#the price i pay for getting bored with my art (my hand hurts)

[itsdefinitely]

the way you draw ted makes me want to make out with him sloppy style

i doubt he'd be opposed

[kiridarling]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒

izuku midoriya | ft. ceo!au + praise + exhibitionism + breaking and entering + body worship + f!reader + more! minors dni.

— 3.8k words

“When I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to."

You’ve always hated Chopin.

“L’œuf mimosa, Madame?”

After turning down the poor waiter whose arms quiver under the weight of the plates, you turn back to your red wine and people-watching. The ballroom is full of golds and reds, the amber lighting illuminating the intricately decorated walls. And you sit in the middle of it all—you and your 147 billion net-worth, with a ball gown that’s caught at least half the aristocratic asshole’s attention, not that they were very loyal to their wives in the first place.

You're not here for their attention, though. You’re strictly here for business—and frankly, you want to do nothing more than sock these fat business moguls in their chubby faces until their teeth fall out and demand they pay their taxes. But, seeing as you’re the only woman here who isn’t a gold-digging wife, you bite your tongue.

You’ve always dreaded black tie events, but as you’ve said, duty calls.

A whine filters through the speakers, followed by two amplified taps and a clear of a throat. The murmur down as the auction's owner takes the center of the stage, stilling in front of the next piece of art—hidden behind a black veil—before adjusting the tie to his business suit.

“I’m glad that you all could be with us tonight. I have both a great privilege and honor to host this event,” he announces, bulbous head already growing damp under the heat of the stage lights. “Now that we're almost at the end, I'm sure you won't be disappointed. Saving the best for last, as one does."

He includes a casual wave to his comment and the audience erupts in a flurry of chuckles, though not for long. As he walks over to the piece, hand raised and ready to reveal, silence seizes the room by the neck.

"Well. Shall we?”

The audience balances on the edges of their seats, with millions of wide eyes and thrumming chests in anticipation. A smooth flick of a hand and the black sheet is removed, and there sits the only piece you’ve had your eyes on all night. She’s even more beautiful up close.

“El Bacio, The Kiss. Francesco Hayez, 1859.”

The grip around your glass tightens. The brilliant blue from the woman’s dress in the oil painting may as well burn your eyes, and the surrounding murmurs peak with your interest. You know it's yours without question, though—you can outbid almost anyone in this room. Anyone that matters, anyway.

“This is the original version, originally commissioned by Count Alfonso Maria Visconti of Saliceto. It was donated to the Pinacoteca di Brera in 1886 and went missing in 1937. Starting at ten million.”

You try not to scowl. The fucker jacked up the price by two million.

“Twelve million,” the man says as he recognizes whoever lifted a hand. You sit tight, your hands throbbing in your lap for the right moment as you survey the room for anyone who could possibly pose a threat. You find none.

The bidding continues. The price elevates from twelve million to fifteen to thirty to fifty. You raise a hand, finally, fingers splayed wide and confident to signify a five.

“Fifty-five million.”

The room falls silent; you try not to smile. You know for a fact no one wants this painting more than you do, and you’re determined to have it.

“No one else?”

His eyes scan the room but no one makes a motion. It’s yours.

Until there’s movement from your peripheral.

“Sixty million!”

You eye whoever had the audacity to raise their hand, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight—a man, roughly your age, with slicked-back green hair and a hand twice the size of yours, lifted lazily in the air.

With a huff, you find yourself thrusting another five into the air.

“Sixty-five millio—Seventy million!”

You know that green-haired (probably) trust fund baby has got to be doing this for fun because the poorly hidden smirk hidden behind the hand he rests his chin on is more than obvious.

You dislike him already, immediately categorizing him with the rest—another sleazeball.

“Seventy-five million!”

“Eighty million!”

“One hundred million!”

In your defense, you were getting frustrated.

Either way, the green-haired stranger backs off with a nonchalant shrug, and it makes you burn this discontent. The business mogul-turned-auctioneer steps off the stage for another twenty-minute intermission and folks turn to one another for conversation. You sigh, simply satisfied that you’ve gotten what you came for.

You find yourself faintly puzzled by the boy with the green hair, and you're sure it's solely due to his age. Frankly, you've been the only one under thirty in the Top 100 Richest People since you achieved such a feat, and the fact that you haven't heard of him is...puzzling. But it doesn't matter. Clearly, he’s just another fellow looking to put another pretty thing in his foyer—you doubt he knows a thing about art, and definitely not an appreciation for it. You find solace in the fact that it's the new addition to your precious art collection instead, and will be owned and taken care of by someone who actually enjoys it.

“Good evening.”

You jump. Wrapped up in all of your inner turmoil (complemented by inner bragging, naturally) you fail to notice the greenette cross the expanse of the ballroom and make himself comfortable in the open seat next to you, despite your lack of approval.

“Hello,” you say, unsure of why he's here. He offers a hand to shake, Rolex glinting under the golden lighting.

“Izuku Midoriya,” he introduces, and you suppose shaking his hand won’t hurt.

“Your name?” He snorts, raising a cocky eyebrow. You scowl.

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly.” Izuku rests his forearms on the table as his evergreen eyes rake your figure up and down. “But if you prefer to remain nameless, be my guest.”

“[Y/N].”

“Hmm?”

“My name,” you clarify. “It’s [Y/N].”

You’re not exactly sure what possessed you to tell him your name so easily. Maybe the fact that most already know who you are, and the fact that this man—this stranger—doesn’t know who you are, irks you a bit.

Okay. It irks you a lot.

“Well, Miss [Y/N],” Izuku tilts his head sideways. “I think that’s a very pretty name.”

Your body betrays you with a light gasp. Stupid thing.

“Well. I’m bored,” Izuku announces childishly, relaxing against the chair. “Lets go somewhere.”

You roll your eyes at his asserted dominance—in no way does he expect you to go with him, does he? You raise an eyebrow.

“No.”

Izuku clicks his tongue as if it were a buzzer, and more importantly, as if you were wrong. “Why?”

That has you scoffing. “I don’t know you.”

Izuku’s eyes flash with a challenge and it’s gone just as quickly. He leans forwards, crowding your personal space yet again.

“I told you my name, no?”

“You did,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your back. You feel too small. “But I know nothing about you.“

“Well,” Izuku places an inquisitive finger on his lips, and it’s almost mocking, the way he takes a moment to think about it. “My name is Izuku Midoriya. I like...katsudon and hero movies. I’m here because I have too much time and money on my hands, and I’m, most importantly, bored.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you do for a living?”

Izuku’s lip curls, and it’s downright sinister, “I'll tell you if you come with me."

You roll your eyes, and he takes both your hands in his. You don’t pull away, but you don’t reciprocate it either.

“Where?”

Izuku shrugs, “Wherever the wind takes us.”

Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your fairly intimate conversation and dying your cheeks pink. Izuku raises an eyebrow.

“I heard they’re feeding us escargo for dinner.”

“Ugh,” you sigh, shoulder sagging. “Looks like I’m not eating, then.”

But there’s a glint in his eyes, and you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t one in your own. There's an ebb in the discourse, a beat, before Izuku's nodding towards the exit.

“Fast food?”

Wendy’s hits different during a Parisian midnight.

“—and so I had to be like: No Kacchan, you can’t hotwire his car to blow just because your food was, and I quote, lukewarm.”

You snicker behind a fist, digging your fancy heels into the grimy cement sidewalk, Wendy’s frostee in hand. Izuku hasn’t let go of your hand since you two left the fast-food joint, and for some reason, you haven’t pulled away.

"Violence seems to be a reoccurring theme with your friend," you say, laughing when Izuku nods in agreement, eyes stuck on the full moon hanging high in the air.

"You remind me of him, actually."

You raise an eyebrow, unable to see the correlation at all, "Because I'm a loud and angry and I like to blow things up."

"Or, because you're strong—independent. The type of woman to make men turn tail and run, you know?" Izuku turns to you with a lopsided grin.

You hum, averting your eyes to the moon. It's a stupid question, one that's all too loaded yet empty at the same time, and you hate that you hesitate to ask it.

"Why haven't you ran, then?"

"Easy." Izuku lets a smooth shrug roll off his shoulders, "I like strong women."

He continues to pull you to an undisclosed destination, the two of you stumbling through the heart of Paris with his suit jacket around your goosebump-ridden shoulders. People stare, but for the first time in forever, you find that you don't care much.

Finally, you two reach Izuku's "big reveal." You gaze at the magnificently lit french building in confusion, the golden under lights contrasting both of your beings against the navy blue sky.

"The Louvre?"

"Mhm," Izuku says, and he looks more than giddy. "Have you been?"

"Once," your voice is weary and you're sure he senses it, his grip tightening around your own. "For a fundraiser...but it's midnight Izuku, ho—"

But he's already tugging you to the right, dipping between columns and arches until you reach the back of the building. Izuku turns to you and whispers:

"Watch this."

It's hard to tell what he did exactly, especially with no light—it's just a bunch of jingles and ticks. Though, the moment you can't escape the sense that this is beyond sketchy, a lock clicks, and a door whines open.

"Hurry. And take your heels off," Izuku whispers, tilting his head towards the entrance. You hear the crunch of a leaf and see the beginning of a white flashlight curl around the building and fuck, this place has to be crawling with security guards, doesn't it?

"Don't tell me what to do," you grumble...as you take off your shoes. (Because you were going to do it anyway.) You enter and he closes the door behind the two of you, submerging you both in complete darkness.

"Security's only on the outside," Izuku grins. "They don't expect us to get inside, so as long as we're quiet, it should be fine."

"Until we have to get back out again," you say, huffing. Your heart pounds from the adrenaline because frankly, you've never been one for adventures, and breaking into a historical french museum is miles out of your comfort zone. "Seriously, did you think this through at all? What happens when we get caught?"

Izuku sighs, turning to you with a pout before grabbing your free hand again. "Women worry too much. C'mon—I wanna explore."

"You—let go, you misogynistic assho—"

You're cut off by a finger to your lips. Izuku bends down so he’s looking at you straight on, eyes dark as he sternly whispers, "Do you want us to get caught?"

It's not the prospect of getting caught that makes you falter, though—it's the way his stare pins you in place, voice swollen with that air of dominance you claim to hate. You have to tighten your grip on your heels to ensure they don't hit the ground.

"Now," Izuku‘s strangely childish manner returns, tugging your hand once your panicked whisper-yelling ceases, "Shall we?"

You roll your eyes, but your bare feet patter against the cold Louvre tile anyway. And you've got to say, the museum is much nicer when it isn't crawling with people.

"Mona Lisa's forehead is bigger than I thought," Izuku observes with a finger on his lip. He's on the wrong side of the railing, his nose close to kissing the glass protecting the piece. You snort, dropping your head to pinch the bridge. He turns to give you a weird look.

"What?"

"Nothing, just," you shake your head, the cool wood of the railing digging into your forearms. "Did you actually want that painting?"

Izuku frowns. "Which one?"

"El Bacio."

"Mm," the greenette hums as he thinks, blinking to the corner of the room."I suppose. You seemed like you wanted it more, though."

You roll your eyes, "So you cap at eighty million?"

Izuku shrugs, hopping the railing. Seems like he's finally done insulting poor Lisa, "I capped when you started to sweat."

You huff, but stomping instead of walking isn't so intimidating when you're barefoot. "I wasn't sweating."

You see a hidden smirk on Izuku's face once you catch up to him, and it's frustrating and insulting, to say the least. Both of you proceed down a hall of statues. "You're much easier to read than you think, Miss [Y/N]."

"And you're not as perceptive as you think, Mister Midoriya."

Izuku chuckles at that, shaking his head. "Well played, Miss [Y/N]. Well played."

You're not sure why your chest swells, but it does, and it takes both you and your limited lung capacity off guard. But you don't have much time to sort it out—Izuku's grabbing your hand again, and redirecting your attention to the last statue in the hall. You recognize it and frown.

“Cupid and Psyche?”

The silver moonlight pours in through the window, spilling down Cupid’s tipped wings and the softest points of the Psyche’s curves. Izuku hums in confirmation, hands sliding to encompass your hips as his chin hooks on your shoulder.

"Well done, Miss [Y/N]."

His voice deepens—it's coarse and heady, and gets your blood rushing in a way breaking and entering never could have.

"Amore e Psiche, Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. Antonio Canova, 1793."

You fail to understand why this statue stood out to him compared to all the others, but the circles Izuku’s thumb presses into your hips signifies that you’ll find out soon.

"Cupid represents desire, and Psyche, the human soul," Izuku says, running his hands up your sides. "Together, they make the perfect union."

Dipping his nose into your neck, Izuku inhales, and the hands around your waist tighten, if the smallest bit. "Psyche was the prettiest woman in the world; so pretty she rivaled Venus' beauty with her own. It didn't matter if it broke rules—Cupid knew he had to have her."

The gentle nudge of a neck evolves into a set of butterfly kisses, tracing the column of your neck until his mouth reaches your ear. A hand slides to gently cup your breast, and the other to your thigh.

"Miss [Y/N], when I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to." Izuku groans into your neck, hips gently grinding forwards. "So, it's up to you what we do next—I could drop you off at your home to probably never see you again, or...”

Izuku shifts, and you can feel his hardening cock against your back. “I can bend you over right here. Your choice.”

You hesitate, determined to think this through—but Izuku's wandering hands and rutting hips prove to be too much of a distraction.

"Fine," is all you say, before whirling around, grabbing the greenette by his dress shirt, and slamming your lips onto his.

Izuku kisses back with a grin—like he knew you were going to say yes—and places his hands around your waist yet again, backing you up against the marble statue.

"Sit on the platform," he breathes into your mouth. You frown.

"Like, the platform to the statue? Caus—"

"Yes on the statue, now sit," Izuku demands, but he doesn't give you much room to protest, forcing you onto the marble platform. Hiking your dress to your waist, Izuku's calloused palms slide up your inner thighs, spreading them apart to make room for himself in between. He pauses.

"No panties?"

You flush red—from the exposure or the comment, you aren't sure—but you huff in defiance nevertheless, determined to stand your ground and keep some of your dignity. (Though you're positive Izuku can feel you shaking already.)

"I'm wearing a dress," you defend weakly.

Izuku hums behind a bitten lip, lying a heavy thumb on your clit. It's enough pressure to make your thighs tense but not much else, until it flicks downwards.

"I wanna taste you," Izuku growls with dilated pupils once he finally tears his gaze from your exposed body. "Can I?"

Heat surges through your veins, and you let him pry your thighs apart as you respond with an unsteady, "Yeah—yeah, that's fine."

Izuku's chest rumbles with a growl as he closes in on your pussy, hands gripping underneath your thighs. You whimper when he trails butterfly kisses down your inner legs, the grip you have around the skirt of your dress tightening.

"So pretty," Izuku groans, chuckling when you shiver as he flattens his tongue against your slit, "My Goddess."

With that he dives in, almost sending you toppling with the force. The moonlight dyes his green locks a navy blue, and you can't resist seizing them into a fist when he pushes a finger in.

"Feel good, Gorgeous?" Izuku says with a knowing smirk on his sinfully glossed lips. Another digit enters and it has your toes curling as you nod. “Shit, you’re tight.”

Izuku spits on your pussy and it’s downright dirty, before looks at you under forest green eyelashes, the other hand finally letting go of your thigh in favor for pulling at the top of your dress.

“Izuku, wha—“

“I wanna see your tits,” he huffs. You’d laugh at his enthusiasm if you weren’t so aroused, and you find your hands joining in the flurry. The moment they’re free, Izuku’s mouth latches onto your breast in an instant.

“F-Fuck, ‘Zuku—“

“You sound so good when you moan my name, sweetheart,” Izuku groans, and you jolt as he tweaks a bud.

“Say it again.”

He pinches your nipple and clit at the same time, and it has your legs kicking as you squeal his name again.

The Izuku growls and it's nothing but feral, and another yelp of his name has him pulling you to your feet to the point where your noses almost touch. Aggravated from being so close before the greenette ripped his fingers away has you scowling.

"Wha—"

"Can I fuck you?" His breath ghosts your lips. You hide your shock by a roll of your eyes.

"Do you always ask stupid questions?"

Izuku hums in contemplation before grabbing you harshly by the jaw, to the point where your cheeks squish into your eyes and your lips pucker. "Say it, Bunny."

"I just sa—"

"Say 'I want you to fuck me, Izuku,'" he says with a cruel snarl. "’Hard.’"

Your eyes dart from his heavy gaze to the statue, and you can't help but feel more fragile than glass. "I litera—"

"Say it, brat."

"I—" you try but nothing comes out, and you blame that darkened stare of his, "I w-want you to fuck me. Izuku."

Izuku inhales sharply, the fingers cradling your face tightening before he speaks again.

"Good girl."

He spins you so your hands lay on the statue's base, yanking your hips back and flipping your dress so your bare ass is exposed to the cool air.

Izuku's palms caress your behind, kneading both globes before he pulls you against his bare cock. (When he took off his pants is beyond you.) He slaps his cock against your clit until you huff in frustration, turning around to shoot him an angry glare.

"Today, Izuku."

The greenette blinks out of his absorbed gaze on your behind in favor of glowering you down. You waver under his glare despite your best efforts.

His cock kisses your entrance and then all of it is in you at once, and his size is enough to make your inner thighs ache from the stretch. You bite your lip in an attempt to muffle a moan, but that crashes and burns fairly quickly.

"O-Oh shi—"

"You said today, didn't you?" Izuku rasps, before pulling out and stuffing you full at a quick and steady pace. Your hands scramble for proper purchase against the statue—without breaking it, for gods sake—but the harder he fucks you into it, the harder it is to stay upright. "Quiet, baby. We're not supposed to be here, remember?"

You nod frantically, teeth digging into your bottom lip. The thought of getting caught, you, of all people, while being railed against a marble statue—

Izuku moans in your ear, a hand moving between your thighs to rub at your clit. "Oh, you tightened when I said that—you like the idea of getting caught, Bunny?"

You respond with a choked moan, thighs quivering with an impending orgasm. Izuku groans as you tighten around him again, but they quickly turn into shushes.

"Bu—"

"I-I know," your voice cracks and it's absolutely pathetic. "But I can't—"

Izuku's hand wraps around your mouth to the point where his fingertips just barely brush your ears. You whine, eyes fluttering as the new grip adjusts the angle ever so slightly, and pushes him so much deeper.

"You're gonna kill me," Izuku says, wheezing out a laugh. "I—fuck Bunny, I'm close."

You whimper behind his hand and nod as if to say me too, and you're sure Izuku understands from the way he groans before he speeds up in all aspects. "Good. G-Good—cum for me baby, I know you can—"

Your toes curl into the marble floor as the coil in your gut snaps, knocking the wind out of you and sending you thrashing in Izuku's arms. You hear the greenette curse and shudder behind you, stuttering hips slowing to an eventual stop. Both of you stand there for a moment, comfortable interrupting the silence with nothing but your heaving breaths.

"You okay?"

You chuckle. It's dry and scratchy, and your lip throbs from biting it so hard, but it isn’t...aggravating, per-se. "You sound worse than me."

Izuku laughs at that, though it waters down as he pulls out with a hiss. "I don't think worse is the correct adjective here, Miss [Y/N].”

You snort. Back to “Miss [Y/N]” it is, then.

Your ears catch the distinct wail of ever-increasing sirens, but you don't think much of it until the side of Izuku's face starts flashing blue and red. Both you and the greenette falter, sharing a look.

"Police! Hands in the air!"

i wrote this while watching a hysterectomy in physio aah (also yes, the french police speak in english leave me alone skjdhfgk) — sun

[asexualbookbird]

July August September OCTOBER Wrap Up

I forget the last time I did this so I'm just going to talk about life in general and wrap up food and books for October!

So yall know by know this year has been Awful to me, and October really hasn't been too different. I've got a couple new words to add to list of diagnoses but that doesn't matter when I still feel like shit! I haven't felt like reading, and my hands hurt too much to do much of anything, but honestly October was the best month I had in a while (though it still sucked lol)

BOOKS

The Bone Maker by Sarah Beth Durst 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

Across the Green Grass Fields by Seanan McGuire 🌟🌟🌟

The Lights of Prague by Nicole Jarvis 🌟🌟🌟

I really enjoyed The Bone Maker, so much so I want more like it, but not in the necromancy kind of way. More in the "found family grieving together but apart and learning once more its okay to lean on each other" kind of way

Green Grass Fields was fun, I always enjoy a Wayward Children story, but it ended very abruptly. I felt like we needed a bit more of a conclusion than what we got. I'm sure we'll see Reagan again in future books and get that conclusion, but on its own I needed More.

Lights of Prague was one of my most highly anticipated books, not just of the year, but of the last two years! The release kept getting pushed back because of ~Unprecedented Times~ so I was really looking forward to it! While it was still good, it wasn't at all what I expected. I wanted more monsters and less romance and the timeline was too rushed for my tastes. Also the romantic conflict was solved too easily, sorry but I don't believe someone would be all lovey eyed and apologetic mere hours after storming out of the bedroom vowing to kill the person if they ever met again. It had a satisfying ending though!

OTHER MEDIA

MBMBaM

Love Live SIF

Love Live SIP (season one)

QUBE 2

There's Someone Inside Your House

yall im caught up on MBMBaM and don't know what to do on walks now. Obviously the answer is "start a new podcast" but how can I when theres no more MBMBaM binging (bingeing?). I'll probably go back to TAZ and then The Magnus Archives.

Still playing School Idol Project, though with the recent Persona Collab I'm not sure how long that will last. The collab....sucks so much. We have to play the same song like twenty times in a row to progress and I hate it the songs are so boring Persona has awful boring music and the art is ugly and we have to pay to get the good cards. I play almost exclusively on master though so that feels good! Surprisingly it doesn't hurt my hands, though getting full combos is hard when my thumbs are stiff. I also watched season one of the anime and oh gosh I loved it so much!

QUBE 2 was a quick game that reminded me of Portal. Probably won't play it again like I did Portal, but it was a fun puzzle game.

There's Someone Inside Your House on netflix was disappointing and I'm still angry about it because the killer had NO MOTIVE at ALL other than "weh I have privilege you don't know how hard that is on me" lol shut up and go kill your dad like a normal asshole

FOOD

sticky buns

chicken katsu

bread rolls

falafel

dutch apple pie

grilled chicken

chocolate chip muffins

bagels

cranberry muffins

mint chocolate chip cookies

spaghetti and meatballs

challah

oh I did cook a lot huh! I didn't eat a lot, but I sure cooked it. If you want my cookie recipe you can find that here.

I'm very behind in my goodreads goal but hopefully I can fix that?? It's been suggested I get minor surgery soon to check to see whats going on inside of me, so I'll have recovery time for that to read. In theory. In practice I'll probably watch youtube and scroll through twitter.

Anyway happy November, time is fake, don't forget to buy half price Halloween candy!

[joyrose-fandomer]

Please, don’t fall for me (Sanders Sides fantasy school AU) Chap 3

Relationships : Future (Prinxiety, Intrological, Mocite, Platonique Moxiety and platonique Analogical)

POV : Virgil

TW : Water, Manipulation

Previous<<

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

Virgil couldn't focus on anything after that.

He kept looking at the pamphlet and the folded paper on his laps. 

The pamphlet showed a picture of a big white building. It looked like a bad copy of Harvard. 

It was named "Pine hills High school and College of art, sport and science" which was long for nothing and boring like literally any school.

But most importantly, it looked pricy. So Virgil looked around the pamphlet but he couldn't find any price anywhere. 

Tss, of course, they wouldn't.

It said on the pamphlet that the school had good infrastructure and good results in every sportive, artistic and scientific field. That it had 100% chance for the student to have a diploma and list several students that became important.

Virgil didn't know any of those names and most importantly, never heard of that school.

  On the other hand, the folded paper was a lot less fancy. There was no picture only a name and a few commentaries.

It didn't look official in any way. In fact, it was very obvious that Remy had written everything.

But it gave a strange feeling, like the ink and paper weren't normal. Like it could disappear at any moment if Virgil stopped looking at it or if anyone else looked at it.

He knew it didn't make much sense, but he could swear that he saw the words glitter from time to time.

"The Argus school" was the name written on the paper. 

"School for young magical creatures to learn how to control their powers in safety."

So, like a school of magic? When did Virgil step into Harry Potter?

  It was so cliché and suspicious, Remy was surely messing with him. 

What if it was all an elaborate prank?

What if it was a kidnapping technic and Virgil was falling straight for it?

Should he call the police?

Would they believe him?

But what if it was not a joke?

It was so unrealistic but it explained so many things...

That day when school ended Virgil didn't directly go home.

He went to the pool.

"Hello, do you have a ticket ?"

The young women at the entrance asked.

Oh. Well, he needed to confirm that too eventually.

The high school boy took a deep breath.

"No, I forgot...sorry"

Her voice was suddenly a lot softer.

"It's ok, I can give you one. It's 7$"

Alright, he won't have to meet her again, he could do it.

He took off his mask and hood

"I'm sorry miss. I forgot to bring money"

She blinked like she was trying to adjusted her eyes after being flashed with a stong light.

"Alright, I will take your name and you can pay later"

"Wait really?" Virgil exclaimed, not expecting the woman to actually let him get away with it so easily.

The woman smiled. "Yes, but don't tell anyone, I'm not supposed to do that. So what's your name ?"

"Virgil Apkallu"

"That's an interesting name could you spell it ?"

Virgil spelled his name like he always did. Before remembering an important fact.

"I don't have my swimsuit!"

She laughed. Virgil couldn't blame her, he really didn't think that through.

"Do you want to go home to pick it up?"

If he got home it would be too late, his father wouldn't let him go back out again.

He looked up at the women. Making eye contact with someone for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"If I go home I don't know if I would be able to come back..."

She froze and thought for a bit before walking away and coming back with her wallet. 

"Here, go to the dispenser and get yourself a swimsuit"

"Wha- but it's your money, I can't"

"It's fine kid, it's just 2$. Now go before we close"

Virgil sighed and bought simple black shorts. He thanked the woman and she let him get in.

He felt guilty. He knew he didn't ask her to do all that and she was the one who insisted. But he couldn't help but feel like he manipulated that woman.

But it's what he was trying to do, didn’t he ?

The pool was empty. It was late and during fall it was too cold to go swimming.

The pool attendants weren't here, probably thinking that no one would come at that hour.

So Virgil had the water for himself.

Time to get it over with.

The good thing with being an anxious mess like Virgil is that you end up collecting techniques to get rid of disillusions.

Often the biggest disillusions were the hardest to get rid of. It's the ones that make the less sense. 

Like thinking everyone you meet want to kill you, or that your parents were secretly robots.

But the good thing is. The bigger they are the easier it is to prove your brain wrong.

If you don't turn into a wolf under the full moon, you're not a werewolf.

If you don't have magic powers you're not a witch.

And if you can't breathe underwater you're not a siren.

A normal human can't survive underwater for more than 5 minutes, a trained diver can stay at best 12 minutes.

Virgil only had to stay underwater until he felt the huge to breathe.

If he could stay underwater for longer than that without needing to go out to breathe then... haha no, it was stupid last time he was just confused because he fell into the pool in the middle of a panic attack. 

He will be out in a few seconds.

He slowly went down the stairs. The water was colder than he remembered.

It was probably reckless to test that alone but at least no-one was here to stop him.

Once he was in, the cold was a lot more bearable. In fact, it was numbing pleasantly.

The only swimmer went around the pool using the border to hold himself. But he didn't really need it, it was mostly the lack of confidence.

Eventually, he let go of the side of the pool and swam to the center of the water.

He felt free. Like floating in space. Swiming was so easy, it was second nature.

Virgil set the timer at 0.

And go !

He let himself sink.

The echoes of the empty room, the lapping of the water, the far-away cars.

It all dissolved into silence.

The golden hue of the sunset reflected all around, slithering in the water like hundreds of glowing vines.

Virgil was still holding his nose under the water but he didn't feel the need to breathe. Actually, he was already breathing. 

He brushed the side of his neck. His skin was taking off but it didn't hurt.

He breathed in.

Water entered the gap in his neck.

He breathed out. 

Water went out of the gap.

Gills.

He never had gills. Since when did he had gills?

He let go of all the air he was holding in a string of bubbles. 

He watched them float away. Reflecting the sunlight, making them shine the away fairy lights would.

Bright and clear.

When he tried to breathe through the nose, the airway seemed blocked and he ended up breathing by his Gilles again.

He was breathing underwater. He could see underwater.

He could see and breathe better than on land.

His hair fell on his face.

He could see his own eyes reflecting in them like a mirror and his eyes reflected his hair the same way.

This was new. Usually, they were both jet black. 

He swam to one of the Hublot around the pool.

His hair reflected the pool around, perfectly merging with the water like they were trying their hardest to disappear. His eyes were hardly any better. They were glossy and blue with gold lights just like the water around.

Usually, his eyes were so dark he could barely see his pupils well now that his eyes were different... He still couldn't. Apparently, his pupils also got this mirror effect.

This one was probably not a new thing. The boy could remember every time someone had the great idea of pointing a flashlight at him only to scream because his pupils were shining like a wild animal.

The confused boy swam around. 

It was so simple, like taking a walk around the park.

So peaceful,

So comfortable,

So pretty,

So safe,

It felt like home.

Virgil didn't know how much time he spent here. He didn't want to look at the timer. 

He didn't want to walk. He didn't want to choke on air. He didn't want to feel the pressure of the world.

This was where he belonged. He was happy.

He didn't want to go.

He looked up. The golden light turned silver.

It was night. He needed to go home.

With a sigh, the half siren swam out. Posing the timer but not looking at it.

Everything was so heavy out there. Virgil dresses up slowly and difficultly. His clothes stuck to him and made moving even harder.

Taking a deap breath of his inhaler and dragging himself away from the pool.

The woman looked surprised that he was still here but she still waved him goodby with a smile.

The cold autumn wind gave him a headache, the boy hid his wet hair in is hood and walked.

By the time he arrived home, his body was freezing.

His mind bearly felt anything.

"Do you have any idea how late it is? 

I was so worried! Where were you ?!"

His father immediately yelled when he opened the door.

Virgil stayed silent. He didn't feel guilty, just, empty.

He walked around mindlessly, working only on muscle memory. His father still yelling behind him but he couldn't hear anything.

When he took off his hood his father went silent and stared at him wearily.

"Virgil, why are you soaked ?"

His son took a deep breath and locked eyes with his parent with a serious expression.

"Dad. Who is my mother ?"

***<>============<>***

Sorry, the story didn’t advence a lot this chapter, I really just wanted to right water again ! (^u^’)

Tag list : @angstysunshine @sander-sides-fics 

@moments-of-selves @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes (I still don’t know if you want me to tag you or not so if you want me to stop just tell me ok ? (^u^))

[pixie-dust-and-pain]

Anarchy

It wasn’t supposed to go this far, it was only meant to be a harmless game. An interest intended only to keep her satisfied until she latched onto the next new thing, but he’d crossed the line. Now, she was willing to do whatever it took to bring him to his knees before her. Now, she was going to topple him down from his throne, and throw down his sparkling crown of glass, and show him that glass was made to shatter. She was going to wreck his carefully crafted tyrannical system, pull it apart brick by brick, and leave both it and him vulnerable to the core. She was going to prove to everybody that had placed even an ounce of trust in him that they should’ve condemned him all along. She didn’t care if she wasn’t queen, but she wasn’t going to let him succeed in being the king. She was going to declare anarchy. 

Warnings: slight sexual innuendo

I wrote this during class

(I haven't used Tumblr that much yet so I'm not aware of the layout of general fanfics, so please do enlighten me)

Chapter 2

She closed her eyes, absentmindedly tapping the wooden desk with her fingertips as she waited for Slughron to move onto her table. He was currently chiding Olive Hornby for not cutting her leaves the right size and having chopped them too big. She rolled her eyes, annoyance prickling at her as she frowned in his direction. The old coot had already wasted half the class praising Tom Riddle. Surely, he could cut short his ravings and move on now.

Finally, he moved onto her desk, and peering at her result, he arched a brow. He seemed confused for a second, before a satisfied grin made its way onto his lips. “You are a natural, my dear. The ingredients were rather simple and watered down, I didn’t think that a student of your age could’ve made such an advanced potion. I must say, I hadn’t expected this much, but well done…” he trailed off, probably indulging himself in fantasies of how having two top-students from his house would be a bonus.

She smiled politely at Slughorn, a satisfied feeling pooling in her. The moment he left, however, her eyes drifted to Tom Riddle, and she smiled at him in cruel content. He glanced at her, a bored expression occupying his face, and turned back to his book. It wasn’t much, but she didn’t care. She’d gotten his attention, at least.

She didn’t know why she was doing this. Truly, it was a lot less productive than her other occasional indulgences. But he’d been Hogwarts’ best student for far too long, and she was getting tired of having his praises sung every time she entered a room. She’d been surprised at the amount of self-control she had, especially since she had managed not to slap a person every time they spoke his accomplishments and prided herself for her restrain.

She wasn’t one to engage in academic excellence. For what she had planned, wasting her time on good grades, paying attention in classes that teach her about topics she already knows, and obtaining useless knowledge was unnecessary, but she had to admit, it did feel good to be the top of the class, even if it was just once. 

Her eyes wander to Riddle again, and this time, she stares. She wouldn’t lie to herself by admitting that he wasn’t conventionally attractive, he had, after all, made her blush a time or two, but he was just so perfect it was odd. Surely, nobody could be that flawless. And so, she’d dug, scraped together pieces of information, observed him through the shadows, noted how his “friends” seemed to cower before him, and how they used to turn pale after an accident or even a lousy slip of tongue.  

It had been easy for her to do so. She was a nobody in the castle, insignificant, and weak. She wasn’t exactly “under the radar”, but she wasn’t the sort to be suspected. She was sweet and innocent and weak, and an overall shame to Slytherin. She didn’t care much of it, her reputation, the bullying it caused, it was all a trivial matter. They were small consequences as opposed to the advantages she’d gained. Sweet and gentle girl she was, how could she ever cause anybody any harm? And thus, she’d been granted access to the restricted section, occasional visits to the forbidden forest (with a professor, naturally) and an immediate exclusion to suspicion every time something went wrong.

She’d worked hard to build up her image as the harmless little damsel in distress, and the teasing and exclusion from the general Slytherin body was a small price to pay. It wasn’t that they didn’t like her (they adored her, actually) but that Hogwarts ran on a hierarchal system, and the rulers of the system seemed to have it in for her and her so-called “disgrace” to the Slytherin house, and so everybody who seemed to be more than a mere acquaintance to her was immediately shunned. She supposed it had something to do with her open acceptance of muggleborns, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She steals a glance at him again, and he wasn’t even looking in her direction, far too immersed in his book to care. Or, at least, that was how he made it out to be. She knew he cared; it would be ridiculous if he didn’t. She smiled to herself, basking in the knowledge that she’d gotten his attention.

But she’d done so much more than just that, hadn’t she? She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d upstaged him.

~*~

“Ellison,” a smooth voice says, pulling her out of her trance. She snaps the book shut hastily, casting a non-verbal spell to change its name and prays that he doesn’t notice.

“Hi?” She offers, smiling awkwardly. She hadn’t thought this far, really. She’d just expected to be confronted by one of his cronies or to have him send her annoyed glares now and then. Total confrontation? Well, that was a bold step.

“May I join you?” He asks, gesturing to the empty seats next to her. She nodded, still keeping the awkward smile on. He should’ve realized by now it was a desperate cry for help.

It was an awkward silence after that, interrupted by only the occasional turning of page. It’s odd, and she pauses, paying the utmost attention to the boy next to her. He doesn't seem to realize that she has stopped, and if he does, he makes no move to acknowledge it. It's quiet, and she realizes that she's the only one who's been turning her page all this time. "Are you alright?" she finally asks, raising a brow at him.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Well, you haven't turned your page once since you've gotten here, and seem to be having trouble with-" she peers over, and raises a brow, “-the acknowledgements,”

"And you've paid all that precious attention to me instead of focusing our on your," he pauses and squints at the title, "Kamasutra,"

She doesn't have the shame to blush, and only silently curses herself for not paying more attention to what she’d renamed the book as, "Look, Tim-"

"Tom," he sharply corrects.

"Whatever, I don't want any trouble. And it wasn't me who asked to sit next to you, now was it?” And honestly you just sitting there like a statue is creepy,”

“How did you do it?” he asks finally, leaning back into the chair and studying her. She has to admit, his undivided attention feels nice.

“Do what?” beat you in potions? Then defense against the dark arts? She doesn’t voice her thoughts out loud, and gets up and shoves her items hastily into her bag.

“Make the potion,” he says. It’s a clever dodge.

She smiles wryly at him, “I’m not that much of a dunce, Riddle,”

“Well, you haven’t exactly made your abilities clear before, have you? How the sudden change?”

“I’m late for class-”

“It’s lunch,”

“Even worse, then.” She tries to leave, but he grabs her wrist. His grip is painful, and she wonders how dire the consequences would be if she twists his hand.

“I don’t take well to being ignored, Ellison,” he says, his grip bruising and his eyes glinting. She doesn’t feel scared, then, only more aware. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and Tom Riddle could, if he wanted, hurt her. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that what she was doing had the potential to be life-threatening if she wanted it to. She hasn’t had the sweet taste of danger in so long, it feels freeing to acknowledge it again.

She smiles demurely, the picture of submission, and twists his wrist in reply as she wrestles her hand out of his. The only sign of him being pained by the even tis his sharp intake of breath.

It’s like gambling, this strange interest of hers. It has obvious consequences, but it’s just so entertaining. She walks out of the library, glancing only momentarily at the spot he’d grabbed her. She can see his fingerprints, a bruising shape on her wrist, clearly visible. This was going to be fun.

[siteeco15]

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[bamiiib]

Ethereal | Jung Jaehyun

Ethereal | Jung Jaehyun

Masterlist

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen

Sorrow and uncertainty become your only source of reassurance, everything is different, and yet he continues to move forward, only to a direction that you fear for. What has now become of your once beautiful romance?

Words: 5.8K

Category: Modern!AU, Angst, Fluff

Song Rec: A Soulmate Who Wasn’t Meant to Be — Jess Benko

Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of alcohol & addiction, Mentions of slight depression, toxic relationships

A/N: OMG! Is it true? YES, I’M ALIVE! I’m not sure if y’all are interested in what has been going on, but I want to bring this back, and finish it! Stay tuned for updates, I’ll try my best to keep them as consistent as I can, and I promise I’ll be posting sneak peeks of future chapters as well. Thanks for continuing to support me for those who have been reading this since the beginning. Anyways, happy reading! —Bambi

You woke up to the rays of sun beating down your eyes. With a groan, you rubbed your eyes until they fluttered open. You stretched, a tiny whimper escaping your lips as you stared at the ceiling. Your arms flopped to your side, you thought back to everything that happened last night. How Taeyong had almost kissed you—how you almost let him. You shut your eyes in regret and guilt. You could only see the chubby boy that he used to be when you thought back to high school. 

The boy who was new to your class, and how no one wanted to talk to him, and how you looked at him with a smile when he dropped his books one day and introduced yourself. Since then, to you, Taeyong had only become another familiar face in the hallways who you’d say hi to once in a while. You never thought he’d be interested in you, let alone be his highschool crush that he never got over. You sighed, wondering if things would truly be different if you weren’t so afraid of love back then. But then you remember back to the flood of memories that rushed through you in that moment when Taeyong stood inches away from your lips. 

Jaehyun. 

No matter what happened, no matter what you did or thought about in the past, he always came to mind. He became a part of you, and you hadn’t realized until now. He helped you with your fears, made you see that love wasn’t going to hurt you. Jaehyun made you believe that love was a beautiful thing, and that despite everything that’s been happening, you were convinced that somewhere in the person he’s becoming now, the same man you know and love is still there.

You opened your eyes when your apartment was filled in silence. You couldn’t hear his soft snores, or his gentle breathing. You turned around, sleepiness still entrapped in your eyes, it made your vision blurry for only a second when you saw the empty spot next to you, where the sheets felt cold between your fingertips. Your heart instantly ached, wondering where he could’ve gone. Jaehyun had always stayed in bed until you woke up. He’d always be there to give you a kiss and whisper a gentle, “Good morning.”

 But to your surprise, there was nothing. A sigh. You got up, out of bed to change into simple jeans and a graphic tee. You made your bed and walked towards the kitchen, still hoping in the back of your mind that you’ll find Jaehyun. 

He’ll be in the kitchen, making surprise pancakes like he did once for your birthday with a bouquet of flowers resting on the table. He always was someone who likes surprises. You could feel your heartbeat rise to your throat, anticipation and desperate hope filled you. Your heart dropped when you saw nothing more but the furniture, and your paintings peeping through from the window that led to the balcony. Another sigh. Maybe he went somewhere. He probably just went to the grocery shop to buy more food to fill the fridge. 

Or buy more liquor so he can lose himself like he does every night. 

Maybe he went to go buy you more paint.

Or went with his band that replaced you with ease.

He wouldn’t leave without telling you. He never did. No matter where he went, Jaehyun had always let you know where he’d go, and give you a kiss or text you a heartwarming message if he had already left. Maybe he did, and you were probably too focused on other things instead. You rush towards your bedroom where your phone lies on your nightstand, you turn it on, praying desperately for there to be a text, to see his contact glowing on your phone screen. 

Nothing. 

Your chest felt heavy. You couldn’t breathe without panting. Your lips curled in a tight line. You gulped down the knot in your throat, you looked around, unsure of what exactly you were even looking for. You raked your hands through your hair, and with a deep, relaxing breath, you pulled your hair up to a ponytail and walked towards the balcony where you already set up a blank canvas from the last time you finished your last painting. 

You sat down, trying to ease your troubled mind, you reached for your acrylic paints, spreading them on the piece of cardboard that rested on your lap. Without thinking twice, you dipped your freshly clean brush in a color you’d pay attention to later. And so you painted, not caring whatever color you got on your canvas, not caring whether it looked appealing or not. 

You painted, not because you wanted it to catch a seller’s eye, or because you were bored, you painted because you don’t know what else to do. You painted what you felt. You felt unsure, you felt doubt, rage, sorrow, desperation. You felt like you were drowning, no matter how much you screamed, no matter how violent each brush stroke became the more you added more and more paint, you wanted to be heard. You wanted clarity. 

You wanted the ones you loved, back. 

You wanted your freedom, because you knew that even if you move houses, or put your head out of the car to taste the fresh air, or kiss the lips that promised you that freedom, you would never get it. You just wanted to taste it all again, but now your lips tasted like nothing more but of bitter venom and alcohol. 

You continued to paint, trying to get a taste of that freedom again, but only liquor filled your thoughts. How the scent followed you everywhere, how that green glass bottle would never leave you alone. How it followed you no matter where you went; never with you, but the ones you love.

You were too focused on the violent brush strokes against the canvas to realize the amounts of green you poured onto the cardboard. The amounts of black that splotched every corner and empty space of that canvas, how it decorated your skin, much like the darkness that intertwined in you. 

It would never leave. 

This grief, sorrow, and pain. 

You wanted it to go away. 

You tried to run away from it all, you took Jaehyun’s hand, expecting to find adventure and beauty and love, hoping to find everything that he promised, but found an empty bed, and paint on your skin. You didn’t feel the tears that trickled down your cheek, crashing onto your piece of cardboard and into the paint, making your artwork look more like the mess you were feeling. You couldn’t hear the door open when your sobs whispered through your lips, the brushstrokes now stabbing into the canvas, you wanted to scream, you wanted to disappear. You just wanted to forget. You wanted all of your pain, gone.

Taeyong had put you in a tight embrace. Your paintbrush dropped for your fingertips, crashing into the solid concrete of the floor, rolling towards who-knows-where. Your chest tightened, and the tears you became tired of couldn’t stop falling. 

“It’s okay! You’re okay! Please, breathe…” Taeyong’s breath was shaky, his hold he had on you trembling. You could feel his heartbeat pressing against your back. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his eyes shut tight. Everything stood still, and when you felt his breath whisper against your skin that ran cold, you realized you had been holding your breath up until now. The air had never felt so refreshing in his embrace. You brought a hand to hold his, your grip tighter than what you anticipated, you noticed that you began to tremble as well.

“Taeyong… What are you doing here?” You mumbled within sobs. Your head hung low, ashamed to look at him. He shook his head, refusing to talk until your cries subsided. It fell silent, you took a deep breath and wiped away your tears.

“Johnny texted me to tell you that he couldn’t come over, but he wanted me to tell you something about your art.” He sighed, pulling away to look at your face, grabbing your wrists to pull them away as you had your face buried in your hands.

“He wanted me to tell you that he found someone who owns an art gallery, and that they really want your artwork to be displayed there, along with buying some of your pieces for a good price. Your dream is coming true..” His voice was gentle and patient. A smile tugged the corner of his lips, Taeyong let out a breathy laugh. You didn’t want to believe your ears, your heart raced, and suddenly everything you were thinking of in the past had immediately come to a blank. You were processing everything that had just happened in the span of a couple of seconds, and once it had finally hit, once those words echoed in your ears, your tears came back again.

“Someone actually wants my artwork in an art gallery? Holy shit… holy shit!” You couldn’t believe it, it all felt like a surreal dream. One moment you were crying, stained in green and black paint, staring at the bristles now destroyed with your violent strokes onto the canvas that had a couple of scratches here and there. You didn’t hesitate another second as you pulled Taeyong into a tight embrace, laughter echoing in the balcony, you heard him grunt a little in surprise before his laughter mixed with yours, hugging you just as tight.

“W-Wait so when is it?” You pulled away to ask, a wide, dorkish smile etched onto your lips. Taeyong looked into the distance in thought, his brows furrowing.

“This Saturday. I’ll text you their contact information so you can confirm and plan everything out!”

“W-Will you come?” You asked, mostly out of pure excitement, but you saw the adoration that burned in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He said as he grabbed a strand of your hair and tucked it behind your ear. You dismissed the action, and pulled him into another hug, tears now filled with joy that wouldn’t stop falling. 

“Thank you so much… thank you, thank you.” You repeated, and the weight that pushed down on your chest had seemed to have gone away. 

But only for that very short moment. 

“Hey, um… we need to talk—” Jaehyun’s voice resonated throughout the apartment walls, his hand that scratched the back of his neck fell to his side, his gaze locked on you and Taeyong. 

You knew what pain looked like. It was in your paintings, in the liquor that stained the breath of your father, and when you turned to Jaehyun, you found pain in his eyes. 

“What the hell…” He whispered. His jaw tightened, everything had been moving too fast. Taeyong got up from where he knelt down in front of you, his hands up in defense, Jaehyun was walking towards the two of you in silence. You stood up from your seat, you found yourself between the two; Jaehyun gripped tight onto the collar of Taeyong’s shirt, pulling him inside the apartment and slammed him into the wall right next to the balcony door. 

“You have five seconds to explain why the fuck you were holding her like that before I beat the absolute shit out of you.” His voice was low, something dark and sinister laced his sentence. Your heart dropped. Rushing towards the two, you shook your head, opening your mouth to talk—but nothing. Instead, you placed a hand on Jaehyun’s arm that held Taeyong, shaking him to bring him back into reality. 

“Jaehyun, stop…” You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to yell, but your voice had come out so tiny when you spoke. You’ve never felt so small until now, when he looked at you and you remembered back to the first night he had gotten drunk. That empty, dullness that filled his once beautiful eyes. Your breathing turned heavy, your eyes still glossed in tears. His face softened when he noticed the puffiness in your eyes.  Though it returned once more when he glared over at Taeyong.

“You made her cry? What the fuck is your problem!” His voice roared through the apartment. You turned to look at Taeyong, whose face remained neutral until he said those very words. The same anger, the same deadly spark flashed through his eyes. His brows wrinkled in frustration, a dry laugh seeping through his lips, you watched his Adam's apple bop, holding onto Jaehyun’s wrist. 

“I made her cry? No, none of this is my fault. She’s crying because of you! I was here to comfort her, when you clearly failed to do so because you’re that much of a piece of absolute shi—!” Taeyong’s shouting was cut off by the loud crack that resonated through your ears. You watched him fall to the ground with a grunt, a hand cupping his mouth, he slowly moved to see the blood that littered his palm.

“Fuck you…” Jaehyun whispered. You shook your head, the tears threatening to come back again when he lunged at Taeyong. The two didn’t stop. They punched, slapped, and kicked each other. Cursing at each other; it tore your heart into pieces. Your feet felt rooted to the floor, your stomach twisting in knots, your mouth that ran dry. Your tears felt never ending, and time felt still. Each blow they took, each punch they threw, you could feel your heart pounding violently against your ribs. 

“Stop it…” You whispered, shutting your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see anymore. You shut them tight until you saw stars. Their shouts still filled the room.

“Stop it.” You whimpered, your jaw clenched, your hands balled into tight fists until you could feel your nails digging deep into your skin, the warmth of your blood being your only reminder of the reality of everything that was happening. 

They didn’t stop. Jaehyun’s screams had overpowered Taeyong’s. His cursing turned to incoherent screaming. Pure anger roared, his throat raw; when you opened your eyes, you watched him tremble as he threw Taeyong down, punching him over, over, and over. It was when you saw Taeyong’s doe eyes become dull, and the blood seeping through his nose and lips, when you looked down at your bleeding palms, you had enough.

“STOP IT!” You threw yourself over to Jaehyun, grabbing his arm that he lifted, his knuckles already blooming bruises, you shouted over and over until saliva dripped from the corner of your lips. He didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to. You turned to meet his eyes, and saw that the man you loved, wasn’t even there. Instead, you saw nothing more, but a monster. 

A loud thud, and then silence. Your palms slammed against the tile floor, bracing yourself when Jaehyun flung you down. You barely managed to dodge the impact, your head touching the cool floor. Your breath shaky and deep, you stared at the blurred reflection of yourself, then turned to look at your hands, moving around the tile to see the red that smeared against it. 

“I-I…” Jaehyun started, removing himself from Taeyong. Both of them had their eyes glued to you, as if everything that just happened had meant nothing when it had come to seeing you injured.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asked, sitting up with a pain-filled groan, he reached towards you until Jaehyun pushed his chest.

“You don’t have a right to ask if she’s okay, look what you fucking did.” 

“I’m not the one who pushed her, you asshole! Sorry I actually care for her!” 

“You talk like you’re so madly in love with her!” 

“So what if I am?” 

“You just don’t know when to fucking quit you—”

“Enough!” It took your shouts to finally shut them up. They turned to look at you, your name whispering from their lips like a gentle song. The pity that filled their eyes. The guilt that filled Jaehyun’s. You pushed yourself off the floor, standing up with your chin held high, desperately holding onto the crumbling dignity you had left. They followed after you. Taeyong’s nose was bloody, and Jaehyun’s lip was split. The bruises were already forming on the two of them, you looked the other way so you wouldn’t have to deal with the sight before you.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” You started, voice laced in darkness, sorrow, and pity. You wiped away the tears with a shaky hand, your blood smudging against your cheek. “You two used to be best friends… and now look at you! You’re fighting! And all for what? Me?” Your voice crescendoed into a shout. They averted their eyes away from you like two children who were being scolded. But you knew it was much deeper than that.

“I don’t have to explain anything to the two of you. I want you out… Get out of here.” You curled your lips in a line, you couldn’t stop shaking. You shut your eyes, wondering when the hell were your tears that you were so sick of would stop. Jaehyun whispered your name, as did Taeyong. Jaehyun had reached a hand towards you, and you flinched when he did. He frowned, reverting his hand away, you watched guilt gloss over his eyes you once found beautiful and sincere.

Taeyong had called your name once more, and just hearing it alone set your heart to ache, unprepared for what he had the strength to say. “Please, you’re making a mistake… just pick me. I-I was a coward to let go of you then, but I won’t let go of you now.” He was desperate. You knew, as you could hear it with each syllable that rolled off his tongue. Jaehyun watched, and the anger that rose all over again.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…” He whispered your name, reaching towards you again, he managed to get a hold of your hand. The gentleness he held with his hold, it was like the old Jaehyun was looking at you again. You were ashamed to admit that if it weren’t for the bruises that bloomed on his knuckles and face, and Taeyong standing right next to him, you knew you’d pick him in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, no matter how much you wish that could happen, you faced the truth that appeared to you now.

“I’m sorry…” That was all that Jaehyun could say. You knew that even he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. Maybe he was only sorry for when something affected you physically, and you remember back to the painting, to the splotches of black and green of the paint that dried on your skin; Jaehyun had not noticed, not even once, that you were hurting deeper inside. You couldn’t believe it. They were making you choose. 

“No. No, I can’t believe you guys. You can’t expect me to choose… because if you do, then I choose neither.” Silence again, they looked at you with pleading eyes, and that was enough for you to say with a trembling voice, “I don’t want to talk to either of you. I want you out. Go! Get out!” Your voice cracked as you shouted. They flinched at your sudden change of tone, the pain that mixed in the sorrow of your sentence. Taeyong was the first to leave. 

Your breathing hitched, your vision blurred with tears. Jaehyun looked at you, his brows furrowed in sorrow, he opened his mouth, whispering your name with a broken heart. You held up your hand between the two of you to stop him from going on further.

“Don’t,” Your voice lulled back into a whisper, “just go.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tight when you heard him sigh in defeat. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. You couldn’t stand the sight of seeing him walk away, so you faced the other way, listening to his footsteps, you cupped your hand against your mouth to muffle your sobs when he passed by your shoulder, and the door shut. 

That night, you couldn’t fall asleep. You decided to stay at Johnny’s, sending a text to Jaehyun that he can have the apartment until you were ready to face him again. Johnny showed you your room, and stayed with you that night, listening to you when you poured your heart out. You told him about the darkness that followed you, about Jaehyun’s drinking, and Taeyong’s confession; how you almost kissed him, the fight, and the depression that never left you since you were a child. It felt like you had fallen into a dark pit. Something you couldn’t get out of, no matter how hard you tried, or how desperate you were to find light in the end of the tunnel. Johnny could only listen with a heavy heart, he frowned.

“So what are you going to do?” He asked, pulling you into a side hug. You sighed, shaking your head, your lip quivered. You just wanted it all to stop.

“I don’t know. I can’t even look at Jaehyun, and Taeyong—I don’t know.” It was all you could say, and all you could do. Each time you thought of either one, your mind was drawn to a blank. You were too ashamed and guilty to look at Taeyong, and too enraged to look at Jaehyun. You didn’t have the courage to confront either one of them. You looked down to your palms, studying the tiny crescent shapes that dug into your skin from your nails. 

“What about the art gallery? Have you sent a message to the owner?” You had almost forgotten about that. Your back straightened, you wiped away your tear stained cheeks, and with a deep exhale, you looked over at Johnny and nodded.

“I’m still doing it.” You said with a strong nod. You couldn’t back down from an opportunity like this. Finally, your art was going to be shown, your voice would be heard, and despite the art you held dearest now being your only fondest memories of a man you onced loved, you couldn’t wait to show the world the story that had once been of you and Jaehyun. Johnny smiled, he pulled you for a full embrace, rubbing your back reassuringly. 

“That’s my girl.” He muttered, and your brows raised. A smile. You held tight onto his shirt, burying your face in his chest, you could finally breathe. You finally felt at peace. 

“Johnny, I can’t thank you enough… for everything. I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess, but you’ve always been there for me. You’re an amazing friend… I love you.” You whispered, sniffling.

“I love you too booger. There isn’t a single thing in the world that I wouldn’t do for you.” He let out a breathless laugh, holding you tight. Johnny had never left your side. Despite your unloving mother, your father who gave up everything for liquor, to the love of your life now succumbing to the same fate. Johnny has never left, and he’s never changed. Maybe there was some light, and maybe there was an exit to this void. 

Ten knocked on the door, leaning against the doorway, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You guys are too mushy for me. C’mon, I made some popcorn for the movie night.” Johnny turned, smiling instantly as he let go of you to run towards his husband’s side. He pressed a kiss against his cheek, where Ten chuckled, pushing him away. 

“That doesn’t mean for you to get mushy with me you freak, let’s go.” He snickered, rolling his eyes and looked towards you. Your lips curled to a smile, and his expression reflected yours. 

“We’ll be downstairs. Take your time, okay?” Ten nodded his head towards you, as if to tell you, ‘Everything is going to be okay.’ Surely at this moment, you appreciated the reassurance, even though you knew that things weren’t okay. You’d like to believe that they would be. After having a moment of silence to yourself, you took a deep breath, recollecting yourself, and with your chin held up high, you mustered up enough courage and strength in you as you got up, and walked down the stairs. That night was the most you had ever been at peace in what felt like forever. 

The week dragged on. Each day felt endless, each minute had felt like an hour. You were counting down the days of your gallery walk. You contacted the owner who was also the buyer, and he managed to explain everything down for you. It was to be a formal event, so you had to dress your best, and only one person could accompany you to the party that was to happen after. 

Well, it was more of a small social gathering than a party. Either way, Johnny had convinced you to go since he believed it’d be another great opportunity to get your name out there. 

Originally, when Taeyong had first told you about the show, you were excited to take him; it wasn’t until the fight where you didn’t want anything to do with him after. It felt like weeks since it happened, though it was only five days ago. 

You never wanted your Friday night to be spent in Johnny and Ten’s house, lying down on the guest bed late at night where you couldn’t fall asleep. They offered to keep you company, but you kindly refused. Nonetheless, with Johnny being the stubborn best friend you knew and loved, he said he’d stay up in the living room watching movies with your favorite snacks in case you ever changed your mind. 

You laid in bed, bags decorating underneath your eyes, you listened to the silence that echoed in your room. The silence that never went away. The silence that accompanied you, and never left unlike everyone else in your life. Much like the darkness that followed after the silence, it clung onto you with a heavy weight. Each breath felt short, your chest tight, it was hard to breathe. You gripped tight onto the silk sheets before you, rubbing your cheek against the softness of your pillow, memories of Jaehyun flashed through your mind. 

The night in the car. The day he sang to you. The moment he opened his heart and told you of his dreams. The decision he made when he chose the liquor, over you. 

You didn’t realize the tears that crashed beneath the sheets, a puddle forming below. You shuddered in sorrow. When was this going to stop? When would the tears come to an end? You didn’t know anything anymore. You didn’t know about your future. You didn’t know where life was going to take you next, be it if there were ever to be light found in this deep, endless tunnel, or if an empty void followed after. 

You brought your knees up to your chest as you laid there, hugging yourself tightly, you never realized how much you had missed Jaehyun’s warmth until now. 

A part of you wanted to reach for your phone and text him, talk it out, and try to reach an understanding—but each time you were reaching towards it, you could only see Taeyong’s blood and Jaehyun’s bruised knuckles. 

That’s what made everything worse. 

You still loved him, nothing was going to change that fact. You loved Jaehyun, but it was because of his actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him in the eye. You were angry at him, but more so, you were ashamed of yourself. 

You knew what was happening, you knew what you were doing, yet you didn’t stop. 

Couldn’t stop. 

From the moment Taeyong had almost kissed you, confessed everything to you, things weren’t the same. And you hated that.

“Hey.” Johnny had called your name gently, knocking on the door with delicate strength, enough so that you barely heard it. You wiped away your tears so he wouldn’t see you and question if you were alright for the umpteenth time. 

You sat up, rubbing your eyes as if you were asleep, though you knew you’d fail at trying to fool Johnny. You were expecting him to bombard you with questions, to walk up to you and ask if you were feeling. Instead, he sighed and curled his lips to a line before nudging his head towards the hallway.

“Someone wants to talk to you.” He said. Your heart dropped, and the only person you could think of at that moment was Jaehyun. 

“I don’t want to see him.” You shut your eyes; your head hung low as you fumbled with your fingers until you looked back up to see Johnny shake his head.

“It’s not Jaehyun. C’mon, he’s waiting for you in the front yard.” Johnny smiled shortly, looking out towards the hallway where Ten walked, pulling Johnny to a side hug, he looked at you and nodded.

“Maybe it’ll be some reassurance.” Ten said, and Johnny nodded his head in agreement. You eyed them both carefully, confused as you got up on your feet and walked past them with furrowed brows. You gulped, adjusting the silk robe that Ten had lent you, deciding it best not to let whoever was at the door see you in your tank top. 

Johnny called out your name. You hummed, turning around as he looked at you with a dark glare in his eye. “We’ll be in the living room. If he says something that you don’t like, just call me and I’ll kick him out in a heartbeat.” You knew what he was saying was serious. The sinister, intimidating glint that glimmered in his eyes, you still laughed and nodded.

“Don’t worry John. I’m still a tough nut.” You reassured, bringing your arm up to flex. He laughed and nodded.

“I know you are.” He grinned. You smiled, giving him a quick thumbs up, you took a long, deep exhale as you opened the door to the front yard, and much to your surprise, you weren’t expecting to see Doyoung. 

“Hey… how did you know I was here?” You asked when he turned around, his arms crossed over his chest. He raised his brows, his mouth agape before letting out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck in thought.

“Well, Jaehyun kind of filled me in on what happened between you guys, so I figured to come over and clear some things up.” He shrugged his shoulders, hands falling to his sides as he patted his palms against his pants. You watched, only feeling more confused at this point. You nodded your head, but remained silent. You stepped closer towards him, as he decided best to stay a couple of feet away from the house.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t exactly like you in the beginning. I didn’t know much about you, and to be frank, you seemed fairly comfortable with Taeyong, more than you were with Jaehyun.” He explained, his face hard to read, but you saw something foreign burn in his eyes.

“Excuse me?” You sniggered, at a loss for words. Doyoung’s sweet smile that he flashed at you when you first saw him was long gone. He took a large step towards you with a menacing glare.

“You wanna know why Jaehyun doesn’t bother going home after the gigs? Because he finally sees this as a good opportunity, and wants to get along with the band and meet some fans. And clearly, you’ve been having a problem with that.” He spat the sentence out as if the words itself were filled with venom. You blinked, once, twice. You didn’t know what to say.

“He told me what happened with you and Taeyong. The kiss, the fight—everything, and it’s clear that he doesn’t need someone as horrible and two-faced as you.”

You shook your head, taking a deep breath to control the raging anger that bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Your hands curled into tight fists, your nails finding solace in the familiar crescent shapes that marked your palms. 

“Is that all you came here for? To tell me how much of a horrible person I am?” Your lip quivered, jaw clenching, you held in every urge in you not to yell at him, to tell him everything that you’ve been feeling, and suddenly you’re the one being called selfish.

“I came here as his friend, and I’m doing this for his own good. You’re no good for Jaehyun, and it’s best that you stay away and never show your face to him anymore. You’ll be doing everyone a favor.” He walked away towards his car, opening the back door, he held a cardboard box in his hands before dropping it in front of your feet.

“I also came to drop this off. It’s clear enough that he’s too heartbroken to see you in his apartment anymore—and if this doesn’t make it official, then I don’t know what will.” 

You looked down to the box, kneeling as you took out the acrylic paints, the tiny piece of cardboard that was covered in greens and blacks. Your fingers lingered on each item, until you saw a canvas turned the other way. With a trembling hand, you reached towards it, turning it around, you saw it was the painting of Jaehyun’s face. Your first painting that made you realize that this was your true passion. 

“Have a nice life, because Jaehyun will now—without you.” Your head snapped up to look over at Doyoung. You reached out a hand towards him, but his back was already facing you as he walked into his car with a grimace, and drove off into the streets. 

You sighed, sitting down on the gravel, your fingers traced the shapes on the canvas. Caressing the painted skin of Jaehyun’s face, you curled your lips to a line. Your vision had become blurred with tears, you shut your eyes before they could even crash, and held the painting close to your chest, sitting there that night, you whimpered to think that maybe things were over with the two of you. And nothing pained you more than that fatal truth. 

Johnny watched you with a pained, sorrowful glance. He sighed as he looked down at your phone in which he held onto, pressing it against his ear as he listened to the voicemail. 

“Baby… please. I’m so sorry. I fucked up, I was selfish—please just give me another chance. I’ll quit the band, I’ll stop drinking. Whatever gives me you, I’ll do it. Please… please just call me back.” 

Johnny frowned as you looked through each trinket in the box outside. A sigh breathed through his lips, he turned to look at Ten who was standing in the hallway, patiently waiting for his husband to return to bed with him. 

He smiled, turning back over to the phone; his smile faltered, Johnny had deleted the voicemail.

[writes-in-skies]

That day at the pond

“Growing up, I have always been told I should marry well. But I also know deep in my heart that I would marry for love above all else. My Great Aunt Lorraine told me it was wishful thinking on my part,” said Astoria Greengrass, as she was working on a charcoal drawing on her drawing book in her lap. When she was satisfied, she started using colours which she always looked forward to when she started drawing. 

“Why do you supposed she would say such a thing?” questioned the person who was the subject of her drawing. 

Astoria shrugged, her eyes still on her drawing. It is important to her that she got every detail right. “Perhaps she knows what she’s talking about,” she replied. 

“Do you always believe what she tells you?” the subject asked again with interest. 

“She is a credible woman. Great Aunt Lorraine always advised to protect the heart because it is the most important thing anyone can own and the easiest thing to lose. She even once said to not expect growing up with the satisfaction for being loved unconditionally. I had to hear that in my childhood. Can you imagine someone stomping on your hopes and dreams that young?”

“Your Great Aunt might be onto something. What if you give everything to this person and you do not get the happy ending you wanted? It would be a mistake.”

Astoria finally looked up at her subject, “Why are people so afraid of making mistakes? Mistakes of part of learning. How do I know if it is a mistake if I don’t even try?” she challenged. 

“The price you pay for your mistakes takes so much out of you. And all that is left is an empty shell of a person you once were.”

Astoria scoffed in disbelief and focused her attention back to her drawing, “Still pondering about your childhood mistakes, are we, Draco? Your shoulder must be heavy carrying all that baggage with you even after 4 years.”

Draco Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his sitting position. He knew he would ruin Astoria’s drawing but this has always been a difficult topic for him. Never has he talked about his experience with anyone else other than his close friend, Blaise Zabini. Even then, he was not entirely an opened book. His mother suggest getting a therapist but he does not believe it would help all the things he went through. He knew Astoria is willing to be his confidant but he does not want to burden her with his past. It would be too risky. 

“Hasn’t your Great Aunt Lorraine refrained you from sarcasm in the presence of an eligible bachelor? It is deemed inappropriate, yes?” Draco teased while hoping it would change the subject away from him and back to her. 

Astoria rolled her eyes and sighed, “What she does not know won’t hurt her. Or are you a tattletale, Draco Malfoy?” 

Draco scoffed while picking a clover from the grass he sat on. “Anyways,” she spoke again, luckily for him. “Even when I had to hear her say things like true love doesn’t exist, never have I ever wavered. As human beings, we have the ability to choose whom we love.” 

“But we are not simply human beings, are we?”

“That’s true,” she replied quietly. “Have you ever wondered how different our lives be if we were not born as Purebloods or wealthy? Just normal people?” 

“I cannot say I have not.”

Astoria nodded absentmindedly at his response. “I can never imagine myself living...humbly if I am being completely honest. I always knew I would be well off for the rest of my life,” Astoria answered, looking at Draco earnestly. “I am not ashamed of that,” she added. 

“You shouldn’t.”

“I always imagined I would live in this big house with a spiral staircase where vines and flowers cover the handles. Every room would be bright and cheerful, filled with souvenirs from all over the world so that when I enter that room, I can always think of the happy times I had in my travels. There would be a two-storey library with loads of books that you would have to use a ladder to read every single one of them. There would be a nook area with comfortable silk pillows. And paintings! There would be beautiful expensive paintings on the walls that tell a new story when you pass by and you can’t help but stare at it all day long.” 

Draco unconsciously widened his eyes at her  detailed description of her future home. Astoria, perceived his actions as judgemental and blushed, “You’re probably thinking, ‘Merlin, this girl is crazy’, aren’t you?” 

He chuckled at the sight of her growing red cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He had been tempted to do that himself for some time now, but continued with the safer option of fidgeting with the plucked clover between his fingers to keep his hands busy in her presence,  “I would never think that,” he replied honestly.  

Astoria laughed as she put down her drawing materials and wiped her hands on a cloth. “I always knew what I wanted in life. I knew I would be well off. I knew for a fact that I would get a career that I am passionate about. I knew that I would live in a beautiful house filled with things that I love. I knew that I would have the bestest friends whom I love dearly. Lastly, I knew I would be married for love...have a husband who would be crazy for me as much as I will be for him. We would have children and we would make our house filled with happiness, love and laughter...But, I am not sure I could have that anymore.”

“And why would you say that?” he asked curiously.

She paused to figure out what the right thing to say is without giving anything away. “I have no control over the ticking clock," she said.

“What does that mean?” he asked again, wrinkling his forehead. He did not understand what clock she was talking about.

Astoria clears her throat and gathers her things. It was not the right moment to talk about that matter, “I should be off now before my Great Aunt Lorraine wonders where I have gone to.”

“Wait, I don't even get to see how you drew me?”

“No,” Astoria smirked as she got on her feet and placed her belongings in her satchel. The sun was scorching that afternoon so she conjured a parasol with her wand. “There is enough room in this parasol for two,” she offered Draco. 

“Would it be wise? Your Great Aunt would have a fit if she sees,” Draco replied with his hands in his pockets. He had to control the urge to grab her and to kiss her. He could not do that. He could never. 

“That is true,” she remarked and began her walk back to join her Great Aunt Lorraine who had been attending a social event taking place. Draco followed behind, leaving space between them so as to not draw suspicion that they have been hanging out. 

Lately, this has become a routine between them. It had been for almost 2 years now. Since she was 18, Astoria would attend social events with her Great Aunt as her companion. Great Aunt Lorraine is a widow and childless but often travels. She offered Astoria a chance to stay with her in an estate on Monaco while she pursues apprenticeship in Magical Arts and History. Astoria had a passion for both arts and history and had always wanted to pursue a career in it. By day, she would attend to her studies, and refine her art skills at Great Aunt Lorraine’s request, and after a long day she would retire to the parlour where her Great Aunt awaits for her to read a book and they would talk about current events. Occasionally, Great Aunt Lorraine wishes to travel overseas and Astoria would follow as her loyal companion. 

Draco, at age 22, had to be practically dragged out of Malfoy Manor by his dear friend, Blaise Zabini. Blaise told him enough was enough and brought him showed him the world of their twenties outside the gloom of the manor. Together, they jumped from one place to the next and made a dent in their newly acquired trust fund they both were entitled to at age 18. Most of the time they would be seen partying in clubs. On occasions, they had to play the role as the new heirs of their families and be present at social events of the high society. 

It was the chance encounters of those high society social events that brought Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy to be in each other's peripheral vision even more, thus sparking their friendship. 

Draco cannot help but be drawn to Astoria whenever he sees her. They have known each other for years. They were even in the same House at Hogwarts but never saw each other as friends, let alone held a conversation. 

It all started with a simple friendly nod. An exchanged "Oh, you're here too" type of look. It then became a longing stare while the other was looking away, and then the inevitable eye contact. The thing that sealed their fate was the friendly smile Astoria gave him one day when she was drowning in a boring conversation but had to stay by her Great Aunt's side pretending to be interested. She remembers spotting Draco at a corner and thanked the Gods that there was someone familiar at the party. 

Draco was intrigued by her. He wondered why Daphne Greengrass' little sister was seen around with an old lady all across the world. She was different than he remembered too. He remembered a brash girl who was stubborn and always spoke her mind. Now she is this high society lady in training who spoke only when spoken to and nods politely.

It was Blaise' push, literally, that helped them to start a conversation. However, it never lasted long as they both hoped. Astoria will always be dragged away by her Great Aunt who made it clear to her to stay away from young men much like Draco and Blaise. It did not help matters that both young men always show up to parties with a string of lady friends in their arms. 

Even so, Draco usually separates himself away from Blaise and waits for when Astoria is by herself, away from the prying eyes of her scary relative. It was an unspoken arrangement between them. 

Astoria detests their situation. Hiding and pretending not to know one another. Why should she have to hide her feelings? Why did she have feelings for someone so...difficult? She wonders if Draco had genuine feelings for her or that he saw her as a potential conquest. 

Draco did not mind their situation. It was the only way he could talk to Astoria even if it was in hiding.  He figured it was better than not spending time with her at all. He put up an act. He made it seem like he's doing his family a favour by representing them at parties to repair the Malfoy name. 

While some bought the act, there were some skeptics towards the Malfoy heir. Especially Great Aunt Lorraine Greengrass who warns Astoria from getting close to Draco. 

“Astoria, darling, there you are. I was beginning to send a search party for you,” Great Aunt Lorraine remarked as she saw Astoria approaching. "Thanks to you I had to listen to Seraphina De Lourd going on and on about how her granddaughter has been swarming with dozens of marriage proposals. No one likes a bragger."

“Apologies, Auntie Lorraine. I was by the pond working on a drawing. I guess I was feeling inspired and lost track of time,” Astoria replied. 

Great Aunt Lorraine noticed the figure who was walking behind her and sent him a warning look. She may be old but she is not stupid. She knew where Astoria had been running off with during social events. That troubled Malfoy boy was always close by. “We must be off now,” she commanded. 

“Of course, Auntie,” Astoria obeyed as she offered her arm for her great aunt to hold on to. 

“Do say goodbye to Lady De Lourd, dear. Remember, it is impolite to leave without informing the host,” Lorraine reminded her. “And do say hello at least to their son, Gerald. He has been asking about you. Playing hard to get is fun but don’t be too good at the game, darling.”

Astoria nodded obediently, “Of course, Auntie. I will be right back.”

As soon as Astoria is out of sight, Lorraine approaches an unsuspecting Draco who had since re-joined his mate, Blaise and their gaggle of women. 

"You are not getting anywhere with my niece if you condone these escapades with her," she said to Draco.

"Pardon?"

"I sure wished one of you would end this immediately. You two aren't a good match anyways. She is far out of your league. Why Astoria decided to give you the time of day I will never understand," Lorraine continued. She knew Draco was squirming and enjoyed the sight of it. "If you think I am being too harsh on you, you will have another thing coming. My nephew, Hyperion Greengrass - Astoria's father - will eat you alive if he even finds out you and his precious youngest daughter even exchanged greetings. So why don't you save yourself the trouble and just leave her alone, yes?" 

She then gestured to where Astoria was standing with Gerald De Lourde who had taken her hand and kissed her palm. There wasn't anything between the two but Lorraine wanted to make the message clear to Draco that Astoria is not available to him. The message did reach Draco. He did not like it. He never liked seeing any guy trying to get with Astoria. But he did not have a say in the matter. He couldn't go up there and tell him to back off. 

Lorraine pulled Draco by his arm so he would have to bend down in order to whisper to his ear, "We both know you are a smart cookie. Sooner or later she will choose who gets to be her husband, and I will assure that it will not be you."

"Are they together?" Draco asked bravely. 

"No. Not yet at least."

"I see," he smirked.

"It may not be this guy, but she has been swarming with marriage proposals. Perks of having me as a mentor," Lorraine remarked. 

"Then why hasn't she accepted any of those proposals, Lady Lorraine?" He asked. 

She rolled her eyes and turned her back, "I think you may already know the answer to that." 

[bluezey]

Renaissance Faire

Ian and Barley take their little sister Judy to the Renaissance Faire.  In the midsts of having a good time, Barley helps Ian figure things out at a clothing bazaar.

Tried to get a good balance with Ian, as he’s just discovering some things about himself, but is afraid he’ll get teased for it.  It was a little trickier this time around, but I think I kept it in character and away from being offensive.  If I do offend, I apologize.

It was a mild Saturday afternoon in autumn.  Colt had to work and Laurel wanted to rest, so the Lightfoot brothers were responsible with babysitting their five year old elftaur sister Judith.  Since it’s the season, and it just opened this weekend, Ian and Barley decided to bring Judy along to the Renaissance Faire.  The brothers have been going together since their quest, but now Judy can tag along and enjoy it with them.  Barley was dressed in his adventurer outfit, Ian was wearing his normal everyday clothes and carrying his wizard staff, and Judy was dressed in her green Princess Kenna dress from Pretty Pretty Centaurs.

Even with watching a five year old and having to enjoy more of the kiddie things, the day started out great.  They went to the stables to see the dragons and griffins, Judy even got to pet one. They saw blacksmiths, glassblowers, leather workers, and weavers.  They got to see an actual joust, but had to leave early when one of the jousters fell off his dragon steed and Judy got scared.  After a quick lunch at the food court, the trio ran into a few wandering performers, one claiming he was doing “magic” when it was really simple tricks.  It was when Judy proclaimed that his big brother Ian was a wizard too that Ian sheepishly showed off a few spells of his own, really wowing the crowd with actual magic.  Ian felt just as embarrassed as the pouting performer.  He didn’t mean to upstage the guy, but Barley and Judy did so much encouraging that it was drawing a crowd, and it got pretty awkward.

The brothers were on their way to the arts and crafts section when Judy caught sight of something and ran into the bazaar, with Ian and Barley chasing after her.  They checked a shop or two when Barley found Judy in a tent selling clothing and jewelry and called Ian over.  Ian caught up to catch the little elftaur happily fawning over an adult sized princess dress so extravagant and expensive that it was displayed under glass.

“It’s so pretty!  I want it!” Judy exclaimed.

“I’m afraid that’s a little out of our price range,” Barley admitted.

Judy pouted, stomping her hoof into the ground.  “I want it!”

“It’s too big for you,” Ian said, hoping that truth will end her tantrum.

Judy finally realized this and her face fell.  Her elf ears perked up, she looked at the dress and then back at Ian.  “I bet Iandelle would look pretty in it.”

Ian’s eyes grew wide, he gripped his staff with both hands as he quickly darted around the tent, seeing if anyone he knew was in there.  Just a cyclops dressed in medieval commoner clothes at the register, and he wasn’t paying much attention.  It’s not like the cyclops knew Ian’s little identity anyhow, but he didn’t want anyone outside of the family to put the pieces together and realize that he spends his play time with Judy in an actual dress.

Barley could catch Ian’s fears and told Judy.  “I’m sure she would, Judy.  Why don’t you go to the children’s clothes over there?  We’ll be over here.”

Judy trotted off to the racks of children’s costumes as Ian and Barley made their way to the men’s costume section.  As they ducked between two racks, Ian gave a shaking sigh of relief.

“You know,” Barley commented in a quiet voice, “you really gotta calm down.  It’s cute how you do girly stuff with Judy.”

“I don’t want people to know about that,” Ian replied back in a hushed tone.

“Who cares?” Barley shrugged.

“I do!” Ian looked over the racks, the cashier was still bored and Judy was fiddling with some play dresses.  Ian pretended to leaf through some of the male costumes, and Barley followed suit.  “Do you have any idea what would happen if someone found out?  My social life would be over.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Ian, it’s not the dark ages,” Barley said.  “It’s modern day.  Times have changed.  Guys can wear dresses.”

“I have a bad enough time with some people treating my crap as it is,” Ian debated.  “If word got out that I spend some time at home in dresses and stockings-“

“Ian,” Barley commented sternly.  “You’re acting a little transphobic.”

Ian stammered, trying to explain what he meant by that.  “I- I’m no- I mean-“  Losing focus of where he was, Ian accidentally walked into a mannequin, knocking it over, along with himself, to the ground.

That got the cyclops’s attention.  “Hey!” The cyclops started storming over there. Ian panicked, grabbed a random piece of clothing off a nearby rack and covered his feet up to his calves with it. “You better not be stealing anything in here!” the cyclops snapped as he approached the two.

“I’m okay,” Ian replied sourly, realizing the cyclops was worried if they were thieves rather than if Ian was hurt.

“And watch your damn kid! I’m not a babysitter!”  The cyclops turned and stormed back to his post.

“Language!  She’s five!” Barley shouted back.

Ian sighed, then tensed up as he felt Barley tug the piece of clothing off his legs.  “No no, I got it,” he stammered, reaching for the tunic.

Barley completely pulled it away, revealing Ian’s lower legs.  Ian was wearing his usual denim jeans and blue sneakers, but in his sitting position his pant legs pulled up a bit, revealing the white stockings underneath. They were white and plain, so they looked like socks when they completely covered Ian’s legs, but when his ankles were exposed, it was pretty obvious.

“Dude.”  Barley looked up at Ian.

“I- I was out of socks,” Ian lied.  Barley gave a look, he clearly knew Ian was lying.  Ian sighed, crossing his arms, resting them on his knees.  “I use my regular voice when I’m ‘Iandelle,’” he quietly admitted, so quiet only Barley could hear.  “I don’t even like wearing the dress.  But… I like the feel of the stockings… and lately I’ve been enjoying how good the lipstick looks on me, and…”  Ian sighed. “… I don’t know what I am.”

Barley paused after Ian confessed to him.  He placed a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder.  “Hey.  You’re Ian.”

“But I don’t know who I am,” Ian repeated.

“You just told me,” Barley replied.  “You’re a guy who likes some girly stuff.”

“But what if someone finds out?”

“Who cares?”

“I do!” Ian quietly shouted, frustrated with the whole situation as he rubbed his head with the heels of his palms.

Barley sat up on his heels, thinking for a moment.  He then got an idea, jumped up onto his feet and walked away.  Ian was left alone for a moment, wiping a frustrating tear from his eye before climbing up on his feet.  He placed the mannequin back upright and brushed the dirt and grass off of its outfit, as the floor is just the ground of the field that the faire sets their tents up every year.  He turned around and jumped back to see Barley inches from his face.  Barley was grinning from pointy ear to ear, like he had something he couldn’t wait to show Ian.  “… what?”

Barley revealed what he had behind his back.  On a simple hanger was a green plaid fabric.

Ian was confused.  “A skirt?”

“A kilt,” Barley explained.

“A kilt?” Ian was more confused.

“You never heard of a kilt before?” Barley asked, surprised.  “Guys wear them.”

“So even though I don’t like princess dresses,” Ian replied, still confused, “you gave me a skirt.”

Barley rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to show you that guys wear ‘girly’ stuff too.  In the olden days, guys would wear these.  In some kingdoms, it was traditional.  Soldiers would wear them.  Hell, I think in one kingdom, only guys could wear them.”

Ian was eyeing the kilt again, only less oddly.  “Huh.”

Barley shoved the clothing into Ian’s arm.  “Just try it on.”

“How?” Ian asked.

Barley pointed behind Ian. In the corner was an area blocked off by a few sheets, with a simple marker written sign that read ‘dressing room.’

“Oh,” Ian replied.

“I’ll go check on Judy. I’ll check on you in a minute.” Barley ran off before Ian could respond.

Hesitating at first for how he was just left there so quickly, Ian stepped into the dressing room. It was a simple corner of the tent, the floor was grass, the walls were tarp or fabric.  There was a scratched up wooden stool in one corner, and a full length mirror in the other.  Ian closed the curtain and hung the kilt over the mirror, followed by leaning his staff against it.  He kicked off his shoes, took off his jeans and placed them on the stool.  He then put on the kilt.  While it was made to look like it was wrapped around his waist and held up by a black leather belt, it slipped on like a skirt and had a zipper on the side.  He looked in the mirror, then just stared into it as he realized his red flannel shirt clashed furiously with the green plaid kilt.  Thankfully he was wearing a plain white tshirt underneath, so he took off his red shirt.

“You done in there?” Barley called out from the other side of the curtain.

Ian was checking the kilt out in the mirror.  It hung down to just under his knees, and it didn’t look half bad.  “Yeah.”

“Then let’s see it!” Barley said.

“Yeah!” Judy added.

Ian hesitantly slouched over.  After a moment, he peeked his head out from behind the curtain.  Still no one, and the cyclops wasn’t paying attention.  Ian pulled the curtain away, but didn’t dare to step out of the dressing room.

“You look great!” Judy exclaimed with a big smile.

Ian grinned nervously. “R-really?”

Barley looked sideways at the white stockings.  “Hold on.” Barley ran off, but was quickly back with a pair of knee high socks.  Ian took them and closed the curtain.  A minute later, he opened the curtain and glared at Barley.  “Really?”  Ian looked down at the thick white cotton socks.  Each sock had a small black tassel just below Ian’s knees, sewn to the hem.

Barley rolled his eyes. “They’re men’s socks, Ian.  And it’s either this or the stockings.”

“Shh!”  Ian quickly looked at the cyclops, but he didn’t move, hopefully that means he didn’t hear that.

“So are we getting it?” Judy asked.  “I got one too!” she added, happily holding up a pink princess play dress with ruffled rose colored sleeves.

Barley added, “I checked the price on both of them.  We can afford it.”

Ian exhaled as he thought about it.  “Okay.”

“Great!”  Barley pulled the price tag off the kilt.  “Put your shoes on.  You can wear that out of the store.”

“Outside??” Ian took a double take in a panic.

“Guys wear kilts, Ian,” Barley repeated himself.  “For Feldar’s sake, we walked by at least two guys wearing them today.”

Ian blinked, not remembering that he saw that.  “We did?”

“Yeah.”  Barley took Judy by the hand and they both went to the register to make their purchases.

While still unsure, that thought put his mind at ease.  He closed the curtain, took off the socks, picked up his shirt after hiding his stockings inside them, and put on his shoes.  He then met up with Barley and Judy just as they finished making their purchases.

Judy hugged Ian, clinging to his waist because of her short five year old height.  “Now Princess Kenna has a guard!”

“Huh?” Ian asked, confused.

Judy explained, “Princess Kenna comes from a kingdom where her guards wear those skirts.”

“They’re called kilts, Judy,” Barley quickly explained.

“Oh, right.  Kilts,” Judy corrected herself.

“And Princess Kenna likes boy stuff like dirt and archery.”  Barley turned and told both Judy, as well as Ian, “If girls can like boy stuff, boys can like girl stuff.”

“I like dirt.”  Judy smiled.

Barley patted Judy’s head, ruffling her brown hair.  “That’s my girl.”

Ian smiled at Barley as he tucked his shirt, and the hiding stockings, into the paper bag with Judy’s newly bought play dress.  Barley and Judy left the clothing tent, with Ian close behind them, as if trying to hide behind them.  With each step through the bazaar, Ian was growing more nervous.  But, with each step away from the bazaar, on their way to arts and crafts, Ian grew a little more collected.  It was a strange feeling, walking through the fairgrounds, feeling the air on his powder blue legs, but the thick fabric of the kilt constantly reminding him he’s basically in a skirt.  And yet barely anyone seemed to notice or care.  One or two people would look up at Ian, but then quickly look back down.  A voice in his head was claiming they were judging Ian, they may be even making fun of him when he’s not looking.  But, he knew better that they paid no mind to Ian.  To them, Ian was just another person who dressed up for the faire.

The arts and crafts section was pretty fun, though messy cause of all the kids playing with glue, glitter, construction paper and other messy items.  Judy didn’t mind getting dirty, which led to Barley having to clean her off with a wet wipe before they left the area.  Before they did, Judy made a few drawings, and even had a surprise for Ian and Barley.

“Kneel, good sirs,” Judy proclaimed, instantly playing make believe as Princess Kenna.

“I can only kneel so far in this thing,” Ian chuckled as he bent forward with his hands holding down his kilt, Barley kneeling like a noble knight.

Judy then placed a daisy crown on each of her big brother’s heads.  The crowns were made of paper and pipe cleaners, but they were flowers all right.

“Thank you, fair Kenna,” Barley played along as he rose to his feet, Ian chuckling as he rose to his. Ian adjusted his crown nervously, but not so awkward about it when Barley was wearing one, and Judy placing her own daisy crown on her head.

After listening to a few tales of yore from some story telling entertainers, the three decided to call it a night.  The brothers made it to the van before Judy got too tired to walk, thankfully, as her horse half was making the elftaur too big for even Barley to carry these days. Judy climbed into the back of Guinevere the Second and immediately fell asleep.  Ian and Barley climbed into the front, with Ian keeping his legs together in his new kilt.

Ian took off his daisy crown and ran his fingers through his fluffy hair.  “That was a fun day,” he commented as he tucked the crown into the paper bag in front of his feet.

“Same time next year?” Barley half joked as he backed the van out and drove out of the dirt parking lot.

“Oh yeah,” Ian replied, as the van made it onto the modern paved road, starting their journey back home. “I’ll even wear the kilt.”

“Cool,” Barley smiled. “Think you can wear the kilt outside of the Renn Faire?”

Ian shook his head.  “Oh, no,” he chuckled with a smile.

Barley gave Ian a smirk and a sideways glance before merging onto the expressway.  Today was a great day.

----

Author’s note: raise your hand if you figured out that Princess Kenna is their realm’s Princess Merida?

[junipersgarden]

metanoia 6. | Ablaze

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

SUMMARY: Arriving in Prague, the responsibility and pressure builds up, Beck gives Peter a talk, Y/N gives Fury a talk and Peter and Ned think a night at the Opera isn’t that bad. 

WORD COUNT: 5493 words

WARNINGS: Fighting (physical and verbal)

a/n: hello lovely people !! here is the next part of the metanoia series and hope you enjoy this one !! (also i suck at action scenes so sorry). 

[NOT MY GIF] 

...

In Prague, Czech Republic...

...

Tony Stark.

Of course the first thing you'd see as the bus pulls up to the hotel is an art piece of Tony plastered across a building; it's funny how even after everything, his always there to watch over you... making things now so much harder...

You notice clusters of people on the Prague streets all bundled together holding poles with light decorations attached to them, wearing glow stick accessories with buzzes of conversation and music swaying in the wind.

For the Lights Festival.

Before you realize it, the van gradually slows to a complete stop in front of an exquisite and traditional building and with everyone boarding off,  you rise from your seat cautiously in mind of your injured head and carry yourself down the bus with the others.

As all of you enter through the golden doors, audible mumbles and gasps of wonder murmur around and even yourself, you can't help but widen your eyes at the 'minor' upgrade to the previous hotel but even though the hotel was all amazement and grand, the gnawing heavy thought of what is to come is chewing away at your conscious and from Peter's hurried eyes and awkward stance, you can tell that he feels the same way.

Coincidentally, you peer over at Peter and hear his phone vibrate at the same time yours does with Peter stepping away from the group to take a call, you grab your phone out and see a singular message:

from: UNKNOWN

We're expecting you and Spider-Man.

Spider-Man has been instructed by Hill and you are instructed to place on your suit and headpiece and make your way to these coordinates as soon as possible.

Remember the plan for tonight, come on time, ready and strong.

Exhaling deeply, you shove your phone back and can't help but observe Peter from afar who is talking to Ned with a worried manner; he doesn't deserve this...

Slipping away from the group who are all immersed in conversation, you hastily manage sneak yourself back out of the main entrance and look for a place to suit up.

Your eyes meet along an alleyway and you make a run for it and as you are running, you lift your bracelet to your mouth and whisper the command.

Once in the safety of the darkness of the alleyway, ARIS complies and you feel your suit mold perfectly around your body and when ready, you fly into the night, full of fear and regret to the coordinates.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Physics is easy!" Peter exclaims with his hands in the air, accidentally letting his pencil go.

"For you! You're a science guy; anything science and you just absorb the information and understand it! I can't do that!" Y/N huffs out an annoyed breath.

"Sure you can Y/N/N! It's just about practice-"

"I can't do formulas Pete! Biology and psychology are more like terms and stuff but physics is like science math; a science for math!"

"Not really..."

"Ugh I dunno! All I know is that I'm going to fail this physics project." Y/N spins on the chair and blows a strand of loose hair away.

"That's why I'm here! You got me to help! I'll teach you physics and we can put more physics into your cute brain!" Peter's cheeks redden after he realises what he said.

"Did you call me cute Parker?" Y/N inches closer to him with her cheeks creeping into a blush.

"N-No c-cute can mean small-" Peter tries to improve his situation.

"Are you saying I have a small brain?!" Y/N gasps and dramatically places a hand across her heart.

"N-No! You have a h-huge brain! You're really s-smart! The s-smartest girl I know! I'm sorry I-"

"Petey! I was just joking! But, thank you for acknowledging my small brain." Y/N giggles as Peter chuckles with her. "But on a more serious note, do you reckon I'll pass this test?"

"Well, with that cute brain of yours-"

"Peter!"

"Parker!" Fury snaps Peter from his trance and back into reality; a reality he wishes wasn't real.

"Yes sir?" Peter answers with a quicken voice.

"That thing is going to be here in a few hours; are we boring you-"

"I don't think he's bored," Saviour steps forward with annoyance in their voice, "I think he's just thinking about how you're holding him hostage and how you hijacked his entire school vacation just so he can satisfy your needs, sir."  Saviour smugly cocks their head up to Fury and even behind their mask, Peter could tell a smirk lied on their face.

"He had obstacles... I removed them. And for my needs?  We're talking about an entire city being at risk Saviour." Fury coldly responds and Saviour's strong stance sinks a little.

"They still won't evacuate the city." Maria Hill strolls away from the compute monitors and next to Fury, directing her statement to him.

"Ugh.. idiots..." Fury shakes his head and mutters to himself. "So Parker," Fury tilts his head to look at Peter, "what's the plan?"

Mysterio, Saviour, Maria Hill and Fury all avert their attention and eyes onto Peter, waiting for him to recite out exactly what the plan for tonight is.

"I will be... in the cathedral tower, keeping watch for the Fire Monster and when that shows up, I will radio you guys, and then Saviour and Mr. Beck and I will-"

"My name is Mysterio." Beck injects and with a gesture aimed at Peter, Peter smiles widely and lets off a soft chuckle.

"That's right... Mysterio, Saviour and I will move in."

"Peter listen to me, the best hope you have, the only hope you have is to stop it here and now. No matter what the cost." Mysterio's demeanor darkens.

Peter's face has fallen from Mysterio's statement as he slowly walks toward him with only fear on his face, turning pale like a ghost.

"Move it away from civilians if you can but most importantly, keep it away from metal. If it gets too big, it'll be able to draw power from the Earth's core and after that, there's no way to stop it."

Mysterio, finishing his speech of warning and advice, Peter stares deeply and blankly at the floor as he processes the newly received information; his friends were just in the hotel not even 10 minutes away from the town square, where the Fire Elemental is set to attack.

Peter knows that he can't loose anyone else, he can't endanger his loved ones again and be the one to pay the price; the ultimate cost of Tony's life had scarred him and taught him a sacred lesson in life; life is too short and that you can loose just about anything with the snap of your fingers.

Thoughts of May, Ned, Y/N and MJ fly through his mind; even though May isn't present to be affected by the Elemental but what if her nephew fails to arrive home? What if Ned looses his best friend tonight? What if Y/N- Y/N.

Y/N L/N. The one who'd pulled him out of his depression after Tony's death, the one who understood the consequences of the hero life, the one who helped him to see his worth, the one he had fallen in love with.

What if I never get the chance to tell Y/N?

"Hey man," Peter quivers as if he is about to cry, "my friends are here, and I can't help and think we're putting them at risk-"

"You worry about us hurting your friends?! You, who called a drone strike on your own school tour bus?" Fury stands up angry and marches toward Peter.

"Stark gave you a multi-billion dollar AR and the first thing you do with it? You start blowing up your friends! It's clear to me that you were not ready for this!" Fury points his finger at Peter as Peter nods and cowers away with tears threatening his eyes.

"Of course he wasn't ready!" Saviour glides in front of Peter, 'protecting' him from Fury's blows, "you thought it'd be such a wise idea to give a kid a multi-billion dollar tactical intelligence system which you had no clue what it was or did to him, a teenager that is in mourning so you don't have the responsibility because you felt 'it was right'."

"Saviour don't-" Mysterio advises, raising his arm to gently place his hand on a shoulder to swiftly lead Saviour out.

"Don't tell me don't," Saviour shoves Mysterio back and appoints back to yell at Fury, "you're forcing him to help you and your people save a city once again, against his own goddamn will because you're afraid SHIELD is going to fail again just like how you guys somehow managed to let HYDRA infest itself without anyone noticing! You SHIELD scumbags just use people with these talents, skills and powers to your own will because you're nothing without Mysterio, without me, without him! Take a hard look in the goddamn mirror Fury because from the looks of it, you're trying to rebuild your idea... admit it Fury, The Avengers are dead. Get over yourself and this pathetic vision and focus on what's at hand instead of trying to brainwash Parker here to become another puppet for you to pull your strings on." Saviour hisses out with venom, breathing loudly from the yelling.

Fury remains silent but a cold, stern expression lies heavily on his face.

Peter, overwhelmed by everything and what is being said jumps to his feet and sprints out of the room, away from all the drama and needing to catch a breath.

"I'll go talk to him." Mysterio announces and gives Saviour a look of disappointment with a shake of his head, Mysterio hovers and flies out of the room.

Saviour pivots a foot toward the exit to follow Peter and Mysterio but stops to say one last thing: "Don't you dare turn Parker into Tony."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A chill breeze flurries past Peter as he dangles his feet off the edge of the building, lost in thought and withdrawn from his surroundings; all Peter can do is ponder of the fight about to happen, what the consequences and outcome might be, the things Fury and Mysterio had said and even of Saviour standing up for him; sure they'd worked alongside back with each other in New York but Saviour treated him differently; Saviour was more reckless, confident and not as 'open' or 'caring' to Peter when he was Spider-Man but it seems now after the Blip, Saviour had softened to him and was more protective and willing to form a bond.

Saviour preferred to work alone; Peter knew that since Saviour had only worked with him as Spider-Man if it was absolutely necessary but Peter never knew why but until now, Saviour was always requesting for him back in New York, even if it was the smallest task or jobs that Peter knew Saviour could easily accomplish by them self.

Of course Peter didn't mind, he was just curious of this sudden change but he couldn't focus on that now; Peter needed to get his mind ready and needed to follow the plan unless his friends and Y/N could potentially get extremely hurt.

Glancing up from hearing a series of small whirring noises, Peter sees Mysterio floating in front of him and feels somewhat sad that it isn't Saviour.

"Fury asked me to come up here and see how you were doing. It's  just, he felt bad about snapping at ya." Mysterio explains.

"Really?"

"You guys do have sarcasm on this Earth right?"

Peter dryly chuckles; of course Fury wouldn't exactly care.

"How are you feeling?" Mysterio genuinely asks Peter who he can tell is deep in thought.

"Uhh... I didn't think I was gonna have to save the world this summer... I know that makes me sound like such a jerk I just- I had this plan with this girl I really like and now, it's all ruined." Peter sighs and can't help but imagine of Y/N which causes him to tear up a little.

Mysterio levitates down next to Peter as his fishbowl mask dissolves away. "You're not a jerk for wanting a normal life kid. It's a hard path; you see things, do things, make choices... people look up to you and... even if you win a battle sometimes they die." Mysterio fixates on the distance as Peter takes everything in.

"I like you Peter, you're a good kid. There's a part of me that wants me to tell ya to just, turn around and run away from all this and there's another part of me that... knows what we're about to face and fight... and what's at stake and I'm glad you're here." Mysterio turns to look at Peter.

"Me too."

"But you worry about your friends." Mysterio questions.

"Yeah... I just always feel that I'm putting them in danger..."

"Look just, get them inside and keep them in a safe place for just a few hours and it'll be alright." Mysterio nods as if he is nodding to himself for reassurance.

A silence falls between the both of them as they stare into the night sky and prepare for what is to come.

"It's nice... have somebody to talk too about superhero stuff ya know?" Peter admits.

"Anytime and hey you survive this, you have all summer to kill Brad Davis."

Mysterio gives Peter a smile as Peter returns one to him.

"See you out there." Peter gathers his backpack and just like that, leaps from the building and lands back down onto the ground, determined to keep his friends safe and sound.

Peter digs into his backpack and retrieves EDITH and places the glasses onto his face. "EDITH?"

"Hello Peter."

"Hey! Uhhh, I need to find a way to keep my friends inside for the next few hours."

"Let's see what we can do."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Good news, we're going to the Opera!" Mr. Harrington with a beaming smile announces to the class

From around the corner, you see the class all sitting around with glow sticks attached to themselves, all begin to uprise in murmurs of disagreement and disapproval as they all shoot Mr. Harrington bizarre looks.

You take the opportunity of them all invested with Mr. Harrington and his announcement to silently slide in the free space between Peter and MJ.

Peter hearing your movement, glimpses at your direction and you send him a friendly smile, swearing at yourself for feeling your cheeks turning pink.  

"Don't look at me." Mr. Dell informs the students and clearly tells them that he is on their side.

"What happened to the carnival." MJ asks the question on everyone's minds.

"Well this is upgrade living guys. Come on, the tour company just gave us these tickets. For free! Do you have any idea how much opera tickets cost?" Mr. Harrington debates.

"No. Because none of us have ever wanted to go to the opera." Flash speaks on everyone's behalf.

Overlooking at Peter's face and Ned's nervousness, you pick up that Peter is influencing Ned to agree about the opera; maybe it's a diversion?

"Uh, well I think this is going to be cultural impact for us." Ned suddenly proposes.

"Thank you Ned." Mr. Harrington points at Ned and agrees with him. "Everyone, this is maybe, going to be the best 4 hours of our whole trip."

Groans of protest arise of the discovery of the time length of the opera.

"Guys come on, I also think that it's gonna be really fun... seriously! It'll be like The Phantom of The Opera." You lead on with Ned.

Hearing some people agree with you on The Phantom of The Opera, Mr. Harrington excuses everyone to change into a nice outfit.

You along everyone else, leave your seats and enter your rooms to change and rummaging through your suitcase, you find the dress you'd been saving for; the dress was ironically black and white;  the top half was fully black and transitioned to white with patterns of black floral prints on the white to match with the top which paired perfectly with your black and white wedges.

Laying the dress onto the bed with the shoes, you undress yourself and pull the dress down onto your body and place your shoes on and critique yourself in the mirror, you decide to curl a few strands of hair and clip on a pair of earrings and finally happy with your look, you clutch your purse and exit your room and meet everyone outside as you all start to walk to the opera.

Grumbles and moans are heard as fireworks explode in the distance, lights brightly fill the busied square with everyone wishing to attend one of the world's biggest festival's instead of the Opera.

You agree with them; the Opera sounds mentally exhausting but you'd rather have your friends alive than at the hands of a fire monster; the plan needed to work because if it didn't, everything could be exposed and destroyed and you wouldn't be let off the hook.

Feeling something brush into your side, you find Peter Parker in a suit walking next to you, a red blush prominent on his face as he whips his head away from you.

Must be nervous about the plan.

Before you know it, Mr. Harrington stops abruptly which causes everyone to accidentally bump into one another as he quickly glances and reads the tickets and matches the address to the sign of the place, Mr. Harrington leads everyone in with a stride which is halted almost immediately as upon entering the Opera House.

"Here we are... looks like we bet the rush..." Mr. Harrington falters as the depressing sight of empty seats and elderly slowly move to their seat and wait patiently for the show to begin. "Lucky for us we got the best seats in the house!"

Mr. Harrington starts to lead everyone to the front row all with looks of boredom, you don't follow them but watch as they all pile into their seats, you adjust the earring with your earpiece so that you're ready to hear for the signal; tonight has to have no mistakes or flaws unless everything is done for.

"Hey," Brad Davis calls at you, you turn your nose and flatter him with a fake smile, "I'll save you a seat."

Grimacing internally at his comment, you smile at him and once he is out of sight, roll your eyes at him and lower your smile to rest.

Hearing shuffling behind you, Peter glides next to you with a nervous face.

"Something on your mind?" You ask Peter who is staring intensely at the ground and lifting his feet up and down from the ground.

"N-No... just excited about the Opera is all." Peter lies but curses at himself for the stupid and unbelievable lie.

"Yeah... 4 hours of singing that we probably won't understand... lucky us." You joke and play along with his 'love' for Opera.

Peter chuckles at your joke but the only thing on his mind is how you look so effortlessly beautiful in that black and white floral dress, eyes shimmering and battling against the brightness of the golden walls, hair bouncing and sitting so neatly... to Peter you were perfection in the flesh and yet you do it so easily, you truly astonish him everyday.

"You look really pretty tonight..." Peter mumbles at you with his eyes fixated on yours.

Peter's compliment takes you off guard; Peter Parker just called me pretty... but doesn't he have his eyes on someone else?

"Oh just tonight Parker?"  You cock your head up and give him a confused face, begging and praying that he couldn't see the blushing and flustered mess underneath your facade.

"N-No- you're gorgeous all the time- I mean pretty- I mean-" Peter struggles to say a word.

"Peter I'm only teasing but thank you... and you look pretty too..." You play with you dress anxiously.

Peter and you share a comfortable silence filled by both of your soft smiles to one another, butterflies flutter nervously inside you.

"Hey Pete?"

"Y-Yeah?" Peter's eyes gaze into yours deeply and intently, his soft brown and innocent eyes scorn your own and the words fail to come out of your mouth.

"D-Do you, I dunno, wanna be seat partners or something? Or maybe just leave and get out of here with me?"

Peter's heart dropped; Y/N was asking him, plain ole Peter Parker to hang out,  just the two of them and he was over the moon, with his response ready at his tongue and head.

"No."  Peter gingerly answers.

"No as in you just want to seat next to other or ditch or just no to me?" Insecurity manifests in your speech as you hurriedly ask mostly to yourself.

"I-I didn't mean that uh if you go ahead and I'll be your partner... we'll be a pair."

"O-Okay Parker... I'll save you a seat, next to me because... why not?"  You justify your reasoning to ease your conscious and make your way to the front row.

Peter Parker watches from afar as he rapidly presses on his earpiece to make Nick Fury shut up, Peter watches you move to the front row of seats and a throbbing pain fills his chest; he has to leave you to keep you safe, even if it jeopardizes his plan and your friendship.

Sharply turning away, Peter bumps into Ned

"C-Can you tell Y/N/N I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, yeah dude of course but Peter no matter what you do, steer the monster away from the Opera house please. We're all counting on you." Ned's voice shook with a hint of fear in his speech.

Peter's eyes looked around the room; all his friends, Ned, MJ and Y/N were in this room, all depending on him to save them... he can't let them down... not again at least.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Joyous music and fun filled the town square as the people danced and let off their lights and colours into the night, all in celebration for the Lights Festival.

Amongst being hidden by what remained in the dark, refraining from the fireworks and lights, Peter held himself against the cathedral tower and with worried and focused eyes, kept scanning and looking, observing for any sign of the Fire Elemental with his tongue at the ready to warn everyone of the monster's arrival.

"Alright I'm in position. Uh, as soon as I see something Beck I'll let you know."

"Roger that. Any sign of Saviour?"

"Negative," Nick Fury's static voice answers, "Parker, how's the suit?"

"It's uh great. It's just a bit tight- around the ole webshooter-"

"Parker!" Nick Fury barks at Peter's inappropriate reference.

"Okay I'll shut up. B-but there's still no sign of Saviour?"

"None at all. Haven't been contacted and they didn't meet up at our position." Beck radios in.

Where the hell are you Saviour?

"Energy's spiking." Fury dials in on the radio, seeing the alert.

"We have seismic activity."  Mariah pitches in.

From the tower, Peter stares at a statue, watching the metal be completely digested by magma flowing freely and growing rapidly around the statue, bystanders watching the phenomenon take place, not knowing the true identity and moral danger they are in.

Goosebumps and Peter's hairs stood on end as a  glow grew larger and larger until sounds of screams and hurried footsteps of people running filled Peter's super sensed ears; it's now or never.

"Okay he's here! Beck are you ready? You know what to do?"

"On your lead Spider-Man."

Bellowed roars erupted from the monster as it spewed out hot flames around it, causing destruction and horror to the town square of Prague, people flee in terror as cars are crushed and explosions implode from the beast.

Watching and patiently waiting from the tower, Peter spots Beck touch down onto the ground, releasing his green smoke around him and wielding his power as his weapons.

"You're up kid."

Shooting a web, Peter grabs his decoy and swings toward the Fire Elemental and whacks it hard, causing it to loose balance and focus just in time for Peter to swing to safety.

As Beck fires at the monster, Peter sees fire hydrates planted on the ground directly next to the enemy and latches a web and pulls them clean off, water spraying onto the Elemental and weakening it.

Bursting in outrage, the Fire Elemental punches the wall Peter is stuck onto, debris fly from the impact as Peter jumps onto a carousel.

Whew that was-

The Fire Elemental doesn't let him finish as it hits the carousel and Peter flies off, colliding onto the ground violently and eventually hitting the back of a Ferris Wheel.

"No Beck! He's got the carousel!" Peter yells as he sees the Fire Elemental consume the carousel and grow even bigger.

"Night- Monkey!" "Night-Monkey help us!"

Night-Monkey? Wha-

Peter turns around to find the source of the pleas for help and is met with the dreaded faces of fear from Ned Leeds and Betty Brant from the Ferris Wheel.

Panic rushing into his system, heavy thumps from the Fire Elemental's footsteps increase, inching closer and closer, it's eyes of red burning through Peter.

Peter attempts to slow the creature down by webbing it and pulling it, but as soon as he shoots his webs, the fire burns them off.

Raising its arm, the Fire Elemental goes to strike Peter, Peter braces for it.

No, no, no what do I do? What do I do? Please no-

But nothing happens; Peter opens his eyes and feels energy flurrying all around him; a black smoke shaped of a force field, a figure of black and white standing next to him with their arms extended out as if they are controlling it...

Saviour!

"SAVIOUR!"

"Hey Spidey. Miss me that much huh? You okay?" Saviour asks with a groan, busy concentrating on keeping their form.

"Yeah, yeah! I'm fine! Plan B?"

"Well it looks like- umph, Plan A isn't- ugh, working." Saviour groans as the Fire Elemental starts hitting the dome.

"We gotta hit him with something!" Peter shouts over the noise and looks hurriedly at Saviour.

"I go left, you go right.... NOW!" Saviour throws their hands away and quickly flies left as Peter swings right.

Saviour glides through the air, searching and scanning for anything to throw at the creature.

"Where's Beck?"

"Coming up behind you." Saviour spots Beck in his Mysterio costume fly next to them.

"Parker, I'll grab those kids from the wheel, you and Beck fight this crazy inferno." Saviour boosts toward the Ferris Wheel.

"Okay!" Peter runs up a wall and flips, webs a rock from the destruction and flings it the Fire Elemental, successfully damaging and stunning it. "Shoot it now!"

Beck aims his hands and fires at the Elemental, a green patch from Beck's attack glows on its chest. "That hurt him! Keep it coming!"

Peter and Beck start to work as a team; Peter stunning the creature with Beck attacking it with his blasts.

"Spider-Man! Keep your distance!"

"I'm trying!" Peter cries back.

"Can't let him get near the Ferris Wheel!"

"Parker and I are on it!"  Saviour chimes in and swoops Peter up from the ground, flying them both toward the Ferris Wheel, dropping Peter in the carriage with Ned and Betty.

Suddenly while Peter goes to shoot a web and as Saviour is flying in toward them, they both knock and feel something hard, Saviour knocks out of orbit and Peter's web sticks onto something that isn't there.

Saviour goes flying through the air, losing all control and balance of flight, heading straight toward the Elemental.

"SAVIOUR!" Peter shouts in agony as Saviour's body disappears in the flames.

The Fire Elemental hears Ned and Betty's screams and draws itself to the Ferris Wheel,  Peter tries to get Ned and Betty out before it's too late.

Saviour rockets back onto the Ferris Wheel and holds onto the carriage tightly, Peter sighing in relief.

"I'll get Buffy and Angel out of here while you web up the wheel!" Saviour calls out to Peter.

"Saviour! Need you now!"

"I- I can't I gotta get them out and I'm drained out-" Saviour starts to ramble as they lift up Betty from the Ferris Wheel seat.

"When I say I need you, I need you!" Beck continues to aim and fire at the Elemental to cease it from reaching them as Peter swings himself around, webbing the Ferris Wheel to stable it.

"Thank you so much Saviour! You're a life-" Betty starts to praise Saviour but as Saviour lifts Betty, Saviour abruptly drops her back into the seat and clutches their side.

"Are you hurt?!" Ned frantically asks.

"No, i-it's nothing... I'm good." Saviour raises their hand toward Beck and moans in pain, holding it for 10 seconds before going back to retrieve Betty.

"It's too late..." Mariah's voice utters into the piece. Oh no.

Beck turns toward them both, unveiling his mask, "What ever happens next, I'm glad I met the both of you."

"Beck! What are you doing?!"

"What I should of done last time." Beck answers Peter as he begins to summon all his power.

Saviour's hand raises toward Beck as if they are trying to stop Beck from his actions as their other hand grips weakly to the Ferris Wheel.

"Beck don't do it!" Peter cries.

Beck screams in pain as his power all starts to come out and unravel itself, ready for one last and final attack.

Beck flies forward and punches the Fire Elemental straight in the chest, his power absorbing as the beast stumbles back as Beck's power manifests it.

Saviour screams a blood curling scream before the creature lets out its final cry and falls to the ground, green mist exploding with it.

Green particles fly all around as Peter sticks the final web together and sees Beck's body lying on the ground, burnt and defeated.

Peter jumps down as Saviour stays clinging onto the Ferris Wheel, Peter approaches Beck's body with horrific flashbacks.

"M-Mr. Beck?" Peter lightly turns his body, a gasp of breath relieves Peter as Beck wearily opens his eyes.

Saviour lands beside them and helps Peter into bringing Beck back up onto his feet.

The SHIELD opearatives along with Nick Fury and Mariah Hill close in as Beck sits down with Peter and Saviour by his side; Peter standing and Saviour holding their side next to Beck.

"I thought a vacation meant being away from the work and not the work coming to us." Saviour dryly chuckles with a cough.

"That's the last Elemental though..." Beck informs.

"But not the last threat." Nick Fury strides up next to the three heroes. "Hill and I are going to headquarters in Berlin tomorrow. You should come with us." Fury looks at Beck as he speaks.

Beck stands and firmly grabs Fury's hand and shakes it. "Thank you. I might take up on that."

Nick Fury then approaches Peter Parker who stands still and awkward, awaiting for Fury's words.

"You got gifts Parker," Fury starts, "but you don't wanna be here-"

"Mr. Fury I-"

"I'd like you in Berlin too. But you've got to decide if you're going to step up or not. Stark chose you, he made you an Avenger... I need that. The world needs that. Maybe Stark was wrong... was he?"

Peter's eyes burn from the tears forming in his eyes; he has nothing to say and doesn't know what to say.

"And as for you Saviour, you're lucky I want Beck and since apparently you two are a package deal, I want you in Berlin too. But I don't want to see anymore of your efforts like tonight; you didn't bother or care to show up and look at what happened; if you followed the plan, maybe things could of turned out better, maybe you would of been an actual hero. You didn't do anything." Fury stares sharply at Saviour before walking off with Mariah and driving away from the scene.

Peter and Saviour say nothing, the silence speaks for them but Beck doesn't stand for it; Beck offers his hand to help Saviour up which they slap away and stand them self, taking off into the night without a word.

Beck walks over to Peter who is left standing still and quiet after Fury's words and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, let's get a drink."

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[petri808]

A Floppy Green Mess

Bakudeku Valentine’s story based on this adorably funny art piece by @corzev with permission.  https://corzev.tumblr.com/post/190847911389/dont-repostedit-uhhh-happy-valentines-day-lol

Seated in his desk chair, Bakugou braces his arms along the backing and rests his chin on top.  His eyes narrow and brows twitch as he stares at his bed… or rather what sat upon it.  Tomorrow…  tomorrow might be the death of him, and this reminder was all of his own making.  

He knew that Deku will love this stupid gift since the boy was a complete sap at heart, but coming from him, well, he had to really dig deep to pull it off.  Just sneaking it into his dorm room without being caught had been an undertaking.  He didn’t even want to think about carrying into the common room downstairs or dealing with all the gawking that was sure to come with it.  

Only one other person knew about his plans for Valentine’s day, and even that had been due to an unplanned and pure accident the blonde would have preferred never happened.  Damn that shitty hair for having a similar gift idea for Mina.  Traditionally honmei chocolates were given, but Bakugou could careless about traditions.  Kirishima’s excuse on the other hand, was that Mina hinted at wanting something other than chocolates too.  At least the red head came in useful for sneaking the gifts in, since he didn’t want to get caught either.

But why had he chosen this particular gift?!  He groans and swipes a hand down his face, sitting up in the process.  There were a lot of options at the store, and he’d spent the better half of two hours combing through it for the perfect idea.  

The most cliché gift for Deku would have been an All Might themed item, but that green-haired nerd had too damn many All Might stuff already.  Jewelry was out of his price range, plus he just couldn’t see Deku caring about such material things.  A cool new journal might make him happy, but that was boring.  Finally, when he’d been almost ready to give up and walk out, there it had been at the back of the store.  Propped on a display stand because of its size, it was perfect.  

One big ass stuffed green rabbit plush that was almost bigger than he was.  In fact, he could barely get his arms around it.  He swore the thing even looked like Midoriya, with its bright green eyes and freckles representing whiskers.  The right ear was flopped over, adding to its huggable adorability factor, but on the front of its chest were the words “My Hero.”  Bakugou wasn’t super thrilled with that message, but he couldn’t begrudge the fact the rest of the doll was perfect for his idiot little Valentine.  Deku was bound to adore it, squeeze it, probably snuggle with the damn thing, and it would be like Katsuki living through the doll even if the nerd doesn’t reciprocate his feelings.

‘He better fucking like me back!’  The blonde growls under his breath.  He wouldn’t be taking this embarrassing chance if he thought there wasn’t one.  Eavesdropping on the A-1 girl’s conversations had him pretty convinced that the guy had a secret crush on him.  According to them, Midoriya’s nursed it for years, and it was the whole reason he’s put up with the hot-headed blonde’s abusive attitude.  Bakugou didn’t want to admit that he was quite a bully to the boy their whole life, but he was an asshole to everyone.  Okay… so maybe he was worse to Deku, but the guy could be annoying too.  

‘Then why’d you fall for him?’  

‘Shut up!’  he growls at his conscious.  He had no idea why!  Somehow the damn nerd grew on him!  Yeah, the nerd was still the same annoying ray of sunshine he’s always been but watching the nerd develop after receiving One For All and go from a mouse to a powerhouse on par with him, well, it just happened.  He didn’t even notice the feelings developing, or how he’d started paying more attention to the guy, worried about, and even started acting nicer to him….  

Until one day after an exhaustive training session, they were in the communal showers, and seeing a half-naked Midoriya spiked his heartrate along with something else below the waist.  Thank All Might no one noticed the smoke coming off of his hands due to the level of steam in the room.  He’d quickly dashed back into a shower stall and took a very long cold shower to cope.  But the answer was as clear as a blow to the head.  He was in love with Midoriya Izuku.

Speaking of a shower, the waning light outside of his window signaled dinner would be soon.  He climbs off his chair and gives the stuffed doll one last look before grabbing his things.  A shower might calm his nerves and maybe provide a bit of respite to cool the other physical desires swirling in his brain.  

Bakugou reaches over and silences the alarm clock on his phone.  Unable to get a restful sleep, he’d already been up when the beep signaled the arrival of 8 am Saturday morning.  There wasn’t a rush to get out of bed, knowing that Deku was probably still out cold.  That boy has never been a morning person and on school days it often took a load of coffee to get him past the walking dead stage.  He on the other hand could rise before the sun breached the horizon and get a workout run in before heading to class.      

Another alert from his phone, but this time a message from Kirishima.  ‘I can hear Deku in his room, boy’s early today.’

The blonde sits up.  ‘Don’t panic,’ he tells himself, ‘just because he’s up early doesn’t mean anything.’  He swings his legs over the side of the bed, giving his arms and back a good stretch to warm up the muscles.  

Another alert.  ‘He left his room got his jacket and scarf on.’

“Fuck!”  Where the hell is Deku going this early?!  Bakugou hurries to throw on a pair of pants, a warm turtleneck, and his shoes almost tripping over the pants legs as he puts them on.  He then grabs the rabbit plush and races out of his room, not even stopping to close the door behind him.  This thing was so cumbersome to carry!  Hoisting it over his shoulder, he descends the staircase, figuring it would be faster.  He takes them two by two, practically throwing himself down the flights and slamming his shoulder against the open bar once he makes it to the bottom.

Crap! Crap! Crap!  The second he bursts through the stairwell entrance, Bakugou see’s Deku almost at the front door.  “Oi!  Nerd!”  He screams as he breaks into a sprint.

Deku hears someone calling his name and stops, turning towards the source.  “Oh, hey Kacchan!”  He waves with a beaming smile.

How is Deku so awake already?!  To Bakguou this was quite out of character for the guy to be lively in the morning.  He stops a couple of feet from the green-haired man.  “Where the fuck you headin’ so early?”  

“Um, well, you know my mom is all alone,” Deku flushes a little embarrassed, “so I was gonna meet her for brunch as a Valentine’s treat.”

‘That’s it?!’  Bakugou lets out an exhale of relief because deep down he’d feared his crush was about to go meet a potential rival.  Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.  “Oh.  Tch, sounds like the sappy kind of shit you’d think to do.”    

“Um, Kacchan, what do you have there?”  Midoriya points to the doll.  “Is that a gift from someone?”  His eyes crinkle, “do you have an admirer?!”

“What?!”  Oh, wait the doll!  How the fuck could he forget about the big ass plush rabbit in his arms.  “Hell, no this isn’t from anyone!  Who the fuck would give me a stuffed animal?!”

Midoriya giggles, he didn’t think so least they were ready to be incinerated.  “Then why do you have it?”

Immediately, the hot-heads blood pressure goes through the roof.  His cheeks heat up and burst into a dark reddish hue.  He averts his eyes, nervous and embarrassed.  “It’s for you Deku.”  Bakugou holds the doll out.  “You know for the holiday and crap.”

“What?!”  This surely wasn’t really happening.  Deku pinches his arm, for he had to still be dreaming. Waking up early was playing tricks on his mind.  “No way, y-you got me a-a gift?  Does that mean?”

This bitch was going to make him say it!  The blonde growls, “damn are you gonna accept it?” He tries again to thrust the doll towards his crush.  “Be my fucking Valentine Deku?”

There was no warning, no rimming of moisture, or light clouding in his eyes.  The moment Bakugou said the last three words, tears explode from Midoriya like the uncorking of a champagne bottle.  Even the hot head was taken aback by the sheer volume of liquid pouring out.  How was it even possible?!  And if that wasn’t crazy enough….  In the middle of the fountain action, the man goes limp and drops like a dead weight to the floor.  

“Stupid fucking nerd!”  Bakugou drops the stuffed rabbit, quickly slides onto his knees and pulls the collapsed man into his lap.  “Oi!  Dumb ass wake up!” he shakes his crush, but the guy was unresponsive.  Shit!  Did he hit his head or something?  “Deku this isn’t funny!” He slaps the unconscious man.  He could see the headline’s now: Pro hero dies from bunny shock.  “Wake up!”

Leave it to Deku to give him a heart attack on Valentine’s Day.  He can feel the eyes of observers on his back boring in, judging.  Of course, with his personality, it would be easy to blame him for hurting someone.  But there’s no way he’d ever hurt Deku!  Not willingly.  Who could have predicted this damn nerd would go into shock and collapse?!  Tears cloud his ruby red eyes and he cradles the man’s face against his cheek.  “This is bullshit!”  But his growls are a facade as the panic takes over.  “Deku wake the fuck up!”

Stupid rabbit doll!  Had the cute and cuddly plush toy been too much?  He’d figured Deku would love it.  Surely it wasn’t the fact he’s the one who asked the nerd to be his Valentine?  Was it really that shocking?  Okay fine, so it would seem out of character for him, especially with their history, but they’d gotten past all that and were on good terms now.  Even the crying was something he somewhat expected.  Maybe not the volume, but let’s face it, the man was a crier.      

After what felt like a million years yet in the flash of minutes, Bakugou feels his friend stirring in his arms.  He gives another shake.  “Get up nerd!”

Midoriya’s eyes open, blinking from the harsh glare that meets it.  “Ka…cchan?”  He looks around, “why am I on the floor?”  But then he notices the moisture in his friend’s eyes.  He sits up quickly.  “Oh no, what’s wrong?!  Y-You’re crying!”

“What?!  No!” Bakugou shoves the man off his lap and wipes away the tears he won’t admit had gathered.  “I don’t cry!”

“But…”

“I wasn’t crying!  You just had me worried cause you fucking collapsed!”

That’s when the whole Valentine’s confession sweeps back into Midoriya’s mind like a blaring reminder alert.  “R-Right… Kacchan wants to be my Valentine,” he mumbles under his breath as if his brain is still processing the events before it short circuited.  The stuffed plush rabbit lay off to the side, so he pulls it over and hugs it close.  “I’m sorry I worried you,” he peers up at the red-faced man in front of him, smiling, sniffling, and tucking his chin into the dolls soft head.  “Of course, I’ll be your Valentine Kacchan.”

Bakugou looks away, embarrassed.  “I’m not forcing you to be you know.”

“Huh?”  Midoriya sits up straighter.  “I know you’re not!”  He scoots closer on his knees, placing the doll beside them.  He reaches out and takes hold of the blonde’s hand, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance.  “I was a little surprised, is all to get a gift from you.”

“Tch, well don’t read too much into it.”

“Oh…”

The blonde watches his crush deflate right before his eyes.  Shoulders slumped, and body hunched a little as if the man before him wanted to curl into a ball.  He can see the tears building again in Midoriya’s eyes.  

“…okay.  Thank you very much for the gift Kacchan, but I should be on my way.”  If his body hadn’t communicated how he felt from Bakugou’s words, his tone sure did.

A stinging arrow pierces the blonde’s heart.  He’d gone too far with the remark and the sensitive man was taking it hard.  ‘Idiot!’  he growls at himself.  Sometimes his mouth really needed a filter.  As his crush stood ready to leave, Bakugou grabs his wrist, still from a seated position.  He couldn’t bring himself to look up at the man and keeps his eyes glued to the floor.

“Kacchan?”

He squeezes Midoriya’s wrist, “I didn’t….” a sigh escaping his lips, “...didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”  His brows furrow, annoyed and upset with himself for ruining the moment.  “I’m still coming to terms with the idea…. that I really like you.”  He can feel his entire body heating up from the proclamation being said out loud for anyone within range to hear it.  There was a mixture of fear, anxiety, melded with excitement and a feeling of liberation all seeping through his frame.  “Like… in a romantic way.”

“Kaachan, get up.”  Though Midoriya’s words were a demand, his timbre was gentle and lulls Bakugou into at least looking up at the man.  “Come on,” he reverses the grip on his wrist, taking hold of the man’s arm, and tugging gently, “get up.”

Once the blonde has allowed himself to be pulled up, Midoriya refuses to let go, instead switching to the man’s hand.  He intertwines their fingers with a smile.  “I like you too.  Would you like to come with me to see my mom?  I know she won’t mind.  We can say hi to your parents too while we’re in the area.”

“Are you sure, I don’t want to be a third wheel…”

“No way!  I’d rather you come along,” the nerdy man flushes red, “it can be kind of like our first date.”

Date!  Is what he wanted to scream.  “Okay fine, I’ll tag along but I’m not calling it a date cause dates are for saps.”  

That just makes Midoriya laugh, of course this man would think dates are sappy.

“But, what about the rabbit,” Bakugou motions to the doll, “you’re not taking that with us, right?  It’ll be a pain in the ass on the train…  trust me.”

Again, the man laughs, “I’ll put it in my dorm room.  Wait for me here in the foyer?”  

“I’ll come with you, gotta grab my jacket and wallet since I hadn’t dressed to go out.”

“Oh, right,” more laughter.

As they stop to part ways in front of Midoriya’s dorm room, and before letting go of the man’s hand, Bakugou leans forward hesitantly, then places a quick kiss on his crushes his lips.  “It’ll just be a couple minutes to grab my stuff.”  The green-haired man turns bright red and sputters out a few incoherent words.  The blond laughs, at least he didn’t faint this time.      

[feathersandpaintbrushes]

Entye

ENTYE, “Debt”

— Chapter 2: Sparks

 Chapter 1 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, 

Summary: The Mandalorian and Kas land on a desert planet in search of a new ship, but find trouble waiting for them.

Warnings: blood, injuries, language

Characters: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), the child, original character

A/N: If you want tagged, just let me know:) Find me on AO3! Heading art belongs to me (Feathersandpaintbrushes and night-feather-designs)

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

It was too fucking hot.

Three frostbitten years on Hoth had forced her body to acclimate to icy winds, and the dry heat of this new planet sucked the moisture from her eyes and mouth and dried the sweat as it beaded on her forehead.

She was miserable.

She shot a baleful glare at the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet.  Getting her out of Hoth and onto a new planet – one with an actual town and spaceports – had been their only deal.  She regretted not specifying which planet; it seemed he’d taken her from one extreme to the other.

A gust of hot wind blew sand in her face and she screwed her eyes shut, an explosive sneeze slipping out before she could help it.

The Mandalorian – curse him – glanced back at her and she could swear she heard a chuckle behind his mask. 

“How much further to the town?” She gasped out, hating that she sounded like an impatient child, wishing her voice sounded like steel, but she was thirsty, and she’d already drained her canteen after a measly fifteen minutes of walking.

The Mandalorian stopped and she caught up to him, forcing her breathing to sound even despite the stuttering of her heart.  He stared quietly for a moment as she swallowed, doing her best to keep her face blank.  She wished she could be wearing her mask too, but she needed her mouth free to catch every baking mouthful of air this planet had to offer.

“Not long,” he replied eventually, and with only the faintest of sighs, handed her his own full canteen.  Pride warred with thirst, and she clenched her fists, willing herself not to grab for it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, pushing the canteen at her chest. “You aren’t used to the heat, I am.  Just take it.”

She did, hands shaking slightly as she uncapped it and took a sip of the still cool water.

“Thank you,” she reminded herself to murmur, looking at the horizon to avoid looking at his mask.

He began walking again after she’d taken a second sparing sip of water, and she did her best to keep up with his long stride.

When they finally got to the town, she was torn between the sheer relief of being in something that passed as civilization again and a sudden panic at the noise and press of bodies around her.  Clenching her fists at her own cowardice, she slipped into the Mandalorian’s shadow, letting him clear a way for her while she acclimated herself to what living in a society entailed.

There were humans.  Lots of them.  And dozens of different species she didn’t have names for.  There was laughter and the smell of cooking and a child ran past her chasing some small lizard creature.  She stopped and stared at a stall filled with spices, her mouth suddenly watering as she remembered all the flavors she’d missed out on when trapped on Hoth.

Someone large bumped into her, making her fingers fly to her blaster. 

“Watch it,” they snarled in a deep, garbled Basic.  Gripping her blaster tightly, she spun to catch sight of the Mandalorian only to hit a different alien, who’s damp skin stuck unpleasantly to her arm.  They hissed at her in a language she didn’t recognize.  A hand grabbed her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin, shoving her blaster against the chest of the Mandalorian who had appeared from thin air.

“Come on,” he said roughly, yanking on her arm and dragging her behind him into a dimly lit building.  The darkness and the sound of loud music threatened to overwhelm her still further until the bitter tank of spirits hit her nose.

A cantina.  She took a deep breath, letting the familiar stenches wash over her and ground her.  It had been years since she’d been in a joint like this.  Years since she’d had anything stronger than the watery meat soup she made in the cave at Hoth.  But one cantina is much like another, and the sights and smells here were more familiar than anything she’d seen so far on this sun baked planet.

“Stay.”

The Mandalorian pushed his gloved hand down hard on her shoulder, forcing her to sit at one of the sticky booths while he disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

She took a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the familiar beat of her heart.  A metallic clang made her open her eyes to see the Mandalorian set a cup of something in front of her.  She raised her eyes to him and smiled tightly.  “Thanks,” she said, taking a gulp of the bitter alcohol.  “It’s just –“  “Been a while.  I figured.” The smile she gave him at these gruff words was more genuine.    

“I haven’t had a decent drink in three years,” she added, taking another gulp.  “Okay,” she said coughing, as the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side in what she imagined to be his equivalent to a raised eyebrow, “I haven’t had any drink in three years.  So maybe I’m a little biased.”  He definitely snorted this time, and she hid a smirk in another deep gulp.  She still felt jerky and droid-like with her expressions.  Three years was a long time with only Tuantuans and herself for company.  She’d talked, of course, to keep herself from going insane.  But smiling – well she’d gone without a genuine smile for nearly as long as she’d gone without a drink.

“So,” she said, setting the empty glass down with a decisive clank. “Where can I go to find a ship of my own?”

-----

It was a hunk of junk.  Its hull was badly scarred, and the inside smelled like the rotten insides of a dead tuantuan.  The pilot’s seat was vaguely sticky, and she was afraid to look in the bathroom.  But it was cheap.  Cheap enough that she could buy it with the few credits she had left over from before Hoth.  And it could, in theory, fly her far enough to get her to a nice mild weathered planet where she could start work doing who knows what.  It didn’t matter.  Anything to keep her fed and clothed. 

“I’ll take it,” she said firmly. She could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes boring into her back, even through his helmet.  She ignored his judgement and set her jaw.  Not everyone could have a ship with an actual bedroom in it thank you.  Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was grateful to find something that she could fly away on today.  She couldn’t stand another moment of the heat.  Her nose was already red, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get the sand out of her hair.

“Are you sure?”

Kas turned and blinked up at the Mandalorian’s helmeted face as he appeared suddenly by her side.  “It can fly me off this desert.  That’s good enough for me,” she pointed out.

“There’s got to be something less,” he gestured with a gloved hand, annoyance coming off him in waves. 

“Less what?” she demanded, stepping closer to hiss under her breath so the seller couldn’t hear.  “Less cheap? Less available?”

“Less trashy.” The Mandalorian snapped, even his modulator failing to keep the contempt out of his voice.  “The guy’s ripping you off.  He should be paying you to take it off his hands.”

This was undeniably true; the seller’s eyes had gleamed when she’d offered her meager credits.  Still, she wanted to be free again.  It left a foul taste in her mouth to be in debt to anyone, especially a Mandalorian. 

“Well what do you suggest I do?” she snapped, unable to resist curling her hands into fists.

To her surprise the Mandalorian’s voice was calm again when he answered. 

“Wait a day.  Maybe two.  Either he’ll come down in price or someone else will have something for sale.”

his carefully controlled tone did nothing to convince her; if anything, it set Kas’s teeth on edge and strengthened her resolve.  She took a step back and frowned up at the Mandalorian.

“I’m taking it. Thank you for getting me here,” she added.  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Turning decisively, she walked up the seller and pressed her credits into his hand with a murmur, aware the whole time of the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian piercing into her back.

------

Night had fallen by the time she’d finished stocking her new ship, and weariness dragged at her eyelids.  One more night here wouldn’t hurt her; she’d gotten her ship, and while it didn’t have a bedroom, she’d scrubbed the pilot’s seat into a semblance of cleanliness, and it was comfortable enough with her heavy coat draped over it. 

She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw flashing lights through her eyelids.  Biting back a curse she opened her eyes to see blaster fires lighting up the desert night.  Curious, she grabbed a pair of binoculars and aimed them at the flashing lights.  For a moment the night was dark, then another red flash illuminated a ship in the distance.  Zooming in, she felt her stomach drop when the light flashed again, revealing the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Fuck.”

She put down the binoculars and rubbed her forehead.  She did not owe him anything.  She saved his life from the sapphire worm, he got her to this planet.  They were even.  More than even. 

But.

But her hand still lifted the binoculars to her face again and her heart still pounded when she saw the silhouettes of stormtroopers illuminated in the red of blaster fire.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong is how she got dumped on Hoth with no ship and no radio.  Sticking her nose out where it didn’t belong had earned her scar after scar.  She owed this guy nothing.  He was a Mandalorian.  A bounty hunter.  The second someone who knew her put a reward on her head, it would be someone like him who brought her in.

But.

But there was that child with him.  That weird, tiny little green thing that had curled in the Mandalorian’s cloak while he’d been passed out in front of her fire. 

Before she could think about it any longer, she turned, grabbed her weapons, and ran out the door to the Mandalorian’s ship.

--

The desert night was not much cooler, even without the heat of the sun.  Dry air pushed Kas’s hair off her face as she ran towards the Mandalorian’s ship.

As she neared, the battle slowly came into sight.  Troopers were standing on the ramp leading into the ship, weapons firing at the Mandalorian as he tried to get inside.  Kas slowed and hid behind a small rocky outcropping, some ten meters from the fight.  Settling onto her stomach she pulled her a long, rifle like object off her back.  She’d modified a normal flame thrower to project balls of flames that she found went further than the normal stream of fire from a normal flamethrower.  It was one of her most prized weapons, and the modification had helped her against many sapphire worms on Hoth.

Taking a breath she leveled the weapon, aiming for the troopers closer to her.  It admittedly wasn’t the most accurate weapon.  It didn’t always fire, and couldn’t send out more than a dozen bursts in one fight.  But, it was a decent distraction.

She fired, a fierce surge of joy flashing through her as the fireball ripped through the air, hitting a stormtrooper in the chest.  She had maybe one more shot before she became too obvious of a target. 

The second shot went left, hitting the feet of one trooper but skimming the Mandalorian’s cape, which promptly caught fire.

Cursing, she shoved the flame thrower back onto the holster on her back and grabbed her staff off her back.  It was her own version of an electrostaff that had been used by the empire.  Hers was much smaller, built for close combat and easy storage.  It folded in the middle when not in use.  Between the flamethrower that strapped to her back, the blaster hanging from her right hip, and the small dagger she kept sheathed on her belt, she didn’t have room for a long swinging pole.  While not as strong, the electrified end hurt like hell, and the other end sported a blade, strong enough to pierce most armor if she gave it a solid thrust.  

Kas ran quickly towards the fight and pressed the electrified end of her staff against the side of the trooper who was approaching the Mandalorian, who was busy beating the flames off his cape.

“Sorry about that,” she gasped to him as she spun to block a blow from a different trooper.  The Mandalorian recovered quickly, shooting a grappling hook out from his bracer and tripping a trooper before shooting it unceremoniously in the head.

“I had it covered,” he shouted as she grappled with a trooper, grunting as their fist punched into her stomach.

“Duck,” a familiar voice growled next to her ear, and she dropped quickly, watching as the Mandalorian’s arm lunged above her and buried a knife into the trooper’s neck.

The fight was a blur.  There had to be at least a dozen troopers, but there were two of them at least.  And the Mandalorian was a good fighter.

So was she.

She reveled in it, a savage grin stretching her lips as she parried a blow from a trooper and then followed through with a stab of the bladed side of her staff.

They were both quick in their movements, and they slid past each other and watched each others backs like they'd been at this deadly dance together for years.

Pain sliced through Kas’s arm and she snarled, throwing herself at the trooper whose blaster fire had carved a shallow groove into her flesh.

The only problem, she thought grimly as she pushed the electric staff against the troopers neck, was that she didn’t have armor, while the Mandalorian did.  He could take hits and even some blaster fire, protected by the shiny beskar that covered his body.  Her only protection lay with how fast she could move.

A flash of movement flickered in the corner of her eye, and Kas turned to see the Mandalorian, flinching slightly as his gloved hand grabbed her injured arm.

“The child,” he gasped before turning, distracted as a trooper fired at him from a distance.

Kas felt a lurch deep within her stomach as she turned, catching a glimpse of a trooper through the front window of the ship.

She turned and ran up the ramp, hearing shots and realizing the Mandalorian was covering her with fire.

Inside the ship was dark, and she holstered her staff, grabbing the blaster off her hip instead.

“Stop right there.”

Kas froze and turned around with her blaster raised to see a trooper step out of the shadows, a bundle in their arms.

“Drop your weapon.”

The blaster fell to the ground with a metallic clang that echoed in the dark ship.

The bundle in the trooper’s arms moved, a small hand pushing its way out of the cloth.  The sight of it, so small and fragile, filled Kas’s heart with a black rage.  She didn’t know what the troopers wanted with it.  Didn’t know why the Mandalorian was fighting with them.  But she knew deep within her that they should not have the child.

The anger was hot within her, flames twisting in her stomach and up her throat, choking her with the desire to kill whoever stood against the child.  Her hand grasped the dagger sheathed in her belt.

She was fast.  The blade left her hand in the space between heart beats and landed in the troopers neck.  The trooper fell, the child with them, and Kas lunged forward to grab it, heart beating too loud to hear the blaster shot, fire inside too hot to feel the burn of the hole that sizzled in her flesh above her heart.

But the sound of heavy boots walking up the ramp had her moving, gripping the precious bundle to her chest as she snarled, blaster she’d snatched from the ground pointing out at the Mandalorian as he approached her.

 Her ears were buzzing, and she stared blankly at him for a long moment.

“…over, we need to go….. to me”

She blinked and swayed slightly, not lowering her blaster as the Mandalorian kneeled beside her, taking the child from her unresisting hands.

“It’s over,” he repeated gently. “We need to go.”

---

She looked horrible.

Din had helped the girl up to the cockpit, brows furrowing with concern behind his mask as she slumped in the copilot’s seat.  She was bleeding heavily from her shoulder and was pale in the dim light, but he wouldn’t be able to offer her help until they got into hyperspace.

The ship came to life with a soft whir as he began moving switches and pulling levers one handed – he was still too keyed up from the fighting to put the child down.

Once safely in the air he pulled the med pack down from where it was stored and walked slowly over to Kas.  She stirred as if waking from a slumber, and when she met his eyes he was startled by the sadness there.

“So much for getting my own ship, huh?” She said with a weak smile.

Guilt settled into the bottom of his stomach, and Din kneeled beside her, placing the child on her lap.

“Thank you for helping back there,” he murmured, and the smile settled more firmly on her lips.

“I couldn’t let them hurt this little guy,” she explained, uninjured hand lightly touching the tip of the child’s ear.

“We need to stop the bleeding.  Is it okay if I help?”

Her eyes were hazel, he noticed, and looked wary as she nodded her permission.

The blaster shot had hit the fleshy spot of her shoulder, below the collar bone.  Another shot has carved a shallow groove into her bicep.  He did his best to be gentle as he cleaned the wounds, but she went even paler and hissed loudly when the antiseptic touched her skin.  The cauterizing pen was even worse; both of them were sweating by the time he’d finished sealing the deeper wound, and Kas’s nails had left grooves in the leather of the seat, a low growl sliding between her clenched teeth all the while.

The difference between the pale, pained woman in front of him and the ferocious fighter from an hour ago was startling to Din.  Before her eyes had snapped and gleamed; he’d even caught sight of her smiling savagely as she killed the troopers attacking them.  Now she was just… human.  Weariness showed in the purple shadows under her eyes and the tightness of her lips.  She smelled like blood and sweat and blaster smoke.  Yet under it all he still saw the woman who had been hunched in the shadows, cradling the child in her arms like the most precious jewel in the world even as blood dripped down her arm.

He didn’t trust her.  He couldn’t trust her.

But she’d fought with him, fought for the child.

She could have left them; she had her own ship, her freedom.  But she’d turned back to help them.

He couldn’t trust her.

But he did respect her.  And she was a fucking good fighter.

He could use a good fighter.

“We can find a way to get you back to your ship,” Din offered, standing.

“Or?”

Kas turned her head, keeping her eyes on him as he put the med pack away and sat back at the captain’s seat.

“Or,” he said evenly, feeling as his her eyes were locked directly on him, despite the helmet separating them.

“Or you could come with us.  You’re good in a fight.  And the kid likes you.  I can’t offer you anything, and I can’t promise that it’d be safe.  But I can offer my help when there’s trouble, and a place to stay.”

Kas’s face was still pale and clammy, but a look of peace washed over her features.  Her eyes were blazing as they met his, and he was startled by the hope he saw in them.

“Where to next, partner?”

tags: @knockbeforeyouspeak​ 

[igotyoukth]

Shopping. BTS

Masterlist

Seokjin

Would you be a bad girlfriend, if you abandoned your boyfriend? Probably. But he was making it hard for you to stay with him. He picked up every piece of clothing, pretty or ugly didn’t matter here, and tried them on. Fair enough, other people would look bad in them, while he rocked everything. And it was funny at the beginning, sure. But five hours into shopping with Jin, you were tired of seeing ugly sunglasses and pink shirts.  “Just buy anything!,” you finally exploded, when he shoved another pink item into your face. 

“I won’t buy, okay!,” he responded just as annoyed as you. He had noticed your bad mood since store number 15 or 16, but this didn’t stop him from being playful. He thought his acts would make you feel better. 

“We touched everything in every store, don’t expect me to be all smiles, when you never buy anything,” you tried to calm down. 

“You never tell me your opinion, of course I don’t buy things,when all you say is good, great and pretty without meaning it,” he imitated you with a annoyingly high voice. 

“Sorry, that I can’t do thousand reviews for the thousand things you try on,” your attempt on staying calm failed.

“You don’t even laugh, when I put ugly things on though!,” he complained. 

“Because you don’t look funny, you look good in everything!,” you said a little too loud, two teenage girls stared at you and then at Jin, who was smitten by the compliment he had lured out of you. 

“Really? You think so? So I can buy the sunglasses from the last store?,” he blushed a little, as if you never fought.

“No, not those. Those were just ugly.”

Yoongi

It was a first that he asked you to go shopping. He always ordered online, never got out to actually try things on and buy them. You were excited that you would walk around in the mall, maybe grab some coffee and hold hands the whole time.

But of course, that didn't happen. Yoongi rushed into the basic section in h&m and grabbed the same white and black shirts, he owned.

"I need new ones and delivery is taking too long," he plainly said and walked to check out already. You didn't follow him though, picked up bright pink and green shirts in his size. When he finally noticed your absence he walked back.

"Let's go," he told you and waved with his hands. You simply shrugged your shoulders and looked for matching hats. "We have no time," he rushed you, but still grabbbed the pieces out of your hand.

"You have nothing to do, let's go on a date," you whined when he put the clothes back," Hey, I wanted to buy them for you!"

"As if I would wear that." He held up the green shirt from earlier. It wasn't exactly his style, but he bored you with his all black outfits sometimes.

"Then I'm not coming."

"Sure, stay here then," he only responded. You sometimes acted as if you didn't know your boyfriend, of course he would leave you behind.

"Buy me at least some coffee!" He finally nodded at that, and grabbed the pink shirt last second. "You can wear this," he said and went to pay.

Hoseok

He would end up being poor one day. His clothes were just so expensive, you didn't understand how his heart didn't hurt paying these prices. My hands would shake at least, you thought. But no, Hoseok paid without even grimacing a little. Rather, he smiled.

"I finally have every color," he said happily and hugged the huge bag with shoes. The shoes that costed him a frw hundred dollars, but were kind of ugly in your opinion. Not that you would tell Hoseok. The shoes looked like from a different century and used, but Hoseok just had to have them.

"I have an idea where to shop next!" His preference reminded you of an old thrift shop, you saw a few days ago. This way maybe he would save some money, but still get some clothes he liked.

He couldn't complain, even though he wanted to explore other overpriced boutiques, because you always followed him quietly. "Okay, let's go." But he couldn't hide his shock, when he saw the sign of the shop.

"Trust me," you assured him. And you were right, after the shock disappeared, Hoseok found his new paradise. The oversized jackets looked like some designer clothes and there were the most extraordinary sunglasses and hats on display.

"Babe, I found heaven. And only paid 500." Yes, he still spent hundreds, but at least for a lot of pieces. But he would learn, for sure.

Namjoon

What does the author want to say in these lines? You suddenly remembered those words from school, when you looked at the pieces Namjoon picked in his favorite store. He thought of fashion as a way to express himself, but did he really need every color of the spectrum in such a tiny space? The shirt was weird, a little off from his usual style, but Namjoon still stared at it. 

“Are you sure you like the design or the designer?,” you asked him when the owner of the shop left you two alone. He and Namjoon were besties. Well, anyone would be besties with Joon, when he left hundreds there every week for pieces that looked like it was done in five minutes. On drugs. 

“It will look great with the pants I bought last month.” It was shocking how Namjoon remembered every thing he bought. He would suddenly mention hats or shoes from last year and style them. When he was passionate about something, he was unstoppable. 

“I don’t think it looks great,” you repeated yourself. Maybe you were tired or just not as brave as he was with fashion. But Namjoon insisted on his purchase, and told you to wait for the outfit. 

And he was right. Mixed with dull colors, the shirt was almost really really good. It wasn’t as eyecatching as you remembered it, it matched his body and skin color. 

“You should trust me more,” he said, when he catched you admire his outfit,”Soon, I’ll style you as well.”

Jimin

It’s a well know fact, that Jimin was the gentleman of all gentlemen. So shopping with him was just a dream. He was that kind of boyfriend, that took your purse without a word, paid for everything, still allowed you to buy coffee or little things, so you didn’t feel bad, and always complimented you. Even when you looked just aweful. But as he was a bad liar, you understood. And tortured him for lying so obviously.

“Really? I don’t look fat in this dress?” You turned around and watched him closely. The fit was a catastrophe. The fabric hugged all the wrong places and made it look like you were swollen and pregnant. 

“You could never look fat, love,” he replied and tried to look horrified about your question. Or maybe he was horrified of your looks and didn’t fake that one.

“Are you sure, so I can wear this to your parent’s place?,” you wanted to corner him into saying the truth.

“This weekend?,” he asked and avoided your eyes,”I heard it’s gonna be cold that day, maybe you should pick something else.” 

“No way, it’s perfect if you think I look okay.” You then walked into the fitting room, to pick out the jacket that was just as ugly as the dress. “I’ll wear it like this, if I get cold.” And with that move, the boy broke down.

“Okay, I give up, you look terrible,” he confessed, defeated by your outfit.

“Be honest with me,” you took the jacket off with a shudder,”One day I won’t realize and walk around like a pig or something.”

“A pretty pig at most.” 

Taehyung 

The best advertisement was this boy. He didn’t even have to wear the things yet, people just followed him into stores. And when he tried something on, they believed that they could look as good as he did. Many were probably surprised, as the clothes turned into potato sacks at home, when it looked so elegant on Taehyung. 

So obviously every designer wanted to work with him. But he still insisted on walking around in unknown indie stores, looking for gems. He made the same face as he did in galeries, looking for art pieces for his room or collection. Fashion was also art to him. 

“At this point, you should do your own clothing line,” you said, when you left a boutique. Taehyung was pretty close with the designer, they always discussed the next collections and Taehyung always let them do alterations he had in mind. They should credit him as a co-designer, you jooked sometimes.

“But it’s easier this way,” he admitted with a grin,”And I like one-of-a-kind pieces way too much, to produce something for others.”

“What a selfish man,” you teased him,”You are just too scared, that everything will be sold out, and you can’t wear it anymore, right?”

“How can you know me that well?,” he teased back. 

“But think about it, I bet you will be happy to see people wear your designs. It’s like producing songs... for the body?” A light bulb lit up inside his head. 

“This is why I love you and your one-of-a-kind mind.”

Jungkook

"If the next piece you pick up is grey sweats, I'm screaming," you threatened Jungkook. His arms were already full with grey or black sportswear, but he didn't stop eyeing the same exact things again. You didn't understand how he still found joy in shopping, when he bought the same thigs over and over again.

"I wasn't going to," he scoffed and changed directions. Yea, sure. He walked into a section, you never dreamed Jungkook to walk in. He would never go in there by himself, so he looked awkward. His eyes wandered between different button ups, and he suddenly looked lost and tired.

"White suits you," you helped him out. He walked over to the corner with white clothes and touched a few pieces. “This one,” he murmured with his tongue between his teeth, as he was stuggling with the other clothes in his hands. You helped him pick out the one he wanted. It was a pretty basic button up, with thin grey lines. 

“It looks like the one you wore last week,” he confessed quietly. It made you blush, that he remembered that, and you immediately regretted threatening him earlier. 

“You won’t look as good as me though,” you tried to hide your shyness. 

“I never could.” You turned into a tomato with his comment, but as he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, he added, “Well, you could never look that good in sportswear like me either, babe.” 

“Yes, yes, we all have styles that match us better, but variety is always good, right?” 

[proherostories]

A Dragon for a Hotblooded Blond

AO3 LINK

WC - 1648

Archive Warnings - Rated T & No Archive Warnings apply. 

Pairing - BakuKiri/Poprocks

Summary -  After chaperoning his drunk friends the week prior, Bakugo decides to go back to the tattoo parlor they'd gone to all because a redhead caught his eye.

Notes - Red eyes don't exist in real life [sadly] so the use of a) contacts and b) tricks of the light were implemented

Written for "#writersmonth2020" from THIS POST

Day 1 Prompt = tattoo artist/flower shop AU

BTW - Never written Bakugo before so plz be gentle DX

To say Kirishima was surprised to see the hotblooded blond from last weekend was a severe understatement. 

He’d come in with a rowdy group of drunks, and while he had appeared to be the most sober of the bunch, he had a peachy tint to his face that he kept denying was the alcohol since he was supposedly the ‘designated driver’. Kirishima had doubted it, but he wasn’t about to push. He himself had driven home tipsy before, as stupid as it was and he would never condone it.

The blond had kept shouting at his friends to either ‘be quiet’ or he was telling them how dumb their tattoo choices were. It’d been hella funny, to watch them all go to the guy for approval and then cheer when all he said was ‘whatever’ or grunt. Calling back to the manga he had in his teenage years, Kirishima would’ve called him the ‘tsundere’ type hands down.

“Hey man,” Kirishima called to him, waving from the desk. It was a slow day so he was spending it organizing stuff. His co-workers Mina and Jiro were out after he’d told them to go home. No need for all three of them to be there when it was stupidly boring. Besides, he wanted Jiro to have all the time in the world to get ready for her date with a girl named Momo. Good on Jiro for landing a lady like that, hella.

‘Blond dude’ grunted back at him, and Kirishima only kept a passive eye on him. With how he’d kept his drunk friends in line he wasn’t worried about him being a thief or anything. “Something catch your eye last time? Didn’t peg ya for a tattoo sort of guy.”

“What makes you say that?” ‘blond dude’ sneered at him, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.

Kirishima only arched a brow at him and then shrugged, “Dunno. Guess it was how you seemed to give zero fucks, is all. What can I call ya?”

“The name’s Bakugo. What about you? Can’t keep callin’ ya ‘shitty hair’.”

A snort-laugh escaped the redhead, “Rude, I at least just referred to you as ‘blond dude’. My name’s Kirishima.” he flashed him a smirk and leaned back. His eyes, black hidden by red contacts, flicked up and down as he looked the other over. "So, I still gotta beg the question- you looking for a tat?"

That was where...Bakugo's demeanor seemed to change. Shifting and glancing around again with his lips pulled into a scowl. "What if I am? Anything you'd suggest, shitty hair?" 

"I gave you my name and ya still call me that? I'm hurt, Bakugo," he did a mock press of his hand to his chest but he stood up and stretched, sighing when there were a few pops. Sauntering over to an end table he found the binder that had all of his work and brought it to Bakugo, "Here, take a look at-" he cut off as he met the other man's eyes. Whoa, wicked! With the sun coming in from the window, it was catching on Bakugo's eyes, which were like a cinnamon brown and they were shining orange or a particular shade of red. 

It made Kirishima's breath catch even further when that peachy blush he remembered appeared, but he looked a mix of angry and flustered, brows pulled down and teeth bared, "What?! What were ya gunna say?!"

"Whoa, whoa, chill out," Kirishima put his hands up in defense, looking sheepish, "Your eyes looked really cool there for a sec, is all. I was going to say, have a look at what is in that binder. There's three people that do art here, so if nothing catches your attention then I'll give you another portfolio." 

"Where's yours?" Bakugo was looking less like he was going to bite his head off and he opened the portfolio.

"In your hands," Kirishima smirked before going back to his desk, adding a pop to his step. He was hoping he'd pick something from the first one, and had a feeling it was a challenge now to do so anyway. 

He had reached his destination when he was stopped, “Wait.” Bakugo was staring intently at a page in the binder, “You drew this?” he held it up with one hand and pointed at the drawing in question with the other. It was concept art rather than a finished tattoo piece, but it was a detailed Chinese-style dragon with a rendered head, horns and scales until it reached halfway down the body. That was where it started having curved cuts and breaks in a tribal style, the color of the scales fading out into the black simplicity tribal was supposed to be.

“I sure did. No one’s wanted it yet, it’s supposed to go on the arm to accommodate the winding of its body. People who come in wanting dragons tend to have different ideas in mind.” Kirishima tilted his head, curious but also his heart was suddenly pounding. It’d been in that portfolio so long, he’d contemplated taking out multiple times. He’d done it with other pieces that never got attention, but something always held him back from removing that one. The orange of it with tints of red and flecks of yellow always made him melt. He was a sucker for fire, and while yellow was hard to do in tattoos [something he learned along the way] he knew it wasn’t impossible.

“Can you do it, Kirishima?” Bakugo’s intensity hadn’t faded and Kirishima almost had a heart attack. Wow, was he crushing on this customer? He thought the banter was just good fun, but now he found he really wanted to try and make a good impression. “Even if you’ve never actually done it before, do you think you can now?”

He paused and looked between the drawing and back at Bakugo a few times. With a deep breath through his nose, he nodded, “Yes.” The confidence and the fact he hadn’t answered right away seemed to satisfy the blond, “When I first drew it a few years ago, maybe not. Now? Yes. I have the skills and the know-how, I can definitely do that piece justice.”

“How much? How does this work?” Bakugo joined him at his desk and set the portfolio down, then startled Kirishima by taking off his black jacket.

“Haha, well, I’d like to do a few touchups, and I’d have to solidify at least the outline so I can print and place it on your arm. This’ll give you time to think it-”

“I won’t change my mind, and we’ll do it on my right arm,” Bakugo was firm, holding out the length of his arm for him, “How big will it be?”

“Back to price real fast, the shop goes by time rather than how big or small a tattoo is. 75 dollars for half an hour as a baseline.” Kirishima laughed again but softer as he soaked in the sight. “Damn, man, you’re ripped. Do you have a heavy lifting job or do you just work out?” His touch was light as he took Bakugo’s wrist in his hand and pushed up the short sleeve. Glancing at the image then back at his arm he hummed thoughtfully.

Bakugo gave him a scoff with a smirk attached to it, “I do work out. I have a home gym. An actual one is too damn distracting and paying for a stupid pass is fucking useless with how busy I get.”

Kirishima snorted, “I getcha. I tend to go to a gym between here and my house.” He didn’t catch Bakugo holding his breath when he started tracing where he’d place the tattoo. The muscles were firm and nice to feel. He didn’t know why he was so aware of the other, but he was. Sure he’d had sexy guys and gals in his shop, but Bakugo was different somehow. “So I’d put the head of it here...go around like this, keep it out of the crease of your elbow of course...end it about here? I try and keep sleeve tattoos to the point where they can be covered by long shirts.”

Bakugo humphed, “Do whatever. I don’t care.”

“It’s going to take a lot of work, maybe two or three sessions. I’d suggest bringing a soda or a bag of chocolate, anything that’ll help keep your blood sugar up. Depending on your job and schedule, we can space it to accommodate. I’d do the whole outline first of course. Maybe black fill in next, and lastly the color.”

“Fine.” Bakugo put his sleeve down and moved to put his jacket back on, “I got the time to stay for now. You said you needed to make changes, so I’ll wait and see if I even like what you change.” He pulled his phone out, “You need my number for scheduling, right?”

“Sure do,” Kirishima was amused again and he walked around his desk to his computer, “Lemme bring up my calendar and we’ll get you set up, Bakubro.” He paused, “Ah, can I call ya that? It just slipped out, so-”

“Call me what you want.” Bakugo scoffed again, finding a chair to bring nearby so he could watch what Kirishima was doing, “Let me know when you’re done and I can look at it. Artists are picky about that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

“I don’t mind so much unless I’m embarrassed about it or keeping it a surprise,” Kirishima chuckled, booting up his programs after he put down Bakugo’s appointments and number, “I’m also glad you stayed. I like the company on a boring day like this.”

He noted that Bakugo didn’t respond besides a grunt, but he smiled anyway. Giddy and inspired, he pulled the tattoo design from the portfolio and got to work.

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight, chapter seven (Branjie)--athena2

Previously: Brooke confessed about her daughter to Vanessa and they kissed Now: THE HEIST (dun dun dun)

A/N: Thank you all so much for your amazing feedback on this fic! I never expected people to actually like it this much. This chapter was tricky, so thank you as always to Writ for being an amazing beta!

Please leave some feedback on this chapter if you’d like!

Read on AO3

The food truck Nina wrangled from somewhere rumbles over potholes toward the Met. Everyone exchanges nervous glances, the silent anticipation in the air almost overpowering Nina singing along to the Tangled soundtrack.

Vanessa holds the necklace Brooke got her in a white-knuckled fist, contemplating what it means if she wears it. Her mind reviews the points of the plan but also tries to grasp what Brooke told her last night, the horrible things she’s been through. Can she really blame Brooke for what she did, when she was just protecting her daughter? Can she forgive a lie that went on the whole time they were together?

Vanessa looks at Brooke, eyes focused on her lap. She thinks of Brooke’s tears soaking her shirt last night, the absolutely gutted look in her eyes as she told Vanessa about her daughter, like someone had ripped her heart clean out.

Vanessa needs time to think, when she’s not about to pull off the biggest con of her life. When she doesn’t have to worry about her mom working herself into the ground, or the overdue notice on their bills. She forces her feelings aside until then, which has always been hard for her. Her feelings are constantly getting in the way, anger taking control the night she fought with Brooke, passion winning last night, pulling her into bed with Brooke when she shouldn’t have. She can’t let anything interfere with her focus tonight.

Her stomach flutters as she trails behind Scarlet and Plastique into the ball, the gown Nina got her as soft as butter against her skin, the gold making her glow. She struts inside, casual and unconcerned. This is the most expensive thing she’s ever worn, and she’s going to enjoy it.

Nina is on the floor with the Vogue team, attending to everyone’s needs. Yvie is holed up in the truck outside, watching everything through her hacked security feed. Silky’s in waitress garb, gliding between tables. Brooke and A’keria are in the kitchen, and Vanessa finds that she trusts Brooke completely with her tasks, the weight of fear lifted from her.

Silverware sparkles on each table, the glare off thousand-dollar gowns blinding. It’s not until now that the glitz and glamour really sink in. Vanessa will have millions after this, millions, and most of the guests would consider it pocket change, like the stray dollar you find in your coat.

Any second now…

“People are sitting,” Nina says through their ear comms, a hint of panic emerging.

“Let’s do it,” Vanessa says.

She hovers by the bar, across from the bathroom Plastique will be running to later. She keeps her head down, fading into the background, wanting to be ignored for once.

“Dishes went out for Plastique’s table,” Brooke says into her comm. If Brooke did her job right, Plastique will be hunched over the toilet about 15 minutes after eating her soup made of overpriced vegetables. Inducing vomiting is the least sketchy thing they’ll do tonight, but Vanessa can’t help but feel a little guilty about it. Still, it’s the only way, and it’s not like they’re really making Plastique sick.

“Right on time.” Vanessa can’t stop the smile that creeps into her voice, hit with happiness that Brooke is with her.

“Are you wearing a watch like I told you?” Brooke asks. “I could’ve synchronized them—“

“You’re not putting sequins on shit. I’m looking at my phone, Brooke,” Vanessa says.

Yvie makes gagging sounds around a mouthful of whatever she’s crunching on. “Do I really have to experience this conversation with my own two ears?” she asks.

“Tell me about it,” Silky gripes. “This ear comm is a group chat from hell. ‘Cept I can’t even leave the chat.”

“How do you think Scarlet feels? She’s stuck at that table with boring-ass rich people and can’t even talk to us,” A’keria says.

“I wish I didn’t have to talk to us,” Brooke says.

“Back to work!” Vanessa snaps.

Waiters hurry past her from the kitchen, balancing gleaming silver trays with dishes of salad resembling burnt tree leaves, still-bleeding steak she can eat in two bites, and bowls of murky green stuff that might have been scooped out of a pond. Give her a slice of pizza any day.

Silky slips into the bathroom to prepare for Plastique, armed with the magnet Yvie made to take the necklace off. Vanessa knows they’re close, heart pounding in her chest, time moving through quicksand. She sips her drink without tasting and almost spits it out when Scarlet’s voice rings over the ear comm.

“Plastique’s on the move. Bitch is looking real green. And I deserve a higher cut after what I’ve been forced to listen to.”

“I’ll give you a dollar,” Vanessa promises, positioning herself in front of the bathroom, up against the cream-colored wall within the camera blindspot.

“You can’t even buy a candy bar with a dollar,” Scarlet says.

“You can buy my love,” Yvie says. “But you already have that, Scar.”

“How much to buy your damn silence?” Vanessa asks.

Yvie’s reply goes unheard as Plastique sprints around the corner, the pale green tinge to her face clashing against the bright pink dress that ripples with her movements. The door slams shut, and a man in a black suit stumbles after her. Vanessa has to marvel that an entire bodyguard is required to watch one necklace.

“Can’t you read?” Vanessa demands, pointing at the curvy gold script on the door. “It’s the women’s bathroom.” She crosses her arms and the guard sulks off to the side.

“How’d I get stuck on barf duty?” Silky laments over faint sounds of retching. “This ain’t even fair.”

“She’s puking, though?” Vanessa asks.

“Oh, hell yeah, she is.”

“Then get in there and take the necklace, dummy!”

Vanessa’s palms sweat, breath stuck in her throat. She hears the toilet flushing inside, and mumbles too indistinct to make out.

“Waiter’s coming your way,” Nina says.

Sure enough, a waiter rounds the corner, and Vanessa cuts him off, nudges him toward the bathroom door just as Silky comes out, slipping the necklace between dishes stained with a thick orange substance Vanessa can’t blame anyone for not finishing.

“Necklace is on the move,” Vanessa says, watching the tray head into the kitchen.

It’s in Brooke’s hands now, and there’s nowhere Vanessa would rather have it.

—

Brooke gasps as she snatches the necklace and 112 million dollars hits her hand. It weighs seven pounds, Vanessa had said. Heavier than Zoey when she was born almost two months premature. A thousand times more expensive than the medical procedures needed to keep her little heart beating.

This one necklace is worth more money than most people will ever see. This necklace could solve all her problems and then some, for her and so many others. What’s the harm, really, in giving everyone in the group a better life–for A’keria to have her own home and Vanessa to help her mom and Brooke to get her daughter back–at the cost of one little necklace, growing lighter as the seconds pass? They aren’t hurting anyone. The only people who will even notice is the company that owns it, who owns hundreds more jewels just as expensive.

She slides it into the soapy water where A’keria washes dishes, watching A’keria pluck it out and excuse herself to the bathroom, where her tools await.

—

A’keria has to admire the intricacy of the diamond, the sheer quality of the jewel, as she splits the pieces apart. It’s criminal, really, to break something so exquisite, so well-made, but she knows what they’re getting is worth far more.

Police sirens blare outside, the loudspeaker announcing that all employees must report to the main entrance while police search for the missing necklace. A sly grin spreads across A’keria’s face, because they won’t find anything. All she has to do is get the pieces to Silky, who will get them to Vanessa, who will sell them and get their profits.

She carefully breaks off another piece and waits for Nina to find the replica necklace and call the police off.

—

Nina hovers near the fountain, a hand awkwardly pressed against her hip, the replica necklace bulging underneath her dress. Vanessa and Brooke haven’t been answering on the comms, something Nina suspects isn’t a coincidence. She wonders if the two of them are kissing in some gallery room and hopes they’ve made things right.

Police officers scurry around, one of them interrogating Plastique and Scarlet about what could have happened to the necklace.

“Should I do it now?” Nina asks nervously. “Vanessa?”

“Do it!” Vanessa commands.

Nina lifts the hem of her soft orange dress and lowers the necklace into the fountain. She pulls it out with a triumphant cry, running to the police to show them that she found it, and they can end the search.

—

The buzz of the Nokia gets Vanessa ready. She stands up straight, dripping confidence, to pose as the fake buyer with Brooke as the fake artist. Vanessa excels as the buyer because she could attract the attention of others, and the con relies on people not only thinking the art is Brooke’s, but also worth what she’s asking.

Brooke always says rich people will pay a lot for art without knowing anything about it, and so far, she’s right.

“Excuse me, I’d like to buy those pieces.” Vanessa walks up to her, just as they’ve done four times now, making sure to avoid any familiarity. She can’t give anything away, not when this is the biggest con they’ve done.

“I’m asking a very high price,” Brooke says.

“As you should.” Vanessa raises her voice a little, two men across the gallery creeping closer to hear. “I’ll offer you $10,000 for all three.”

Brooke scoffs. “At least 20 grand each. No less.”

She and Brooke continue to haggle, Vanessa luring the men closer and closer, hanging on their every word. Finally, Vanessa backs out of the sale just short of the 60 grand, and one of the men pounces, saying he’ll happily pay Brooke’s price.

Vanessa peeks at Brooke while the man pulls out his checkbook. She has her head down but Vanessa can see the smile stretched across her face, and a rush of affection hits her at once. She loves Brooke, loves her so much, and maybe it’s time to start saving money for a house one day, a house completely their own.

She’s so distracted by Brooke’s shining eyes that she doesn’t notice the man watching them from the corner. She’s so busy dreaming of walking through their new house that she doesn’t notice the man pulling out his phone. She doesn’t notice anything until two police officers are in the gallery, pointing right at them.

But by then, it’s too late.

—

Secret mission with Brooke complete, Vanessa heads back onto the main floor, where the celebrities grumble as they return to their seats, the fake necklace safely around Plastique’s neck.

Silky casually slaps the diamonds into her palm. Vanessa stashes it inside the special compartment she sewed in the dress, and the diamonds lightly brushing against her hip with each movement only increases her pride, making her all the more aware of what she just pulled off. The con of her lifetime, of any lifetime, 112 million dollars gone and no one the wiser.

There’s a tap on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance?”

Vanessa spins around to see Brooke with her arm outstretched. She’s changed into the outfit Nina got her–a silky black sequined suit, each sequin catching the light and reflecting it at Vanessa, stealing her breath in the process. Vanessa knows it’s been a long time since either of them have been in clothes this nice or this new, and she feels like a new woman as she accepts Brooke’s arm.

“You know slow dancing ain’t my thing,” Vanessa warns as Brooke leads her to the dance floor.

“But it’s mine.”

They don’t talk as they glide around the floor, Brooke’s hand on Vanessa’s waist, which is just as well because Vanessa doesn’t have any words. She can feel Brooke’s heart thrumming against her fingers, her green eyes gazing at Vanessa dreamily. She’s never had a proper slow-dance with Brooke, and she’s going to savor each spin, each careful turn that Brooke guides her through.

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Brooke says, her cheeks flushing at the gold heart dangling around Vanessa’s neck.

“Figured we needed all the luck we could get,” Vanessa says. She tightens her hold on Brooke’s hips, not caring what it means, not caring how good the dance and the necklace make her feel. All she cares about is being here with Brooke.

“This is…nice,” Vanessa finishes lamely, because she can’t describe it. It’s a kind of weightless joy she hasn’t felt since before prison, and she doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the feeling has been brought on by Brooke.

“It is,” Brooke agrees.

They keep moving even as others sit down, and all Vanessa knows is that she could do this dance forever.

—

“Ness,” Brooke hisses, eyes darting toward the cops.

Vanessa’s blood runs cold. Someone called the police. Someone who had seen them before, maybe, or thought they were suspicious? It doesn’t matter. They have to get out of here.

Brooke snatches the check and Vanessa runs down the hall, where Brooke mapped an escape route in her plans, just in case. Vanessa has never been more grateful for Brooke and her planning.

Brooke is behind her as she sprints to the shipping entrance by the bathrooms, slamming down on the metal bar and shoving it open. But it catches on something with a clinking sound that stops her heart. The door only opens a crack, just big enough for a child to wriggle through.

Vanessa sees a chain holding it closed at the top. The gallery staff must not use this entrance anymore. Her heart pounds, because they’ll never get that chain off. Vanessa might be able to squeeze through, but Brooke will never fit.

She can hear cops shouting in the distance, Brooke cursing under her breath. Tears of helplessness spring to Vanessa’s eyes. She can see Brooke’s mind frantically working, trying to think of another way out.

“You have to go, Ness,” Brooke says firmly. “You can fit.”

“I’m not leaving you for the cops!”

“We don’t have a choice.” Brooke hands her the check. “Take it. Go lie low at A’keria’s. I’ll come get you. Go!” She nudges Vanessa toward the door.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find another way out.” Brooke crouches down and begins moving Vanessa’s limbs, helping her contort through the narrow opening even as Vanessa continues to protest. She kisses Vanessa fast and hard, and the intensity she pours into it makes Vanessa tremble in fear that it’ll be their last kiss.

“But–”

“I’ll protect you, I promise. Always.” Brooke pushes her through, and Vanessa runs.

—

Seven women exit down the grand steps at the Met, hearts light and fluttery with dreams of the future.

Nina dreams of adopting a third child with her wife, Monet; another kid to run around the house, laughing and shouting, to fill her heart beyond bursting. She dreams of writing comedy shows again, performing in front of a crowd and letting their applause etch a permanent grin on her face, a career she gave up a decade ago. She dreams of second chances.

Scarlet dreams of a space where the designs she drew as a little girl in her princess bedroom can come to life, for everyone to see the beauty that’s only ever been in her head. She dreams of seeing her clothes not only on famous people, but on regular people, well-made and priced so anyone can wear clothes they feel good in. She dreams of sketching in a cozy house with Yvie at her side.

Yvie dreams of setting up an internet cafe with its own computers for everyone and free coffees and baked goods. She dreams of returning to school to get a master’s with no worries about loans, having more time to do her hacking, to expose criminals. She dreams of typing away on a big couch with her long legs thrown across Scarlet’s lap.

Silky dreams of walking into the principal’s office and paying off the lunch debts for the whole school so no child has to go hungry. She dreams of the new supplies she can buy for her classroom, the crafts kids can make with the markers and paints and colored pencils, the colors and laughs that will fill the room. She dreams of a giant house where she can soak in a tub and eat chocolate while she grades papers.

A’keria dreams of focusing on herself, to have a home where her mother didn’t track her every move and her father didn’t tell her to get a better job. She dreams of brushing the dust off her old business cards and designs, of a little boutique where she can create her own bracelets instead of polishing someone else’s. She dreams of people giving her designs as gifts to those they loved.

Brooke dreams of breaking all possible ties to her ex, the bills he caused disappearing. She dreams of walking into a new house with her daughter secure in her arms, to fill the kitchen with laughs as they bake cookies, to see her smile every day. She dreams of time home with her daughter, time to learn to love herself again, and maybe, if she’s lucky, time with Vanessa.

Vanessa dreams of those bills vanishing into thin air, of moving her mom into a nice house and having time to relax without all-day shifts. She dreams of finding a new place for herself and Riley, to rediscover herself and what she wants to do. She dreams of endless possible futures she can live, and if a certain blonde woman creeps into a few of them, the dream only becomes that much brighter.

And when Vanessa asks Brooke to stay over at her house tonight, she feels she’s one step closer to that dream.

—

“I can’t believe we did that,” Brooke slurs as she pulls off her suit. “You’re brilliant, Ness. Super brilliant. Like, your brain must be so, so big.”

Vanessa suspects some of the praise is fueled by the amount of wine Brooke had at the ball, but Vanessa accepts it anyway. Besides, she’s still high on champagne and the success of the mission, and Brooke’s cheeks are flushed as she giddily puts on the pajamas they stopped by her place to get (‘It’ll be like a sleepover, Ness!’), and Vanessa has to smile.

Brooke is struggling with her shoes, her normally nimble, graceful fingers fumbling at the straps, and Vanessa carefully unfastens them for her, lifting Brooke’s legs and pulling the shoes off, then helping her step into plaid pajama pants.

“Still got them toes, I see,” Vanessa teases.

“Of course I do. Where would they go?” Brooke asks in confusion, and Vanessa stifles a laugh. She’s always loved the soft Brooke that needed Vanessa to take care of her. Brooke was so used to taking care of herself, taking care of them both, that it was nice to return the favor, make Brooke feel as cared for and as loved as she made Vanessa feel.

“Okay, time for bed,” Vanessa commands, herding Brooke under the covers. She’s put Brooke to bed two nights in a row, and it’s hard not to enjoy it, especially when Brooke smiles as Vanessa pulls the blanket up, melting into the soft fleece. “It’s 2am. You need to sleep.”

“‘M not tired,” Brooke whines with a pout, eyelids fluttering in her effort to stay awake, like she’s afraid Vanessa will disappear if she can’t see her.

“Sure you are, baby.” The baby slips out before her champagne-addled brain can stop it, and Brooke’s smile makes her even warmer than the liquor.

“Okay,” Brooke agrees. She squints at Vanessa. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Oops.

So what if Vanessa just happened to grab it tonight? It was on the top of her clothes pile, the room a little too hazy to dig through her dresser for proper pajamas. So what if the soft cotton feels nicer than the thousand-dollar dress she had on earlier? It doesn’t mean anything.

“Maybe.” Vanessa gives a coy shrug.

“I’ve been looking for that!” Brooke gets that cute pout again, and Vanessa has to resist the urge to kiss it away.

“You know it looks better on me.”

Brooke nods, the motion quickly turning to a yawn.

“Sleep, Brooke.” She can avoid Brooke’s lips but not her cheek, pressing a light kiss to the still-rosy skin.

Brooke is asleep in seconds, her even breaths almost lulling Vanessa to sleep as she stands. She’s about to join Brooke under the blankets when the door opens, her mother home after another late shift. The moment seizes her, and Vanessa needs to ask her something, now.

“What are you still doing up?” her mom asks, dropping down at the kitchen table with leftover pizza.

“Um, can I ask you something?” Vanessa asks, biting her lip.

“You can ask me anything, honey. What is it?”

“Okay, let’s pretend you and Dad stole something together and I was really young. And you could tell the cops you did it all and let Dad go free, but you’d never see me again, or you could put Dad in prison so you could be with me. What would you do?”

The intense look in Vanessa’s eyes must be enough to stop her mother from wondering why she’s asking such a strange question at 2 in the morning.

“I would choose you. I love your father, and I wouldn’t want to send him away. But you’re my baby, Vanessa. Even when you’re grown, you’re still my baby. I’d do anything to protect you.”

He took her. He took my baby. Brooke’s teary voice rings through her head.

Vanessa kisses her mom and numbly returns to her room. Brooke is curled up on her side, knees bent—her knees always got in the way, Vanessa thinks fondly—with her arms drawn against her chest, looking like they’re burning with emptiness, aching for someone to hold.

Vanessa watches Brooke sleep, her mind spinning. Brooke didn’t want to hurt Vanessa; she just wanted to protect her daughter. Her baby. Yes, she lied for nine months, but Vanessa can’t blame her. Brooke had just been hurt too many times to take the risk that Vanessa would hurt her too, toss her aside like a broken doll as her parents and ex-husband had done.

Vanessa has always been empathetic, crying over movies since she was a child because she felt it all so deeply. The emotions of others easily rubbed off on her, and she absorbed them like a sponge. She’d come home from the makeup store jittery with the nervous excitement of a teenager off to prom, the hopefulness of someone treating themselves to a makeover after a breakup. But Vanessa can’t even begin to understand how terrifying and lonely things must have been for Brooke.

A husband who used her to make himself look good. Who took away the baby Brooke had been so desperate for, just for money and revenge. To have her daughter there one day and gone the next, leaving Brooke completely alone, too scared to tell anyone as the secret ate her up inside. To have the police use her daughter against her. Constantly getting hurt, over and over, so that keeping the secret was the best way to protect herself.

Aside from her secret, Vanessa never had reason to doubt Brooke’s love for her. Brooke was always open and honest with Vanessa, even when it was hard for her. Brooke sighs in her sleep and Vanessa thinks of the nights they spent together, laughing at episodes of Parks and Rec they’d seen five times. How she could roll over in the night and Brooke would be there, her presence soothing. How she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Brooke’s snorting laugh, the little hairs that escaped her ponytail and sprung around her face, how she’d give Vanessa her jacket when Vanessa forgot her own.

She hasn’t stopped loving Brooke, no matter how mad she was, how hard she tried to pretend.

Vanessa slips beside her—there’s not really room for them both but she doesn’t care, misses sleeping with Brooke too much. She nestles herself against Brooke’s chest, Brooke’s arms wrapping around her, holding her tight, weighing Vanessa down with safety and adoration.

“I love you,” Brooke mumbles into her neck, and Vanessa stills.

There’s a lot of things that could have caused it. It could be the wine, or the high of success, or the fact that Brooke is still half-asleep.

The same could be said of Vanessa, but when she returns the I love you, she means every word.

[exorciseyourspirit]

The Art Of Disappearing Problems|| Morgan and Rebecca

Just a small favor, asked from a colleague.

Morgan felt bad for not giving Rebecca more notice about when she wanted to meet. It had been early in the morning, her body waking her up just before the alarm, and Deirdre’s arm was around her and even with what had happened in the  that had caught them off-guard, Morgan was still able to feel safe and happy and filled with the brightest warmth even from her banshee’s cold skin. It was all so bewilderingly, dangerously perfect. And in that moment of recognition, dread shivered through her, and she knew that Rebecca was the one to call to keep herself from panicking her way into some unnecessary disaster. And now here she was, picking at the leftovers she’d brought for lunch in her lap. “Sorry about springing this on you, again,” she said, now for the third time since coming in. “I just woke up with this weird...feeling. This, “so happy I need to slingshot my way into awaiting the apocalypse” sort of feeling. What do you do with that? When you’re that happy and vulnerable and safe but also--wham: it can’t last, so better start disaster prepping! Do you seriously still hold on, even when you’re cursed with tragedy and suffering? I know, this is all very lame and personal, but what did you do? When you were so happy you scared yourself, what did you do?”

Rebecca had been having a hard time concentrating lately. Her wound itched, but it was healing. Slowly. Winston had done their best to clean it, after all, and a Wraith scratch wasn’t anything to balk at. Keeping her head up when Morgan had come in was growing increasingly harder, but Rebecca was nothing if not stalwart in her presentation. She was a stone, always strong, for others to rely on. “I already told you,” she said again, pushing her papers aside, “it’s totally fine. I wasn’t busy and I enjoy your company.” In fact, she welcomed the distraction. It was easier to concentrate when someone else was around. She let out a long sigh once Morgan stopped talking, chin in her palm. “Mostly? I just reminded myself that the fear was worth the happiness. That I was better for having let myself have this, want this, no matter how big or bold or...terrifying it was in the end. Those moments of purse bliss were always worth it.” Even if they were gone now. She was strong now because of the memories she had of her and Theo. She could keep fighting for those.

Morgan listened, taking bits of vegetable into her mouth as she went. She couldn’t imagine trading anything she’d had with Deirdre for any reason, even for the most wondrous spell. They were hers, the most precious things she’d ever had. It was worth it to her, and it seemed worth it to Deirdre. She had only become more giving, more affectionate, more hers. She had also become sadder, and Morgan kept retracing her actions to absolve herself again and again. Listening to Rebecca now, she wanted to believe that if Constance’s curse had anything to do with the pressures that bore on her banshee’s shoulders, they would be lifted as soon as she broke the spell. They could be free together. They could stay happy, if she could only break herself out of Constance’s grasp. “You don’t think being cursed makes it different? I know what you said before but--” She sighed. “The woman I asked you all those embarrassing love questions about, she asked me to be with her, and I said yes, and maybe five minutes later we were saying ‘I love you,’ and saying it a lot. And… I just can’t be a reason for her to suffer needlessly. And pulling away while she’s having a hard time counts as that, I don’t want that, but what if staying while it draws more of this, this stupid suffering to me counts too, or counts more? Do you know how many times I’ve almost died in the past month?” She was speaking too fast, her body was getting hot, and worked up. Morgan set her food aside and folded her hands in her lap, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even, um, I have other, less ridiculously personal questions that I can get to. And, I haven’t even asked if you’re okay. You don’t have to tell me, but I would like to know that too.”

Rebecca listened carefully to Morgan’s frantic words, her worry almost palpable. When she finished speaking again, Rebecca shifted forward in her chair, giving her an even look, those soft eyes she’d perfected so long ago that could make anyone trust her. “No, I don’t think it’s different because of your curse. It’s not perhaps the same, but my job came with occupational hazards that put me in mortal peril almost constantly. And so did Theo’s. Perhaps that was why it took us so long to finally...admit it. But when we did, we were rather the same.” The memories struck her hard and she took a moment to regather herself, sitting back and clearing her chest of the weight gathering there. “Loving someone means suffering with them. Theo told me that once, when I was being particularly...distant. It’s letting them in, even though you know they might suffer. It makes it easier, too, you know?” she looked over at Morgan, an almost sad look on her face. “No one wants to be the reason another person suffers. But it will never be for nothing, not if they love you.” She picked at her own lunch, still uneaten. The scratch on her back itched, but she ignored it. “I’m...managing. And that’s enough for now.”

Morgan blinked back tears, the feeling of Deirdre’s taut, stressed body in her arms too recent, laid neatly over the memory of her own body shaking with grief over her mother, of Deirdre tucking her close. It didn’t seem right, or fair, that these threads should be essential. They could be just as true without having to hurt, couldn’t they? Morgan took it because it was the price she had to pay, but what about after? It was too much for her to wrap her brain around. “You help each other,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Um, managing. That doesn’t sound too good. Is there uh,” she sniffled and breathed out slowly, “Is there anything I can do? To help?”

Rebecca gave a little smile, shaking her head. “No, no. It’s nothing to worry about. Just haven’t been sleeping too well as of late.” And she knew why and she knew that no one could help her. This mess wasn’t going to get fixed anytime soon and the only way to keep people safe right now was to keep them away. So that’s what she’d do. “What’s next in your crusade? You said you’d found the bones of the woman who had cursed you. What’s the next step?” The ‘and can I help?’ part implied.

Morgan wasn’t altogether satisfied by Rebecca’s explanation, but what could she do if Rebecca wanted to handle things on her own? And didn’t she have enough on her hands? The more time she had to do her research, the better prepared she would be. The sooner she could end all of this. “My curse! Right. Constance Cunningham. Well, I was able to find out how she died. A vision--don’t ask--and from that I’ve been able to get some ideas about what she did. Not enough to not need to summon her, unfortunately, but, she had access to some incredibly old magic.” Morgan reached into her bag and took out a file of copies she’d made from her notes and passed them to Rebecca. “She was young or, I don’t know how much twenty-six counts as young in 1891, but it’s weird to be haunted and cursed by someone I might look at as a kid if she weren’t so evil.” She worked her mouth, brow furrowed, trying to choose her next words carefully. “She hates me. Constance. She really, really hates me. The Bachman family, anyway. Like, sacrificed her life in the spell to make it work, hates me. And I still don’t know why. I guess it doesn’t really matter but--” She looked over at Rebecca. It did. It mattered a lot.

“It does matter, I think,” Rebecca said immediately, taking the files Morgan had handed her and flipping through them. “Summoning a ghost isn’t an easy task. Keeping them contained is of the utmost importance.” She set the papers down and stood, rifling through the books on the shelf behind her desk. This was where she kept her more important books. They somehow felt safer in a space she knew he would rarely access, as opposed to the home they’d ended up in. She pulled out a particularly old one and set it down on the table in front of Morgan. “It’s different than what we did with Nell for Erin. Not as...powerful, but more dangerous. You’ll need this to help you,” slid the book towards her. “It’ll outline everything you’ll need and how to do it.” She didn’t lift her hand off it yet, though, pausing. “You can have it as long as you’re not planning on doing this alone. Are you?”

Morgan took the book and cradled it against her chest, rifling through the pages. Some of these ingredients were not for the casual stop and go at Eye of Newt, or Castillo’s for that matter. “And what if I can’t find out? She was the family cook. She probably didn’t have anything to leave behind. I know her parents died a little over years before she did, but they were just sick. It was natural causes. We can do this anyway, can’t we?” She looked nervously from the book to Rebecca and back again. “I um, I have Nell. Remember her? And she has this cousin who’s a summoner. She’s helped exorcists a couple times, apparently…” But Morgan wasn’t sure if it would be enough. “We’ve spoken. She knows her stuff,” Morgan tried again. “But I was wondering if you would...come too. If you feel like you could. And if you do, I will do just about anything to pay you back. A favor. Many favors. But what I have in that file isn’t enough to reverse work a stop to it, right? So this is the best way in.”

“You can, but the less you know, the more danger there is. Spirits are...their power comes from their anger. You’re already risking a lot by summoning a spirit that’s already moved on-- adding her apparent anger for your family and then also the ignorance of not knowing why she did what she did? It’s a dangerous task, Morgan.” Rebecca’s eyes stayed fixed on Morgan as she flipped through the book. The ingredients needed to summon a ghost weren’t often easy to come by, and she wondered just what lengths Morgan would go to to solve this. She dropped her eyes when Morgan asked her to help. Her back itched again. “I...can supervise, make sure nothing goes wrong. Set up the circle, if you need,” she finally agreed. “Your two summoners should be able to pull their part off without me.”

“Please. And thank you, Rebecca,” Morgan said firmly. “I--I need this. And I need it to go right the first time if at all possible. And not just because of the Rusalka hair and the vampire dust. But asking and taking this much from other people, and taking this risk--even if we table the part where I owe all of you for the rest of my life, it’s a lot. And I get that. So if we can just...stick the landing with this, that would be good. That would be really, really good. And if you’re good to help, even just setting our circle right and standing in the wings for back up, even then, I think we’d be better off.” She looked at the other woman, searching her for a sign of reluctance, a foreshock of the earth falling away, water crashing through the dam. If she wasn’t as ahead of this as she thought, she would know, wouldn’t she? “You can say no,” she said. “If you’re not good. I know--well I know things are hard for you too. And I don’t mean to keep putting all my shit on you, so.”

“No, no,” Rebecca insisted, giving a wave of her hand, “I’ll help, Morgan. I already said I would, and I will. I just…” she paused, giving her a glance, before taking in a breath. “I can help, but I can’t be a part of it. I’m not-- ready for that yet.” It was hard to explain without actually...explaining, but Morgan didn’t need to know the details. That Rebecca could feel him pulling at every ounce of her energy and that it took every bit of her strength to keep him at bay. She didn’t need to know that she was slipping. That soon, Rebecca would be no more again. Shaking her head, she looked over at her. “The book will tell you everything you need, and I’ll just be there to make sure nothing goes wrong. Sound okay?”

“Yes. It’s okay. More than okay.” Morgan warmed and rose out of her seat with relief. She reached out to squeeze Rebecca’s hand across her desk. Everything was falling into place and yet as hard as she squeezed, some pressure still sat over her chest. She could not bring herself to smile, not in a way she thought she should. Perhaps the stakes were becoming clearer, no longer a distant wish, but rising tall and insidious before her. Perhaps a little pain, passed across each other’s gazes was how she knew this was real. And she could do this, with Rebecca’s help. She could win. She didn’t have any other choice.