critiques to the art of journalism. Marinette ran out of pink lipstick and purchased a cherry one instead. Alya went to a festival with Nino and it was the best week of her life. Marinette's crush on Adrien disappeared, while Alya's relationship with Nino got more and more serious. 

It was slow and painful at first, but she didn't realize how much changed over a few months until one day she reached for her phone to call her friend and tell her something about a commission she got, then it hit her: they were not like that anymore.

It was comforting, on some level, that she no longer had that responsibility. Or that's what she told herself.

When the rest of her class arrived, she stood up and left the cafeteria. 

***

In the morning, they went sightseeing. Not as if Gotham had a lot of sights, they might've been the only people stupid enough to go there for fun.

No, it was more like two hours of "don't go here", "don't go there",  and "please, don't go there either" as they were shown around the city by a young lady whose posture was radiating stress all the time. Marinette could understand why. Their last stop was the Wayne Tower, where they were told to pair up with each other and discover the shops, cafés, and restaurants around the square.

She locked eyes with Adrien and mouthed "cover for me". The boy nodded, then Marinette quickly turned around the corner and walked around the square a few times before finding a sympathetic café, only one street away from the tower (technically, it wasn't on the square, but close enough).

She took a seat and ordered her third cup of coffee that day (she was healthy like that), before pulling out her phone and researching Wayne Enterprises. She checked it out back home of course, but there was a lot more material there than she had time for

She was reading yet another biography on Bruce Wayne and pretending her tired eyes weren't constantly tearing up and stinging from the screen when she heard it.

"I can't believe it. Have you read this?" an old man asked his wife sitting at the table next to Marinette's.

"Please, Robert, you can't throw a tantrum every time someone gets killed in this city," the women answered flatly.

The man turned a few pages in his newspaper then pushed it under her wife's nose.

"Not just someone, Martha! A girl! A young girl! She was barely older than Katie!" That seemed to pique the woman's interest.

"A girl, ya' say?" she murmured, pulling out her glasses. "Who did it?"

"You'd think they know, right? I mean, they have a list of all the psychopaths rummaging the streets, it can't be that hard to figure out, but no-," the wife shushed him just by raising a finger.

She took a few seconds to read the article before speaking up again.

"This says it was near Crime Alley. No girl goes near that just by accident."

"She was stabbed twelve times in broad daylight! She wasn't that near Crime Alley, look-," he turned the newspaper, searching the lines then he pointed at something, "-she was found on St. Anthony Street! That's five streets over!"

The woman hummed.

"What did ya' say, how old was she?"

"Sixteen. Katie might've seen her a few times, they went to the same school."

A waitress came and interrupted them, giving them their check. Marinette, who was pretending to drink her coffee peacefully all along now turned to them just as the man opened his wallet.

"Excuse Moi? May I ask what time it is?" She asked with a thick French accent. 

The man stopped halfway in paying the waitress and glanced at his watch, giving Marinette enough time to study the wallet in his hand. It was small and black leather, probably a gift. There was a picture too, just as she expected. It showed a girl around thirteen with blond hair and bangs, smiling in her school uniform. "Katie", if she had any luck. 

"Half-past two," the man told her helpfully.

The girl thanked him with a smile, paid for her coffees, then left the shop. 

She walked around the block to get out of the old couple's sight before visiting the Gotham Gazelle's official website on her phone. The dead girl's name was Joanne, but her surname wasn't published and there was no photo of her. She was found the day before yesterday, with twelve identical knife-wounds on her body. The police said they were looking for the culprit, but they clearly didn't have much to go on, given their lack of suspects.

Marinette took out her sketchbook and started scribbling down some notes.

Joanne

16 yrs old

Lives in Gotham

Student

She paused. The uniform on Katie's picture was blue with a red tie. Gotham didn't have many schools, but they all had different uniforms. Blue and red meant Gotham Academy.

Student in Gotham Academy

A quick Facebook search later she had the girl's last name and profile picture. Bless the modern age.

If she had to be in Gotham, she might as well not die in boredom, right?

St. Anthony Street was a little over thirty minutes from the Wayne Tower. She had time.

________________

As always, coffee is my nectar and comments are my ambrosia, so penny for your thoughts!

Ch. 1      Previous     Next    Masterpost    AO3

Tag list:

@northernbluetongue

@vgirl-10123

[astaralys]

Of Nowhere in Particular, an icebros oneshot

Kristoff doesn't understand hair braiding. Or his sister-in-law, for that matter. In one lesson, Elsa demystifies both for him. A post-Frozen 2 icebros oneshot.

(a.k.a that one scene from ch. 6 of The Next Unknown that wouldn’t leave me alone until I’d given it another 2793 words...)

Can also be read on: FF.net || AO3

Thank you for reading!

-----

This was ridiculous. He could dig a snow anchor in his sleep. He could fasten knots so secure that the sled wouldn't budge an inch in a snowstorm. He understood stuff like this.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"You're not helping, Sven."

"You should just ask Anna to teach you."

"She showed me once when she was half-asleep. I've got this. Hold still."

"Kristoff?"

Yelping, Kristoff whirled around in time to see the ropes that had flown out of his hands land conveniently in Elsa's.

"Sorry for scaring you," she said sheepishly.

"Oh my god." Kristoff clutched his chest. "I thought you were Anna."

Elsa's brow furrowed in concern. "Did the two of you have a fight?"

"No! No, we're good—great. Seriously. It's just… I'm kinda trying to surprise her with something and you know Anna; never know when she's going to pop up. Or where. One time, she gave me, like, half a second's warning before she jumped out a second-storey window and I had to drop everything to catch her."

Nice one, Bjorgman. Now she'll think you're enabling her sister's recklessness.

"… Never mind. Did you, uh, need me for something?"

Elsa's lips curved. "Anna and I wondered if you might be free to join us for lunch." She raised the rope, which she had wound into a neat coil. "But now I'm wondering if I walked in on you putting Sven in a hogtie. He doesn't look very happy."

"We're just practicing some knots before our next trip into the mountains. Right, boy? Ow! Hey!" Sven had snorted and butted him.

Elsa arched a fine eyebrow.

Rubbing his back, Kristoff muttered, "Braiding."

"I'm sorry? I didn't catch that."

"Hair."

"Her?"

"Braiding her hair!"

Too late, Kristoff realised he'd practically yelled at Elsa. Anna's sister. His sister-in-law. Queen of ice and snow. Crap.

But she only stepped forward with mirth in her eyes. "May I?"

Dumbly, he nodded.

Sven held perfectly still for Elsa, allowing her to loop the ropes over his antlers. "You have way too many ropes. It isn't as complicated as it looks; most braids require only three strands." She looked over her shoulder to where Kristoff still stood, dazed. Her smile broadened in amusement. "Come closer. I have no intention of strangling you."

He reluctantly drew up to her side, shooting Sven a hapless look. His best friend ignored him and let out a snuff of pleasure as Elsa scratched his chin. Traitor.

"This is a French braid." Elsa's fingers wove through the ropes in an entirely different kind of magic. "Dutch braid. Pull-through braid. Waterfall braid. The varieties are endless. The symmetry of Anna's pigtails would be difficult for a beginner; I suggest you start with a simple three-strand braid."

Kristoff's eyes felt crossed just from watching. He latched onto the word 'simple'. "Is that the kind of braid you usually have?"

"Yes. It was the first style I taught Anna, too." She fastened the spare ropes to Sven's other antler. "Here, hold your fingers like this. Try to follow along, and tell me if you need me to slow down. Ready?"

He wasn't. How on earth did women do this every day? He'd once seen Anna and Elsa take turns braiding each other's hair at games night, shouting guesses at Olaf's enactments without once looking down at their hands. Utterly terrifying.

But Elsa had once terrified him, too. And now she was laughing as she leaned over to free his clumsy fingers from the dead knot he'd somehow created, her voice warm with patience. "I know it's difficult, but it does get easier. Let's try again. Left… cross—no, the other way. Yes. Now right… and cross again… that's it. You're getting it."

His hair had flopped over his eyes. His left leg was itchy. He wanted to sneeze. But Kristoff dared not take his hands or eyes off the braid, which looked nothing like Elsa's. If he squinted hard enough, though, he could just see it starting to take shape.

There was a rhythm to it, too, just like ice harvesting. Saw, clamp, lift, load… left, cross, right, cross…

Suddenly, Elsa clapped her hands together. "You did it!"

"I did?" Kristoff blinked, looking down. He stared. "Holy carrots—I did it!"

He repeated it to prove that he could. Then again. When he finally managed to do it without Elsa guiding him, Kristoff punched the air and turned to her with both hands held high.

She tilted her head quizzically.

"Hi-ten," he told her. "Two hi-fives."

"Oh. Yes, of course." After slapping palms, she added, "You have very large hands."

"Doesn't help with the braiding, trust me."

"But it does mean you'll be able to catch Anna when she falls." Before Kristoff could think of how to respond to that, Elsa asked, "Would you like to try for real now?"

"Catching Anna? Kinda did that a hundred times already."

"Braiding hair, Kristoff."

"Right. Uh… sure." He sweated at the thought of Anna wearing his ugly braid for the rest of the day, because he already knew she would refuse to take it out. Sometimes Kristoff still wondered how someone like her had ended up so irrevocably taking over the heart of someone like him.

Elsa twirled her hand, and a stool of ice rose from the ground. Then she sat down with her back to him, clasping her hands in her lap.

That was when it hit Kristoff that she meant for him to practice on her. "Are you sure? I mean, I'd like to. May I—I mean we me… wait, what?"

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Elsa chuckled. "You may."

"O-Okay... it's just, um, this is a lot. For me."

Even as he said it, Kristoff realised that it was a lot more for Elsa than it was for him. He knew her well enough by now to tell that she wasn't as relaxed as she tried to portray. They were two ends of the same chain, clicking together only when Anna was their connecting clasp. And they both knew that.

"I'm definitely going to mess up. My stupid salami fingers might yank out your hair."

"That's fine. When we were little, Anna used to pull my braid and pretend I was a racehorse."

It took a moment. Then Kristoff burst into laughter. "You're kidding me."

"Oh no, I am deadly serious. I was Elsa the Swift, proudly bearing Anna the Fearless-Viking-and-Sometimes-Dragonslayer into many vicious battles."

The strangest part was Kristoff could actually picture it. Not Elsa as a horse, but as a child zipping down the halls to indulge her rambunctious baby sister. Elsa with the chest of satin gloves Anna had told him about. Elsa withdrawing from others the same way Kristoff had—except she had been driven away by the horror of hurting them, and he had distanced himself out of fear of being hurt by them.

Then there was Elsa wiping a smudge of paint off of his cheek on Anna's perfect birthday. Elsa being the only one to understand that he'd been acting out 'alone' at last week's charades. Elsa opening her arms and hugging him back for a fraction longer each time she returned from the Enchanted Forest.

Elsa conjuring a second stool for him so he could sit down and braid her hair.

Kristoff gazed at the stool's flawless crystalline structure, as fine and strong and brittle as the silky hair in his hands, and wanted to say I love your ice.

Instead, he blurted out: "I love you."

Elsa spun around. Their wide eyes locked together.

"Ice!" Kristoff said hastily. He could hear Sven laughing behind him. "I love your ice! I mean, I don't not love—I do like you…"

Elsa's lips twitched. "Kristoff?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I also don't not love you."

Kristoff opened and closed his mouth. "That is very confusing."

"Double negatives usually are," she replied, turning back around. "But the meaning remains the same, no matter how complicated it seems."

Kristoff blinked, then sat down. Slowly, carefully, he combed a hand through Elsa's hair. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"You really have nothing to apologise for."

"No, I meant… I'm sorry I wasn't there. When you and Anna found your parents' ship. And when you… you know. In Ahtohallan."

He couldn't see her face, and Elsa always sat with such poise that it was hard to tell, but Kristoff sensed her whole body go still.

He divided her hair into three strands. "I wish I'd been there. I should have been there."

"No one but me could have safely crossed the Dark Sea—"

"I know that. I know there was probably nothing I could have done. And I'm not saying you and Anna need my protection but…" Kristoff let out a frustrated sigh. "I was raised by trolls, Elsa."

She sounded confused. "I know…?"

"Trolls have very long lives." The rhythm of braiding lulled him into forcing the words out. "Reindeers are better than people, because people beat you and cheat you. And leave you."

Things had been so much simpler when it had just been him and Sven. Before Kristoff had learned how dangerous it was to care for someone. Before the only two people he trusted froze to death one after the other.

Left, cross, right, cross.

The braid slid out of his hands as Elsa turned around. "I'm sorry, too," she said softly. "For leaving you behind and…"

"Dying? Yeah, it'd be great if you could refrain from doing that again."

"You realise it must happen at least one more time, don't you?"

"You realise it would have sounded a lot more reassuring if you hadn't said 'at least', right?"

"Well," Elsa said with a bashful smile, "it wasn't like the first time was intentional. I thought it best to be safe."

"Safe," Kristoff retorted. "Please. You and Anna have no sense of self-preservation. Can you please develop some before I end up having to rule Arendelle? That would be tragic for all involved."

"'King Kristoff' does have a nice ring to it."

"So does Kristoff Bjorgman of Nowhere in Particular."

People like him were not meant to be called Your Highness. They did not marry queens and live in castles. They had no business gelling their hair, or learning how to braid their wife's at night so she wouldn't wake up with shocking bed hair.

People like him were never meant to have so much to lose.

"I've always envied people like you."

Kristoff blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Elsa's smile was distant. "This will sound conceited and ungrateful… but I spent most of my life wishing I could be of Nowhere in Particular, too."

Oh.

Sven shot him a baleful, look-what-you've-done look.

Kristoff swallowed. "I think I was there that night."

"I'm sorry?"

There was no way he could do this face to face, so he twirled his finger. Despite being clearly confused, Elsa still turned back around. If only Anna was as compliant.

Unravelling the half-braid that remained, Kristoff said, "I'd snuck out of the orphanage to hang out with the ice harvesters, and I got separated from them when your parents rode past me in the woods. You left behind a trail of ice; it was like nothing I'd ever seen before. So Sven and I followed it to the trolls. I didn't know it was you and Anna until way later, when I saw your ice palace and made the connection. I mean; I've seen a lot of ice, but none of it comes close to yours. I never forgot it—because that night, I remember thinking that I wanted to be you."

Elsa sucked in an audible breath. "You shouldn't have. It was the worst day of my life. I hurt Anna and I… I lost a lot of things that night, Kristoff."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that. I was a scruffy orphan feeling sorry for himself. All I saw was that you had parents who obviously loved you, a sibling to play with, and ice magic to boot. Everything I didn't have, and wanted. But then Bulda adopted me. I went from Kristoff of Nowhere in Particular to Kristoff of the Valley of the Living Rock—and now I'm supposedly Prince Kristoff of Arendelle."

He began the braid again, his fingers steadier this time. "I'm sorry that you were scared that night. If I could go back, I'd jump out of the bushes and tell Pabbie to leave Anna's memories alone, and to save those visions for when you were older. But I'm not sorry that you are you, Elsa, because… well—let's just say that the worst day of your life set into motion the best of mine. You're the reason I have a family."

Anna falling quiet usually meant something was wrong, but Elsa's silence was a part of her; a bridge as much as a barrier. When he'd first started staying in the castle, Kristoff had instinctively hid himself whenever servants or guards approached, unable to shake off the feeling that someone would tell him he wasn't supposed to be there. He'd discovered many broom closets this way.

Every now and then, though, he'd slip into a random sitting room and stumble across Elsa tucked away, reading. There was always a startled, wary edge in her expression when she looked up, but Kristoff had also learned to expect the subtle relief when Elsa recognised that it was just him. She'd offer a smile and sometimes tilt her head or raise an eyebrow. Then she would usually return to her book without saying anything, leaving only an indescribable warmth in the silence; assuring him, without words, that he was welcome to stay.

Sometimes they sat and talked. Sometimes she read and he napped, and they'd both jump out of their skins when Anna inevitably banged into the room with leaves in her hair, ducklings in her hands, and sunshine in her eyes. Sometimes Kristoff would slip out of a busy ballroom and onto a secluded balcony, and she'd already be there catching a breath of fresh air. Sometimes, they'd wordlessly share a flute of champagne one of them had brought out, and he would understand in her tired smile that Elsa of Arendelle and Kristoff of Nowhere in Particular were not so different after all. Two fixer-uppers guided by the same landmark.

Elsa's voice sounded raw as she said, "May I change your life a second time?"

"It'll at least be the fifth time, but sure."

"If you give Anna a pillow to hug and use a hot water bottle to warm up the bed near her feet on cold nights, she won't kick you in her sleep."

"… Are you serious?"

"Yes. Although I do advise wearing an extra layer. I haven't found a way to stop her from stealing the blanket."

"What about the snoring? Any tricks for that?"

"Mother had a way of simply closing her mouth, but I also have not figured that out yet."

He finished the braid and held it over her shoulder. "If I can, do I get a prize?"

Elsa secured her hair with a touch of ice, and smiled back at him. Her eyelashes were heavy with unfallen tears, but her eyes shone with warmth. "I hope you're not expecting another medal and sled. I've already given you my whole world."

She had. She'd given him the gift of summer, wrapped in laughter and strawberry blonde hair.

Who they could now hear calling their names.

Kristoff and Elsa looked at each other.

"Bucket," he predicted, as they both stood up.

Elsa shook her head. "Dress."

Standing at the door, they watched Anna's face light up as she spotted them. She flounced across the courtyard, evading buckets of soap water left behind by the cleaning staff and even remembering to lift her dress as she ran. There was hope.

Then they saw her shoes. "Heels," Kristoff muttered, as Elsa sighed, "Oh dear."

"There you guys are! Are we having lunch or ho-whoooaa!"

The Queen of Arendelle landed face first in a fluffy mound of snow.

Elsa lowered her hand and gave Kristoff a pointed look. "Your wife."

"Your sister."

A snowball exploded on the doorframe above, showering both of them in white.

Anna giggled in the background.

Kristoff shook the cold out of his hair and began to roll up his sleeves. "Our idiot?" he suggested.

"Queen of Poor Decisions," Elsa agreed, calmly brushing herself off as a winter breeze swirled at her feet.

Anna was already running, her laughter floating up into the sky.

Reindeers were better than people; Kristoff knew that was true.

For all except two.

[regolithheart]

Love In The Time of Coronavirus: Chapter Five

Summary: One pandemic, one lake house, and two people who loathe one another. Will they be able to survive the outbreak...and each other?

MASTER LIST

Read on AO3.

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

CHAPTER FIVE:

Cassian shuffled through his dresser to find clothes to change into. It would be so easy to throw on a pair of clean sweats, but he didn’t want to resort to that. It was only day two of their self-isolation and if he wasn’t careful, it would be a slippery slope. Besides, he could just imagine the look of distain on Nesta’s face to see him walking around in pajamas in the middle of the day. 

His phone buzzed on the bed behind him and picking it up, he saw Rhys was on the other line. Cassian grinned as he accepted the FaceTime call.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning!” He heard Mor’s voice calling back although out of view from the camera and distant but cheerful.

Rhys shook his head. “It’s 4:30pm here.”

Leaning back against his headboard, Cassian shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not on Parisian-time. Seeing as I’m in Sonoma right now with a woman who hates my guts. Have I thanked you recently for that?”

Rhys gave him a wry smile. “You can take your grievances up with France and the U.S. government. Do you want Macron’s number?”

Cassian snorted. “Yeah, text it to me.” He wouldn’t have been surprised if Rhys really did have the French President’s personal number.

There was a moment of silence before Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“So….to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” 

The corner of Rhys’ mouth quirked up, but there was no amusement on his face. He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Cassian held up a hand to stop him.

“No. If you’re going to give me bad news, I want it from one of the girls or Az. At least then I can take comfort from their beautiful faces. “

Rhys rolled his eyes, but again, he was interrupted. 

Cassian watched the phone shuffle between hands and caught a glimpse of the ceiling of Rhys and Feyre’s pied-à-terre and the blue Parisian sky beyond. Soon, he was looking at Feyre.

“Hey.” Her smile was too sweet and she had drawn out her vowels for too long. 

Cassian’s reply was cautious. “Feyre. What’s up?”

Her eyes flickered to someone off screen before smiling even wider at Cassian. “So listen. I just got off the phone with Elain and she and Graysen are actually staying in L.A. for the time being.”

Cassian dragged his free hand down the length of his face, groaning. 

If there had been any saving grace in his current predicament, it was that Elain and her boyfriend were on there way up. At least then Nesta would have been appeased and he’d have more people to talk to. It was hard to strike up a conversation with someone who only answered in single word sentences or told him to eat shit half of the time. 

He had even been prepared to make friends with Graysen—who was maybe the most boring person Cassian had ever met. 

Graysen. Was that his name? Why did he think it was Gregory?

Cassian shook his head. “I gotta tell you, Feyre. You guys are really screwing me over, here.”

“I’m sorry!” Her voice was pleading. “If there was any other way—“ 

“I know, I know. It’s fine.” He knew they weren’t doing it on purpose, but it still didn’t stop the bubble of irritation that was building in the pit of his stomach. “Just tell Rhys that he better be prepared to sell this house at half it’s market value because there’s a good chance your sister is going to murder me in my sleep. I’m leaving all of my records to Az.”

“Hey!” He heard Mor object in the background. 

“You can also tell your fiancé that he has surrendered his entire booze collection and I remember seeing a bottle of McCallan 1926 the last time I checked.” Cassian was starting to feel better just thinking about the prospect.

Rhys shoved his face into view. “Cassian, don’t you dare.”

“What? I can’t hear you over my emotional distress. Gotta go drown my sorrows in a fancy bottle of whiskey.”

“Cassian,” Rhys threatened again. 

But Feyre had elbowed him out of the frame and looked at Cassian one more time. “There’s one more thing.”

Cassian raised his eyebrow.

“Elain is giving Nesta the news any minute now and you might want to avoid her for a little while.”

“This is why I’m not going to feel bad for drinking the McCallan.” 

“I’m sorry, Cass.” Feyre’s smile was weak.

“Yeah. I gotta go find a hiding spot now. If I don’t make it out alive, it was nice knowing ya.”

He saw various arms waving at him and a received a chorus of goodbyes before he hung up. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Abandoning the idea of a shower, Cassian tip-toed out of his room and threw a glance down the hallway. Nesta’s bedroom door was closed and he didn’t hear her angry voice coming from the other side. Quickly, he snuck downstairs and headed towards the gym. 

He figured he’d be safe in there.

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

After ninety minutes in the gym and sauna, Cassian decided it was safe to come out. He had heard Nesta’s angry footfalls on the stairs fifteen minutes earlier, but it had been quiet after that.

As he passed the door to the office, he heard the scrape of a chair against the wooden floors, a thud, and Nesta cursing.

“Damnit!”

Cassian was all too happy to ignore the commotion, but before he got to the stairs, he heard the sound of something falling to the ground with a thud and Nesta’s long, defeated sigh. 

Running a hand through his hair, he sent a silent apology to his future self and turned around to knock on the office door.

“What?” Nesta’s answer was curt. 

He opened the door slowly, allowing himself a peak into the room in case Nesta felt like throwing something at him. He still remembered the day Pictionary was banned. 

“Do you need some help?”

Nesta was on her knees. Her work bag was laying on its side, it’s contents scattered across the floor.

Cassian picked up a highlighter that had rolled to his feet. He began picking up random pens and markers on his way closer to her. She took them silently from him and stuffed them into her work bag, not sparing a glance his way. 

“I can’t find the wifi password.”

He was amused for a moment until he realized he didn’t know what the password was either. They had set up the lake house’s internet years ago and everyone had saved it on their devices and promptly forgot it. Come to think of it, he really should update the password and run a security check on the house’s connections. He made a mental note to himself.

“Did you check the back of the router?” He had warned Rhys not to leave the password taped there, but wouldn’t have been surprised if his friend ignored his advice.

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

“And I wouldn’t be talking to you if it had worked, would I?” Nesta crossed her arms over her chest.

Cassian ignored her scowl and marched over to the desk to take a look himself. Sure enough, there was a sticker with the default password stuck behind the router. They couldn’t have been that lazy, could they?

“May I?” Cassian asked, gesturing to Nesta’s laptop opened on the desk.

“Sure. Go ahead and waste my time.”

Cassian ignored that too and punched in the password. A error ping sounded followed closely by a snort from Nesta behind him.

Drumming his fingers against the wooden desk, he searched his memory, trying to recall if they had ever written the password down. He began pulling out the desk drawers and shuffling through its contents. Not that there was much to look through. He would have been surprised if Rhys did any actual work in that room. 

In the drawers Cassian found a stack of business cards, a letter opener, an empty leather bound notebook with gold gilded pages, a cigar trimmer and two cigars still in their plastic sleeves, but no sign of a wifi password. 

He could image Nesta rolling her eyes at him, but when he looked up, he found that she wasn’t paying him any attention at all. Instead, she was on the other side of the room, looking at the framed pictures on the bookshelves and running a delicate finger across one of the photos, lost in her thoughts. 

And that’s when Cassian finally remembered. 

He reached over to the black and white photo of a woman and teenage girl, both with thick dark hair and  matching brilliant smiles. The silver frame was heavy and well-polished. Turning it over, Cassian unlatched the back and revealed a yellow sticky note with Rhys’ tiny, yet neat handwriting. 

“All set,” Cassian said, setting the photo back in it’s place on the desk.

“Who’s that?” Nesta asked as she watched him. 

He hesitated. “Rhys’ mother and sister.”

Nesta was silent. Feyre must have told her what happened six years ago and he was glad he didn’t have to. It still made his heart ache just thinking about it.

Cassian cleared his throat and stood up to leave. Before closing the door behind him, he heard Nesta say, “Thank you.”

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

Nesta splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked pale and the smudges under her eyes showed just how tired she really was. Sighing, she redid her braid and pinned it back in its usual crown, smoothing the flyaways down with her damp fingertips. 

There. It wasn’t much, but it was an improvement. 

She had escaped to her room for a moment after getting off a two-and-a-half hour conference call where the majority of it was taken up by Devlon and their client’s anecdotes about their second day of self-isolation and lamenting the fact that they were going to be missing a lot of golf. She had gritted her teeth through the whole thing, but remained silent. 

Her only saving grace was the little satisfaction of knowing she was billing the client for this meeting and the more he droned on about the eighth hole at Pebble Beach, the more he was being charged. 

She took a deep breath and began making her way back downstairs, to the long list of unread emails she had ignored all day. 

Cassian’s bedroom door was ajar again.

God, did he ever close it?

Slowing down, she chanced a peak inside. His laptop sat open on the otherwise orderly bed, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

When Nesta got back to the office, she crossed her arms and looked suspiciously around the room. 

Next to her laptop, sitting on a coaster was a gin and tonic. 

She glanced down at her watch. It was 5 o’lock on the dot and she wondered if Cassian had been waiting to hear her footsteps coming down the stairs. She didn’t see him in the living room or hear him in the kitchen and that annoyed her. 

Pushing the drink away, she was even more annoyed when she saw that it was exactly how she liked—with a twist of lemon and an extra slice for good measure. She didn’t want to think about what it meant that Cassian knew her favorite drink, or how he knew it. 

Instead, she focused on her mountain of emails. Half of them were office-wide emails, reminding everyone to be safe and to reach out to their clients to let them of their new Work From Home procedures and all of the additional spreadsheets and reports that they needed to keep up to date now that people were no longer in the office. It was exhausting to shift through. But then an email from Devlon made her pound her fist on the desk.

The ice from the gin and tonic tinkled.

She dialed Devlon’s number, nostrils flaring at every ring. He picked up on the fourth one.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Devlon’s voice was even-toned. “I had no choice.”

“But, Eris? I said anyone but him!”

“You do remember that I’m your boss, right?”

Nesta didn’t reply, just seethed. 

“Listen, I know it’s not ideal. I wouldn’t have put him on the Carver project at all but…” he sighed. 

“Tamlin put a hold on Rose Hall and I’m in a staffing bind.”

“Can’t you shift some other people around?”

Devlon was not amused. “I need to find projects for eight people.”

“I’ll take Amren.”

“Good. Then you have to take Eris, too. He’s the only one on the viz team that’s available and can do the work.”

Nesta huffed. “Fine. But he needs to be reminded that I’m the Project Architect and he answers to me.”

“Don’t we all?”

Nesta hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, still annoyed. She was glad Amren was now on her team, but she wasn’t looking forward to babysitting Eris. 

Looking up, she saw the photo of Rhys’ mother and sister smiling at her. She averted her eyes. 

She hated that room.

For an office, it was surprisingly lacking. She had only been able to find one single pen in the whole entire room and it was a Mont Blanc fountain pen. Judging by the weight, no doubt it was made of platinum.

The rest of the room was more of a treasure chest of knick-knacks, travel paraphernalia, and photos. So many framed photos. 

She had perused them earlier that day when Cassian was looking for the wi-fi password and her eyes had snagged on a photo sitting in a simple wood frame. It was all of them: Rhys, Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Feyre. 

Nesta had not been able to tell where the photo had been taken. Judging from what they were wearing, they could have been anywhere at any time. To anyone else it would have just been a typical photo of a group of friends, but it had struck Nesta to see how happy they all were, especially Feyre. Rhys’ arm was around her waist, but Feyre’s head was leaning on Mor’s shoulder. And her sister’s arm was stretched behind the blonde, her hand clasping Cassian’s.

Nesta couldn’t recall if she, Elain, and Feyre had ever a photo similar to that one. Maybe they did before, but certainly not after their mother…

She snapped her laptop shut, revealing the gin and tonic she had nudged aside earlier. The ice had began to melt, but she finished it in three gulps.

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

Nesta found Cassian in the kitchen. Not that she had been looking for him.

She was returning her glass and he just happened to be there, pulling items from the fridge. The sound of ice clinking against the tumbler made him look up. 

He raised his eyebrow, but his smile was soft.

“Looks like you could use another.”

Given the day that Nesta had, she agreed.

Cassian held out his hand and Nesta placed the glass into his awaiting palm. 

She was surprised when he put the dirty glass into the sink and watched as he deftly prepared her a new drink in a clean one. She was even impressed when he managed to carve the perfect sliver of lemon peel with the large chef’s knife in his hand and gave it a delicate twist before nestling it into the ice and handing her the drink. 

Nesta took a sip. It was perfect.

“Thank you.”

Cassian made a noise in the back of his throat. “So are you going to be eating dinner tonight?” His tone was casual and he didn’t look up at her as he organized the food on the counter.

She hesitated, but he was being nice so she could at least try to be civil. “What are you making?”

He finally looked up at her, his grin wide, canines gleaming as he held up a parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper. “Steaks!”

“Isn’t that a little extravagant?” 

“You’ve never heard of steak night Wednesday?” He grinned at his own joke. “We’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

There was that grin again and Nesta blamed the heat rising in her chest on the two gin and tonics she’d had. 

“We’re celebrating the fact that I just broke into Rhys’ prized whiskey collection.” He nodded to a bottle that other than the color of the liquid—a deep, dark caramel—and the label that said Years 60 Old, didn’t look like anything special to Nesta. 

Cassian could tell she was unimpressed. “That is a $75,000 bottle of Scotch.”

Nesta laughed. “You’re shitting me!”

“I would never joke about McCallan.”

Nesta picked up the bottle to examine it further. It was heavier than she had expected it to be. The label was thick and had a beautiful texture that was imprinted with a gold border, but she still couldn’t believe that she was holding a bottle of alcohol that was worth a year’s salary.

“So what do you say, Nesta Archeron? Have dinner with me tonight.”

She looked at him. At the checkered button down with the sleeves rolled up, and his hair which was half pulled back in a knot. His smile was easy and the light from the setting sun streaming into the kitchen made his eyes glow amber.

He cleaned up nice. It wasn’t the first time Nesta had noticed, but it always took her by surprise. 

“Okay,” she said and took a sip of her drink—an excuse to avert her eyes. 

“Great! You can start on the potatoes.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“The potatoes.” Cassian repeated, pointing to a bag of small yellow potatoes. 

Nesta started backing away from the island. “No. No one said I had to cook.”

“Boiling potatoes isn’t exactly rocket science.” Cassian looked amused. “Just grab those potatoes, wash them, fill that pot with water, and wait.” 

Nesta eyed the potatoes. “How many?” 

Cassian shrugged. “Ten? Eleven?”

Nesta grabbed the bag and pulled out twelve golf-sized potatoes. 

Eleven. What kind of maniac was he?

When the pot was on the stove, Cassian tossed in two healthy pinches of salt into the water. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“That’s it? How long until they’re done?”

Cassian looked at her incredulous. “Have you really never boiled potatoes before?”

Nesta didn’t answer. It wasn’t as though she had never boiled potatoes before, but the few times she deigned to cook, she always followed a step-by-step recipe to the tee. 

“When the water starts boiling, poke them with a fork. If they’re soft, they’re done and if not give them a couple more minutes.”

She nodded.

“In the meantime, turn the oven on to 400 and relax.”

Nesta let her shoulders drop. She hadn’t realized how tense she was. 

When the potatoes were done, Cassian strained them and dumped them all onto a sheet tray. 

“Now here’s the fun part,” he said, grabbing a wooden spoon. “Take this spoon and press it into the potatoes like this. Really smash it.”

He demonstrated and Nesta watched as the potato flattened under the pressure of the spoon, it’s edges splitting into craggy fissures. 

“Your turn.”

Nesta took the wooden spoon from Cassian and tried to mimic his technique. 

“Come on, Archeron. You can do better than that. Really smash it. Pretend it’s my face you’re crushing.”

Nesta hid her smirk, and pressed hard. It was oddly satisfying.

When she was done, Cassian tossed in some herbs, a couple of crushed garlic cloves, a few glugs of olive oil and told Nesta to mix it up with her hands. She did as she was instructed, but cringed the whole entire time. As soon as the contents of the tray were mixed, she rushed to the sink to wash her hands. 

That was one of the reasons why she didn’t cook. But aside from getting gross oil fingers, thirty minutes later they were sitting at the dining table with the most amazing smelling dinner in front of them, and Nesta decided it hadn’t been too bad. 

 Cassian held up the bottle of McCallen 1926. “Can I tempt you?”

She wasn’t a whiskey drinker in the least, but she was curious to see. When she nodded, he poured her two fingers’ worth.

Nesta twirled the liquid in her glass, trying to determine if she could spot how special it was just by looking at it. It looked pretty ordinary to her. She glanced at Cassian before taking a sip. 

It was much more sweet than she had expected it to be. There were hints of dried fruit—figs, maybe. And as the liquid rolled over her tongue she picked up a bit of vanilla and something warm and nutty. Cinnamon? It was definitely familiar. When she finally swallowed, the aroma hit her. Christmas. This tasted like Christmas. Warm and comforting and…special.

She cleared her throat. “It’s okay.”

Cassian simply shook his head, torn between amusement and disbelief. He took his own sip and Nesta watched his face closely. It was subtle—almost imperceivable—but she saw his discovery mirror her own. 

When he opened his eyes, his voice was awed. “It’s incredible.” He grinned. “I am never drinking anything else, ever again.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and he winked.

“Well, lets eat!”

Everything tasted as amazing as it looked and Nesta felt a flash of pride at how wonderful the potatoes were. They had baked them in the oven and the edges were crispy and fragrant. If that was all Nesta was allowed to eat for the rest of her life, she’d be happy. 

“These potatoes are incredible.” 

Cassian grinned. “They’re the easiest thing.” 

“I never learned how to cook.” The words slipped out of Nesta’s mouth before she could stop them. 

Cassian looked up, surprised. “Really? Then who taught Feyre? I thought…” He stopped himself from finishing that sentence. 

Nesta looked away. She hated how he became quiet. Probably because he knew the truth about what happened all those years ago. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, like at that very moment, it felt all too fresh.

She cleared her throat and straightened. When she turned back to him, her face was neutral, calm. 

“How did you learn to cook?”

Taking her cue, Cassian’s smile came easily. “I used to be a line cook,” he answered, popping a piece of steak into his mouth.

For the rest of the dinner, Cassian told Nesta of all the jobs he had had growing up. First as a dishwasher, then a line cook. There was the summer in high school when he was a life guard at the public pool but had to quit because all the moms were hitting on him. 

Nesta rolled her eyes at that story, but then laughed when he told her about his stint as a dog walker. She almost choked when he told her about the time he baby-sat a nine-year-old. 

“You were a manny?!” 

“Yeah.” His grin turned into a scowl. “But then I was fired because the kid was failing math! I was only supposed to pick him up from school and made sure he didn’t break his neck until his parents got home. I didn’t sign up to teach long division.”

Nesta had to brush a tear of laughter from her eyes as Cassian cleared away the dirty dishes. 

She smoothed her hair back and saw Cassian leaning against the kitchen counter, watching her. 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

She sobered quickly. “I…um…no. I have to get back to work.”

He raised his eyebrow. “It’s 8pm.”

She stood up. “I have a lot of emails to get to.”

They held each other’s stare long enough for Nesta to feel uncomfortable, but then Cassian shrugged his shoulder and moved towards the sink.

“Another time then.”

Nesta watched him for three more seconds, then turned and left. 

[lesbianmonsterlover]

Female Orc x Female Reader (NSFW)

Orc Lady MMA fighter!  This story contains drinking, swearing, professional fighting, and gratuitous smut.  Forewarned is forearmed! 

----

Your family had always been avid watchers of what other humans would consider violent blood-sports.  Modern cage fighting is an art, especially when you’re dealing with someone whose major mode of fighting is submissions and takedowns.  There’s something incredibly thrilling about it, and considering they’re two consenting, sapient adults there’s nothing you feel guilty about when it comes to watching them fight each other.  

Your sister-in-law, your brother’s wife, was having her first professional bout.  She had started working at a BJJ gym when she moved to your city during college, before she ever met your brother.  It isn’t that she had ever thought this is where her life would take her, she started taking classes in fact as a mode of self defense and a healthy physical outlet.  Her being good at it came as a complete surprise to even herself. 

Your brother was out of town on a business trip, a sad fact of life considering his profession and position within the company where he worked.  Finance could be time consuming and thankless, but the paycheck he got from his work meant that Liz could pursue her new dream of going pro.  As her sister now, and considering you’d always wanted a sister growing up, you took it upon yourself to support her whenever your brother couldn’t.  You’d go to her bouts, cheer her on, go drinking when she won and when she lost, iced her bruises.  You loved her like a true sibling.

So, when your brother couldn’t make her first big fight, you were incredibly flattered when she asked if you’d join her instead.  You donned the tee shirt she had made for the fight with her fighter name on it and some sponsors, made sure you looked presentable enough for when you’ll inevitably wind up on camera with her, and settled in for the evening.  Your day started hours before the doors opened, helping her get in the right headspace with music and jokes, helping her stretch out, keeping her calm and centered.  

When the two of you made the trip over to the venue, a huge arena where the local professional basketball and hockey teams played, you were surprised to see people already waiting outside by the athlete’s entrance.  You guessed they were hoping to catch a glimpse of the big names, but you knew enough about how these things were run to know that they wouldn’t arrive until at least a few fights into the undercard.  

Liz’s fight was second to last on the undercard, so the house would likely be packed by that point.  You didn’t know whether to be thankful or not, her placement on the card meant that more people would see her fight and therefore if she’s good enough in the cage tonight she’d get more followers and her pro career would start off on a great note.  That being said, the performance anxiety of your first fight is hard enough you’d assume, if the way she’s been acting the last week is any indication, so making it harder on her by adding the pressure of a bunch of drunk, judgemental attendees doesn’t seem like it would be great.  

The two of you traverse the back hallways, with passes that get you into the behind the scenes staging area.  As one of the few women fighting tonight she was given a semi-private area to warm up and keep limber.  All four of the undercard women were in the visitor’s locker room, although there had been privacy created with the use of moving screens that the maintenance crew had set up to create some relatively spacious individual cubicles.  There was one main card title fight between two women, an orc defending her middleweight belt for the twelfth consecutive time and an upcoming athlete from Russia who was undefeated, those two each got their own private warmup space same as the men on the main card.  

The two of you were the first ones here from Liz’s crew, a fact which amped her up and not in the good way.  “Marcos said he’d be here at three, fuck me it’s already three fifteen, come on.”  You pull her into a hug, smoothing your hands over the french-braided pigtails you’d helped her with earlier.  

“Relax, sis, just relax.  You know how the trains are at this time of year, if he isn’t here in the next twenty minutes I’ll call over to the gym and ask when he left, deal?”  She huffs but nods against your shoulder, hugging you back.  “Breathe with me, okay?  Easy in, and out, nice and slow.  You’ve got this, you’re going to go out there and kick some serious ass, and then we’re going to sit in our nice ring seats and celebrate by getting obliterated on vodka and soda like a normal Friday night.”  

The laugh she gives you, shoving you away playfully, is what you were going for.  “If you think I’m paying for the expensive garbage vodka they have here you’re out of your fucking mind.”  You scoffed and rolled your eyes, pulling up the side of your tee shirt to show a large-ish hip flask, the one she gifted you when she asked you to be a bridesmaid.

“We’ll have to supplement it with a few expensive drinks, so we don’t raise too many eyebrows, but you know me better than that by now.”  She reaches for it and you swat at her hand, wagging your finger in her face like a caricature of a mother.  “No, bad Lizzy, no drinking before fighting.”  She pouts at you and you can only laugh at her.  “How mature, which one of us is older again?”  

“Yeah yeah, I hate when you’re right.  At least give me some water, you don’t want me in there all dehydrated.  Help, I’m wasting away right before your eyes, dying of thirst.”  She’s comically flopped across her bench, arm slung across her face in despair.  The ‘oof’ she gives when you gently lob her water bottle at her stomach makes your snort out a laugh.  

“Come on, don’t abuse my fighters before their bout.”  Your shoulder is clapped by a huge hand and you turn to find the bright smile of Marcos, Liz’s coach, and his brother Julian her cutman.  Her third corner man won’t be joining you until closer to fight time, coming from his normal day job to help out in her corner as he does in their training ring.  Marcos and Julian are both objectively incredibly handsome men, if a little rough from years of fighting experience.  Tall Brazilian walls of muscle, with tan skin and long curly black hair.  Julian would probably be considered better looking, if only because Marcos has some serious cauliflower ear going and one broken nose that wasn’t quite set properly.  They’re both quite tall and fit, but not really your type considering they’re packing some equipment you’re not into using.  

Marcos gives you a serious look, but still warm.  “You’ve done a good job keeping her head clear and relaxed today, thank you.”  Liz is busy chatting with Julian and getting properly stretched out, and Marcos keeps his voice quiet enough that they don’t overhear.  “It’s going to make tonight go much smoother if we can help her focus on the fight and not everything surrounding it, so thank you.”  You just blush and smile, waving it off.

“She’s my sister, I love her, I want her to go out there and kick some ass.  So, anything I can do to help I’m happy.”  He beams at you, patting your cheek with almost fatherly affection.  

“Good, you remind me of my brother.  We’ll have to start training you to be in the corner with us if you can keep her this calm on a big fight day.”  You laugh, but when he declares he’s serious answer back that you’re absolutely willing, but today is not the day to start.  

The next few hours are a blur of keeping Liz distracted enough that she can slip into her fight-brain as she calls it, and before you know it you’re place in ringside seats reserved for families to watch the bouts waiting for her entrance song.  At the first few bars of ‘Knights of Cydonia’ you stand up and start to cheer.  You’ve got your cell phone out and recording, knowing she’s going to want to see later, and you go wild as she finally steps out onto the arena floor and makes her way towards the cage.  She ignores you as she passes, but you don’t take it personally knowing that she’s got tunnel vision for the door.  

Her opponent Bryn is currently 1-1, a half-orc from a relatively prominent gym in a neighboring state.  She looks intimidating, considering she’s a few inches taller that your sister in law, but where Liz isn’t as tall she’s consideribly stockier, and their reach is surprisingly near equal in terms of measurements.  

You’re sure the referee for Liz’s bout is a half-dwarf, if the insanely impressive braided beard down to his navel is anything to go by.  When his hand goes down between the fighters, Liz and Bryn tap gloves before getting into their stances.  It’s a few seconds of sizing each other up before Bryn goes in, closing the gap.  She sends out a pretty telegraphed jab and Liz blocks it without trouble, answering with a blow to Bryn’s ribs that connects.  Grasping the back of Bryn’s head, Liz tugs down to force Bryn’s face to meet Liz’s knee.  

When Bryn’s head pops back up she’s sporting a cut on her nose, and she’s starting to leak blood down her cheek.  She grimaces at Liz and snarls, you suppose it’s meant to intimidate her but she obviously doesn’t know Liz very well.  Liz just roars right back and goes in for a takedown.  

Bryn, you suppose, is a striker, if her lack of takedown defense is anything to go by.  When Liz goes for her leg Bryn is a step too slow to dodge, and goes down like a sack of bricks onto the canvas.  You cheer loudly “‘atta girl!” and watch with rapt attention as Liz locks her legs around Bryn’s arm.  The grip she has on Bryn’s hand and the way she tugs forces Bryn’s elbow back over Liz’s hip.  Bryn taps, the bell rings.  You scream.  Victory by submission in the first round, not even a minute in.  You’re almost cackling with joy as Liz does a celebratory lap around the ring before being hoisted up by her coach.  

She thanks you in her post fight interview, and you look like a deer in the headlights when a camera gets trained on you and you’re up on the jumbo-tron.  Oh god, not like this.  You smile a little shyly and give an awkward wave before the feed cuts back to your sister in law and you can relax.  When she leaves the ring she grabs you from the seat and pulls you back with them.  “Holy shit!”  That’s about all the two of you can say for the next few minutes as you help her untape her hands and brush out her hair.  She’s changed into more normal clothes and the two of you are back out at your seats for the main card fights just as they’re announcing the winner of the final undercard bout.  

“You were great out there, good fight.  You locked in that arm bar quick like nobody’s business, that’s a natural talent.”  You watch as your sister in law starts to converse with arguably the most gorgeous orc woman you’ve ever seen.  She’s tall just sitting, you don’t even want to hazard a guess at how tall she is standing.  Her long hair is side shaved, and pushed over the top of her head to expose the bare side and her pointy ear.  The cauliflower ear tells you she’s a fighter even before you notice how incredibly muscular she is.  She’s broad with huge biceps and traps, her breasts are a bit small for her frame and she hasn’t bothered with implants, and you want to know if she has abs.  You bet she does.  She and Liz are talking shop, and you’re trying not to stare at this hot, hot orc.  Liz glances at you knowingly, she knows your type, and snags her arm around your shoulders to pull you in over her, introducing you.

“Ushat, this is my sister in law and constant cheer section.”  You introduce yourself by name to Ushat, and she shakes your hand with her huge and calloused one.  She looks like she’s blushing a little when you two make eye contact, so you try to hit her with your sweetest and most affectionate smile, the one that’s melted more than a few hearts in your time.  

“It’s really nice to meet you Ushat.”  She’s definitely blushing now, but she smiles at you gently.  

“If you two want to hold hands you could just say so and switch seats with me.”  Liz smirks at you, and the two of you just now realize how long you’ve been shaking hands for.  You both pull away like the other one is on fire, cheeks hot and stuttering out apologies.  “So Ushat here is the current women’s heavyweight champ.”  You stare over at her with wonder, which makes the green in her cheeks get darker as she blushes harder.

“Ah, yeah, y’know.  Been fightin’ for a loooong time.  Kinda orcish culture.  I’m impressed your sister here was able to take down that half orc so handily.  I think my kind tend to underestimate humans because some of you are very cute and small.”  She smiles a little at you, her impressive tusks flashing in the low light of the arena.  Liz, for what it’s worth, looks incredibly smug.  Self-satisfied barely begins to describe it, she’s been talking about setting you up on a date for a long time but this kind of takes the cake.  

“Alright ladies, I’m going to get a round of drinks.  You two be sitting next to each other when I get back or no more flirting, I don’t want to be between the two of you anyway ‘m gonna get diabetes, you’ll ruin my career before it’s even started.”  She’s jokingly frustrated and shoves the side of your face with the kind of aggressive affection only a sibling can manage.  

Ushat is still blushing a dark green, her lightly mossy skin made dark emerald with it.  She slings one of her huge arms over the back of the now vacant chair where Liz had been sitting.  With her free hand she gestures a little shyly at the now free seat, looking satisfied if a little surprised when you blushingly sidle up next to her.  Your thigh is soft compared to hers, you’re pretty sure anyone is soft compared to her considering how close she’s pressed against you.  The way her stance widens in the chair ensures that you’re pressed together from knee to hip, and she even relaxes her posture some to press up against your side, your shoulder neatly tucked underneath her arm, your head slotting onto her shoulder like you two were made for each other.

Liz’s grin goes almost impossibly wide as she sees the two of you while walking back.  She doesn’t say anything though, knowing how shy you and Ushat have been so far in your interactions she doesn’t want to run the risk of scaring you two apart.  So she passes the drinks around instead and proposes a toast to new friends, the little eyebrow waggle at the end she just could repress.  You snort a little laugh into your cup but take a deep drink, sighing at the light burn of the double pour.  “The bartender gave us an extra pour on top because of how badass I was.”  Liz preens, and Ushat gives her a proud grin.

“Rudolf doesn’t do that for just anyone, so you’ve made a good impression.  Unsurprising!  That fight really was great.”  The two continue to talk shop over you, but you can’t find it in you to mind too much.  You enjoy listening to the deep timbre of Ushat’s voice, and before you know it you’ve finished your drink, topped off by a healthy pour from the flask at your side, and snuggled further into the warm side of the orc next to you.  When they announce the first fight and the first of the two fighters starts to walk out to their music Ushat begins clapping.  She doesn’t pull away from you though, or remove her arm, no she crosses her other arm in front of you to basically pull you into an embrace.  She isn’t giving thunderous applause, just enough to be polite, but it does pull you further against her to the point that you have to brace yourself up with a hand on her side.  

When she stops applauding after the second fighter has made it to the ring you don’t make any moves to pull back.  You keep yourself snuggled into her side, one hand resting on her firm stomach while your head is leaned fully against her shoulder.  You’re definitely getting past the tipsy stage and into the drunk stage, if how affectionate you’re feeling is anything to go by.  The arm Ushat has behind you shifts so that you’re corralled in the crook of her elbow while her hand lifts to thread her fingers in your hair.  She smiles down at you, and you can only grin back up at her.  

The night is kind of a blur, although you and Ushat have gotten to know each other better.  Sometime around the fourth bout of the main card they announce that she’s in the arena, and she’s thrown up on the jumbotron with you still tucked into her arm.  While the majority of you is cut out of the main shot, the camera does manage to catch her pressing a kiss to the crown of your head when she thinks they’ve cut away.  

It’s late by the time the fights are over, the orc having successfully defended her belt once again and declaring herself the greatest.  Ushat is pleased, passing on her congratulations in orcish with her arm still around you as the fighter passes by.  When she stands for the first time that night you realize how huge she really is, the top of your head just barely reaches her clavicle.  She laughs loudly, palming your head and tugging you close again.  “You’re so dainty!”  She sounds amused, pulling your hand up against hers and holding them palm to palm the tips of your fingers only reaching the first knuckle of hers.  “Look!  I can almost close my hand!”

It’s such a smooth move you don’t actually recognize it for what it is until the day after, and when she does in fact close her hand she laces her fingers through yours.  She tugs you around and you follow without protest, her and Liz having become fast friends and Ushat taking Liz to meet some promoters and sponsors.  You feel a bit like arm candy, the conversation mostly above you but you’re happy that Ushat and Liz want you there with them.  It’s nearly five in the morning when you all leave and the three of you are sufficiently trashed.  The stumble back to your apartment is a short three blocks, and Liz takes the pull out couch as she’s used to.  

You’ve stripped off your jeans and shirt, your bra undone and halfway off you when Ushat walks into your room having come out of the bathroom.  You freeze with your bra pressed up against your breasts by your hands but otherwise unsecured, and you can’t help staring at how much smooth and scarred green skin she’s showing.  She’s in a skimpy spaghetti strap tank top and black bikini cut panties.  The grin she fixes you with is sultry, her dark eyes burning.  “Don’t stop on my account kitten.”  Her eyes rake over your bare legs and the way your panties hug your form, lingering on the softness of your stomach before moving up your neck to your blushing face.  

You bite your lower lip in contemplation before slowly lowering your hands and letting you bra drop to the floor.  Ushat lets out a low and pleasure growl, almost humming.  She stalks up to you, towering over you and gripping your chin between her thumb and forefinger.  She stoops down to kiss you, and with a satisfied moan you slip your hands up her chest and over her shoulders to cling to her.  Her huge hands caress up the back of your thighs and she takes advantage of your distraction to pick you up and toss you on the bed.  She’s hypnotized by the way your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress, and she brings her hands up to cup them.  Thumbing over your nipples she grins as you let out a whine of pleasure.  

Ushat kisses you again, and the smooth cool surface of her tusks pressed against your soft cheeks.  You surprise her by swiping your tongue along her lower lip first, and she opens her mouth to meet your tongue with her own.  They caress each other, rather than wrestling for dominance, and when you lay back and allow her to explore your pliant mouth she knows it’s willing and not coerced.  

One of her hands continues to grope and your breasts sloppily, moving back and forth with her attention as her other hand pushes down your stomach and under your panties.  You tug your lips from hers to throw back your head and cry out for her.  “Fuck, Ushat!”  She chuckles huskily against your neck when you cry out for her.  

“That’s the idea kitten, don’t worry ‘m’gonna take good care of you.”  When her fingers push between your labia she finds you already wet and waiting, and she snarls against your neck.  “Fuck baby, you been ready for me all night haven’tcha?”  She bites down on your shoulder, chuckling again as your hips buck up into her hand.  “Ushat knows whatcha want baby, I gotcha.”  One of her thick, calloused fingers slowly pushes into your waiting pussy.  She groans at how hot and tight you feel around just one of her fingers.  “Fuck baby, you got a real tight pussy, gonna stretch you out nice and good.”  She licks up your neck wetly, biting harshly at your earlobe as she pushes a second finger into you, angling her hand to rub your clit with her thumb.  You let out a broken cry, tugging at her shirt in order to press against her skin on skin.

In order to avoid having to stop fingering you, she just tears off her shirt, leaving the tatters on the floor nearby as she smashes her lips against yours again.  Your hands grope at her strong back and shoulders before moving around to her front, skimming up to palm her small breasts.  Her dark nipples are begging for your mouth, and as if she knows what you’re thinking she shifts her position just enough to be leaning completely above you, fingers pumping in and out of your soaking pussy.  She groans when you lift your head enough to take one of her nipples in your mouth, sucking gently and flicking your tongue over the hardened bud.  

She moves so her hips are just above yours, her legs splayed between yours and wrapped around your own so that you couldn’t close them even if you wanted to.  She slowly leans down until you’re completely flush with her, held in control as she fingers your eager pussy.  She has you pinned with her weight to the point where you can do literally nothing but moan and accept whatever it is she wants to give you.  The broken sob of her name as she presses a third of her impossibly thick fingers inside of you makes her laugh, satisfied.  She kisses the crown of your head, whispering praises.  “Don’t worry baby, we’ll stop here for tonight, but eventually that cute little human pussy of yours is going to take my whole hand.”  The way you twitch around her at the words makes her chuckle against your hair.  “You like that thought huh kitten?  At least this needy pussy of yours does.”  She shoves her fingers in particularly harshly, making you moan and your eyes roll back in your head.  

She starts rubbing her thumb over your clit again, and your walls begin to flutter with the stimulation.  “That’s it kitten, cum for me, gonna make you feel so good baby, that’s it.”  You’re panting under her, trying to writhe or buck your hips or do literally anything, but Ushat just chuckles at your shifting muscles pinned under hers.  “No baby just take it, you’re gonna take what I give you kitten.  Be a good girl and cum for me.”  

The way she growls that last sentence in your ear, paired with the endless stimulation of your clit and those thick rough fingers inside you, takes you over the edge.  You cry out her name and tense underneath her, muscles screaming to contract or do anything.  All your body can focus on is the feeling between your legs, considering it can’t do anything else with its excess energy.  You can’t believe when you squirt against her hand, but she just gives a satisfied growl and slowly brings you back down to earth.  

You’re half asleep by the time your heart rate calms down, and you notice Ushat is trying to climb out of bed.  You pout up at her sleepily, grabbing her huge wrist.  “Stay?  Please?  I know this was fast but I was kinda hoping you’d stick around.”  She just grins at you, using her cleaner hand to thumb your cheek with open affection.

“Just gettin you a towel, kitten.  Gotta clean you up.”  She wanders half naked into the bathroom and brings back a damp hand towel to wipe up between your thighs, gently cleaning your labia with the warm cloth.  She tosses the towel across the room into your laundry hamper and crawls back into the bed behind you. She pulls you back against her chest, wrapping you up in her warm embrace and burying her nose in your hair at the crown of your head.  

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep, quickly seems to be the answer.  You wake up to your bed shaking, and you whimper and cling closer to the pillow that seems to be jumping.  It calms down slightly, still vibrating but less destructive.  “Sorry kitten, go back to sleep.”  You crack open an eye and glance up at just the right time to get a kiss on the forehead from Ushat, who stayed the full night with you.  

She’s on her Instagram, posting a picture of the two of you from last night along with Liz.  “Whatcha doin’?”  Your sleepy voice makes her smile gently.  

“Gettin’ some damage control done.  I’m not about to have people accusing me of being ashamed of my girlfriend.”  She flicks over to an article on some MMA site where the still of her placing a kiss to your head ringside is front and center.  ‘Ushat Cruelbeast Spotted Getting Cozy With Fighter’s Sister!’ is the headline, and you snort.  Really?  So uncreative.  “I like you, a lot, I want to date you.  I don’t want people thinking I’m just using you to get under some other figher’s skin.  Which is fucking ridiculous by the way, I mean we’re not even close to the same weight class and never will be, so why would I be dating you to get under the skin of a figher I’d never fight?  Fuckin’ hetero dudes can’t fathom why a human girl might want to date a big scary orc girl.  Or why a girl would want to date another girl at all really.”  

Your laugh makes her laugh, and the two of you are cracking up in bed.  It takes a few minutes to calm down and you find yourself draped over her chest while you rest your chin over her heart, looking up at her earnestly.  “I don’t think you’re scary.  I mean, you’re for sure huge, but you aren’t scary at all.  You know the first thing I thought when I saw you was some variation of ‘oh no she’s too hot, I can’t talk to her, she’s way too hot.’”  She snorts and buries her face into your hair, apparently her favorite thing to do whenever you embarrass her.  

“Come on pretty kitty, let’s get dressed and join your sister for breakfast.  Then, ‘m gonna go home and get changed to take you on a proper date.  And then, kitten, we’re gonna start workin’ on that promise I made you last night.”  Your answering whimper makes her laugh, and she stands while hefting you up over her shoulder.  “Come on kitten, unless you want your sister walkin’ in and finding us like this.”  She emphasizes her statement with a firm slap to your ass, making you laugh.  This might be the best morning ever.