#these ideas have been sat in my files for YEARS time to brush the dust off

[bookdragonbeth]

Hello it has been a long while since ive been here but ive recently saw some (very old but new to me) comments on my six of crows fics and my heart is full and i feel like i want to write again

I dont really know if the soc fandom is super active after the cancellation :(( but ive found some of my rough ideas/half written wesper fics and wanted to maybe gauge what you guys might be interested in!

[redmyeyes]

My baby just-a wrote me a letter

Hawk pulled out the familiar cherry blossom paperweight from its hiding spot in the back of his locked desk drawer. He had moved it when Lucy offered to help him pack up his apartment, not wanting her to question its place of honor on the mantle. His thumb brushed over the plastic, wiping away imagined dust. The memories it evoked were tangled now: sweet Kenny, and his shy smile when he picked it out, and again when he had pressed it into Hawk's hand, saying, remember me, tangled now with Tim, who had been immediately drawn to the strange piece on the mantle on his first visit.

Tangled further with the merging of the two, with Hawk saying Kenny's name for the first time in a decade, all because Tim had asked. The way his heart had cracked with that confession of betrayal, never before spoken aloud. The way Tim and his endless empathy had rushed in to fill it, at a time when they would have been much better off separating. The way they had simply held each other all night on Tim's rickety twin bed. All of that was now contained within this small piece of cheap plastic. Hawk was deep in this state of reminiscence when he heard the whisper slide of paper at the door and thought immediately, achingly, Tim.

Which was nonsense.

Still, he walked to the door of his apartment and saw, slid underneath, an envelope. Heart pounding, he bent to pick it up, noting the familiar scrunched cursive. His mind blank, his thumb brushed over the letters of his name for a precious wasted moment, before he had the presence of mind to open the door and look out. Empty. He rushed to the window. And there, just exiting the building onto the street and towards a waiting taxi cab, was Tim.

As though summoned, Tim turned, looking back over his shoulder, then up, and their eyes met. Hawk's heart was in his throat. He couldn't move, frozen with shock. Unthinking, his hand reached up and pressed to cool glass. Tim's mouth quirked up in that too familiar, pained half-smile, and he raised his hand in response. Then he turned, got in the car, and was gone.

The sight of Tim, after all this time—what had it been? a year and a half?—it was like being dropped in ice water. He'd looked— older. Maybe it was the uniform. Maybe it was the bangs, now swept to the side neatly instead of the mop of untidy hair he was familiar with. And yet he had looked, painfully, the same. And all of those tangled feelings, inadequately buried, came rushing back to life.

It took Hawk a full frozen minute to remember the envelope in his hand, and then he couldn't open it fast enough, scrambling for the letter opener still, thankfully, on his desk.

Dear Hawk, it started, and Hawk had to set it face-down on the desk, backing away a step and eyeing it as though it were a scorpion set to sting. He breathed out. Then he poured himself a whiskey, grateful for his foresight in saving the bar for last. He shook himself off, cursing himself for the nerves. It was just a letter. One single sheet of paper, with nothing on the back. It was probably just— Swearing again, he sat down, flipped the sheet over, and tried to absorb it all at once. He caught the I still love you first and shut his eyes. One more slow, deep inhale and exhale to steel himself, then he opened his eyes and began to read, slowly, from the top.

⸻

Dear Hawk,

       I went into the army to get away from you. I thought time and distance would help. But it hasn’t. I still love you. But I’m hoping to find something else… maybe a deeper faith someday… to take your place.

                     Yours,                      Tim

⸻

Well. Not writing back was not an option, despite the fact that Hawk had no idea where to address a letter to Tim. What he did have though, was Tim’s old contact information somewhere on file with HR, from which he could get the phone number of his parents, to whom he could call with a made-up excuse about— old tax files or something and request a forwarding address, and then, easy peasy, a confidential stamp on a manilla envelope and the letter slipped in between some boring-looking office files, and done. Letter sent.

Without pausing long enough to consider whether this was a horrific idea or just a very bad one, Hawk picked up his pen and started to write.

⸻

Dear Tim,

       I had assumed that the promise you’d extracted when last we spoke was a mutual one. Now that you’ve broken it, I hope you’ll forgive me for not holding up my end.

       I wouldn’t think replacements necessary, for someone with as big a heart as yours. Hold both. I have.

       I’d like to see you again. If you can. Either way, I’ll be looking for your response.

⸻

Here, Hawk paused. He wasn’t sure where he should have Tim write to. The apartment would soon be sold, the office was out of the question, and Lucy’s house—his house—was a risk, despite the innocuous content. Still, it was the best of the three. He’d just have to lay the groundwork first, tell Lucy he’d just heard from an old Army buddy, that he might be expecting a letter or two back, and then try to intercept the rest.

That decided, he added the house’s address to the letter, then paused again, debating how to sign. Tim had signed his, Yours. Generic and meaningless, to anyone who wasn’t Hawk. Hawk shook his head, then took up his pen again and signed,

                     Always,                      Hawk

[imhereformr]

Hi! :) Could you please do prompt 11 for Rivusa? 💜💜 I wish you a wonderful day!

11: Secret Relationship

Rival gang AU /// Content warning: mildly smutty

The abandoned car factory wasn’t the most romantic place. It was certainly not where Musa had ever expected to be having rendez-vous’ with her lover. The place, even though it’d been deserted for close to twenty years now, smelled like a strange mixture of leather, chemicals and dust. Occasionally, the ghost smell of burning metal would tickle her nose, but those were rare. Besides, she spent most of her time coiled into Riven’s side, enveloped by the fresh, woodsy scent of his aftershave or the sweetness of his sweat.

She walked through the building to the backroom where they spent most of what little, precious time they had together. Always Monday nights, sometimes Wednesdays if they were lucky. She hated sneaking around, but it was necessary. If her father, the president of Magix’s Fallen Angels, found out his daughter was fucking – and in love with – the VP of their rival gang, The Dragon Riders, a war would break out between the two that would likely leave more dead bodies than she wanted to be responsible for.

No matter how hard she tried to keep quiet, her footsteps seemed to echo through the building. Every time they met up, she became paranoid. Musa was careful – more careful than she’d ever been about anything. She made sure to leave in the middle of the night once her father was asleep; made sure to always park her car a block away instead of in front of their house so that if he woke up he wouldn’t see her leave; made sure that no one was watching her as she got in her car; made sure that no cars followed her when she got off the ramp that led to the near-deserted stretch of road where the factory was; and made sure to park her car inside the old employee indoor garage who’s door that Riven had managed to fix so they could open and close it. All that effort – so much more effort than she ever thought she’d put into seeing a guy – just for a few hours by his side. And it was, in her opinion, more than worth it.

The door to the office where they spent their time was already open when she got there. Unlike the rest of the factory that was littered with trash, dirt and discarded production equipment, this office was in decent shape. It helped that Riven had taken the time to clean it when he had come across the area. There was a desk that faced towards the right wall, a torn black leather office chair, shelving and filing cabinets; all from the factory days, and all in surprisingly good condition. Riven had bought a loveseat for the corner of the office for them to cuddle up on a while back – that was the sole addition to the room. She would have preferred a bed so they could lie down, but there just wasn’t enough space.

Musa paused by the office door. Riven, leaning against the front of the desk with his phone in hand, still hadn’t noticed her arrival – she must not have been as loud as she thought – so she took a moment to drink him in. He was tall – significantly taller than her – with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He always looked the same: dark wash jeans, a plain t-shirt and his leather jacket, the very one that told her she shouldn’t be near him. His maroon hair was slicked back – partially by stylistic choice, but also because he had a habit of running his hand through his hair whenever he was thinking about something or uncomfortable – and he still had a scar along his cheekbone from a fight he’d been in two weeks earlier. She knew that under his clothes, adorning a body worthy of a god, were more scars and bruises from that fight and others past, and two gunshot wounds: one in his right shoulder and one just above his left hip bone.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked when she realised she’d been staring at him far longer than was normal. Riven’s hand instinctively reached for the gun he kept tucked into the back of his jeans but stopped when he registered her voice. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled brightly. His smile sent a bolt of lightning through Musa, awakening something deep in her. She returned his smile as she approached him, pulling off her own leather jacket. He mirrored her movements, tossing his jacket onto the desk where it landed on top of hers.

His lips were on hers within seconds, hungry and desperate. His hands wasted no time in making their way to her hips and pulling her as close to him as physically possible. Her own hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly with every moan that escaped her lips. Riven backed her up against the wall, pressing himself into her. “You’re late” he whispered, removing his lips from hers to trail kisses down her neck.

“Sorry” she managed between gentle moans and pleased sighs. “Dad went to bed a bit later than usual.”

“Doesn’t matter. You're here.” His lips returned to hers, drowning her in desire. One of his hands wandered down from her shoulders to her chest, where his thumb brushed over her nipple lightly, sending a shiver through her, and down to the hem of her shirt. There was no pretense of modesty, no playfulness in the way Riven pulled the shirt off her. He knew what he wanted, and she was more than happy to give it to him. She hadn’t bothered to put a bra on in her rush to get out of the house, and Riven smirked when he noticed. He ducked down to suck at her nipple, and Musa arched her back to make it easier for him.

Her hands ran along his back, digging into him with her nails, until they found the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift movement. Her eyes drifted down to his perfectly sculpted abs as she ran her hand across them, feeling every groove and bump. She let her hands slide lower, giddiness and anticipation building with every second, until one was cupping and teasing his bulge and the other was fiddling with his pant button.

Musa could feel his eyes on her, and when she lifted her own to meet them, she found him watching her with a softness that made her feel like goo. “What?” she laughed, her voice coming out much breathier than she’d expected. Riven shook his head, pulling his eyes away from hers and whispering an almost inaudible nothing. When they’d first started doing this – whatever this was – Musa would get upset when he would do that. She thought he was hiding something from her. It had been two years since then, and she knew better now. Nothing didn’t mean nothing; it meant I’m happy or you’re perfect or, her favourite, I love you.

***

Riven pulled her onto the loveseat beside him and draped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, feeling it rise and fall in time with his chest and heavy breaths. Her finger trailed along his sweat-slicked chest, drawing figure eights. A smile was plastered on his face and his eyes were still glazed over from his orgasm. He was beautiful.

“I’ve been looking at Melody” he told her after a few minutes. She could feel his fingers ghosting over the angel wings tattooed on her back. He traced the wings every time they were together, and every time she wished they weren’t there. Those wings represented a stupid, made up barrier keeping her from him, and she’d grown to despise them.

“Oh?” Musa raised her eyebrow as she tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were focused on the dark office, but looked faraway from where they were. She loved his eyes. They were a deep shade of violet that swirled and danced every emotion he felt. He was her ticket into his soul and, now that she could figure them out, she never had to wonder if he truly loved her again. Until the day when those eyes wouldn’t look at her like she was the sun, she knew he was hers just as much, if not more, than she was his.

“You told me you’ve always wanted to see the realm your mom was from. And I looked into it, there is no Dragon charter out there. You’ll have to confirm about the Angels, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Musa sat upright, resting her palm flat against his chest. She searched his eyes for any hint of dishonesty or humour, but found none. “Really?” They’d talked about leaving Magix – getting away from the gang life and starting over somewhere – more times than she could count. Everywhere had been an idea: Solaria, Eraklyon, Andros, Melody, Zenith, Dalona, Oppositus. That’s all they’d ever been, though, ideas.

“Yeah. I don’t know what my future holds, but if it doesn’t include you – all of you, not just secret meetings in the middle of the night in some shitty abandoned factory – I don’t want it.” Riven dropped his head onto the back of the couch and let it flop sideways to look at her. His hand caressed her cheek with a tenderness that she knew he reserved for her. Her hand lowered from his chest to trace the dragon’s tail that coiled up his right leg, ending in a majestic magenta, blue and black dragon on his back. “I like Melody.”

“Good” he smiled. “I’ve looked at real estate and I have enough money saved up that we can get a nice place of our own. We couldn’t get anything big enough for a family in the city, but the suburbs are still really affordable.”

“The suburbs? Are we the suburban type?” she laughed. “I mean, I’ll have to learn to bake pies. And what the fuck does a PTA do?”

“Do you think we’ll have to get a minivan?” he added, laughing at the snort that escaped her lips.

“Of course. How else are we gonna get the kids to soccer practice?”

“Fine, but I refuse to wear beige or polos. And I still want at least one bike.”

“And I won’t wear dresses or curl my hair. Plus I demand that you keep at least one jacket. You look too hot in leather to give it up entirely.” Musa eyed the leather jackets crumpled on top of the desk. “Preferably one without a dragon on it.”

“We’re gonna scandalise the neighbours with our tattoos, leather jackets and motorcycles.”

“That’s fine. We’ll probably be the coolest parents in the neighbourhood.”

They fantasized about their life after escaping until Musa’s alarm went off at 4:15, breaking them out of the dream bubble they created and forcing them to return to their real lives. They got dressed as slowly as possible, dragging out the time until they’d have to be apart again. Then, the lovers walked hand in hand through the factory to the garage.

When they reached their vehicles, Riven pulled her into a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, reciprocating the tightness of his around her waist. After pulling away before the kiss became too heavy, Riven laid his forehead against hers. “One month” he whispered. She looked up at him through the messy fringe on her forehead. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was drawn tight. “That’s the goal. We leave in one month.”

“Wait, really?” Musa pulled her head away from his as she batted her eyelashes in confusion. She never thought he’d actually want to leave Magix. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, are you not?” Riven furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. She could feel his fists clenching on her back, and the doubt and hurt that sparked in his breathtaking eyes tore Musa to shreds, made her feel like she’d just stabbed the man she loved. “I’m in. I just never thought you would actually want to. I mean, the Dragons are your family.”

“And the Angels are yours, but we can make our own family. One free of drugs and turf wars.”

“Just pies, minivans and nosy, scandalised neighbours. Sounds perfect.”

“Anywhere that you are is perfect” he whispered, pulling her back in and placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing in each other's scent and memorising every feature so they wouldn’t forget them in the week until they could see each other again. Riven’s alarm went off, alerting them that it was 4:45 and they had to leave now. He pulled her into one last kissed, far sweeter than any they’d shared in their two years together. It was full of promise and hope, something they’d never had before.

“I love you Musa.” It was so rare to hear him say the words I love you that Musa cherished every single one. In their two years, he’d said it exactly twelve times. The first was a year ago when it had slipped out after they’d had sex. Not exactly romantic, but still very cute. “I love you too Riven.”

They shared one more quick peck before Musa watched him take a seat on his bike and ride away. She got in her car and let out an elated sigh and took off, already counting down the days. All she had to do now was sit tight and not let anything slip. It couldn’t be that hard; she’d already kept this secret for twenty-seven months. What was one more? She just had to make it through this one month without her excitement bubbling over and he would be all hers.

[the-coffee-story]

Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 17 - Professor Tally Winchester

Winchester Hall was a beautiful, dark Victorian mansion á lá Addams Family that rested proudly upon the tallest hill around. The windows, grey with age and dust were tall and skinny and a rusted iron gate, with weathered carvings now indistinguishable rested half swallowed by dirt and uncut blades of long dry grass. The whole thing blended rather well with the crawling forest behind it.

The team was waiting by the gate, curious and giddy with half-numbed nervousness.

"Well, now I'm definitely interested," Walther commented, peeking through the towering, rusted gate. "This looks like it's haunted by at least three ghosts who died a horrible death. They never found the heads."

October laughed.

"Seriously October, imagine the Addams Family's mansion, now scale it down a little."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can't wait for Morticia to pop out."

"Well, Morticia was definitely not on the phone," Violet noted.

Suddenly, the carved, dark-oak door that rested comfortably in the centre of the home's front opened, and a young man peeked out, adjusting his glasses as he took a moment to assess the situation. After a few moments passed, he noticed the team waiting by the gate, waved to wordlessly grab their attention, and quickly scuttled over.

Tally Winchester was a medium-heighted, slender and bald individual with large, wildly blue eyes behind thick glasses and a countless amount of scattered silver piercings dotted in and around his earlobe. Despite the fact that it was it had just dawned early spring, his skin was sunburnt and tanned, as if he spent most of his days somewhere lost outside. He walked with a noticable limp, and Walther didn't need to wait long for an explanation, when a prosthetic briefly appeared between his worn brown converse sneakers and faded jeans.

"Hi!" He flashed a toothy smiled at the group and opened the gate. "Great to see you, I'm Professor Tally Winchester!" He shook everyone's hands as they trickled past. The sleeves of his petrol flannel were rolled up, revealing a rather out-of-place, faded tattoo of a crawling lizard and a bunch of old scars. "You can call me Tally though."

Violet held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Violet, we talked on the phone."

"Great to meet you all!" He grinned. "Are you coming inside?"

***

"Before anyone asks, I inherited the house," Tally explained while leading them upstairs. "It's rotten and I hate it and the bills are a naked horror but I doubt I can find anything that has more capacities for a library." He opened a door. "Intrate, everyone."

"Remarkable," Doc commented.

Remarkable was indeed an understatemt. The room they'd entered was a library- with a beautiful brick fireplace and huge windows that let in the sparse afternoon sun, bookshelves brushed against the webbed ceiling and sunk into every wall. The floor was carpeted, through incredibly uncomfortable to walk on, and the furniture antique. One wall was plastered with photographs and notes.

"Nice," Walther mumbled, taking the second to once again soak in their surroundings.

Tally grinned, idly brushing aside pages and old notes compromised of incomprehensible scribbles and drawings. His teeth were somewhat crooked. "I didn't replace any of the furniture, but I did sell a chunk of the old books. There was just no space for mine." He closed the door behind them. "So anyway, you wanted to know about the cult?"

"There's been a bunch of murders in Forest Lane that were eerily similar to what it did, so yeah." Thasfield shrugged his broad shoulders. "We suspect the cult might be involved."

"Oh, I heard about that on the news!" Tally sorted the files on the table until he found what he was looking for. Then he looked up. His face was serious now. "At this point I'd like to admit I have a slightly selfish motivation in this."

"What is it?", Violet asked.

"You see..." Tally leaned against the table. "For context, I'm a history professor, but my focus is on cryptids and modern legends. Historical context, potential explanations, yada yada. A few years ago I stumbled across the legend of the Forest God."

Walther's face lit up. "Oh, I remember that story, my parents used to tell it to me when I was a kid! This one guy got lost in the woods, was found dead and after his funeral his reanimated corpse came home and his wife who loved him very, very much-" They side-eyed Violet and Coffee, who in turn glared back. "-couldn't accept that maybe it's not exactly normal that your husband's corpse is vibing around, then after a while he started killing people, then he killed her and then the neighbours buried him in an iron casket in the woods so he would stop randomly murdering people. Right?"

"You summed it up." Tally nodded.

"But who believes in that?!" Violet frowned. "I mean... it's just a legend, right? Somebody finally snapped, had a rough week or something, and people straight up believe his bullshit?"

"He came back from the dead and started murdering people, Violet," Doc commented.

She shrugged dismissively. "We've all been there."

"I don't want to meet you after a bad week," Tally remarked with mild discomfort, absentmindedly flipping through pages of notes and nonsense. "The existence of the man who allegedly became the Forest God is proven. His name was Eustace Wyndham and if you ask me he had rabies and some things were added for drama. But that's not even relevant, because the cult came almost a hundred years later." He slid around the table and opened another scattered file. "1969 they started to worship the Forest God. At first it was nothing special, you know, just the average college student nonsense." He held up an old photograph, subtle wonder in his eyes as he stared into it, before handing it to Walther. "Here, you can take a look at this! That's the entire cult. The guy in purple with the long hair is one of the founders. The other founder left in 1970 after getting a bad feeling about the whole thing. I caught him for an interview five years ago. Lovely guy, sadly died of cancer shortly after. It's a shame. You can pass the photo around! Notice how they're all wearing cow parsley wreaths. That was the flower associated with the Forest God and the flower scattered all over their murder victim's body, or rather what was left of it."

"All the victims had cow parsley in their mouth," Doc realized, dragging a hand up to rest in his soft ginger curls, staring blankly into the distance, thinking.

Tally nodded hastily. "Exactly! And now please look at what I found on my windowsill this morning!"

He limped over to the tallboy, half relying on the nearby furniture for support. Leaning down and throwing open a drawer, after a short while of sifting through papers and photographs, he took out something else. Then he held it up.

It was a wreath of cow parsley.

"That's....not good," Walther murmured after a long moment of stunned silence.

Tally nodded, twirling the flowers between his thumb and forefinger. "You get it. You know..." He leaned heavily against a dusty, worn table and heaved a small sigh. "When Wilhelm called me at first I was very sceptical of it all. I'm not a group project person, if you know what I mean. But this is just the tip of the ice berg and I have a feeling that I might be next, so I decided to work with you." He shrugged his shoulders.

While he'd been talking, Coffee had been furiously typing. He handed Tally his phone and Tally read it out loud.

" 'How about we use you as a bait?' Um... Can you...can you please explain what exactly you mean? That doesn't sound particularly safe-!"

He handed Coffee's phone back to him, paranoid he might accidentally drop it, and the detective started typing an answer, this time with significantly more determination.

Hear me out. So my idea was basically that tonight we let the killer come, but were going to be prepared. In other words, we gather a big group that's going to protect you, and we're going to arrest the murderer once he's here. What do you think?

Tally hesitated for a short moment and chewed his lip, opening his mouth to reply, then closing it again.. "I mean... I guess you have a point, sooner or later he's going to get me either way."

"I mean, let's be real, you can't run forever," Thasfield said, leaning forwards. "Even if you move, it's still going to take a while, and judging by what we know you're being pretty actively stalked, so it's quite possible he'll just follow you and then you'll be killed by a Forest God in a hotel room in Central Graytown. Which probably makes for an interesting plotline in a noir film, but we're talking real life here and I highly doubt you're so keen on landing in the morgue anytime soon. Although the Doctor is an expert at autopsies."

Doc smirked.

".........yeah," Tally admitted. He sat down on the table and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that sounds...icky but realistic." He closed his eyes took a deep breath. "Alright. Who's gonna be on this team?"

Doc's phone's rang loudly to shake up their newfound confidence, and he excused himself, stepping back into the dusty hallway to take the call.

"I mean, most of us for starters," Violet said. "But I was also thinking of grabbing Gary Fox and Wilhelm. Strength in number, you know?"

Doc eventually came back to the group. His weathered face was stricken with subtle anxiety. "Bad news."

"What is it?", Walther asked.

"Alice found her mailman by the stables."

Walther frowned. "Okay, and what's so special about that?"

"His left arm was by the stables. The rest of him was scattered across the field."

"Dear God, is he okay?"

"He's okay, but he's dead." Doc turned to Tally, lowering his voice just enough. "Can we settle on tonight?"

Tally nodded. His sunburnt face had notably paled, turning his skin a somewhat pasty yellow. "Sure. What time are y'all coming?"

"Is five o'clock alright with you?"

Tally shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 4: The Feminist Manifesto

AO3 Link

Words: 9337

-----

Julie POV

...

Julie sat by her father’s side in the large, round table in the royal office. Her father’s personal desk was at the back of the room, but given that there were quite a few people, they’d opted to pull out the council’s table. Admittedly, it was quite crowded; The table was surrounded by herself, her father, Reggie, Luke, Alex, Erik, Flynn, Carrie, Mira, and the seven council members, one from each county in Dahlia. All sixteen people were placed in even intervals, but Julie’s leg still brushed her father’s given the close proximity. 

Tension weighed heavily on their shoulders, the silence deafening. They’d been sitting, whispering in hushed tones for nearly an hour, and the sun was setting outside the long windows. Julie furrowed her brow, trying to think of possible solutions to their… situation, fiddling with the hem of her long, silky, midnight blue dress. Ray sighed. 

“This is a horrible situation.” Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the table. 

“Why did they even declare war in the first place?” asked Councilwoman Mei Lin, her dark hair shining in the warm light from the lanterns on the walls. 

“Territorial disputes,” Ray replied. “As you know, Dahlia was originally a territory of Krypto, before their revolution in 1843. We declared independence, stating that the land and seas of Dahlia were henceforth free from Kryptonian rule. However, a subsection of the Kryptonian Constitution that wasn’t remembered until the declaration of independence from the Acacian Territory a few years ago, states that ‘any and all declarations of independence must be approved by his majesty the King of Krypto, so to provide peaceful decisions of boundaries and leaderships.’ That article was instituted in 1809, predating the Dahlian revolution.

“Because of this, and the realization that, since the Dahlian revolution was not led solely by the Kryptonian king at that time, their current king, Caleb Covington, has declared that Dahlia has been impeding on Kryptonian sovereignty for over two centuries, and has declared that, should the kingdom of Dahlia not peacefully resign themselves to Krypto, they shall declare war and ‘reclaim their rightful land by force.’”

Julie had never seen her dad so stressed. Heartbroken, yes, but never this stressed. 

“That’s bullshit,” said Councilman Ryan. Julie recognized him as Nick’s father. “I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. Dahlia fought for its independence, and we deserve to keep our own peace. That was hundreds of years in the past.”

“I agree,” Julie said. “Time moves on. We’ve been peaceful allies with Krypto for over a century, and they’ve never said anything about this until now. Why the sudden change?”

“King Covington ascended about five years ago,” Ray began. “We knew he’d made the decision to expand their military, but at the time they were in shallow conflict with the Republic of Isala, so that was a logical move. It appears, however, that Covington has had other plans.” 

“Is there any way we can get them to stop?” asked Alex. “There’ll be civil unrest in Krypto, for sure, since we’ve always been allies. Could that be an advantage?”

“It could,” Ray agreed, “but Krypto has always had relatively unstable relations with its citizens. It was one of the reasons Dahlia declared independence in the first place.”

“Is it still that bad?” Luke piped up. “I mean, it was over two hundred years ago that we became our own nation. Surely things have changed.”

“In some ways, they have,” Councilman Trevor - Carrie’s father - interjected. “And that’s great. But it hasn’t all been good. Civil rights have hardly gotten better.”

“It sounds like Krypto is going to war with itself,” Erik noted. Julie was surprised he was there; but then again, Mira had been allowed to come. “If the people are that unhappy with how they’re being governed, a rebellion will strike.”

“I suspect that’s an underlying motive for declaring war on us in the first place,” said Councilwoman Noah - Flynn’s mother - tersely. “I mean, if there is a larger crisis in their country, civil unrest and disobedience could conceivably go down, since everyone would be focused on the war.”

“That… might be a reason, yeah,” Councilman Richard admitted. 

“So why don’t we call for a diplomacy meeting?” Julie suggested, raising her voice over the hushed murmurs from everyone at the table. “We could meet with Covington and talk things out.” 

“Good idea, Julie,” Ray agreed. “In the meantime, I’m going to have some coffee brought up. Oh, Councilwoman Mei Lin, you prefer tea, correct?”

Julie opened up her pad and scrolled through her sim files, searching through the foreign relations packet for territorial disputes. Her eyes glazed as ske skimmed the words, searching for mentions of constitutional technicalities or revolutions, barely noticing when everybody got up to get their coffee or tea. 

A tap on her shoulder made her jump, but her heart both calmed and fluttered when she noticed that it was Luke.

“Julie? Are you okay?” he asked, a furrow of concern in his eyebrows. She sighed.

“I’m not not okay, I just… This is so horrible. It’s stressing me out, and I can only imagine how stressed my dad must be, and I’m going to have a huge responsibility in all of this since I’m going to be queen soon, and-”

“Whoa,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders as he sat, turning his chair to face her. Julie was acutely aware of how warm his hands were on her skin, how he gently brushed the straps of her dress with his thumbs. She closed her eyes, hating how weak she felt. “Julie, I know you can do this. Yeah, it really sucks. If I could get you out of it, I would.” She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and finding nothing but utter sincerity. It made her heart flutter, the silk of her dress tingling on her back. 

“Thanks,” she said. “Want to get some coffee?” He nodded, a soft smile on his face that made Julie feel at ease, offering her his arm. She took it, leading him to where the coffee and tea had been set on a long table by the wall, giving a small smile to Alex as they passed him, who was quietly chatting with one of the bakers who’d brought up the coffee. 

She poured herself a steaming mug, stirring in a splash of milk. She glanced at Luke, finding the way he put a ton of sugar in it endearing. She quickly looked away, very aware of the fact that they weren’t alone; their friends, her father and brother, and all seven council members were also in the room. Granted, nobody was paying attention to them. They were talking idly amongst themselves, but the tension was palpable. 

As she and Luke walked wordlessly back to their seats - well, Julie’s seat, and Reggie’s seat that Luke was currently sitting in - they faced each other but didn’t speak. 

“Hey, Jules,” Alex said, walking up to them. “You alright?” Julie knew he knew the answer, given the sympathetic tilt of his head. 

“I’m okay,” she replied after a moment. “You?”

“Well, the anxiety isn’t a fan of it,” he quipped, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Same,” Reggie added, walking up behind Alex and putting an arm on his shoulder, his other hand holding a cup of coffee with so much milk it might not have even been coffee. “This is a major pain in the ass.” Julie nodded. That it was. 

Taking another sip of her coffee, she noticed Carrie walking to her.

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey.” Neither of them said anything else, but Carrie wrapped her arm around Julie’s shoulder. Flynn joined with a hand on the same shoulder.

“So,” she said. “Any plans forming in that brain of yours?”

“Well, we need to start with a diplomacy meeting. Meet with Covington and try to work things out peacefully.”

“I agree,” Mira added from behind Carrie. Alex nodded.

“A peaceful route would be best.” 

“You know,” Julie said, “When I become queen, I’m keeping all of you around. I want to have my friends with me.” She took a sip of her coffee, smiling into her mug when they all nodded. 

“Bold of you to assume we would leave,” Flynn told her. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m like the crazy glue of best friends.”

“That you are,” Julie agreed. “Which also means you are required to tell me if I got any coffee on my dress.” She twirled. Flynn gave her a once-over, flicking away a piece of dust on the strap, before shaking her head. 

“You’re good.”

“Okay,” Ray announced, some of the tension out of his voice. “Everyone back to your seats.” Everyone quickly took their places, the smell of coffee drifting around the table as everybody set down their mugs in front of them.

“Julie,” he continued, “what are your ideas?” She took a steadying breath. 

“Forget that,” Councilman Richard interrupted. “What we should be doing is rallying our forces.” People began speaking over each other, and soon it turned into a shouting match. Ray rubbed his temples, and soon, Julie had had enough.

“ENOUGH!” she shouted, hitting her fist on the table. “Like I mentioned earlier, we should start with a diplomacy meeting with Covington. Either we meet with him in Krypto or invite him here. Then, we try to work things out peacefully-”

Councilman Richard stifled a laugh, and Julie shot him a glare. 

“Is something funny, Councilman?” 

“Well, I just find it odd that we’re asking you for advice on political matters, when just a moment ago you were unable to control yourself, and before that, you were discussing fashion with your friends. I suppose it’s to be expected with a girl, though.” Julie raised an eyebrow, anger rising in her chest.

"You think I'm incompetent,” she observed. “Not because I'm young, but because I'm a woman. You see my dress and think that I'm weak. What would your mother think? Your wife? Your sister? I doubt they would appreciate that remark. So, Councilman, let me tell you something.

“We compare women to black widows and vipers, call ships ‘she,’ and name war machines after women, but you're going to tell me it's not lady-like to yell, to take up space and fight, to demand respect, and be a leader? I’ve been raised for this my entire life,” Julie said, “and you’ve been in politics for how long? Four years? I’ve been doing this for four and a half times as long as you, and I’m not even half your age. But you have the audacity to say that I’m not qualified, purely because I’m a woman. I can guarantee you that humanity wouldn’t have survived this far without women’s intelligence, bravery, and nerve, so don't try to downplay my power.”

“Go off!” Flynn shouted, making another bubble of confidence swell in her chest. 

“I have a feeling your sexism is deeply rooted in insecurity and fragile masculinity. But that’s no excuse. So, my advice if you can’t let go of that would be to stay out of my way. Otherwise, you can swallow your pride, stop whining, and woman up.” 

Julie sat, taking a sip of her coffee and smoothing out her dress. Everyone was stunned silent, but a swell of confidence took place in her heart when she saw her father beaming with pride, along with all of her friends. Reggie nodded approvingly. Even Councilwoman Mei Lin, who was always a stickler for rules, was grinning. 

Councilman Richard, however, was pale as a sheet, lines of anger creasing his face. Julie raised an eyebrow, not smiling. 

“Well, I think that’s the end of that,” Councilwoman Noah said proudly. “Thank you, your highness.” Julie nodded to her, grinning when she saw Flynn giving her an excited thumbs up. And when she caught Luke’s eye, there was no way to miss the awe in his stare. His mouth was slightly open in shock, his cheeks red with a blush. Julie gave him a smile that he returned before looking away. 

“That settles it, then,” Ray said. “We’ll call for a diplomacy meeting with Covington, try to come to an agreement. In the meantime, though, everyone get some sleep. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow evening.” Julie kissed her dad on the cheek.

“Love you, Papá.”

“Love you too, sweetie. Would you like to have dinner sent to your room?”

“Yes please,” she agreed, turning to her friends - including Luke, Alex, Erik, and Reggie. “Do you guys all want to have dinner in my room?” They all nodded.

“Yeah, that would be fun,” Alex said. Ray clapped.

“Okay! I’ll have them send it all up to your room, mija. I’m going to head to bed. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Will do. Sleep well.”

“You too. All of you. But feel free to hang out tonight,” he added. “I’m giving you the day off from lessons tomorrow. It’s a weekend, so there wouldn’t be many, but I think you all need a free day. Well, until tomorrow evening, when we have to go through this hell again.” Julie grinned, and felt Mira clap her shoulder.

“Thanks, Papá!” He nodded.

“Of course.”

-----

Alex POV

… 

War. 

The word echoed throughout his head as Ray made the announcement, and suddenly the cushy chair at his place at the table in the royal office was like ice behind his back. He stiffened, hating the way the sound of the word twisted in his mind. His stomach dropped, and if it weren’t for Erik grabbing his hand to anchor him, he might’ve vomited all over the table, which would not have been good, given that he was there with fifteen other people, including all seven council members, and the king of Dahlia. 

He fought the rising panic attack, only because of the even higher anxiety of having a panic attack in front of so many important people. He choked down the rushing anxiety, closing his eyes and taking a breath. 

Inhale- 1, 2, 3, 4

Hold- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Exhale- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

It helped more than he expected it to, and he was able to focus as Ray gave the rundown. 

Apparently, the new king of Krypto was what was scientifically known as a giant prick, and had a certain affinity for claiming territorial disputes with his allies. He also held a grudge, and given that the grudge had been diminished over two hundred years ago, Alex wasn’t keen on meeting the guy, unless it included smacking him upside the head. Particularly with a very smelly, very slimy fish. 

He’d asked if there was any way they could use the civil unrest in Krypto as an advantage to avoid the war, because it would just be more strife, but Councilwoman Noah had pointed out that that might’ve been one of the reasons Covington had declared war in the first place: to distract the citizens from their own issues.

Alex silently cursed Covington for being such an insufferable bitch. 

When Ray called for a break, he let out a breath of relief to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, so he opted for a glass of water, but when he saw who was bringing it up, he froze.

There, in front of him, putting the coffee pots and tea bags along the table, was Willie, his hair tied up in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. Alex felt his cheeks heat up; Willie looked really good with his hair up. He quickly looked away, not even thinking as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip, scalding his tongue with the bitter drink, putting a splash of milk and some sugar in it to make it more tolerable.

He couldn’t stand this, though, so he turned.

“Hey, Willie!” Willie’s head snapped up, searching the room until he found him. His face broke out into a grin.

“Hey, Alex!” Alex walked to the corner of the room where Willie was, blushing at how he casually leaned against the wall. “Is everything okay? They hardly ever have meetings like this.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m allowed to say,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t worry, man! You’re all good,” Willie assured him. “I know some things have to stay classified.” Alex nodded gratefully, trying to take another sip of his coffee and grimacing. Willie giggled.

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Not at all,” he confessed with an embarrassed laugh. Willie gave his perfect smile, brown eyes crinkling. “The only time I can tolerate it is iced, and even then I’m not a fan. I’m, like… shit, what’s the opposite of a fan?”

“A heat lamp?” Willie suggested.

“Yes. That.” Willie laughed again, and more butterflies rose in Alex’s stomach. He smiled, though.

“How has the rest of your day been?”

“Pretty good,” Willie replied. “I got to bake mini cupcakes, which was a lot of fun. Although, decorating them is much more difficult.” Alex could definitely see that; although, imagining Willie precisely decorating dozens of tiny pastries put a grin on his face. 

“What flavor are they?” he asked, still grinning like an idiot for some reason.

“Chocolate! They’re really nice and velvety, and the frosting is vanilla and raspberry. And there are these little dustings of raspberry sugar on top, and a mini hazelnut stick in the frosting. I think they look pretty cool, if I do say so myself.” Willie pulled out his phone, swiping to a picture, and he was right. Each one was precisely made, right down to the swirl of frosting.

“Dude, those are awesome,” Alex told him. “I never would’ve been able to get the frosting that even.” Willie giggled, sending another wave of adoration over Alex.

“It takes a lot of practice,” Willie admitted. “But on the plus side, any ones that you mess up go on the reject shelf in the refrigerator, and at the end of the day, we get to eat them. I’ve been known to frequently mess up the key lime tarts. Completely on accident, of course,” he added with mock seriousness. Alex giggled, unsure why the fact that Willie liked key lime tarts was so adorable. 

Alex felt Reggie’s eyes on him, but ignored him, as well as the blush on his cheeks. 

Willie inhaled to say something, but then sighed. “I should probably go,” he whispered. “You’ll be getting back to work soon.” Alex looked away, hoping he didn’t look as crestfallen as he felt. 

“Yeah, probably. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness.” Willie smiled with the nickname, but his signature smile didn’t reach his eyes. He hesitated, finally walking away. 

Alex wanted desperately to call him back.

He didn’t. 

…

There was a hollow ache in his chest for the rest of the night, until he got to witness his badass of a friend drag the shit out of a sexist councilman. Then, he was grinning from ear to ear, because he had more than an ounce of logic in his brain, and was capable of respecting women. How could he not? 

He didn’t say anything, letting Julie stand in all her glory as that sniveling excuse for a councilman was shell-shocked and shut up. 

They settled on a diplomacy meeting with Covington, and would reconvene tomorrow evening. Until then, Ray had given them the day off, as well as that night to hang out in Julie’s room. 

Following Julie up the stairs, Alex trailed his hands against the polished wood railing. His emotions were a mess of stress, anger, love, confusion, and fear. His feelings for Willie fought with his nervousness of quite literally committing treason, and the sense of impending doom from Covington’s declaration of war was weighing him down like a dumbbell on his back. 

Before he knew it, they were all in Julie’s room. All eight of them: Him, Julie, Luke, Reggie, Erik, Mira, Flynn, and Carrie. 

“Should I turn on a movie?” Julie asked? “Or do you guys just want to hang out?”

“I doubt I’ll be able to pay attention to a movie,” Mira admitted. 

“Same here,” added Erik. Luke and Carrie nodded. 

“Neither would I. So, group therapy it is,” Flynn said, flipping her braids. “Shit’s crazy.” Alex snorted.

“Understatement of the century.” He took off his suit vest, draping it over a chair and plopping down on the end of Julie’s bed. Luke did the same, rolling his sleeves. Reggie and Erik had long abandoned theirs’, and were sitting on the floor, staring into space. Alex watched as Julie kicked off her shoes, curling up against her bed on the floor next to Luke’s legs. Flynn was sitting on the armchair where he’d put his vest, Carrie curled up in her lap. Mira sat with her head near Julie, who was weaving her long, red hair into braids. 

A knock on the door snapped them all out of their daze.

“Come in,” Julie called. A butler walked in, pushing a cart with plates of Hawaiian chicken and rolls, as well as cutlery and glasses of water. Alex smiled. It smelled amazing. 

“Here you go, your highness,” he said to Julie.

“Thank you so much,” she replied. Everyone got up, and Alex took a plate, giving a smile to the butler as he sat back down, on the floor this time, to be safe from possibly getting any on Julie’s bed. He set the plate on his lap, taking a bite of the sweet chicken, immediately tasting the pineapple. It was so warm and tasted like home, despite never living in the tropics. A smile spread on his face as he took a bite of the soft roll. 

Luke sank down next to him, followed by Julie and Mira. Flynn, Carrie, Reggie, and Erik all sat around them. Idle chatter spread around the group, talking about random nothings; Alex felt a sense of peace wash over him, which was odd given the situation. But he relished it. 

“What should we do tomorrow?” he asked. “Ray gave us the day off, so we should do something.”

“What if we went down to the city?” Julie suggested. 

“I’m pretty sure we’d draw a lot of attention,” Erik pointed out, “since you’re, you know, royalty?”

“We could make a game out of it!” Carrie set down her fork. “We put on regular civilian clothes and act as inconspicuous as possible, go to the mall, then see who people recognize first.”

“That could be fun,” Luke agreed. “Alex? Reg?” 

“I have been wanting to go down to the mall,” Reggie said. 

“So long as Covington doesn’t randomly appear to attack us,” Alex said dryly. Flynn laughed. 

“I think it sounds fun,” she said. “And we deserve a break to just be regular teenagers. 

“Amen to that,” Julie sighed. “The mall it is.” 

…

Soon, the only light in the room was from the moon, and at some point, they’d pulled a bunch of blankets and pillows to the floor. Alex was curled up next to Luke, his head on a squishy pillow. Luke’s arm was around Julie, which Alex was not going to interrupt. It was too cute. Reggie’s head was in Alex’s lap, and was curled around Erik, whose legs were tangled with Mira’s. Flynn and Carrie were cuddling, leaning against Julie’s side. There was warmth all around him, from the blankets, pillows, and people. 

Occasional whispers echoed through the dark, followed by giggles, like they were little kids at a sleepover. A wave of peace washed over Alex, slow and calming. He only wished Willie were there. He knew he couldn’t be; Willie was a baker, and probably wouldn’t be allowed. He had to be up early to work. Alex wished he didn’t, wished Willie could be at peace with them in this cuddle pile. 

“I like this,” whispered Erik. 

“Me too,” he agreed.

And it wasn’t a lie. 

Worries pounded in Alex’s head, but they were washed away by the rushing river of love he felt for his friends, even the ones he was still getting to know. He loved all of them. Julie, with her independent, kind personality, the way her eyes sparkled when she got excited. Luke, his dork of a best friend, who was absolutely gone for Julie, and was passionate about everything he loved. Reggie, who was a human cinnamon roll with an affinity for pizza, and one of the sweetest people to ever walk the Earth. Erik, who he’d known for a few months, who was quiet and loyal, but loving and bubbly. Mira, who was spunky and blunt, but kind and badass in every way. Flynn, who had a bold style and mannerism, right down to the flip of her braids, and Carrie, who was dramatic and excitable, musical and sweet like a strawberry in the Summer. 

Willie, who wasn’t with them, who he dearly wished was. Willie, with every flip of his long hair, the crinkle of his brown eyes when he laughed, his carefree nature that always surprised Alex. Willie, who he was hopelessly in love with. 

Alex knew that things were spiraling with the Krypto situation. But for once he didn’t care and, surrounded by the soft breathing of his friends, drifted into a dreamless sleep for the first time in years.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke hated this. 

He knew that moving to the Dahlian palace with Alex would involve more meetings, but he never thought there would be one this soon, or this nerve-racking. 

It wasn’t every day that a country declared war on one of their allies. 

He didn’t speak much during the meeting, but offered occasional ideas and questions. However, it seemed to be unanimously agreed upon that this Covington guy was a major dick. Luke had a very strong desire to find this guy and punch him for how much stress he was putting on Ray. 

And Julie.

She had a small crease between her eyebrows, and Luke would’ve called it adorable if it weren’t for the worry it represented. Her fingers tapped nervously on the desk and fiddled with the hem of her long, blue dress as she thought. And Luke had to look away when she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She was so beautiful but so distressed, and she didn’t deserve it. 

When everyone got up to get their coffee, Luke did as well, but before he even got halfway to the table with the many pots of coffee and tea, he noticed Julie, still sitting at her space, now scrolling worriedly through her sim files. 

He gently tapped her shoulder. 

“Julie? Are you okay?” 

“I’m not not okay, I just…” she trailed off. “This is so horrible. It’s stressing me out, and I can only imagine how stressed my dad must be, and I’m going to have a huge responsibility in all of this since I’m going to be queen soon, and-”

“Whoa,” he said, cutting her off before she stressed herself out even more. He took a risk, placing his hands on her shoulders as he sat, turning his chair to face her. Her shoulders were cold, from the air or stress, he wasn’t sure. She closed her eyes tiredly. Luke swallowed, trying to find the right words to say. 

“Julie, I know you can do this,” he said, surprised by how much he meant the words. “Yeah, it really sucks. If I could get you out of it, I would.” It wasn’t a lie, either.  

“Thanks,” she said. “Want to get some coffee?” He nodded and smiled, offering her his arm. When she took it, he walked her over to the long table.

Luke always had a habit of putting a ton of sugar in his coffee. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he hated how bitter it was black, and preferred the taste with sugar to milk. He noticed Julie watching him and blushed, hoping he wasn’t being judged. But she had a smile on her face, almost like she found it cute. Luke blushed even more, looking back to his coffee. 

He took a sip, smiling at the sweet taste and walking wordlessly back to the table with Julie. He sat in the same chair as before, which he remembered was technically Reggie’s, but it was right next to Julie’s, and he wanted to be next to her. Luke turned the chair closer to her. Neither of them spoke, but Julie’s eyes seemed to say thousands of words. He only wished he could decipher them. 

The rest of the meeting didn’t necessarily go smoothly, but Luke got to see a side to Julie he’d never seen before. He got a glimpse of the angry, passionate, fierce side, one that she channeled in self-defense but never fully showed. 

Until now. 

When Councilman Richard (who would henceforth be known as Councilman Dick) made a sexist remark about Julie being a woman, Luke’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to say something, but as he inhaled, Julie beat him to the punch.

"You think I'm incompetent,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but an observation. “Not because I'm young,” Julie continued, “but because I'm a woman. You see my dress and think that I'm weak. What would your mother think? Your wife? Your sister? I doubt they would appreciate that remark. So, Councilman, let me tell you something.

“We compare women to black widows and vipers, call ships ‘she,’ and name war machines after women, but you're going to tell me it's not lady-like to yell, to take up space and fight, to demand respect, and be a leader? I’ve been raised for this my entire life,” Julie pointed out, “and you’ve been in politics for how long? Four years? I’ve been doing this for four and a half times as long as you, and I’m not even half your age. But you have the audacity to say that I’m not qualified, purely because I’m a woman. I can guarantee you that humanity wouldn’t have survived this far without women’s intelligence, bravery, and nerve, so don't try to downplay my power.”

Flynn shouted, “go off!” and Luke nodded, an amazed grin on his face. Julie’s lips curved into a confident smile, but there was anger behind it. 

“I have a feeling your sexism is deeply rooted in insecurity and fragile masculinity. But that’s no excuse. So, my advice if you can’t let go of that would be to stay out of my way. Otherwise, you can swallow your pride, stop whining, and woman up.” 

As Julie sat, taking a sip of her coffee and smoothing out her dress, Luke was sure his face was on fire. 

Damn. 

Every single word that Julie had said was improvised, and yet it held such a weight, every single sentence carefully crafted in that genius brain of hers. Luke had no doubt that her words could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas, or halt hurricanes in their path. Julie was powerful. Even without this speech he never doubted it, but it was just confirmed. She knew it, too; the line, “I can guarantee you that humanity wouldn’t have survived this far without women’s intelligence, bravery, and nerve, so don't try to downplay my power,” came to mind. 

Everyone in the room was silent, save for Luke’s pounding heart. Councilman Dick looked like he was about to stroke out. But Ray had a huge smile on his face, one that Luke was sure he himself was mirroring. He noticed the other council members, especially Councilwoman Noah and Councilwoman Mei Lin, nodding approvingly. 

… 

They’d all decided to hang out with Julie in her room, and it really said something about the size of her bedroom that all eight of them - Julie, Luke, Alex, Reggie, Erik, Carrie, Flynn, and Mira - all fit easily. He wasn’t surprised; she was royalty, after all, but it felt like home. These seven people who he loved, all in the same room. 

They ate their dinner together, made plans to go down to the mall the next day, and chatted idly, catching up like any other teenagers. Luke knew none of them were actually “normal” teenagers, given their royal or almost-royal statuses, but at the end of the day, they were still themselves. They were all weird, funny, social teenagers who watched Netflix and ate too much junk food and got crushes, people who wanted to have semi-normal lives despite everything. And even on the brink of a war, Luke felt like they were achieving it. 

At some point during the evening, they’d pulled a ton of blankets and pillows from Julie’s bed and closet and all curled up in a giant cuddle pile. Luke’s back was pressed against Alex’s, his arm wrapped around Julie’s shoulders and hugging her close, her head resting on his chest. He dearly hoped she couldn’t hear his racing heart, but he also just didn’t care. He was with the people he loved (and cuddling with his crush) in comfortable, peaceful silence. 

Luke tried to sleep, he really did. But he just couldn’t. Despite the exhaustion and his unwillingness to move (which might’ve been in part from the comfort of the soft, pillowed floor and Julie in his arms), he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. But as he was surrounded by the slow, even breaths of his friends, he knew they were all asleep. 

All except for Julie, whose eyes reflected the moonlight. 

“Jules?” he whispered. Her eyes flicked up to his. “Are you alright?” 

“Can’t sleep,” she breathed. “You?”

“Me neither.”

“Are you uncomfortable? I can get more pillows, or-”

“No, no,” he assured her, a blush on his face that was thankfully masked by the darkness. “I’m okay, I promise. Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she admitted, leaning her head back on his chest. He felt his heart rate pick up and took a steadying breath, gently running his fingers through her curly hair, which she’d taken out of its braided ponytail. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled closer, and Luke felt every inch of her on his chest, warm like the sunlight of Summer, but in the middle of the night with the cold beauty of the stars. 

“Are you scared?” she asked quietly. Yes, he wanted to say. I’m terrified of what might happen if the diplomacy meeting doesn’t go well. Scared that I’ll lose you, or someone else I love. 

“Yes,” he finally breathed, his heart flipping with the confession. “I’m scared of what will happen if the diplomacy meeting doesn’t go well. And I’m terrified I’ll lose someone. What if I lose Alex or Reggie? They’re my friends, and… you.” He didn’t want to call Julie his friend, even though that’s what they were. But he was worried she’d misunderstand it and be offended, so he added, “I don’t want to lose you.” The words were barely audible, a wisp of a breath in the wind, and he didn’t even think Julie had heard him, until she nodded.

“I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Luke wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the words, because soon, Julie was asleep. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and soon he couldn’t keep himself from drifting off, lulled to sleep by her slow, even breathing.

-----

Reggie POV

...

Reggie hated this feeling. He hated the way his anxiety built up in his chest, the way he couldn't fight it like he usually could, because he was quite literally surrounded by it. 

These meetings were always his least favorite parts of the month. Every month on the tenth, he, Julie, Ray, and the council members would have a meeting in the royal office to discuss current Dahlian affairs; politics, economics, foreign relations, environmental issues, etc. He was always able to get through them, though. 

But this? This was another matter entirely. Reggie had never been through a war. He was only nineteen. He’d hoped he’d never have to, either; but apparently, that was too much to ask for. Because now, now he was sitting in a room with fifteen others, all crowded around the same table. The presence of Julie by his side helped, though, as did Alex’s on his right, and Luke just past him. Even the occasional glances from Erik, Mira, Flynn, and Carrie helped. 

But that didn’t change the growing weight on his shoulders. 

Reggie clenched his hands into fists and let go, repeating the action. He tapped his fingers in patterns on his legs under the table, remembering the patterns Julie had shown him when he tried to learn the piano. It was just a few chords and melodies for Wake Up, but it soothed him. 

He didn’t speak much during the meeting, but he nearly lost his temper when Councilman Richard started saying sexist things. Reggie was always a very peaceful person, but he wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands with anyone who insulted his sister. Not that she needed the help, he had no doubt he could kick the councilman’s ass with one hand tied behind her back. 

And she did, but with words. After completely shutting him up, Reggie’s chest swelled with pride. That was his sister. He felt lucky to be part of the same family as her. Not only did she have the voice of an angel and the talent of a star, but she was a complete badass, with both words and self-defense. 

Admittedly, he had flinched when Julie shouted. His parents always fought and shouted at him, too. Every time someone raised their voice, he still had flashbacks to those days when he was still little, before he’d ran away and been taken in by Ray and Rose. 

It wasn’t as bad anymore, though, and he knew Julie would never do anything to hurt him. Plus, he got to hear her incredible speech against Councilman Richard (who he would only be referring to as ‘Councilman Dick’ from now on). 

“We compare women to black widows and vipers,” she’d said, “call ships ‘she,’ and name war machines after women, but you're going to tell me it's not lady-like to yell, to take up space and fight, to demand respect, and be a leader? I’ve been raised for this my entire life,” Julie reminded him. Reggie’s face was nothing but a grin, because that was his sister, that woman who really had been raised to be royal, the woman before him who was dragging the shit out of a sexist councilman, that woman was his sister, and he loved her more than anything under the sun. He wished Carlos was in the room for it. Even though he was only twelve, he would be just as proud as Reggie. 

Respecting women was a given in the Molina family. It should’ve just been common sense, and for most people in Dahlia, it was. But occasionally, some asswipe like Councilman Dick would appear. Of course, his sexist antics didn’t last long. He didn’t say a single word for the rest of the meeting after Julie’s outburst.

Soon, coffee had been brought up. Reggie liked coffee, contrary to popular belief. He had a habit, however, of adding a ton of milk to it. He still loved it, though. 

As he stirred his drink, he noticed Alex talking to the baker who’d brought up the coffee, a baker who he immediately knew was Willie, also known as the guy Alex was completely gone for. He smirked as he caught Alex’s eye, giving a not-so-subtle thumbs up. 

He leaned against the wall and sipped his coffee, hating how stressed Julie looked. He was going to comfort her, when he noticed Luke sitting in Reggie’s own chair, leaning forward and putting his hands on Julie’s shoulders. Reggie was more observant than people gave him credit for, so he noticed how Julie eased at his touch. 

He smiled and leaned back, letting the treasonous magic happen. 

Soon, Alex had wandered over to Julie and Luke, so Reggie followed.

“Hey, Jules,” Alex said, walking up to them. “You alright?” 

“I’m okay,” she replied. “You?”

“Well, the anxiety isn’t a fan of it”. 

“Same,” Reggie added, walking up behind Alex and putting an arm on his shoulder, his other hand holding his coffee. “This is a major pain in the ass.” 

Well, given that it was a war, it was more than just that. But, ever the optimist, Reggie hoped for the best. 

…

Hanging out with Julie and their friends just felt right. 

He’d long abandoned his suit vest, sinking down against the wall and staring into space, Erik beside him. Alex and Luke sat on the edge of Julie’s bed, Julie and Mira on the floor near them, Carrie on Flynn’s lap on one of the cushy chairs.

Reggie didn’t have much of an appetite, so he only ate a few bites of his dinner when it was brought up. The food was good, of course. It always was. He just had too much on his mind.

If their country actually went to war, what would happen? How many people would lose their lives? How many children? Would they ever recover, or would it turn into a global event that altered the course of history forever? Would Reggie himself be able to keep the people he loved safe? What if he lost Ray, Julie, or Carlos? Luke or Alex? 

He tore those thoughts from his head. He knew he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight anyway, but that certainly didn’t need to be tied with thoughts and fears about a war that he couldn’t do anything about at present. So, he did what he did best: thought about pizza. 

He was midway through his thoughts on what kind of pizza he wanted most at the moment when Alex brought up the fact that Ray had given them the next day off. Julie suggested going to the city.

“I’m pretty sure we’d draw a lot of attention,” Erik pointed out, “since you’re, you know, royalty?” Reggie grinned. He wasn’t wrong, but it could be fun. 

“We could make a game out of it!” Carrie set down her fork. “We put on regular civilian clothes and act as inconspicuous as possible, go to the mall, then see who people recognize first.”

“That could be fun,” Luke agreed. “Alex? Reg?” 

“I have been wanting to go down to the mall,” Reggie agreed. And he never got the chance to just be a normal teenager.  

“So long as Covington doesn’t randomly appear to attack us,” Alex said. He snorted. It had been a few years since he’d met Covington, but Reggie wouldn’t put it past him. He just had those vibes. 

…

At some point, their group had turned into a cuddle pile. Reggie couldn't sleep because of his thoughts rushing a million miles an hour, but he was comfortable. He felt safe and loved, his head in Alex’s lap, whose hand was in his hair. He was curled around Erik, who was small but radiated warmth, and his soft breathing was a gentle anchor that brought Reggie back to reality. It might’ve been tense at the moment, but it was also a reality where he was with his family.

Of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised that he wasn't the only one awake. Julie was always a night owl. 

He heard Luke’s voice whisper to her. He must've thought that he and Julie were the only ones awake. Reggie tried not to eavesdrop, he really did. But there was nothing else to listen to. To be fair, though, he only caught bits and pieces of their hushed conversation. Luke asking Julie if she was okay. Julie mumbling that she couldn’t sleep. Luke’s quiet confession that he didn’t want to lose her if the diplomacy meeting went south. 

Reggie kept his eyes shut, letting the words replay in his brain. Luke had separated Julie from “friends,” he realized. And Julie hadn’t debated. Pair that with his whispered “I don’t want to lose you,” and they were heartbreakingly beautiful words, aching with longing and fear. He hated what they were going through, hiding their feelings, even from one another, and now having to fear for their country on the brink of a war. Reggie wished he could snap his fingers and fix everything. 

----- 

Willie POV

...

Willie practically danced back to the kitchens. After Alex had eventually left, leaving Willie with his own emotions, he’d had a huge grin on his face for an hour afterwards. He skated around the park a few more times, doing kickflips and jumping the benches, speeding around the roundabouts, never falling once. 

He’d gone on a semi-date with Alex. It wasn’t technically a date, but it felt like one. Willie still felt the ghost of Alex’s hand in his, the pressure of him falling on his chest as Willie caught him, faces inches away, neither of them pulling apart. He remembered the patterns of the freckles on his nose, reminding him of the constellations he’d stared at so many times. He remembered the smell of roses, too. He wasn’t sure why, but he loved it. 

As he walked through the door, the smell of pineapples enveloped him. The slow cookers were almost done, and he caught Lilian’s eye. 

“Someone’s happy,” she observed with a sly smile. “Good break?”

“You could say that,” he agreed, humming to himself. 

“Uh huh,” she said. “What’s his name?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lilian quirked an eyebrow, her smirk still smug as ever on her thin lips, but Willie ignored her. 

“We need a few dozen mini cupcakes for tonight’s dessert, lover boy,” she called as he walked away. “Work your magic.”

“Roger that.”

The shadow of a grin was on his face for the rest of the hour as he gathered the ingredients, whisking the flour, sugar, salt, cocoa powder, and baking soda. He also added a pinch of cinnamon, to add a little bit of depth. Whisking the eggs, his mind wandered to how it had felt to hold Alex. He could still feel his arms on his shoulders as he poured in the milk and melted butter, being careful not to scramble the eggs. As he mixed the wet ingredients with the dry ingredients, he wondered if Alex felt the same way about Willie as he did him. It wasn’t impossible, he supposed. Alex definitely had a queer vibe to him. But even on the off chance that he did, there was no way he would act on it. It would quite literally get both of them exiled. 

It was a nice thought, though. 

…

“Hey, Willie?” Lilian tapped his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, but could you be on coffee duty for the royal office? They’re having a meeting about something important and it might go late. You won’t have to be up there late, though,” she added, “you just need to bring up some coffee and tea.”

“Yeah, sure thing! Which tea should I grab?”

“I believe he said jasmine, but grab some oolong to be safe.” 

…

Willie knocked on the door, smiling when King Ray let him in. He began arranging the coffee pots at even intervals along the long table on the wall, as well as small pots of sugar, a kettle with hot water, tea bags, milk, and spoons. 

As he looked over his shoulder, his heart flipped when he saw Alex sitting at the round table. He quickly looked away despite his urge to say something; Lilian had said it was an important meeting, and she must’ve meant it, too. Alex, Princess Julie, King Ray, Prince Reggie, their acquaintances, and all seven council members were in attendance. 

He finished setting up the coffee, giving a cordial bow to King Ray as he got his, then lingering by the wall, clinging to a bit of hope that he could say hello to Alex.

His hope must’ve worked, though, because as he was turning to rearrange the sugars, he heard Alex’s familiar voice, and it sent butterflies whirling through his stomach. 

“Hey, Willie!” Willie grinned, searching for Alex until he saw a familiar sweep of blonde hair. 

“Hey, Alex! Is everything okay? They hardly ever have meetings like this.” He leaned against the wall as he spoke.

“I… I don’t know if I’m allowed to say,” Alex told him. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t worry, man! You’re all good. I know some things have to stay classified.” He smiled when Alex nodded and took a sip of his coffee, and it morphed into a giggle when he grimaced.

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Not at all,” he confessed with an embarrassed laugh. Willie grinned. Alex was adorable. He must’ve gotten a cup of coffee to look more mature around the others. Understandable, too; the king and council members certainly made for a formidable group. “The only time I can tolerate it is iced, and even then I’m not a fan. I’m, like… shit, what’s the opposite of a fan?”

“A heat lamp?” Willie suggested.

“Yes. That.” Willie laughed, ignoring the blush that he knew was rising on his face. 

“How has the rest of your day been?” Alex asked, and Willie grinned, irrationally happy that Alex wanted to know about his day.

“Pretty good! I got to bake mini cupcakes, which was a lot of fun. Although, decorating them is much more difficult.” He remembered just how many times he’d tried angling the hazelnut sticks so they were perfect.

“What flavor are they?” 

“Chocolate!” Willie couldn’t help the grin on his face. “They’re really nice and velvety, and the frosting is vanilla and raspberry. And there are these little dustings of raspberry sugar on top, and a mini hazelnut stick in the frosting. I think they look pretty cool, if I do say so myself.” He was so excited and proud of himself that he didn’t think twice about pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping to a picture of the tiny treats.

“Dude, those are awesome,” Alex told him. “I never would’ve been able to get the frosting that even.” Willie giggled, hoping he wasn’t as red as he felt. It felt like a huge compliment.

“It takes a lot of practice,” he admitted. “But on the plus side, any ones that you mess up go on the reject shelf in the refrigerator, and at the end of the day, we get to eat them. I’ve been known to frequently mess up the key lime tarts. Completely on accident, of course,” he added with mock seriousness. Willie had always been a fan of key lime. He wasn’t sure why, either; it was never something he ate much growing up, and yet he couldn’t help but love it.

Willie inhaled to say something, but then sighed. The council members were rounding up again, and he had probably overstayed his welcome. “I should probably go,” he whispered. “You’ll be getting back to work soon.” Alex looked away. 

“Yeah, probably. Sorry.” Willie’s gut wrenched. It felt selfish, but he’d hoped Alex would try a little harder.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness.” He gave half a smile with the nickname, spinning on his heel as he walked out the door, not letting his facade break until he was all the way down the hall. 

He had the rest of the night off. He probably should’ve gone to bed, because he had to be up early to work the breakfast shift tomorrow, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He changed out of his uniform, pulling on a soft knit sweater that was too big, with sleeves that dangled around his hands. He didn’t bother brushing his hair after taking it out of its bun, running from his quarters out the back door, letting the cold embrace of the night envelop him. The air chilled his lungs as he slowed down, breathing heavily. Each breath hurt, like a needle stabbing into his chest, one that wouldn’t do any damage but still hurt like fire. 

He walked the rest of the way to his secluded park, not bothering to grab his skateboard from its hiding place underneath one of the bushes, opting to walk out into the middle of the neatly mowed field, sitting with his arms on his elbows as he stared at the grass in front of him. Each blade was so still, so peaceful, and the sweet scent of the flowers behind him taunted him, a constant reminder of the one person he knew he needed to get over, him and his roselike blush, his eyes that shifted from icy blue to spring green to steely grey, but were always just as warm. 

Willie knew he never had a chance. He wasn’t sure why he was so emotional all of a sudden; he’d always known it, but the reality of it was only just hitting, after seeing Alex as a prince, in a room with other royalty and nobility, he knew there was nothing to be done. He knew he’d have to force himself out of the valley he’d fallen into, climb out inch by inch, all the while being reminded of the one person he needed to forget. 

Before he knew it, he was crying. It started as small, quiet, traitorous tears that he wished he could hold back, leaving frigid streaks across his face. But soon they’d evolved into silent sobs that were as strong and emotional as a raging river, but silent as the dead of the night. He’d always been a quiet crier, but right now, it made him feel useless. Forgettable. He felt insignificant. He supposed he should get used to it. He was just a baker, one of dozens in the palace, who had the unfortunate luck of falling for a prince he’d never had a chance with. 

The sobs made his whole body shake with a passion that he couldn’t ignore. He trembled, clenching his hands into fists and biting his lip, hating how powerless he felt.

Every breath hurt, like someone had planted flowers in his lungs, flowers that should’ve been beautiful, but suffocated him instead. They were a cruel gift of painful love, these flowers; a symbol of hope that did nothing but kill. They encroached on every breath, growing and twisting and biting, stealing his air until there was no room in his lungs for anything but pain, nothing but pain and those wretched flowers. 

But really, what difference was there?

As his sobs slowed back to faint tears that left his eyes irritated, salty, and red, Willie laid down on the cold grass. Even in the late Summer, Dahlia was cold at night. Soon, frost would bloom in the shadows, crystals of ice would fall from the sky, and the flowers would freeze over, only to be reborn in the Spring. 

Willie stared at the sky, fading to midnight blue as the stars twinkled into sight, faint pinpricks of light. They might have been giant, flaming balls of hydrogen, but they were so distant, so cold. So cruel in their graceful, ruthless beauty. And as constellations formed in Willie’s mind, so did the memory of the freckles that dotted Alex’s face. So did the feeling of the connection he’d felt with the other man, beaming and bright, snuffed out by cruel chance. A chance he’d never even had. 

Even if Alex wasn’t part of an arranged marriage, what were the odds of him even liking Willie? How could he feel the same? Everything about him screamed royal, and yet he was human. He was personable, funny, and so beautifully human that Willie couldn’t handle it. He was incredible. Regal, kind, awkward, and yet he pulled it together so flawlessly. 

But as for Willie?

He was just a baker who’d never had a chance.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Bury Me Face Down

A Max Phillips x Reader BTVS AU One-Shot

Summary/Author's Note: You are a Slayer. One girl born into the world for the sole purpose of hunting down the paranormal and keeping people safe. But what happens when the Order you work for sends you a Vampire to be your mentor?

Okay. I caved. An idea that stemmed entirely from my wife @vaxxildan and was pushed upon me by a few of my favorite people. (/Cough/ Stevie, Rachel, & Ash) so, fuck it-- this is part of my Follower Appreciation Week. I love you girls. This is a ONE SHOT for now. I may do drabbles or another part if inspiration strikes but I have a lot going on at the moment. [Title Song]

Pairings: Max Phillips x Slayer!Reader Word Count: Warnings: R--Blood, language, death, violence, stabbing/staking, sassy douchebag vampire Max in all of his glory, sexual tension/themes

[MASTERLIST] 

"And I haven't seen him in five days! He's a good boy--gets straight A's! He's going to be a lawyer, you know?" She blew her nose into the overused tissue in her hands as you slid the entire box across the desk and she mumbled her thanks.

"What was he majoring in?" You said, trying to connect to the crying mess of a woman in front of you.

"Philosophy." She blubbered out and as she blew her nose the man sitting next to you let out an undignified snort.

You glared at him and he tried to turn the laugh into a cough before motioning to the client. "Excuse me," he apologized with a nod. "Please continue, Mrs. Garcia." 

"Ms." She corrected, batting her big, watery, doe-like eyes at him.  "I'm divorced."

Unbelievable. This suburban soccer mom was crying to you to find her missing son, and she still couldn't resist putting the charm on your partner. You knew this was the effect he had on normal women, but it still never ceased to baffle you. He gave a small smile and another nod, correcting himself and addressing her by the title she offered and asking her once again to go on with her story. 

"Like I said," she put her hands in her lap and played with the pleats of her skirt. "I haven't heard from my sweet Jason since last week." 

"Did anything new happen to him the last time you spoke?" You asked, jotting down a few quick notes on your yellow pad of paper. 

"No, I don't think so. Wait--" she said, abruptly making you look back up. "He met a girl."

"Oooh, nooo," your business partner said next to you, his voice sounding full of utter despair, drawn out just enough that the client would think he was sincere while you knew he was mocking her. You kicked his foot under the table and he bit his lip. 

"Do you think that's important?" She asked hopefully and you made another note. 

"It's hard to tell, Ms. Garcia. Anything else?"

"He said he has been feeling really tired all the time. Like no matter how much he sleeps, he is always so drained." 

"Maybe he has mono."

"Max." You hissed, kicking him again as the woman blew her nose loudly. 

The truth was you knew what was wrong with her son. It was the same thing that had been wrong with five other boys at the community college on the other side of town. All of their parents had sat across from you in this office, begging you to find them and bring them home safely. 

Max cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Ms. Garcia, does your son play sports?"

"Why, yes," she nodded. "He plays varsity soccer. He's on a scholarship for it."

"Ah, I thought that might be the case," he nodded and you wrote it down. Max never took notes and it drove you up the fucking wall. 

"Is that a clue?" She asked, hopefully. 

"Just trying to find out as much as we can." You looked at the photo that she had brought, and felt a little saddened. Should you tell her that her son was dead? That he wasn't coming home? As you looked at the smiling yearbook photo of such a handsome young man it really struck you that you were tired. So very tired. "May we keep this for your file?"

"Of course. I brought extra." She said, somewhat proudly as she patted her knock off Michael Kors bag in the chair next to her. 

Max glanced at you and saw that you had retreated back into your thoughts. After six months of working together, he knew when it was time for a breather. He looked back to the client and adjusted his suit coat before standing up. 

"That's all we need for now, Ms. Garcia. We will be in touch if there is anything new or if we have more questions." He walked around the table and waited for her to grab her purse before he led her to the door. 

"You have my number, correct?" She looked up at him with hopeful eyes as he towered over her. 

"Yes, it's in your file." He gestured back to the table. 

"Feel free to call me, anytime. And I mean...anytime." She touched his yellow pocket square on his chest and he chuckled deeply. 

"Of course," he said, moving her hand off of him like it was something slimy and undesirable. She didn't seem to notice.

You rolled your eyes as the door clicked shut behind her and Max leaned against it with a heavy sigh. "Really?" You asked and he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Do you have to do that?" You ask, gesturing to the door. 

"I was absolutely, one hundred percent, professional."

"Ah, yes, I forgot you cannot control the hordes of lonely women that throw themselves at your feet." You scoffed, gathering your notes and the papers from the Garcia file and stacking them neatly. 

"It isn't my fault that my powers don't work on you. If they did then maybe you would believe that I didn't have any control over that situation," he waved his hand in a circle indicating the woman who had previously been occupying that space. 

Max was right about that. Since the day you met, his telepathic powers of suggestion had failed to work on you, and it wasn't for his lack of trying. You had chalked it up to your natural Slayer resistances. Just another talent in your arsonal to go with the above average strength, extended life span, and ability to get your ass handed to you by the undead and walk away without so much as a limp. 

He shimmied out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat rack before moving back to the desk and sitting on it. "Besides," he grinned down at you, letting one leg hang off the table and leaning in close. "She's not my type."

"Get over yourself, Phillips." You rolled your eyes and walked over to the swivel chalkboard, turning it from the blank side that clients got to see, to the side that was full of your current notes on the situation.

"Ouch, back to the last name?" He put his hand over his heart like he was in pain. "Come on, Pookie. I thought we were past this?" 

Six months. Six whole months had passed since the Watcher’s Council had sent the most arrogantly frustrating man you had ever met to your doorstep. Max Phillips was, on the outside, the definition of most of the Watchers you had had the pleasure of meeting. He was intelligent and well read, but he was also vain and meticulously well dressed. His three piece bespoke suits were always pressed and tailored, his tie was always bright and made a statement, and you could have seen your reflection well enough to do your makeup in his leather shoes. His brown eyes sparkled as brightly as his jeweled cuff links, and his charm was only matched by his wit. The only unorthodox thing about him was that he wasn’t human. 

Before Max came into your life you were under the impression that vampires weren’t allowed on the Council. And until Max, that had been true. It went against everything they had stood for for the last thousand years or however long they had been in business. That business being to hunt and eradicate people exactly like Max. But someone on the council had fucked up--and fucked up big time. It was their fault Max was the way he was, and to make good on their transgressions they cut him a deal. Instead of death, they restored his soul, made him a Watcher, and after five years of service, he could be a free man...err, free undead man?

“Why won’t you just cut to the chase and tell her that her son is either dead or a vampire?” he asked and you shook your head. 

“We’ve been through this, Max,” you said thumbing through the file and getting familiar with everything you two had learned from your new client. “If we told them that, it would scare them off--we have to hold out hope.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to give them a nice comfy sense of delusion.” He shrugged and started to turn but stopped on his heel. “I’m still charging her our full rate.”

“You’re heartless.” You looked up from the file and narrowed your eyes on him. 

“Yes, exactly,” he gestured to his chest and said slowly like you were hard of hearing. “V-am-pire. Remember?”

“I meant your lack of empathy for humans never ceases to shock me.” 

“Honey, I was an asshole before I was turned,” he continued to hold his hand to his chest. “I may have died but my personality carried over into the afterlife.”

“Lucky me.” You gave him a large smile that was entirely too much teeth. Everyday with him was exhausting, just once you wished you could find a way to shut him up. Peace and quiet. A Max-less thirty minutes to hear yourself think would have been the best present he could ever give you. 

You moved to the chalkboard and taped Jason’s picture next to the line of other dead college boys. Of course there was a chance that Ms. Garcia’s son was still alive, but you seriously doubted it. By the time they came knocking at your door, most of the time, it was way too late. You had lost count of how many times you and Max had already solved the case before you even got up from the table. The two of you would share a knowing look as the person on the other side of the desk told their sob story, and by then it was all said and done.  

Max picked up a piece of chalk and blew the dust off of it distastefully. “Who still uses chalk? Can we at least get a smart board?”

“We can’t even afford a dry erase board, Max.” You took the chalk from his hand and tried to ignore the lingering brush of his fingers against the back of your hand. 

Times had been tough. You had opened this little detective business out of necessity for money, not many places were hiring someone with your specific background and skill set. But there had been an alarming increase in the amount of vampire related deaths in this small town, and that was something you could help with. 

“You asked if Jason played sports,” you said, writing your notes neatly next to the boy’s picture. “Was there a point to that question?”

“There is always a point to what I say.” He grinned, unclipping his cuff-links and starting to roll up his sleeves. 

“Max.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands in surrender as he leaned his ass against the desk and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Write this down. The first kid played football--”

You started a list at the top of the board and wrote down each sport as he ticked them off on his fingers.

“Then we had lacrosse,” he tapped a different picture on the board. “Track. Swimming. And then--” he tapped his finger on the last boy in the row and bit his lip. “What was this one?”

“Ultimate Frisbee.”

“Right!” He snapped his fingers and shook his finger at you in conformation. “The one you thought wasn’t a sport.”

“Because it’s not.”

“And that’s where we disagree.”

You rolled your eyes and finished writing the list of sports off to the side. Crossing your arms, you shook your head. This wasn’t much to go off of--all victims had been junior or senior boys, all played sports and had the reputation for being stereotypical jocks. But despite what little they all had in common, so far they had all met the same end--left in the middle of the woods, completely drained of blood. 

“Look on the computer,” you said. “See if there are any cemeteries close to the university.” Max sat behind the desk and opened up your laptop, typing in the password and clacking away at the search engine. You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know the password to my computer?”

“The same way I know you’re wearing that t-shirt bra for the fifth day in a row,” he mumbled without looking up. “I’m observant.”

You looked down at your chest on instinct before glaring back at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Well, cut it out.”

“As you command, sugar tits,” he smirked and before you could say anything he turned the lap towards you and pointed to the map of the university. “There are four cemeteries within hunting distance--but I say we start with this one.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only one with a mausoleum. Doesn’t matter the flavor of vampire--we all gotta sleep somewhere when the sun comes up.” He smiled, looking somewhat proud of himself and the expression almost made him look endearing. Almost. 

“Good job, Max.” You nodded before moving to write the address on the chalkboard and put it in your phone for later. 

“Oh, say that again--but slower.” He pouted his lips and pretended to give a full body shudder and you contemplated punching him. 

“Get some rest,” you tossed him the manila folder to put in the filing cabinet. “Eat,” you nodded to the mini fridge that contained his snacks from the local blood bank. “Be ready to go by nightfall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving you a small salute after catching the folder. As you grabbed your car keys off the hook and your jacket off the coat rack, you could almost feel his eyes on your ass. Nothing in the world could have made you give him the satisfaction of letting him know though, but you did slam the front door a little harder than normal on your way out. 

--

The cemetery on the other side of town was just like every cemetery you had ever been in since you took on your role as a Slayer over a decade ago. You thought things were simpler back then, but looking back you weren’t entirely sure how you had lived this long. Slayers were notorious for burning bright and dying fast. They were an intense flame that danced with danger so often the odds were never stacked in her favor when it came to living to see the next sunrise. 

It was these odds that took your first Watcher from you. He was everything Max wasn’t. He was soft spoken, kind, and he cared for you. Against the Watcher’s code, he became the father you never had and in the end it had gotten him killed. Maybe that’s the reason they sent you Max in the first place, you needed someone to look after you that was a little more sturdy--a little less human.

You shined your flashlight on the ground as you and your partner walked another line of gravestones. This was your third lap around the plot lines and thankfully Max had been quiet for most of it. 

“You think she’s going to show?” he asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“She?” you looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Call it a hunch,” he shrugged.

“Oh, I gotta hear this. Please share your theory, Detective Phillips.” You tried to scoff but it turned into a laugh as he smiled sheepishly. 

“All the victims are male. All of them are jocks--most likely douchebag muscleheads--”

“Are you familiar with the type?”

He ignored your quip at his expense and continued talking. “I’m guessing we are dealing with a female vamp, scorned by an ex boyfriend and now that she has the power to do something about it, every poor sap that resembles him is getting the ax.” He drug his thumb across his Adam's apple and made a ‘ack’ noise in the back of his throat. 

“Solid theory,” you nodded, having to hand it to him.

“I’m also guessing she’s freshly turned by how messy the kills are and the tearing on the bite wounds.”

“Tearing? The police reports didn’t say anything about tearing.”

Max nodded and looked down at his shoes as the two of you turned the corner of a new row of gravestones. “Vampire fangs are like hypodermic needles--hollow on the inside. Let me show you.” You both stopped and he turned to face you. He held up his first two fingers and curved them down to imitate fangs, placing them on the side of your neck. “If done correctly and you bite straight down, then pull straight back up once you’re done,” he mimicked the action with his hand, pressing the blunt edges of his nails against your tender skin, making your arms break out in goosebumps. “The bite is hardly noticeable.”

“And if you pull out too quickly or to the side, it tears the skin?” You asked, swallowing hard and letting your shoulders relax as he moved his hand away from your neck. 

“Exactly,” he nodded. He held your gaze for an extra moment before clearing his throat and the two of you continued the path down the middle of the road that led to the mausoleum. “Unless you’re an experienced vampire, you don’t have the control to keep the bite that clean.”

“Charming,” you grimaced and he chuckled.

“What? Does a big, bad slayer like you not enjoy talking about fangs and blood?” He teased and you stayed quiet. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like talking about those things, you lived those things, fangs and blood were a part of your daily life. It was that you weren’t particularly fond of hearing him talk about those things. Lately the moments it became increasingly apparent that Max was undead had started to make you uncomfortable. But like all thoughts and feelings you didn’t fully understand, you pushed them down and compartmentalized them until they faded away. 

A crash of glass came from the back of the stone building and you thanked the universe for saving you from having to answer Max. The two of you looked at each other and you dropped your shoulders to let your leather jacket slide off into your hands. 

“Show time?” you asked, putting the jacket over a small statue of an angel with outstretched arms. 

“Absolutely.” Max mirrored you with his suit coat. He left the cuff-links at home to make it easier to roll up his sleeves. He adjusted his tie and tucked it into his vest for dramatic effect and you fought not to roll your eyes. He cracked his neck and if you weren’t staring at him you would have missed the flash of yellow amber that engulfed his normally brown irises. You were never going to get used to that.

You had a wooden stake in the holster on your thigh, freshly sharpened and ready for whatever was about to come around that corner. You hoped this was the vampire that had been killing all of those boys. You hoped this was the night that the two of you could finally stop this string of murders and crying parents.

“Take right, I’ll take left,” you nodded your head in each direction and watched as Max returned the motion before disappearing into the shadows on his side of the building. 

With eyes and ears straining for any sign of movement, you were careful of your steps. Your boots found easy purchase on the soft, marshy ground as you scanned the treeline on the other side of the pointed wrought-iron fence. Freshly turned baby vamps were your least favorite. There was a certain level of feral-ness to them that made them more dangerous. They lunged, they fought, they bit and scratched without abandon. Their actions were unpredictable and sporadic as they literally fought for their life with about as much coordination as a baby deer with too many teeth. You knew the myth that baby venomous snakes were deadlier than their parents--well, it was actually true when it came to vampires. 

Another sound came from the back of the building and you quickened your pace. Just as you topped the small hill at the back of the crypt a blur of white hit you at full speed like a freight train. Your back hit the ground hard. The dull pain of a stone or something blunt on the ground blossomed  between your shoulder blades and took the air from your lungs. Whatever had hit you landed on top of your chest, making breathing more difficult than it already was.

“Fuck!” you gave a strangled gasp and threw your forearms up to cover your face and neck. 

Just like you expected, it was a vampire. If it was the one you were looking for, that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting it off of you. 

It’s blonde hair fell around you as she hissed and spit and flashed her fangs. Her face was grotesque, pinching in the middle towards her nose, her cheekbones sat way too high up on her face, and the curve of her eyebrows arched in an almost cat like way that made her skull look perpetually angry. Her yellow eyes looked sickly and diseased, the black of her pupils forming into an elongated slit.

You pulled your fist back the second she closed her mouth and punched her in the jaw. She reeled back a bit but it didn’t get her off of you. “Have you been killing those boys at the university?”

“They got what they deserved,” she snarled and you nodded. 

“That answers that.” 

Max had been right and you were never going to hear the end of it. You pulled your knee up and tried to press it into her chest. With the right amount of leverage, she toppled backwards and you held onto her letting the momentum pull you to your feet. You stumbled and caught yourself on a gravestone catching your breath before she grabbed you by the hair and slammed you into the marble wall of the crypt. You bit your lip, refusing to cry out and instead said through gritted teeth, “Where's Jason? Where’s your new boyfriend at?”

“Dead,” she smirked, pinning your arm behind your back and leaning in to whisper against your hair. “Where’s yours?”

“Right here!” Max said as he barreled into her and took her to the ground over one of the benches intended for visitors and mourners. He grabbed her by the base of the neck and snarled in her face as he bounced her skull off of the sidewalk. 

His face was contorted much like hers and as you slowly got to your feet, you forced yourself not to look away from it. That was the real him and you didn’t see it as often as you probably should in order to remember that. You pulled the wooden stake from its holster and started walking towards them.

“Max!” You called and he looked over his shoulder and caught your eye. 

He looked at the stake before giving a short nod and flipping the two of them over. He braced his arm as he held the snapping, snarling woman away from his face and you stood over her. With a raise of your arms and a quick line of sight to make sure you hit the heart, you brought the sharp piece of wood down into her back and felt it go through to the front of her chest. 

She screamed, jaw widening before her entire body exploded in a cloud of black dust that quickly dissipated into the night air leaving no trace of her existence. You let out a hard breath and held out your hand to help Max stand up. 

“Thanks,” you said, as he took it and got to his feet. 

“Any time.”

“She got the jump on me. I’m off my game.” You shook your head and silently cursed yourself for letting it happen. 

“I see that.” Max motioned to your cheek and you watched as his pupils dilated like a great white shark. His face was once again the smooth perfection that it always was, but his eyes stayed that alarming yellow.

You touched the apple of your cheek and it felt wet, the bright red drops of your own blood sat on the tips of your fingers. “Shit.” It was as if bringing your attention to it made a dull ache settle on the side of your face. “I guess she got me against the stone.” You nodded back to the pillar of the crypt and went to wipe it off on your jeans.

“Wait,” Max said curtly as his hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist. The muscles in his neck twitched and if he had a working heart you were fairly certain you would have been able to hear it from where you stood. His tongue licked his bottom lip slowly.

“Max--” you cautioned, starting to pull your wrist back but his grip tightened. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, flatly.

It wasn’t a command, it was a challenge. If you wanted him to stop, he would, but he was banking on the hunch that you didn’t want him to stop. He knew that after months of back and forth, of testing each other, and pushing one another’s buttons, it was bound to come to a head eventually. If you were being honest with yourself, Max fucking Phillips was the only constant thing in your life recently, and that should have scared you to death. 

“Even I know--it’s a shame to waste a single drop of Slayer blood.” He brought your fingers to his mouth and held your gaze as he wrapped his lips around them, hollowing his cheeks gently and sucking the small amount off your skin. You bit your lip and blushed as he freed your fingers with a gentle pop and hummed. “Just like I thought.”

“What?” You asked, hating how breathy and soft your voice was.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The groan that came from the back of your throat was downright shameful but you wanted to do anything in your power to wipe that look off of his face. If you looked insufferable up in the dictionary, you knew there would be a picture of Max, but that didn’t stop you from raising up on your toes, putting your hand behind his neck and crashing your mouth against his. He closed those unnerving yellow eyes and dropped his head slightly so you didn’t have to stretch as far. When you felt his large hands settle on your hips, you knew it was game over. 

Max tasted just how you thought he would, like expensive liquor and a twinge of copper, the latter not being something you particularly wanted to dwell on. You gave up control of the kiss and let his tongue slip inside your mouth and taste you as well. Fair is fair. When you tried to pull back his head followed you like a dog on a leash and you gripped his hair to keep him at a distance. 

“Oh, boy--” you said, any anticipation you felt was mixed with the regret and trouble that would undoubtedly come with kissing Max Phillips. 

He chuckled deeply and wet his lips again with his tongue, the action plucking the chords of things low in your body. “Oh, boy, is right, sugar tits.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you sighed heavily and shoved him back against the concrete before devouring his mouth with your own again. Maybe if he didn’t speak you could pretend like whatever was happening wasn’t the end of the world as you knew it. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled against your lips as he bent his knees slightly and put both hands under your thighs. As he lifted, you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist. Once your arms securely around his neck, another moan bubbled out of you when he flexed his hands on your ass. 

You thought you would never hear the end about his theory being right about the vampire, but this--this was a whole new level of trouble. And trouble was never something you wanted or particularly went out of your way to seek, and yet, it always seemed to find you.

--

Tag List: @stevieharrrr​ @winters-buck​ @zeldasayer​ @rae-gar-targaryen​ @sendhoots​ @seawhisperer​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @robbinholland​ @scorpionsandhoney​

If you want to be added to my permanent tag list please let me know, I need to get one together for my one shots and stuff. 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“don’t do that. don’t shut me out.” + Jupeter

I wrote this for @spiky-lesbian because she’s had a rough week so here’s some angst babe, go figure 

----------

“I’m getting too old for this.”

Juno was pretty sure PIs were supposed to think that sort of thing when they were doing something cool and dangerous, like leaping the gap between the cars of a moving train or ducking behind crates at a harbour to avoid laser fire.

Rather than crawling on their stomachs to get their pet sewer rabbit’s favourite ball out from behind the sofa. But hey, it was his day off.

Then again, Small Fry did look delighted when he straightened back up with a loud groan and the cracking of some vertebrae, whiffling her nose and hopping excitedly, shaking the floorboards of their little apartment. Smiling fondly, Juno threw the ball off down the hallway so she could chase it, squeaking happily.

“Next time that happens I’m not getting it out for you! You can go make goo goo eyes at your daddy for a change,” he called after her, brushing dust from his curls and his shirt. But the smile didn’t fade from his face, even after she had rounded the corner to go and cause mischief somewhere else. Anyone who said keeping a massive sewer rabbit in a modest Hyperion apartment was a bad idea was just too afraid of cleaning up the occasional broken lamp or gnaw marks on the walls.

He was about to straighten back up and go back to the book he’d been reading, he got so little time to do things like that these days but his husband was still at work, the boys were asleep and Bianca was happily playing in her room, giving him a rare hour or two to himself that he didn’t want to waste. He was mildly tempted to crack the lock on the drawer where Nureyev stowed away any case files he brought home so he couldn’t continue working himself ragged outside of his own office but, contrary to the size of the lock and the dedication with which his husband hid the key, he really was getting better at giving himself time off.

After all, it had been a hell of a long time since work was the only thing he had to keep him going.

He was about to do that when something else behind the sofa caught his eye, something that wasn’t just a toy of Bee Bee’s that she’d forgotten or one of Small Fry’s hordes of left socks that she liked to build nests out of. He was about to sigh and mutter something about the wonders of having three kids being that you’d find trash in the weirdest places but something wary ran its way down his spine. Something that was maybe instinct, maybe his detective brain putting pieces together and proving yet again that the years spent theoretically on the other side of law and order hadn’t dampened his skills.

Whatever it was, it made him reach out, once again feeling the twinge in the base of his spine, using his hip to nudge the couch further out so he could snag it and bring it out.

It was a small bag, something designed to be inconspicuously held at the waist or over the shoulder, dark in colour so it wouldn’t catch the eye. Juno frowned, the wariness growing stronger as he sat on the couch and opened it up.

He recognised the precision and fastidiousness immediately, like it was rolling off it in waves like too much perfume. It was in the way everything was crammed in so tight there wasn’t a spare inch of space, everything chosen for its shape and size so it would go in seamlessly like a game of tetris. It was in the items themselves, every possible scenario accounted for; dried rations, iodine pills to purify water, vouchers for shuttle tickets that would take you anywhere in the galaxy, tightly rolled stacks of genuine honest to god Earth currency to take you even further than that, no questions asked, clothes folded so tightly they looked like napkins at first. And, in an even more closely concealed pocket on the inside seam, fake documents, fake IDs, fake cards loaded up with fake creds.

And a knife. If Juno had been entertaining any doubts, any lingering threads of uncertainty, then seeing his tired reflection in that razor edge snipped them neatly away.

He sighed, long and low, filing through the emotions rising in his chest, sending away any that he knew weren’t helpful or were just offshoots of his anxiety, counting backwards from ten like Buddy had shown him until all the messiness sorted itself out.

He didn’t pick his book back up. He watched the clock and waited for his husband to come home.

Nureyev really enjoyed working at the salon. He kept waiting, expecting to get bored or frustrated with it all, but it hadn’t happened yet. He just laughed at the conversations with his colleagues more and more, got more familiar with the smell of hairspray on his clothes and felt a small spark of pride at the ache in his ankles at the end of a long day.

It was enough to make him feel something approaching hope.

He slid off his shoes, not wanting to track any dust from outside into the apartment. Living on Mars had meant needing to get used to the fine red silt clinging to his soles every day and turning up in the most inconvenient places, no matter how careful he tried to be. Juno, the Aurinkos and Rita barely even seemed to notice it. Nureyev assumed that came from growing up with the stuff.

The apartment was surprisingly quiet, enough that he was already getting ideas before he walked into the living room and saw his wife sitting on the sofa.

“What exactly have you done with our children, my love?” he grinned, “Bought us some alone time?”

Juno started a little at his voice, even though he should have heard him come in, the door closing, his keys rattling into the bowl. And when his eye lifted and met Nureyev’s, it was immediately clear that his ideas had been far off the mark.

“Yeah, Rita has them,” Juno’s voice was even, not full of scowls and snarls as usual, not in any way a ‘we’re in serious trouble’ voice but Nureyev’s veins still flooded with adrenaline as he rooted to the spot, a discordant clashing in his ears, “I did want to have some time with just you and me.”

“And yet you’re still dressed?” Nureyev was a little impressed with himself, how his tone came out still perfectly light and joking, like he wasn’t completely gripped by panic and his brain wasn’t scribbling blue prints behind his eyes.

It would seem hairdressing hadn’t lost him all of his skills.

“Babe, listen,” Juno sat forward, eye gentle, “Just come and sit with me, okay? Nothing’s wrong, nothing bad has happened or anything like that. I just want to talk.”

Nureyev frowned. Maybe he had lost his skills a little. Or maybe they’d just never worked on Juno.

But he did sit, stiffly, still braced for something awful in spite of his wife’s reassurance. And when Juno wordlessly produced one of his getaway bags and set it on the coffee table between them, he was ready to run.

But Juno didn’t let the moment build, he didn’t keep him hanging. He simply sighed and reached across the gap between them to take his hand.

“Peter, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Nureyev looked up, certain he must have misheard.

But Juno’s expression was firmly set in penance, mouth turned down, brow fallen across his eye which was soft and sad, “I never once asked you if you were struggling to adjust to the way our lives are now. I never thought to check in with you. I let you down in that and I’m sorry.”

“I...what?” Nureyev was well aware he was falling short of his usual articulation but no more words were coming in to fill the blank gap in his mind, “You’re not...you’re not upset with me?”

Juno frowned a little, shaking his head, “No. No, why would I be?”

“Because…” Laughter, of all things, raw edged and disbelieving bubbled up in his chest, “Because the only thing to take from this is that I’m insane or I was going to leave you?”

“Are either of those things why you’ve got these bags?” Juno asked evenly.

Nureyev winced, “You found the others?”

“No but I know you enough to assume.”

Nureyev took a shaky breath, “I’m not leaving you. And...and I don’t know whether I’m insane or not, honestly.”

The sadness in Juno's eye deepened and he squeezed his husband’s hand, “I don’t think you are but we need to talk about this. What exactly were you trying to prepare for with these?”

“I...I don’t know…” Nureyev didn’t like this one bit, this reversal of their usual roles, Juno being so calm and collected and even while he sat here struggling to leash his emotions, “Nothing! I...I wasn’t…”

Juno exhaled, something cracking through his calm, “Don’t do that. Nureyev, please, don’t shut me out. That’s the one thing I need you not to do right now.”

Nureyev felt his throat close and he couldn’t have said anything if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to shut his wife out, he really didn’t, but it was so hard to unlearn something that had been your first line of defence since childhood.

But if there was anyone who understood that, it was Juno.

“Listen, Nureyev, there’s no answer you can give me that will make me angry with you or upset me. I just want you to feel safe here with me and with the kids and...finding this, it’s just made me worry that you don’t?”

Nureyev forced his lungs to pull in air and turn it into words, determined to not be the man who had shut Juno out for years, the man who had packed those bags.

“I do feel safe here, I am happy here,” he promised, feeling the truth of it and drawing strength from that, “It’s just been so long since I stayed in one place, since...since I could feel safe. And sometimes it feels like another cover I’m wearing for a little while, like something’s going to change and I’ll have to run again. And I guess I just wanted to prepare for that, even if it isn’t what I want. Even if I’m praying it never happens, I just can’t let myself be unprepared. It’s not how I was raised. And having those bags...I can breathe a little easier. I can settle into this more because even if the absolute worst thing happens, I’ll survive.”

Juno nodded slowly, eye never leaving his husband’s face, “Nureyev, we both knew this was going to be a change. And change is hard, even if it’s for the better. And if this helps you settle down, I’m fine with that.”

“But I’m not,” Nureyev croaked, wanting to wipe his eyes so the tears there didn’t fall but also not wanting to let go of Juno’s hand, “I don’t want to live my life like it’s not mine. This isn’t a cover, it’s my family and my home and I want to feel like that.”

Juno squeezed his fingers, “This is yours, Nureyev. I’m your wife and they’re our kids and this is our home. No one is taking any of this from us, I promise. And if you need me to remind you of that, I will, every single damn day for the rest of our lives if that's what you need. And it fucking sucks that everything you’ve lived up until now is telling you different.”

“Yeah,” Nureyev mumbled, the tears falling and dripping off his nose now but they hit Juno’s hands before his own and he didn’t flinch, “It does.”

“Come here…” Juno murmured, pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him as their bodies fit themselves together, “You can cry, it’s okay.”

Nureyev did. Because he believed Juno when he told him it was.

They spent the rest of their rare evening alone pulling out all of the getaway bags Nureyev had stowed over the first week of their retirement from the Carte Blanche, all of the stockpiles of food as well, everything he’d hidden underneath their new life with Mag’s voice and the voice of a hungry child guiding his hands. They didn’t get rid of it, he wasn’t ready for that yet, but it went into a box under their bed instead.

And Juno still told him he was proud of him.

Nureyev thought there was always going to be that part of him that had Mag’s rules in it’s mind and a constant hunger in its belly. All he could ever do was fold it up as small as he could make it and find space for it in the back of his brain.

But with Juno’s arm around him and red dust on the soles of his shoes, that felt easier than it ever had before.

[kathyprior4200]

Haven Hotel characters

 Heaven’s Princess Coercia Egnam glanced down at her long list of meeting attendants and characters that she was about to address: (her handwritten notes included)

 Princess Coerciona (2P Charlie) *Most important*

Phalla (2P Vaggie) *Hopeless romantic butterfly*

Devil Grit (2P Angel Dust) *Serious stiff spider*

Stalaro the Techno Angel (2P Alastor the Radio Demon) *Sob story sissy*

Klutzy (2P Niffty) *Lazy maid*

Core (2P Husk) *Hyper fool*

Cherubs Pub and Chub (2P Razzle and Dazzle) *My loyal guards*

Lucius (2P Lucifer) *Dad*

Lilian (2P Lilith) *Mom*

Sivart (2P Travis) *Some guy*

Sir Anguis (2P Sir Pentious) *Stuttering scaredy-snake toy maker*

Berri Blossom (2P Cherri Bomb) *Modest mundane dame*

Catie Carejoy (2P Katie Killjoy) *Soft bitch*

Ron Wrench (2P Tom Trench) *WW1 news guy*

Baker the puffer fish (2P Baxter the anglerfish) *Mad scientist fishy fish*

Jazzy (2P Mimzy) *Chubby singer lady*

Joygrand the Heaven-cat (2P Crymini the deviant hellhound) *Who the fuck are you?*

Raa the Koala angel (2P Roo the kangaroo trash Aussie demon) *Who the fuck are you?*

Iris (2P Rosie) *Day of the Dead Barbie*

Valentine (2P Valentino) *Blueberry pimp wimp*

Nil (2P Vox) *TV guy*

Ashen (2P Velvet) *Harley Doll angel*

Nestlings (2P Egg Bois) *Meh*

Nathan (2P Seviathan) *Old friend*

Elsa (2P Helsa) *Meh*

Beth (2P Bethasa) *Meh*

Fred (2P Fredrick) *Meh*

Holly (2p Molly) *Devil Grit’s spider sister*

Ragno (2P Arackniss) *Devil Grit’s spider brother*

Henry (2P Henroin) *Devil Grit’s father*

Alliv the blue tough tabby cat (2P Villa pink girly poodle) *Don’t even fucking know*

Thin Tenders (2P Fat Nuggets) *Potential snack*

Archangels (2P Archdemons)

Anti-Exorcists: White demon beings who convert angels into demons each year. Great source of entertainment.

 E.L.F. (2P I.M.P.) not to be confused with C.H.E.R.U.B. the sheep love spreaders and revivers

D.E.V.I.L. (2P C.H.E.R.U.B.) murderers, hate-spreading black rams

Docile (2P Blitzo) *Some childish leader*

Tirred (2P Moxxie) *Serious one*

Timmid (2P Millie) *Wallflower*

Sunna (2P Loona) *High pussy*

Mia and Tia (2P Tilla and Barbie Wire) *Circus twins?*

Samael *Punishing BDSM angel*

Menadel (2P Stolas) *Swan prince, Quartet’s father*

Flora (2P Stella) *Quartet’s mother*

Quartet (2P Octavia) * Swan princess, bubbly teen*

Mayberry/Juneberry (2P Mrs. Mayberry) (Former Human)

Mary (2P Martha) (Former Human)

Ralph (2P Ralphie) (Former Human)

Ollie (2P Eddie) *Brat kid*

Bio Wizz (2P Robo Fizz) *Circus conspiracy?*

Kiva (2P Verosika Mayday) *Zealot*

Woo-Hoo Land Mascot (2P Loo-Loo Land Mascot) *What a creep*

 (More to be added)

(2P Zoophobia characters)

More characters to be added

 “Alright my subjects, tell me something,” Coceria began as she filed her sharp claws with a knife in a tall leather chair framed by black wrought iron. Her black spiky crown was on her head as usual. An angelic spear rested by the throne. Below her was a large crowd seated in comfortable chairs, many of them in shades of blue and green. “How the flying fuck am I supposed to remember all your names?! I bet half of you guys are insignificant background characters. And the majority of you haven’t even been featured in the show yet!”

 “You mean the Hazbin Hotel show? About our counterparts?” asked Stalaro, holding up a white rose for Coercia. Soft classical music played from his blue microphone staff. The pansexual blue man was occasionally stealing glances at Devil Grit’s fluff.

 “That’s irrelevant right now, you sad sack of stag shit!” Coercia yelled. Stalaro’s rose wilted in his hands and the music scratched to a stop. Tears were forming in his large blue eyes and his fluffy ear tuffs were drooping. “B-but I’m talking about my show: The Hazbin Ho…”

 “Haven Hotel,” Phalla corrected.

 “Right, Haven Hotel! And there’s also that spinoff show Helluva Boss.”

 “Heavenly Boss,” Docile corrected her. The elf sat with his colleagues next to a flyer which read, “Efficient Lifesaving Fellows: We revive and keep mortals alive! Sign up today, 33% off.”

 “Whatever,”Coercia brushed them aside. “Anyway, normally I wouldn’t care much about you guys, but now that I have formed the Haven Hotel, Phalla figured it should be a good time for us to introduce ourselves. Or more precisely, me to talk to you all.”

 “A practical first start,” Devil Grit mentioned with a nod. He was a dark gray faced spider with small green dots below his eyes. His suit was black with green stripes, along with a green bow tie. “Just make sure that everyone stays at least six feet away from me. Social distancing is a safe standard, and necessary precaution.”  

 “I do love making new friends!” Phalla smiled, fluffing her long black hair with teal ends. A glowing green X was over her right eye and a teal bow was perched don her head. “Don’t you, Klutzy?”

 The small blue cyclops angel narrowed her large eye. “Friends. Oh joy.”

 “I must say, Coerce dear,” said Lucius. “I don’t really approve of your hotel and your idea. If the council finds out about your attempt to promote rule-breaking activities…”

 “Banishment to Hell? Or to my room?” Coercia asked, hands on her hips. “Not the end of the world. And my name is Princess Coerciona. I prefer my full title.”

 Core, the friendly white cat, rolled his eyes. He shuffled a few cards in his furry paws. “She’s no fun.”

 “I heard that, cat!” she called, making him flinch back a bit.

 “We raised you better than this,” Lilian added.

 “Oh really?” The black haired princess stood up and turned toward her mother. “You’d rather I be some bubbly musical loving princess who wants to spread “joy and redemption” far across the land? Ha! No. A true ruler commands fear and respect in their subjects. I’m sure Hell’s king Lucifer would agree.”

 Pub and Chub, the naked flying babies grinned in agreement while fine tuning black electric guitars in the background.

 “We do not mention that name,” Lucius began but Coercia was ignoring them again.

 “Lucifer may be a traitor to Him but at least he had guts. If His teachings weren’t so flawed, I’d still be promoting them wholeheartedly. As for my position…maybe another princess may someday take my place, but that’s not gonna happen if I manage to be princess of both realms. But now I’m here, in this lovely, shiny…fake excuse of a paradise with wackos like you. Still, someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

 Phalla giggled while Core pat a sobbing Stalaro on his blue back. He wiped his face as his monocle glinted in the sunlight under his left eye.

 “Your uncle Metatron wouldn’t approve of your attitude,” Lucius added.

 “He wouldn’t even notice, considering he’s too engrossed in his record-keeping,” countered Coercia.

 Nearby on another part of the stage, the ocean-like angels Elsa and Nathan whispered to each other.

 “I don’t understand it,” Nathan said. “Here I was, promoting goodness for everyone, but Coercia laughed at my ideas and pushed me around. And we even went to Heaven High school prom together.”

 “Lucius wanted our two families united, so we could have a higher standing,” Elsa added. “You dating the princess would’ve helped. But sadly she broke up with you and now here we are, envious.”

 “Don’t remind me,” Nathan sighed. “It’s not like I was the one abusing her and mocking her ideas. At least she didn’t run off with a sinner girlfriend to further tarnish her family reputation. Ugh…restraining societal standards affect us even here.”

 “Or maybe…she’s not much of a romantic person to begin with,” Elsa suggested.

 “Not all aromantic and asexual people are cold-hearted,” Nathan said. “She’s just one bad apple.”

 Coercia seethed at them, briefly letting out her black feathery wings and white spiked halo over her head. She spoke in a high-pitched angelic language before retreating back to her regular form.

     “I hate it when she swears,” Elsa muttered.

  Coercia turned to the crowd. “Alright, let’s begin.”

[pinknerdpanda]

Reunited

Word Count: 3,530

Characters: Sam x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, a curse word or two...i mean, it IS me.

A/N: This is my (extremely late) entry for @atc74​’s Duets Reboot Challenge. Sorry I didn’t get it done sooner babes! Thanks for your patience! My prompt was the song “I Knew You Were Waiting” by George Michael and Aretha Franklin and I used some of the lyrics below. They are bolded. This is also the first in a long time that I have written Sam Winchester and I realized how much I missed him. This takes place between seasons 7 and 8 in a world where the awful Amelia didn’t exist. Flashback is in italics.

Beta’d by @shy-violet-soul​ and my twinny @hannahindie​ I love you dearly. Thank you for supporting me and reading my words and loving me.

gif not mine - x

Reunited

Sam Winchester knew the taste of victory; tangy and bittersweet, and somehow a bit stale. He’d fought and won so many battles he’s lost count, and even in the darkest of times, savored the flavor on his tongue like a memory. But this was not victory. This was agony.

He’d seen Dean die many times - a fact that still perplexed him after all these years. It was always the same; excruciatingly painful to watch and powerless to stop it. But even as Dean’s last breath drained from his lungs, Sam had hope. Hope that if there was something he could do - some spell or deal or alliance - Dean could come back to life again.  But Dean hadn’t died - at least not that he could prove. It was like he vanished into thin air. Nothing Sam had encountered up to that point could have prepared him for the realization that he was well and truly alone. 

Dean was gone. 

Leviathans, Dick Roman, Crowley, Cas’ betrayal; he could have handled it all and dealt with the fallout after the dust had settled as long as Dean was by his side. But he wasn’t and Sam couldn't. 

Sam felt hollow, a battered and crumbling shell of the man he’d once been. He found himself lurking in the darkness, consumed by the shadows of his old life. What the hell was he supposed to do? Go after him? All well and good if he’d had the slightest idea of where Dean had gone. Or was he supposed to continue the work his father started all those years ago? Dean or no Dean, the monsters remained. And as far as he could tell, no matter what he did - how much he sacrificed himself and his body - the monsters would always be there. So why should he try?

And so Sam stopped, allowing the numbness to overtake him instead. He was numb in a way that brought on thoughts of frigid winter evenings and toes nearly frostbitten. Numb in a way that was so much the opposite of the humid evening air that hung heavy around him. Sweat beaded against his hairline, dampened his undershirt and collected in places he’d rather not think too hard about. But the breathtaking summer heat did nothing to thaw the frozen rock inside his chest.

Long hours of aimless driving brought him to this town and when the familiarity settled on him, Sam frowned. Out of all the places in all the world how had he ended up here? There was a reason he’d planned to keep this place in the rearview mirror, but apparently his subconscious had disagreed.

Nothing had changed much in his years since high school. The same aged brick buildings loomed hauntingly around him as his feet carried him down what has once been a well-worn path. Ancient street lamps flickered helplessly above, their lights providing the bare minimum of defense against the darkness of night. 

Looking up, Sam checked his bearings as he brushed the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. If he remembered correctly - and if nothing had changed - Sam should be coming up on the shop that…

Sam’s internal monologue came to grinding halt as his eyes roamed over the figure in the window ahead of him. Surely not. It was his mind playing another in a long line of cruel jokes on him; it must be. How else could he explain the sight of her...here? 

She hadn't changed much that Sam could tell from this distance. Her hair was a little longer, but still the same shade of deep violet she had ways loved. Gauging from the fringed, lace duster, leggings, and boots, her affinity for black clothing hadn't changed either. A man approached her and Sam watched in awe as a smile bloomed on her lips; the very same one he'd fallen head over heels for long ago.

It was like the last 18 years were nothing more than a breath behind him. 

Before he realized it, Sam found his long legs had carried him closer to the shop; to her. His breath hitched and his heart jumped as he opened the door. 

Her lilting laugh sent chills down his spine, but the abrupt silence that followed made his hands shake. Her eyes nearly bulged from her skull and her dark purple lips parted on a bewildered gasp. The look shared between them seemed to linger for hours, both frozen in place as memories danced behind their eyes.

The man she’d been speaking with before cleared his throat and ducked his head. The sound shook Sam out of his haze enough to register the need to move from in front of the door so the man could pass. The bell tinkled as he exited, leaving them alone in a room thick with unspent tension.

“Sam,” she breathed. “Is that really you?”

Sam nodded, mesmerized by the way his name still sounded like velvet on her tongue. 

Hesitant steps brought her around the counter and mere feet from him. Chipped black nails dug into the skin of her palms as she clenched her fists and released. 

Sam smiled. He’d seen her face a million times in his head over their years apart, but time had slowly eroded the image he’d retained. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that his own memories had betrayed him, leaving him only a poor substitute of the exquisite beauty she was.

His heart thrumming erratically, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her before he could even process his own actions. She hummed, her own arms snaking around his waist and her face pressed against his chest. Sam’s head dropped, his nose pressed into her hair and he inhaled. 

Something inside him shifted then. Weeks spent hanging on by a thread, barely able to hold himself together enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other; pain, anger, hopelessness, exhaustion, fear - it all came crashing down on him in that moment. She held him as uncontrollable sobs shook his massive frame, her palms kneading soothing patterns against his back and soft, comforting words fell from her lips in a whisper.

Only once the tears stopped and his breathing returned to something resembling a normal cadence did he pull back. She smiled up at him with sad eyes for a moment before she untangled her fingers from the fabric of his shirt. Sam watched as she moved behind him, locking the door and flipping the “open” sign. When she finished, she grabbed his hand and he let her drag her through the shop and into the back room.

The room wasn’t large, but it fit a desk, couch, small fridge and some filing cabinets. She motioned for him to take a seat before grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge and the box of tissues from the desk. She sat next to Sam, handing him a water and placing the tissues between them.

He chuckled, the sound watery to his own ears, and thanked her.

Silence lingered, but not in an uncomfortable way. Despite having not seen each other in nearly two decades, Sam found himself at ease with her as he’d once been. He felt safe.

“What brought you to town, Sam?” 

Long fingers played along the lid of his water as Sam huffed a laugh.

“I’m, uh,” he pursed his lips, eyes trained on the bottle in his hands. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I just kind of started driving and ended up here.”

She hummed and Sam chanced a look at her. Her brows were drawn in up consideration and she chewed absently on her lower lip.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she mused, not looking at him. “But of all the places you could have wound up, you sure picked a pretty crap town.”

Sam laughed, the sound much closer to sincere than it had been in weeks.

“I don’t know, y/n. It’s not so bad.” He met her gaze. “Some of my favorite memories are in this place.”

Y/n smiled as she ducked her head. 

“What about you? I thought you were gettin’ the hell outta Dodge as soon as graduation was over?” Sam’s voice held a hint of teasing in his genuinely curious words.

Sighing, y/n sat back and tipped her head toward the ceiling. Sam wondered if it was the question in general that made her uncomfortable or the fact that it reminded her of the promise he’d broken. 

“I tried. Left for a while, but you know what they say. There’s no place like home.” Rolling her head toward him, she shrugged.

“That is what they say,” Sam echoed hollowly. He was in no position to empathize, having had no real home of his own. But he tried. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be, Sam.” She laughed, sitting back up and tucking a foot under her thigh. “I’m happy, for the most part.”

Sam nodded, unsure how to respond, but needing to address the guilt weighing heavy in his mind.

“Y/n, what happened...back then...I wish...” Sam began, but she waved him off. 

“Water under the bridge.” Her smile was relaxed and warm.

“No,” Sam shook his head, his eyes scanning the carpet fibers as though his thoughts were written there. “No, you deserved so much more. I never would have stood you up at prom, if I’d had a choice. I was furious with my dad for moving us that night. I begged him to let us stay one more night, or at least call you and explain, but there was nothing I could do. My family has always been a little...uh...nomadic. We never stayed in one place for too long, but it was my senior year, and Dad said it would be different…”  Sam shoved his fingers through his dark hair roughly.

“I know, Sam.”

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Not really.”

Y/n placed a hand on his forearm, drawing his attention to her. “I’m really sorry about your brother, Sam.”

Sam froze. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Your brother? Dean?” 

Sam nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. And?”

Narrowing her gaze, y/n bit her lip, thoughtfully. “Did you happen to notice anything different about the store when you came in?”

“Am I having a stroke or something?” Sam stared at her, his face scrunched and his eyes wide. “What does the store have to do with Dean? And what does Dean have to do with prom?”

Y/n shook her head, chuckling lightly. She stood up, hand outstretched toward Sam. He looked between her offered palm and the amused expression on her lips. 

“Come on, I want to show you something.” Y/n smiled, tipping her head toward the door.

Sam took her hand and was surprised to find her actually succeeding in bringing him to his feet. He shot her a wry grin and she shrugged.

“I’m stronger than I look, Sam.” Winking at him, she pulled him back into the empty store. 

He had been so intently focused on seeing y/n that evening that he really hadn’t paid any mind to the interior. Looking around now, however, he realized how much things truly had changed.

“When my dad started this shop, it was a simple used book store.”

"Yeah, it's where we met," Sam blushed.

Glancing around, he spotted a familiar brown chair and the memory of that day came flooding back.

"It is." Y/n smiled.

Sam saw the flicker of something in her eyes and he guessed she was reliving the moment in her own head as much as he was.

The first day in a new school was never easy and Sam found himself seeking the comfort in the form of paper and ink and the musty smells of adventures waiting to be had. He’d seen the bookstore on his way to school that morning, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was just the place he was needing.

The overhead bell tinkled as he walked in. The sheer number of books crammed into every inch of the shelves lining the walls was incredible. It would take him ages just to find a book in this place, and Sam couldn’t have been more excited about the prospect. 

He quietly surveyed the shelves, trying to decide the best place to start his quest when his gaze fell on her.

She looked so serene with her nose buried in the yellowed pages of a worn paperback and legs sprawled sideways across an enormous, overstuffed brown chair. Sam recognized her from school earlier in the day; the shimmering violet hue of her hair, brilliant even in the dim lights of the store, was enough for her to stand out, but it was her eyes - wide and full of mischief and wonder - that he’d been drawn to first. 

His first instinct was to turn around and pretend he had never been there. But before he could, those same wide eyes found his and he froze.

“Hey! You’re the new guy, right?” Her inky black lips drew up in a heart-stopping smile. "I saw you at school earlier. I think we have a class together."

Clearing his throat once, and again for good measure, he introduced himself.

“My name’s Sam,” he grimaced at the way his voice cracked slightly around the single syllable of his name. “Sam Winchester.”

“Nice to meet ya, Sam! I’m y/n.” 

Y/n snapped her book closed and stood, tossing it in the now vacant seat. 

“Can I help you find something? First book’s on the house,” she winked at him.

Sam opened his mouth, intending to refuse the offer when a stocky, mustached man appeared in the doorway behind the counter. The man nodded at Sam before turning his attention to y/n, a gentle chiding expression washing over his face.

“Sweet pea, you’ve gotta quit saying that,” he tsked softly. “We can’t sell any books if you give them all away!”

Y/n’s face scrunched up in guilt, but Sam noticed the playful glint in her eyes that seemed to contradict her expression.

“Sorry, Daddy. Last time, I promise.” 

Sam stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to...I was gonna pay for…”

The man waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Y/n’s just got a big heart and I can’t exactly fault her for that,” he huffed a laugh and shook his head lovingly. “Just like her mother.”

Y/n cleared her throat and shook her head, a smile playing at her lips.

"Anyway, a few years back, before he passed, some folks came in asking about these strange texts. Dad was never one to pass up the chance to learn something new, so he researched it a bit. It took some time, but he was able to track down a copy for them.

“A week later, a husband and wife came in saying someone had told them we might be able to help them. Jump forward six months and our little used book shop had become a hunter’s library and spell apothecary. Need a hard to come-by text? Missing that one ingredient for a binding spell? Look no further.”

Sam’s jaw went slack as she spoke, his hazel eyes growing wider and wider. Looking around now, it all made sense. Tall shelves still lined the walls, but rather than tattered paperbacks and crumbling spines, the shelves held large, leather bound books, document boxes and an assortment of glass jars lined up neatly. The space above the door was littered with faint, though recognizable protection sigils and, looking closer, he found the window sills lined with salt.  Y/n gave his arm a gentle squeeze and continued.

“Imagine my surprise when I overhear a few people talking about Sam and Dean Winchester, the men the angels and demons fear,” she shrugged. “I asked around and heard all about your harrowing adventures. Starting the apocalypse, stopping the apocalypse, dying...like a lot. I kind of made it a habit to check up on you from time to time. It was strange because some days I felt just as close to you as we were in high school and others...it felt like there was this insurmountable mountain between us. Sounds kinda creepy saying it out loud, really. I can’t really explain it, but I always had this feeling that I’d see you again.”

Sam blinked, his mind desperately trying to make sense of what she’d just told him. Somehow y/n knew; about hunting, monsters, him. She knew. And at that realization Sam felt the tightness in his chest ease ever so slightly, the frost that encased his heart slowly ebbing away.

“So, all of that to say...I am really sorry about what happened to your brother.” Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze. “That Dick Roman was really aptly named, wasn’t he?”

Despite the confusion and the pain and the sheer absurdity of the whole situation, Sam laughed. Not the sad, pitiful sound he’d grown accustomed to making. No, Sam laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and forced the dimple in his cheek to show. A small rush of warmth flooded his chest as he sucked in a breath, dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“So you know, then? You know everything?” Sam eyed her.

“I mean obviously I don’t know everything, but thank you for assuming it’s possible that I could.” She nudged his shoulder playfully and grinned. “You flatter me, Sam Winchester.”

Sam shook his head, the gears in his brain still trying to click into place. “I can’t believe this. Any of it. I never thought I’d see you again, but now I’m here and you’re...I don’t have to make excuses or lie. You understand.” Sam frowns. “I wish I had known sooner. I have thought about you so many damn times over the years. I wanted to look you up, but I didn’t want to drag you into any of this. I wish I could go back to that day...”

Y/n stopped him.

“Listen. I don’t regret a single moment. Sure I can look back and see all those disappointments; prom, graduation. Any more, I just laugh. If any one thing had gone differently - if you’d convinced your dad to let you stay, or if you’d looked me up - I’m afraid the world would be an even darker place than it is now.”

Grabbing Sam’s hand, y/n squeezed as her eyes found his. He studied her gaze, surprised but relieved to see the mischief and wonder hadn’t waned over the years. But there was something else. Something Sam recognized, but couldn’t even begin to hope for; love.

“I believe in free will, Sam. But seeing you walk through those doors tonight? For a second it felt like we were drawn together through destiny.” 

The frozen pit behind his ribs thawed - little by little - as she spoke. All this time she was just out there, waiting until they met again. Waiting for him.

Sam cupped y/n’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. Y/n’s eyelashes fluttered at his touch and she sighed, leaning into his palm. 

“Ever since Dean,” Sam paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and steeled himself before looking at her again. Her gentle gaze grounded him further and he found his voice to continue. “Ever since he disappeared, I have felt so lost. Dean was all I had left and I didn’t think I could go on without him. And then I wound up here. Finding you, knowing you understand...it’s the first time I’ve felt anywhere close to being whole.”

Y/n placed her hand over his and turned her head to kiss his palm. 

“You don’t have to be lost any more, Sam. I can help you. We can find Dean together.”

Sam’s eyes burned at her words, at the promise she was offering him. “Y/n...I can’t ask you…”

Y/n cut him off with a press of her lips against his, he felt her smile into the kiss as his body went rigid. When she moved to pull away, he stopped her, his large hand cradling the back of her head and urging her closer. He kissed her back with everything he had, pouring out every emotion he’d felt in her absence from his life. She swallowed down every fear, pain, anger and frustration that Sam offered up.

When Sam broke the kiss, gasping for air, he found her smiling back up at him. Her eyes glassy and her lipstick smudged lips beautifully kiss-swollen, she traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Sam. I’m offering.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged, this time in relief as the final dregs of ice melted away from his heart. As though she could sense his need, y/n wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Sam pressed a kiss against her crown before she tilted her head back to look into his eyes.

“Welcome home, Sam.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, see this post.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​ @amanda-teaches​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @masksandtruths​ @princessmisery666​  @jamielea81​ @foxyjwls007​ @becs-bunker​ @super100012​ @shy-violet-soul​ @emoryhemsworth​ @impandagrl​

Hunters:

@deanwanddamons​ @iwantthedean​ @pretty-fortune​ @sgarrett49​ @defenderrosetyler​ @sandlee44​ @deanwanddamons​ @lyarr24​ @akshi8278​

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 12)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2671

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence​​​​, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

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

“Y/N,” Charles started but you just glared at him before holding a finger up to silence him. Once you got it ordered you stuffed your phone back in your purse. 

“Y/N, please, I didn’t mean to slip up about the move,” he tried again. 

“We’ll talk about this when we aren’t on my parents front yard,” you responded with a calmed anger. 

Pretty soon, an uber was there to pick you up and take you to your home. You didn’t look at Charles once and you wondered if he was reading your mind. He promised he never would, but you two hadn’t argued like this before. 

Your luggage was set down and you were well prepared to just start boxing up what you could when Charles spoke again. 

“Please talk to me. You said we would talk about it later,” he begged. 

You slammed the books that you’d pulled off your shelf on the table. “I asked you to do one thing! One thing! They were already upset. We could’ve salvaged it. But you had to open your big mouth.” 

“It wasn’t on purpose! Besides, maybe if you had told your parents where you were and that we were coming it wouldn’t have been such a bomb to drop on them,” he countered.

“This is somehow my fault now?”

“No it’s not your fa--”

“It’s somehow my fault that you decided to throw the world’s biggest pity party and completely eradicate me from your life.” 

“I didn’t eradicate you, I thought about you every day,” he argued through clenched teeth.

“What a nice sentiment,” you hissed. “Did me a lot of good while I worried day and night if you were dead or alive!” 

Charles put his fingertips on his head before taking a deep breath. “Fine. You’re right. This isn’t your fault. Not alone anyway. I should’ve never cut you out the way I did, and you should’ve told your parents where you were and that we’d sorted our troubles out. Otherwise I look like the bad guy who fooled their daughter into loving him.” 

You wanted to argue. You were so mad. At Charles for what he did, for what he said, and at your parents for not just listening to you. Why didn’t they just trust you? You sighed internally. Because they didn’t know him like you did. Sure, you could explain all of his powers, all of the troubles he faced, all of the loss he’s had but couldn’t they just trust you? Charles didn’t need to be exposed and exploited like that just so your parents would understand he’d never do anything like that again. 

But you knew that he was right. Maybe if you’d called a month ago and explained everything, or at least told them he had a really rough year, they’d be more supportive of this. But as it stood, they only saw a man that hurt you deeply, and that you were perhaps too young or too love struck to see that he was really a charlatan, someone not to be trusted. Someone who would hurt you again. 

Like your dad said, this wasn’t some silly high school break up. You’d put all romance on hold, saving everything for Charles, the day you’d finally meet. He was your boyfriend, your longstanding love. So when he stopped responding, it was almost as bad as a divorce. A once integral part of your day had disappeared without a trace and no way for you to know why or how it had happened. 

But now he had no way to close you out. It would all be different now. If only you could make them understand. 

With that, hot tears streamed down your face and Charles rushed to envelope you in his arms. “There, there. It’ll all be alright,” he assured. 

You started to pull away. “I have packing to do,” you said through the lump in your throat. 

He tugged you back against him. “No, you don’t. You have to meet with your landlord and the realtor tomorrow. I’ll get this all boxed up for you while you’re gone. But right now you’re upset. I am sorry for what I said, truly. It was a stupid mistake. As far as your parents, we’ll get them to come around. You’re they’re only daughter. They love you and they’ll understand in time that things happen in relationships.” 

“You sure?” you asked, pressing your face into his shoulder.

“I’m positive,” he insisted, rubbing your back. “Why don’t you give me a grand tour to take your mind off things?” 

You nodded, stepping away to wipe your nose and face. “Well, this is the kitchen,” you said, walking into the open area behind the counter. “Not much to see except a mixer. I’ve got a truck load of pots, pans, molds, and baking supplies though,” you said as you walked to the pantry. When you opened the doors you heard Charles gasp. 

“That is a hell of a lot of kitchen utensils. I’m not sure we’ve got the room.” 

You smiled. “I’ll make room.” 

“This is your...office, I suppose?” he asked, gesturing to the dining area. The dining area was actually just a small breakfast table next to a large built in book case. The table was littered with books and notebooks. “I took you to be a lot more organized than this,” he tsked. 

“Oh, well excuse me for not having maids,” you retorted, making a sour face. 

He laughed. “Touchy, touchy. And the bedroom?” 

“Are you trying to be clever?” you asked with a cocked brow.

“No, but if it’s working, I’m certainly happy to be of service.” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not. Let me show you the bathroom. I redid it myself,” you boasted, taking his hand and leading him all around. You showed him every room, and he often asked about unique items you had. You showed up your patio and yard, sharing times you’d sat out there for hours sending him text messages. Every room, every foot was a memory soaked in Charles’s presence, whether he knew it or not. 

By the end of the evening, you two had fallen asleep in each other’s arms on top of the blankets in your room -- soon to be your old room.  

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

You stirred when the sun hit your eyes. You forgot to draw the shades closed last night. When you began to move, it woke Charles who groaned in the most adorable way. 

“Good morning,” you greeted in a warm voice. 

“Mmm, morning.” He rolled and kissed your head. “You ready for your day?” 

“I will be after six more hours of sleep,” you moaned, rolling into him. How magically blissful it was to wake up next to him.

He chuckled. “I guess we should start the day,” he suggested, reluctance in his voice. 

“You’re right.” And so the two of you got up, you grabbed a shower and Charles got dressed. While you were getting ready, you went over the plan for the day. “Okay, so I’m going to meet with the realtor, then I have to go meet my landlord -- shoot that reminds me I need to grab some boxes to box up my office. I’ll have to run and do that too.”

“And while you’re gone, I’ll box up the house,” he noted. 

“Thanks.”

“Any preference? Would you like all fragile things in one box, or how do you like it?” 

“However you think is best. I think I'd prefer to keep all the stuff organized by room.” 

“I’ll try my best,” he offered and you smiled at him in the mirror as you curled your hair and he began to brush his teeth. 

Once you two were all ready, you began your day. Charles started in the room you had the least amount of stuff in - the dining room. It was a dining table and a small chest filled with recipe books. You met with your landlord first for the office. You gave him the date you’d be gone and you two revised the lease agreement. Your lease wasn’t up for another few months but because you’d been a great tenant, he decided to let you close the agreement for the end of the month. 

After that, your stop was the realtor’s and she said she needed to come see your home. 

When you got home, Charles had only gotten one room completely packed and had started on the living room. 

“Ugh,” you groaned. “I really need to go through all this stuff. I’d hate to pack it, just to find out I need to throw it away when it gets there.” 

“We can always go through everything together,” he suggested.

“Actually, we need to clean. The realtor is coming over to give me a loose appraisal,” you sighed. “Guess we should order pizza and get started. I’ll start throwing stuff out tomorrow,” you conceded.

Charles nodded and you two began cleaning the kitchen like crazy. 

The night drug on, and around 11 pm, you finally called it quits. You’d scrubbed, brushed, dusted, mopped two rooms. The rest would have to wait until the morning. 

So it did. 

The next morning, you spent all day cleaning until the realtor arrived at 5, did a thorough walkthrough, showed you comparable homes in the area, then discussed how she worked. Once you agreed on a list price and her commission, she said she’d get the papers to you tomorrow. At that point, you began to go through old files in your office and books. You were surprised at how much you actually threw away. 

The next day, the realtor and your landlord had their paperwork ready to be signed. You headed into the city to sign the documents and box up your office. 

Shortly after you left though, Charles had a thought. He ordered an uber and took it all the way to your parents house.

When he arrived, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d say. He had planned part of it, he’d been thinking about what to say ever since your parents had shown their disapproval. He’d practiced several speeches, gone over many mock conversations in his head, but now that he stood on the doorstep, he wasn’t sure anything he said would be right, or if he should even be here. 

He wondered that too -- if he was overstepping a boundary, talking to your parents when you hadn’t asked him to, but he knew how close you were to them and he didn’t want to see that end just because the two of you were in love. He felt he had a duty to try and mend things, make them understand if he could.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. When they answered, they weren’t overly hateful or cruel, but they weren’t exactly thrilled either. 

“Charles?” your mother, Tracy, greeted. “Where’s Y/N?” she asked, poking her head out a bit to peer around. 

“She’s not here, Mrs. Y/L/N, it’s just me. I was wondering if we could talk?” he inquired. He desperately wanted to use his powers but invading your parents privacy like that to gain an edge in this dispute felt wrong on many levels. No, he needed to fight this battle fair and square. 

Tracy eyed him up and down curiously before glancing to her husband, Frank. He bobbed his head side to side, falling into submission. She nodded and opened the door wider and stepped back to let Charles in. 

“So where is Y/N?” Frank asked, crossing his arms. 

“She’s signing papers. Putting the house up for sale and releasing her office.” 

“Ah,” Frank said, nodding his head in disbelief. “So why are you here?”

“If I may,” he offered, gesturing to the living room. The two of them nodded before leading him to the sitting area. He sat on the chair and they sat adjacent to him on the couch. “I...love your daughter. I know what I did was...awful. To be honest, I haven’t forgiven myself for how I treated her. She didn’t deserve that, at all.”

“No, she didn’t,” Frank agreed quickly and harshly. 

“I lost a dear friend. A girl I grew up with. She’s really like a sister to me, she was raised with me, my parents took her in when she had nowhere to go. She and I had an argument, a rather nasty fight, and she left with another man I called friend. I haven’t heard from them in over a year. On top of that, I started a school for special children, at my home. I completely renovated it to function as a school and boarding home. Only, after a semester I was met with so many threats and opposition, I had to close down the school, for the safe and sake of the children.”

Your parents shifted uncomfortably as they listened.

“On top of this, I was paralyzed. The friend that took my sister away… he accidentally shot me in the back, and left me paralyzed. I was only able to cope with the pain through a strong drug a very dear friend of mine created -- he’s a scientist, you see. He’s an engineer, a biochemist, he can do anything. He created a serum that helped me to walk and not feel pain, but my other… motor functions weren’t as good, my mind would be a bit foggy. So I could either be in pain, but have mental clarity, or numb it, as best I could. I chose to numb it, to numb out everything I’d lost. I have other friends who were lost to tragic accidents. I’m not asking you to give me an excuse. I don’t deserve one. Y/N deserved the truth. I should’ve told her that I was in a dark place and that it would be best if we didn’t talk. Honestly, sometimes I think if I’d just reached out to her, she would have saved me from myself, but I didn’t. I reclused into myself. I was a very, very depressed person and didn’t want to bring her down with me. I supposed that when I got better, I’d contact her and tell her everything… but I never got better. As time went on and I didn’t hear from my sister or my friend, I just got worse. I sunk into a hole that was...very hard to get out of.” 

“That’s all very sad,” Tracy offered, “but you hurt our daughter very deeply.”

“I know,” he agreed softly. “I just want you to know it wasn’t intentional.” 

“Intentional or not,” Frank began, “she reached out several times. She showed us she did, and you couldn’t even send her a message back.” 

All he could do was shrug. “As I said, I was in a dark place. However, I was also in a place to do it. She didn’t know my name, who I was, or how to contact me other than by text or email. It was easy to keep her away, to keep her at bay. But now, she knows me, I know her, and I can’t imagine life without her. I will do everything I can to make her as happy as she can possibly be,” he vowed. 

Tracy and Frank glanced at each other. 

“I don’t want Y/N to get hurt, but as long as she’ll have me, I’ll be there for her, by her side. It’s where I belong. The universe put us together for a reason,” he pleaded. 

However, they remained silent. Steadfast in their opposition of the relationship. 

“Just… something to think about. I’ll leave you to it. I’m sorry to interrupt your day,” he softly apologized as he stood. Tracy nodded and stood to show him to the door while Frank seemed to stare into nothingness. 

Charles had no idea if his words had any affect on them. He could have probed their mind but he felt that violated too much of their privacy. He wanted to do this the honorable way.

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

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[judediangelo75]

Remember

Hello~

I know you guys are probably sick of me writing so much Talbott stuff. I can’t help it, bird boy is endgame and this is my way of coping with the fact I don’t see him often in the game. 

This is gonna be slightly different. So, Judith never ran away. This would would follow Jam City’s storyline somewhat (so Talbott and Judith never met prior).

I felt like writing something less fluff and a just a hint more spicy. Nothing crazy. This is playing on the idea that Talbott finally asks Judith about her secret, which she erased his memory.

Hope you guys like it!

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

Talbott usually prides himself on his memory. Being a background character, he silently studies others. Taking notes on them to keep in mind just in case he has to interact with them (not that he's looking to do so).

But there's one part of his memory that was erased and that bothered him. How did it happened?

Judith Harris.

They were in their third year, the same year he lost his precious feather necklace gifted to him by his mum. The girl was trying to get him to open up, and she almost succeeded. If it wasn't for his keen hearing.

Merula Synde was spying on the them and he became angry. Not at just the Hufflepuff, but himself for nearly letting the girl in.

He left the stunned and hurt Hufflepuff alone in the Courtyard, trying to figure out how to fix the issue. He just found a solution when Judith started to pester him again about letting her help. Of course his answer was a resounding "no", but the girl wouldn't give up. Eventually, he relented and allowed her to help.

That's how they found themselves standing before his Head of House, asking him to teach them Oblivate, the Memory Charm. When Professor Flitwick suggested if Talbott wanted to catch up on the lessons that he missed, he felt his blood run cold. He did miss quite a few lessons and suddenly asking for a private lesson on an advanced spell wasn't a good look for him...

Luckily, Judith was quick to step in. She claimed that she was catching up Talbott up to speed on the lessons he missed and they wanted to get ahead on their studies. Talbott was mildly surprised to see the thoughtful expression on Professor Flitwick's face before he agreed to teach them. Talbott spared a glance at the smiling Hufflepuff. He did recall Flitwick calling Judith one of his favorite students, and she could've been a Ravenclaw herself due to her Hat Stall just a few years prior.

Time passed as the two studied the spell under the Dueling Champion's watchful eye. Talbott could remember how Judith looked as she studied and practiced alongside him. The quiet, studious air that surrounded her. How her gold eyes scanned the pages with the occasional slow blink. The sound of her voice as she practiced the incantation. How her body moved as she practiced her stance. How her slender fingers brushed a loose loc behind her ear. The glow the sunlight bathe her in, causing her skin radiate brilliantly as if she was the sun itself. The way her lips formed that thoughtful pout...

When the pair finished, Judith thanked the Charms professor before he gave them a warning not to misuse the spell.

That's when Talbott came up with the "brilliant" idea of having Judith practice the spell on one of them to see if truly worked. The girl agreed, but said that she would feel more comfortable casting the charm on him rather their Professor. Talbott agreed with that logic, seeing how he would do the same but told her not to make him forget anything important.

"Rather than erase a pre-existing memory, it might be easier if you tell Mr. Winger a new piece of information... Something he didn't know before and wouldn't forget, then use the Memory Charm to erase that memory."

Talbott consented to this, nothing wanting the Hufflepuff to make him forget anything he knew before.

The last clear detail he could remember, or he believed that he could remember, was what looked like a blush on the girl's cheeks.

After that, Talbott couldn't remember a thing until Judith asked if he remembered anything. He found that he didn't like the cheerful smile on her lips when he confirmed he couldn't remember her secret.

He prided himself on his memory and not remembering her secret bothered him more than he's willing to admit. The only other person who knows what she told him was Flitwick, and his teasing smile didn't really provide too many hints to what she could have said.

Now, they were in the 7th year and he has remembered a lot of things in regards to the Hufflepuff Head Girl.

Like how the girl barely grew after their fourth year, making her one of the shortest member of their group of friends. Her locs would be let down more outside of class, reaching down to her hips. How her face lost any traces of baby fat, sculpted delicately to show off her cheekbones. How her style gradually began to expand. As of recently, she's been indulging in a slight girly appearance. Dark shadow dusting on her eyelids, a dark burgundy lipstick covered her full lips, dark red nail polish covered her neatly filed nails and she seem to wearing more skirts and dresses outside her class robes. This would be heavy reminder that the same girl who Talbott helped become an Animagus, the same girl who helped him find my necklace, the same girl who he went on a few dates with...

Was now a woman...

Oh dear Gods, that reminder would never fail to come in the forefront of his mind when they would hang out outside of our classes.

The years have been very kind to her. With Quidditch to help her build and maintain muscle and her genetics made her a very alluring witch.

His red eyes would drink their fill whenever she was around, leaving him slightly drunk on the vision of her. The slight sway in her small hips when she walks. The way her skirt would sometimes ride up her smooth thick, thighs. The way she arches her back when she stretches. The way her sharp cat like eyes would stare into his, accompanied with that slow blink. How her lips move in what feels like slow motion. When she talks, smiles, smirks, eats, drinks...

All that information was engraved into his brain, making forgetting her impossible. So vividly he remembers the girl, that she even visits his dreams.

Her featherlike touch along the skin of his cheek and jaw...

The sweet smell of coconuts and coco butter that fills his lungs when she leans in close...

The warmth that radiates from under her skin, pressing against his...

Her bright gold eyes sparkling with desire and love, accompanied by the slow seductive blink...

The way those sweet lips form the syllables of his name, paired with the sound of it mixed with her accent...

Talbott can't remember the amount of times he's woken up with a rapid beating heart and flushed face. Nor how every time he wished he stayed asleep just a few minutes longer to finally know what it's like to finally kiss the girl of his dreams...

Tonight was only slightly different. It was a little after two in the morning and Talbott was suddenly wide awake from his most recent dream. This time it had to do with their recent adventure to the lake with their friends. Judith went for a dive and emerged from the clear water. Talbott remembered how she looked with she reemerged.

Her locs were heavy with water, a few strands hanging in front of her face. The two piece black and yellow bathing suit was drenched as well. Water glistened under the sun and ran down her warm chocolate skin. Following the curve of her waist and hips, over her tone arms, highlighting her scars and even running down her thick thighs as she slowly walked towards the shore. Some of it hung onto her short curly lashes and lush lips, which were spread in a bright smile.

In his dream, however, they were alone. And the way she walked towards him resembled a predator closing in on their prey. The slight sway of her hips was present as she stalked towards his shellshock form sitting on the shore. The wet Hufflepuff crawled into his lap, a teasing smirk tugged on her moist lips. He remembered a particular droplet of water run down her elegant neck, over her collarbones before disappearing in her bathing suit top. The way her hands danced over the front of his now wet sleeveless shirt wasn't doing him any real favors anyways...

Her lips were just hovering over his when he woke up. And he was staring at his ceiling, allowing his mind run over the memories of the young woman.

When that particularly day in Charms class entered his mind. And stayed there.

He groaned in annoyance as the memory of not remembering the girl's secret replayed in his head like a broken record. He sat up abruptly and got out of bed. Clearly he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. A quick flight should hopefully tired him out and take his mind off the Hufflepuff beauty...

Walking to his window, he opened it before transforming into his Golden Eagle before flying out of his room. The cool breeze brushed against him and Talbott internally sighed at the small relief. He flew around the castle grounds, which was perfectly silent and dark. Well save one location.

Talbott noticed a light coming from the Owlery and was slightly confused at the idea of someone being there at such a late hour.

His curiosity won out and he silently landed at the opening to see who was there.

Judith sat on the ground near the stairs. A large blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as a she had a book resting on the top of her thighs and her wand in her hand. Her gold eyes were trained on the pages, shining with interest. Her locs were up in a messy bun on top of her hand. Talbott can see a hint of what seemed to be her sleep attire, which didn't seem like much seeing how exposed her shoulders and legs were.

If Talbott was in human form, he would've been blushing to the tips of his ears and biting his lip. Despite being a loner, he was still an 18 year old male with hormones. Even with his Animagus abilities, he can not deny the animalistic base instincts he feels from time to time. Especially with the object of his affections sitting just a few feet away...

The girl looked up, her gold eyes staring dead at him. He watched her full lips spread into that heart stopping smile he loved so much.

"Talbott, how long have you been sitting there?" Talbott flew closer to the girl before transforming back.

"Not long... I went out for late night slight because I couldn't sleep. Couldn't help but to notice the light coming from the Owlery," Talbott said softly. The girl nodded.

"I couldn't really sleep either and felt like doing some reading. Not wanting to disturb anybody, I came here..." Talbott found himself staring at her lips again as she spoke. The curiosity was burning him alive.

Though was it because those same lips that told him her secret formulated the incantation for the Memory Charm and erased his memory? Or was it because he wanted to learn about them using his own?

"You know, I've been remembering something..." Judith's eyes raised from her book to lock with his. Without looking away, she bookmarked her page before turning to give him her undivided attention.

"What is it, Talbott?" Gods, he will never tire hearing his name coming from her...

"You... you never did tell me what you said when you erased my memory," he recalled. An arched brow regarded before a soft chuckle escaped the girl. Thanks to the light emitting from her wand, Talbott was able to see the blush on her cheeks.

"Here I thought you would forget about that," she whispered. Now it was Talbott's turn to raise a brow.

"Was it that bad for you to hope I'd forget that you even mentioned it," he asked. A loc fell free from her messy bun. Just as she was about to brush it aside, Talbott did it for her. His body felt like it was on autopilot as he gently tucked the loc behind the shell of her ear, the tips of his finger dancing over the skin there. He knew he should pull away but the blush on her face, which was darkening, intrigued him...

"It wasn't bad per say... it depends on how your feelings are set up." Talbott frowned at the cryptic message.

"What are you-oh..." The sweet smell that clung onto her filled his lungs as she leaned closer. The light caress of her fingertips danced over one of his cheeks, pulling him closer still. Her warm breath briefly fanned over his cheek before he felt her lips press against it.

The soft 'oh' was all he can muster at that moment as his memory went that memory lane. The night of their first date, where they held hands under the stars. Their date on Valentines' Day, where Talbott shyly pressed his lips against Judith's cheek. The day of the festival, where he kissed her again before flying around the Quidditch pitch.

To now...

"I fancy you, Talbott..." came the soft whisper against his cheek. Judith pulled away a little to gauge his reaction to her admission. If she was younger, she probably would've ran away or try to change the subject. But it's their 7th year. After this year, they will all go their separate ways. Besides at this point, it's not much of a secret anymore. Not ever since she admitted this to him again their 4th year when she asked him out on a date...

"You... me?!" Not the most intelligent response she's ever heard from the Eagle Animagus but that doesn't make him seem less adorable in that moment.

"I went on several dates with you, bird boy. Why are you even surprised at this point," she teased with a playful eye roll. Talbott stared at the girl.

She fancied him out of all wizards... ever since their third year?

"But... why? I've been nothing but rude to you ever since we met..." Judith gave him a shy smile.

"It's kinda hard to explain. Something about you, drew me to you. You're quiet, mysterious... and rather handsome. Plus, I know that the quiet loners tend to have the biggest hearts," she admitted, toying with a loose loc. Talbott almost couldn't believe his ears. He reached out and carefully raised her chin so she can look at him. Her mystical gold eyes locked with his, accompanied by that slow blink.

'Those eyes will be the death of me...' he thought, trying to hold back his desire.

"I fancy you too, little bird," Talbott said. He watched as Judith's face brighten.

"Talbott..." Talbott narrowed his eyes at the girl as she said his name. He could feel his animalistic instincts are to grumble to life. Her slender, but tone arms reached up to wrap loosely around his neck. Her blanket fell from her shoulders, revealing her body.

A black silk tank top with matching shorts clothed her. Talbott swallowed thickly as his mind started to head down a dark path.

"I..." Good, a small distraction. Talbott shifted his focus to the girl who seem to be blushing. She cleared her throat.

"I... I know this is sudden but I was wondering... can you kiss me?" Talbott doubts he can ever say no to her, especially with the way she teasing him by biting her lower lip...

"Do you really want me to, little bird," he asked as he leaned closer. He's been wanting this for so long, but he didn't want to start anything without her absolute permission. Judith seem to pick on this because she seem to chuckle a little.

"Kiss me, Talbott... please..." He can't deny her pretty little plea. He leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips against her own.

The contact was soft, curious. It was just light brushes until Judith decided she wanted more of the Ravenclaw male. Pressing her lips more fully against his, she planted herself in his lap. Talbott let out a surprised gasp as she did, but groaned when she nipped at his lower lip. Deciding to give in this feeling, he curled an arm around her waist while his free hand cupped the back of her neck. Dipping her head back a bit, he sucked on her bottom lip. Judith let out a soft moan at the act of dominance from Talbott.

The kiss grew more feverish as their tongues met in teasing flickers. Neither of their hands can remain still for long, exploring the other's body and committing it to memory.

Talbott wanted to remember every detail of this moment. The feeling of her soft lips against his own. The sweet taste of vanilla. How she sighs lovingly against his mouth when he caresses her how so tenderly. The warmth that radiates from under her skin. The curve of her waist and hips beneath his hands. The fullness of her thighs. The way her breath hitched when he trailed kisses from her lips, down her jaw to her neck. The sound of her soft moan when he found a sweet spot right where her neck and shoulder meet. The way her thighs squeezed his hips to alleviate the building discomfort in between her legs.

The pair pulled away for a bit to ease the heated fog from their minds.

"I'm definitely going to remember this moment," he mumbled. Judith let out a cute giggle.

"We can create many more moments like this one... that is if you want," she said shyly, biting her kiss swollen lip. Talbott let out a playful growl before holding her tighter to his chest. Judith let out a squeal and another giggle. The young man tried to ignore the growing discomfort in his groin.

"Of course, little bird. I don't plan on letting you go anything soon."

"Well good, because I don't want you to..."

[classyandroidandy]

Hey, Lover -- All Might (Toshinori Yagi) x Reader

I just found this work of musical art again for the first time in 12 years! I was digging out my old records and dusted this beauty off! I’ve missed this song dearly, and I highly recommend it’s just so cute! I was so troubled on who I’d pair this song with, but I decided that the shy, insecure boi would be absolutely perfect!

If Toshi seems OOC, I’m super, ultra, mad sorry. I’m trying my bestest, folks! If I notice that it’s too OOC, I’ll revise (obvi), but Ima just post it for now.

Welp, enjoy!

WARNING: This story contains brief sexualization and language. Viewers have been warned.

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

I sighed as I applied my chapstick, glancing subtly at the thin male next to me. His shoulder were hunched over his work as a hand ran through his hair. His pen scribbled furiously at the papers in front of him as he worked. I allowed my eyes to slowly return to my own smaller stack of work.

The poor hero was working tirelessly around the clock to keep up with the academy’s work load, but it was rather difficult for the new teacher. Especially while he was trying desperately to maintain a stable relationship with me and play hero. I glanced at my now finished work, working up the courage to offer my assistance to my significant other.

“Toshi, why don’t you let me help you? You seem a little worn out.” I insisted, standing up to place my hands gently on his skeletal shoulders. The blond flinched at the contact. He had already shown many times how uncomfortable physical contact made him when he was like this, but he was just too cute to not want to touch. He shook his head tightly as he scribbled faster.

“No thank you, (Y/n). I can handle this.” Toshinori replied quickly. I could see the slight blush rise to my lover’s cheeks. I let out a frustrated sigh as I stood straight up again. Toshi turned to look at me as I walked away, slowly gathering my items to return to our shared home.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head and I guess I’ll see you at home?” I inquired rhetorically, walking away before Toshi could respond. It wasn’t his fault he had so much work, he was new to this after all. I just hated that he refused to accept or even ask for help when I could clearly aid him in completing the work much faster.

It had been weeks since we had a normal date night, and the separation was starting to drive me insane. We usually set aside every Friday evening for us, to go out to eat, or watch a movie, or even just nap together. Now, I was lucky if I was awake to see him get into bed with me. It pained me to see him so stressed, even more so than when he was just trying to balance hero work

Well, not tonight.

I had planned this evening for a few weeks, and the best part was that Toshi had no idea. He had questioned me when I had pulled a curious looking machine from under our shared bed, but I had shrugged him off with a lame excuse that it was a work briefcase for sensitive files. I hurried through our front door, nearly slamming the hard wood as I rushed to the kitchen.

I had prepared the meal items before I had left this morning, and Toshi was too busy to even notice me cooking. I began the cooking process, beginning to prepare my shower and makeup plans as well.

Once everything was done cooking, I placed it all on low heat and jumped into the shower. It was a rather quick scrub down, but smelling good was my primary goal. Once finished, I rolled curlers into my hair as I began applying my makeup, opting for a light and simple look.

A spared glance at the clock told me I was running out of time, and I hurried to set the table in my robe. While placing the last fork, the front door opened slowly, an exhausted All Might trudging through the door. I didn’t look back at him for fear he would see my make up.

Dammit, I was going to surprise him if it killed me.

“(Y/n)? Dearest?” Toshinori called out hesitantly, his muscled form quivering slightly. I could hear the tremble in his voice, and it wasn’t just nerves causing him to shiver. I stood up straight, cocking a hip out as I pushed a plate to be more centered.

“Toshi?” I answered, still not turning to look at my lover. I fought my own nervous trembled, praying he wouldn’t walk up to me. Large hands engulfed my biceps as I stood there.

Too late to pray, I guess.

I knew he would walk up and try to embrace me. He was still feeling guilty from earlier.

“Please look at me, honey... I’m sorry I didn’t let you help, I just...” Toshi paused as he contemplated his next words. The last thing he wanted to do is agitate me further while he thought I was still upset.

“It’s fine.” I responded quickly, brushing his hands off of my arms. I heard his arms fall limply at his sides.

“Wh... Why won’t you look at me?” Toshi whispered, raising his large hands to grasp me again. I quickly stepped forward, clipping my hip roughly on the table as I clambered clumsily to the floor. Heavy footsteps rapidly approached me.

‘I’M NOT LETTING THIS SURPRISE BE RUINED!’ I shouted in my mind, raising a hand up to stop the large hero. He froze in his tracks as I stood slowly, gripping my bruising hip. I waved a hand over my shoulder as I walked into our shared bedroom.

“I’m fine. Sit on the couch and wait for me for dinner, Yagi.” I instructed, leaving no area for argument. I heard the heavy retreating footsteps of the number one hero as he slowly made his way to the couch in our living room. I giggled quietly to myself as I pulled the curlers out of my hair and pulled on my favorite dress, tugging a pair of simple heels on as I touched up my makeup. I ignored the dark bruise forming on my hip for the moment. Not even that was going to ruin my plans.

I walked out of our shared room, careful to not let my heels be too noisy. Toshinori had gone back to his thin form, his head in his hands as he muttered to himself. I cleared my throat as I leaned against the doorway, trying to look as tall, elegant, and sexy as I could. Toshi stood quickly while forcing himself back into being All Might, whipping around to look at me.

“(Y/n), I’m so sorr-” His words caught in his throat as he stared at me wide eyed. I laughed, walking over to the large male and grabbing his tie in my hands. I pulled his face down to mine as I giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You can just be my Toshi tonight, Mr. All Might.” I teased, watching as his eyes widened farther. His body slowly shrunk down as he stared at me in shock. He still stood a good head over me with my heels on when he stood straight up.

“(Y-Y/n)?” Toshi asked quietly. I smiled brighter as I lead him into the kitchen by his tie, showing him to his seat as I quickly placed the meal on the table. My lover’s mouth never closed. I served Toshinori’s plate first, putting just the right amount of food onto the plate before moving towards my own spot at the table.

I sat down across from Toshi as I began to serve my plate. I laughed at Toshi as I picked up my fork.

“Well? Try it! Tell me how I did!” I joked, scooping a bite and trying the food. It was a bit intense for my flavor, but I hoped it was to Toshinori’s liking. He slowly began to eat, looking at the plate as he chewed quietly. I felt a small pit begin to form in my stomach at the response. An embarrassed blush began to consume the expanse of my cheeks as I nervously placed my fork back down.

“Is it not good? I have some other leftovers we can eat instead! Let me just go heat those up and we can-” I rambled, standing up as I began to move towards the kitchen. Thin fingers grasped my wrist as I was stopped. I paused, turning to look back at the male.

“W-wait! The food is delicious, (Y/n)!” Toshi called, staring at me with pleading eyes. “P... Please sit back down... With me...” I smiled and sat back down as I hesitantly picked my fork back up. We sat in a tense silence while we ate, slowly clearing our plates of the food.

“So... What’s new?” I weakly attempted at conversation. Toshinori paused, placing his fork back on his plate as he sat silent. Nervousness crept up my spine the longer we sat in silence.

“Did you plan this for me?” Toshi asked quietly. I almost shrieked at the sudden whisper, but managed to compose myself with a confused look.

“Of course, Yagi. Who else would I be doing this for?” I laughed, standing to clear the plates. Toshinori quickly jumped up, taking the plates from my hands as he took them to the kitchen for me.

“Thank you, (Y/n). It means the world to me.” Toshi smiled, grasping my hands in his. I laughed pulling him into the living room.

“Well, I have one last thing I want to do before we go take a bath.” I giggled, depositing the thin male in the center of the living room. He gave me a raised brow as he stood awkwardly.

“Does it happen to relate to the dress?” He inquired. I nodded as I pulled the briefcase up and placed it onto the shelf. I slowly opened the case, placing a needle on the large the disc sitting in the center.

A custom turntable. My parents initials were engraved on the back, right next to my own sloppy engraving of Toshi and I’s names.

Hey Lover slowly panned through the room as I turned to look at the blushing male. I sauntered slowly over to him, watching as a nervous sweat beaded on his temples. I guided his hands to my hips as I pulled him close to me, swaying gently with the music. I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck as I began leading his movements to the music. His heart pounded underneath my own chest, his breathing ragged against my shoulder as he clumsily moved along with me.

“My parents always danced to this song when they were stressed or had been apart for a while...” I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Toshi’s neck. He stiffened at the contact, his hands nervously clenching the plush flesh of my hips. His hands slowly moved to cup the sides of my ass as we swayed.

“I-is that so?” He sputtered, flexing his fingers slowly. I laughed as I nodded, helping the hero keep pace with me.

“You’ve been so stressed lately, and we haven’t really had any time to ourselves... I thought this would be a perfect way of replenishing our relationship...” I explained, still shuffling slowly. Toshi relaxed at my words, becoming less stiff as he embraced me tighter to him. His feet remained clumsy as he struggled to keep beat, but he held tight to my form as we swayed.

“You did this just for us?” Yagi clarified, pulling away to look me in the eye. I smiled, cupping his cheek tenderly.

“But of course. I did this for you, Toshi. Why else would I have done all of this?” I explained with a laugh, leaning in to press a light kiss to his lips. Toshinori sighed, pushing himself closer to me as the song played quietly over us. One of his hands slowly ascended my back, reaching up to cup the back of my neck gently. With a breathy sigh, I pulled away as the last notes played out. He reached out slowly for me, watching as I walked back towards the turntable and pulled the needle up. Before I could move it away from the record, Toshi placed a hand lightly over mine.

“Actually... Can this play while we take our bath?” He asked quietly, pressing a light kiss to my neck. I giggled with a shudder, nodding as I replaced the needle on the record, basking in the beginning notes of the song. I turned around, wrapping my arms around his neck as he straightened back into an all too familiar hero.

“Of course... Lover...” I sighed, allowing the male to carry me towards our bathroom.

[jbbuckybarnes]

I wanted to

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (5k words) Description: You’ve been gone for 5 years, living in the forest for now. He just witnessed his friend stay back in time and come back as an old man. Maybe you could help each other and fall in love along the way. Warnings: Nightmares, crying, PTSD, awkwardness, canon typical violence, slight angst, fluff, not proofread A/N: I wrote this in my notes a few months back and it is a little openended, but after I figured out that it’s 5k words long, I had to post it. I hope y’all like it anyway, even with how awkward it’s written.

M A S T E R L I S T

You reappeared, the last thing you remembered was turning to dust, alone on a walk. Then the news got to you. 5 years, you were gone for 5 years. Your living situation was currently homeless. You were living in a forest, thankful that it was summer, and waiting for the government to start solving problems. On your daily walk by the cottage that always had a lot going on and the equipment all around it you saw a figure in all black, sitting against a tree, clearly sad. Nobody else was there and you weren't afraid of anything at this point, so you went to the person.

"Um, excuse me? Is everything alright? Do you need help?" You asked coming to a hold 4 steps away from them. A man with long brown hair and ocean blue eyes looked up at you, eyes red and streaks down his cheeks. "No, thank you. I think you'd need my entire life story for that." He sniffled. "Well, I'm currently living in the forest cause I've been dead for 5 years and nobody seems to solve the entire missing people and housing problems, so I think I might understand your hurt a little bit. What's wrong?" You crouched down to be on his level. Now that you looked at him, he looked way bigger and potentially dangerous than you previously thought. You both just sat in silence for a few seconds. "You know when you want your friend to be happy, even if it hurts you like being torn to shreds?" He asked, staring into the distance. "Yeah. It's the worst when they don't consider that pain." You were picking grass from the ground. "Multiply that hurt times 100. That's how I feel right now." He sniffled again and you inched a little closer. "Tell me what happened." "Well. Hi, I'm Bucky, formerly known as the Winter Soldier, frozen and unfrozen since the mid 40s. My friend who wasn't made to kill but still equally frozen just went back in time to choose his first love over me and his other friends in this time. And he came back as an old man. I should be happy for him. He had a great life and probably found his peace. But I would've loved to spend those decades with him, my other friends and maybe some new people." A tear ran down his cheek. "You would've needed the support, the love from a true friend. Let me tell you something. A true friend would always choose his friends over his love. No matter which situation. And I hope you're gonna have some damn great decades. Better than he had them. Cause you didn't live in nostalgia. Okay?"

You didn't know how your daily walk turned into a therapy session with a former assassin but this was needed. "Okay." He nodded with a tiny smile. "You need a hug?" You smiled back and he nodded sniffling. The moment your arms had surrounded him he started sobbing. Way too many emotions coming through, thinking of all those years he did everything for that small boy from school. "It's okay, let it out." You murmured, stroking his back. "It hurts." He got out. "I know. For a reason. It hurts because you cared. A lot," you said and felt arms hugging back. "Thanks." He sniffled again. "No problem." "What's your name, therapy stranger." He laughed loosening the hug and wiping his tears away. "Y/N." "James, but call me Bucky." He finally had a true smile on his face. "That's gonna hit you a few times, Bucky. Don't drown in it, okay?" Your hands were on his shoulders. "Promise."

You sat side by side in silence after that. Just relaxing with a view of the forest. "Can I help you with your housing problem?" His voice broke through, a little groggy but calm. "I don't know if you can." You grinned, throwing away a flower petal you had picked. "Well, now that Steve is definitely out of question as a third roommate...you might be a good shot. You don't have to. Just an idea. I can also just help you search for a flat." "I'd like to. An actual shower would be nice again." you giggled. "There's one in there. I can, you know, ask if you can-" "You don't have to." "Well, but I want to. You don't deserve to die for 5 years and then not have at least THAT luxury." He chuckled at how dumb this all sounded. "I guess." You grinned. He stood up, "Let's just walk in there. Ignore any question about Captain America or Steven Grant Rogers & get you to a shower and a hairbrush." "Thanks for subtly insulting my hair." You boxed against his arm and heard a chuckle.

A knock, "Can I come in without risking a punch?" "Yeah." You giggled, standing in front of the mirror in a shirt that he gave you, getting knots out of your hair. "You look like a new person, Y/N." He grinned leaning against the counter. "Imagine what a good 10 hours of sleep would do to me now." You smiled before making a grimace at the pain on your scalp. He watched you starting to frown into the mirror at your hair strands. "Can I help?" He came closer. "Depends on how gentle you can be." You chuckled. "I had sisters, I know how to do this without anyone crying, darling," he said proudly. "Well, then help away." You shrugged. His hands were gently going through the hair strands on your left side while you went on with the right side. Your eyes wandered to his patient but slightly frowning face that was concentrated on your hair and you smiled. "Didn't think helping a stranger would end this positive." You giggled and he looked up with a smile. "Good things happen to good people." "Well, bad things also happen to good people." You looked at him through the mirror with a soft smile and saw him shake his head to get rid of a thought. "It'll get better," you whispered. "I know," he whispered back, letting the brush glide through your hair. "Damn. You really are good at this." "Of course. Didn't wanna hear my sisters cry at me for an entire week back in the day." He chuckled at the fond memories on his mind. Would he go see them if he could? No. He didn't want to interfere with their life, everything happened for a reason. When you were finally done with your side you exhaled exhausted and turned around to him. "You look pretty in it." He smiled down at you and you followed his eyes. Oh, yeah, this was his shirt. "Uh, thanks." You answered touching it.

"Who's the pretty girl you got with you, Barnes?" Sam looked up from his drink in the kitchen and eyed you. "Our potential third roommate." Came back. "Oh." He set down his cup of coffee. "Hi, my name's Y/N. I've also been gone for 5 years and currently live off of forest food cause our government is a burning pile of trash," you introduced yourself dryly. "What did you do before?" "Was the definition of a homebody." You shrugged. "Hm, not to come off wrong but...we're Avengers and that means cleaning & errands might end up in your hands cause of missions. Any problems with that?" He smirked. "Not really. I just want sleep, food, water and a roof over my head." "What music do you like?" "Pop, Rock, Hip Hop." "Favorite sports team?" "Not my area." "Favorite movie?" "The Matrix." "I like her." Sam looked at Bucky. "Does that mean I can just stay with you from now on? Cause I literally don't have anything else out there other than my knife and a missing persons file for my mother." You asked. "Of course. Why would we let you sleep in the forest?" Bucky looked back at you. "You never know."

"Welcome to your new home." It has been a few days since you all met and gotten to know each other better. Bucky had just opened the door to your room and a bed frame and mattress were already in there. Together with a decent laptop and phone. Clothes had been ordered a few days earlier, but you were still mainly living in Bucky's clothes. There had been multiple occasions of him hiding somewhere in the house or outside to just get it all out, but you always found him and calmed him down. "Oh god, you didn't have to-" "But I wanted to." With a soft smile he closed the door behind you As soon as you used both devices and logged back in, you were searching for your friends and family members. Then world news & government aid. Then Steve Rogers and then Bucky. Sure, you'd learned about them in school years ago but a little refresher on their history and more reasons to be mad at Steve weren't a bad idea. "Gone for a press conference." Was yelled through the apartment by Sam and a door closed. Shortly after there was a knock on your door. "Come in." Bucky's head peaked in with a shy smile. "Something wrong?" You asked. "No, just wanted to say thank you for being there for me so much the last days. You don't have to but you do it anyway." His hand wandered through his hair. "You're the one giving me a place to stay after all this mess." You smiled back. After a bit of silence he breathed in, "Wanna make dinner together?" "Sure."

"Am I ever getting my clothes back?" He grinned down at you. "No. Too comfy." You grinned back in your giant shirt from him. "It's okay, you can have 'em. They look better on you anyway." Now the smile got softer. "Thanks. Always prefered men's clothing." You handed him something he needed for the food you were preparing. There was a comfortable silence across the room while you two continued until the food was ready. "Thanks for cooking with me." He smiled like a little boy. "Of course, Buck."

You woke up from whimpers next door. It was 2am and you really needed sleep, but you got up and walked to his room. When you slowly opened the door you saw him toss and turn a bit with a frown on his face. "Bucky. Hey, Bucky. It's okay. Wake up." Your hand wandered over his head and arm. With a little gasp his eyes opened, "Y/N?" "Yes, I'm here. You had a bad dream." You gave him a concerned smile. "Thank you for waking me up." He smiled sleepily. "Of course." You stood up. "Can you stay here? I don't want to dream that again." His hand reached out and landed on your legs. "Sure." You shrugged and got into the bed next to him. Big arms were snaking around you and hugged you close into a spoon position. "Thank you." He whispered before you drifted off.

Your eyes slowly opened and you found yourself to be in a room that wasn't yours. As soon as you heard little huffs behind you, you knew where you were again. The hand that was over your waist was tried to be removed but without luck. "Bucky. Let me get up." You grumbled. "Hmm?" He asked half asleep. "Let me get up," you mumbled. "No." He grumbled and pulled you closer. "Bucky!" You squealed and got a deep chuckle back. "What's wrong, darling?" You only crossed your arms in response. "Good morning to you too." He chuckled. "You're definitely awake," you mumbled and the arm around you instantly loosened after he realized what you were talking about. "Sorry," was mumbled. "Nah, it's fine." You smiled and finally turned around, "Sleep well after the nightmare?" "Yes, thank you for staying." His tired eyes were shimmering. "No problem." You got hair strands out of your face. "You look adorable right now." He laughed. "I feel more like a squished teddy bear." You pouted and got a giant grin back. "You were a good teddy bear though."

He still occasionally cried and you came to his room whenever you noticed or heard, but he got better, even after visiting Steve. A mission finally called for both of them, not a good sign. Seeing him in his full gear for the first time was overwhelming but fascinating. "Be safe you two idiots." You smiled at both of them. "Don't redecorate the entire house." Sam grinned. "I'll try my best." You chuckled before giving both of them a good hug. The second one came with a kiss to your temple before they were out of the door. You were worried the second they were out of the door, but the two weirdos would be keeping each other safe.

After the mission had turned into a national problem and back, the two men finally came in through the front door exhausted. "Hey, darling." A familiar voice broke the silence and you fell into his arms. "I'm so glad you both are back unharmed," you mumbled. "Of course! We need to annoy the hell out of you. Don't we?" Sam chuckled. You hugged him too before dragging them both into the kitchen to make them some sandwiches. "Sooo. How did it go?" You grinned, knowing well that both of then were ready to explode at the inability of the government. A grumble, "Don't get me started." "Smith is a fucking idiot." "Yeah, and that Tom idiot from mission control." "And Sharon's contact." "Literally anyone involved except for a few." Bucky concluded. "Well, I painted a wall in my room while you were gone and fixed the faucette in the bathroom." You smiled at them accomplished. "Without US!?" Sam said fake offended. "How could you? Let us fail at it first." Bucky joined in. "Can't believe you two manage to keep each other alive." You laughed before starting to clean the counter.

"It's pretty." Bucky smiled at your wall after sitting on your bed and staring at it for a good minute. He was not sure if he liked pastel colors on the wall but guessed they made sense for you. "Thanks. Stood in the paint aisle for almost two hours for the right color." "You think I should paint mine too?" He looked over to you at the desk. "If you want to." A quick shrug. "What color would you pick?" "Maybe...a dark warm purple. Or a tapestry with a lot of moody but colorful things going on. Or maybe just hanging up a few decor pieces in black and brown, fitting to your furniture." Your mind was working with all the possibilities. You didn't notice the soft eyes on you, "I think actually...the best one would be getting a few hang up tapestries that you like and change them up every now and then and the other half of the wall with the decor idea." "Y/N?" He snapped around to get you back. "Huh?" You shook your head and saw his nose crinkle with a chuckle. "Search for some and show them to me." He nudged his head towards your laptop. You grabbed it and fell onto the bed next to him and both of you spent the entire evening checking out tapestries on Society6.

Hands wrapped around your sides before picking you up unexpectedly. With a squeal you found yourself on the shoulders of the super soldier. "I was just trying to hang this up." You giggled. "Thought I should help." He chuckled. "My head literally almost smashed into the ceiling." "But it didn't." The tapestry was put up next to the frames and shelves you had been working on all afternoon while he was at the compound. "It's pretty. Thanks for making it that way." He smiled down at you after letting you down again. "No problem. I love doing this kind of stuff." "Pizza?" "Pizza."

"W-" "Just take it. Wear it everyday and use it if you need to." You were looking down at a bracelet that they got configured for emergencies. In case of imminent danger you just needed to press down a button. "But why?" "You live with two Avengers, we'd feel better if you wore it." Sam added. "Oh okay." You were intimidated by the tech. You studied Hydras infiltration into S.H.I.E.L.D. in your freetime after the files came out and while you were aware that your phone was technically also a tracking device, this felt a little bigger than some phone that can be encrypted by a VPN. You put it on anyway, these two idiots would never want to harm you. "Why not simply use my phone?" You looked up. "You better have two devices than one. If somebody gets your phone a bracelet will be the least suspected thing on your body." "Hm. Okay." You looked at the beads of the bracelet. Looked not too expensive but also not cheap. "Guess I'll get used to it." Two relaxed smiles came back at you. Good.

Arms wrapped around you while you made yourself french toast. A grumble and exhausted exhale. "You'd think with two soldiers you'd have people in the house that are used to early mornings." You chuckled. "Not when you slept like shit and have a roommate that feels like a good surface to fall back asleep on." Sam grumbled in his groggy voice. "You want one?" A soft movement on your shoulder was given back. You added one more slice to the pan and leaned back against him. "Damn you, soft woman." He mumbled squeezing you closer and making you giggle. "You awake or falling asleep again?" You chuckled. "Awake. Unfortunately." He whined before letting you go and taking his toast. "Drink your coffee, birdie. 's gonna be fine." You grinned. He tossled through your hair before making his way to his chair. "You havin' any plans for today?" "Hm. Maybe I'll go adventure the city a bit. Quite a bit has changed in the last 5 years." "You bringing dinner on the way back?" His head dipped to the side like a puppy would do it. "Sushi?" "Sounds good to me."

You'd been all around the Central Park area to scope out new places and what had changed. A few big companies went down after the decimation and smaller shops moved into the places. One of them was actually a sushi place and you already felt it slowly getting colder and the sun was getting lower. You made your way to that block. It was a bit further from the park and not much tourist attractions near, so you could slow down your pace a bit. You never made it to the entrance. You were yanked back by somebody and silenced with a hand over your mouth. You opened your eyes again to an empty street, only darkly clothed men all around. How did you not see them earlier. "Well, if it isn't our Avengers girlfriend." A dark voice said behind you, manifesting into a man coming to a hold in front of you. The man holding you let you go a little, knowing you wouldn't run with all these men around. "What do you want from me and who the hell are you?" You said stronger than you thought you could in this situation. Your hand wandered to your wrist, pressing down the little dent in your bracelet. "The Handler, Hydra, we don't want anything FROM you, we just want you. They'd never let their friend die at our hands. They wanna save you, don't they." "You wanna take me to get them?" You made clear out loud. "Yeah. You wanna come with us normally or do we need to use strength on you?" "I come with you, but only if you can prove you're really Hydra and not just some human trafficking gang." You played the game, they wouldn't take long. "Girl, you wanna see prove?" The man grinned. "I know all his trigger words. You wanna die at the hands of Bucky Barnes or do you wanna live?" "Not sure how long you can keep that promise of me living." You smirked, hearing a faint jetpack coming closer. In seconds somebody grabbed you, Sam kicked down the mysterious man and multiple men fell to the floor. You didn't look at the scene but had enough self defense training to kick the man holding you where the sun doesn't shine before ramming an elbow into his sternum and your hand into his face. A metal hand grabbed over his mouth before his body turned limp. "Stay behind me!" You heard from Bucky, finally getting you out of the shock and did as he said. Your eyes were trying to stay as far away from anything trauma inducing as they could. Bullets were kept from hitting you by black vibranium and you flinched at a cry behind you. "Sam, get her out of here." The arms from this morning suddenly felt possibly threatening for a second, then like the only safe option. "Close your eyes." He quickly told you before flying you up to the next best roof. Redwing hovered above you shortly after and you were pressed to sit down on the floor. "Stay here. Gonna make sure everything is safe." You were shaking, heard a few more gunshots and the little computer over you scanning everything around. "I'm just saying. You better tell her soon or she'll never start training to do these things." "She shouldn't need to. Even if I do." The two flew up in front of you, Bucky immediately coming straight towards you with a concerned face. "Didn't know you could break noses, darling." He huffed before grabbing your shaking form close, letting you sob out the shock. "I'm so sorry, Y/N." He mumbled into your ear. "H-home." "We'll bring you home, darling. You're safe now."

"They waited all this time for her to go into an area of the city that's calmer. What the hell could they want from me or you?" Sam was stressed. "They always want me for something." Bucky muttered. "Hey, that's not your fault. Okay?" "I know, but I'm still the reason this bullshit happened to her." "You don't know that." "They wanted to kidnap her to lure us in. Told her they knew the trigger words." Bucky growled. Your pitter patter moved towards the kitchen. Red swollen eyes staring at the two men for a second before you went for the fridge. "He said "come with us or die by Bucky's hands" like it wasn't part of the same plan," you mumbled taking out chocolate pudding, "Which makes me question if they have more stuff to get you with." "I honestly don't wanna try it out without having Steve to kick your head back to normal." Sam shook his head. "I need to call Shuri, Cho & Banner," Bucky muttered before making a quick way out of the kitchen. You sat down on the counter, spoon deep in your comfort food. "You feeling better?" Sam asked. "A bit." "Bucky's still not over you breaking someone's nose. That was badass for someone that's not an agent. But also risky." The last sentence was accompanied by a stern look. You gave a soft smile back, "I knew you both had my back." "I can teach you a few more moves if that helps you." He grinned. "Would always love to learn from my favorite Captain America." You laughed towards the end of the sentence.

"I'll be back in a few weeks. Promise." Bucky looked down at you, regretting that he needed to go to Wakanda. "Gonna miss you." You squished your face into his chest. "I'm gonna miss you too, darling." He smiled down. You pulled his head down a little, making his breathing hitch and his cheeks flush. A soft kiss was pressed onto his forehead before he could get his cool back. "Now nothing can go wrong." You giggled and he grabbed you into a tight hug again with a chuckle before you parted ways and he flew away in the Quinjet.

In the following weeks you got at least one voice memo per day. Sometimes a picture of a beautiful Wakandan flower. Mostly diary-like updates. You kept his room clean, changed the tapestry to a more colorful one, stole some more jumpers and maybe one of his throw blankets. "Sam told me you're a thief again?" He said when you finally video called after a month. "It's getting colder, your jumpers are the best, what else am I supposed to do?" You pouted. "I also see my throw blanket around you right now." He laughed. "I miss you, okay?" You said flustered. "I miss you too. Next time I'm gone I demand to steal something from you too." He grinned. "Alright," you agreed, "How are you doing?" "I think they only test one or two more times for stuff and then I'm gonna be back." "Prepare for the longest hug in the history of hugs." "Alright, darling. Ugh, I need to go. Annoy Sam for me, will you?" He smiled truly happy. "Of course. See ya, Buck."

"No, don't go back before punching. That gives me too much time for defense. Surprise effect." Sam explained to you while showing you some of the things he learned in the military. "So, like this?" You punched him and caught him off-guard. "Damn, girl. You're getting really bold around me, huh?" He smirked. "Thought Captain America could take a hit from someone like me." You chuckled. "Oh, you could easily win against me with the right training. I think Bucky would be hard for any agent or soldier." "Another point for me disliking Steve, thanks. Goes onto the list." "You have a list?" He asked impressed. "C'mon. Good doesn't mean sane." "You're more protective than I thought you'd be." He winked continuing the session. "Why wouldn't I? Physically I'm not a match, but mentally?" You smirked, diffusing a punch. "Fair point." He shrugged, dodging your next punch. "Gaaah." You threw yourself at him in a cuddle attack. "You tired?" He laughed catching you. "Yeah." "Sushi?" "Please."

With a gasp you woke up from a nightmare. A weird one too. Nothing made sense but it had involved your two roommates. After grabbing the water bottle on your bedside table and drinking from it you had calmed down, but not enough to fall back asleep. *I had a nightmare.* *Can't fall back asleep?* *No :c* *Sleep in my bed if it helps.* You had silently made your way to Bucky's room and laid down in his bed, surrounded by his smell. Something about that did wonders to get your eyelids heavy in an instant. The next morning you were greeted with wiggly eyebrows at the kitchen table. "You act like we don't have a nightmare routine." "Yeah, it's real cute. You should try seeing how oblivious you both are. Drives me insane." "Excuse me?" He held his hands up and stayed silent about it for the rest of the week.

You started sleeping only in his room after that day, since it just felt better for whatever reason. You really felt the parts of your day where he was missing. And one morning you finally woke up to arms being tightly wrapped around you with a face pressed into your back. "Bucky?" You whispered tired and turned around. "Hm?" He grumbled half asleep. "I missed you." You grinned squinting. "I missed you too, darling." He peaked his eyes open with a soft smile. You inhaled to say something but held yourself back from doing so. "Missed you more than anything." He grinned with his hand getting your messy hair under control. "Anything is a lot." You giggled. "I know, darling." He pulled you closer, having you in his personal space. "I slept way better in here." You smiled. "Really? Was it because of the bed or the stolen clothes?" He chuckled. "Both." Another giggle left you. "I really want to kiss you right now," he said with his eyes locked on yours. Words failed you and you nodded with a shy smile. Lips touched yours slow and hesitant, testing the waters, making sure you feel comfortable. "I waited so long to do this, god. I'm so madly in love with you." Everything just left him like a waterfall of words. "I love you too, Bucky." Your face lit up. "Sooo, we're gonna stay in this cocoon for a few more minutes?" His hand went down your side. "Of course, you idiot." You laughed. A few more minutes had turned into an hour. Spent with kissing, touching, giggling and content smiles. "You want french toast or not?" You sat up. "I want you...wait...that came out wrong." He laughed. "Oh no, Buck. You meant that the way you said it, player." You grinned. "I mean...it wasn't a lie." Innocent eyes landed on you. "You'd have to kick Sam out for that." You laughed and gave him a little wink, making him blush. "Maybeee I need 5 more minutes." He cleared his throat. "Alright. Good to know." You smirked before leaving the bed next to him warm, while he needed to calm down from any fantasies playing out in his head.

[rvmmm21]

. you know who i am? part deux .

aand to the anon who first requested this. look what you’ve done. you’ve created a very tiny demand for a part 2. and now i’ve dug myself even deeper because there’s gonna have to be a part 3 as well. i have the restraint of someone who has no restraint at all when it comes to getting carried away with supposed to be one-shots. 

if you’d like to read it, it’s also on ao3.

part 1 can be found here.

[badgirl/bully!joohyun x freshman!seungwan]

...

Bae Joohyun loves playing with her food. And Son Seungwan makes a very tasty snack. She finds herself victim of Joohyun’s entertainment time and time again; all these wicked little games of cat and mouse she’s forced to participate in whether she wants to or not. It’s awful. Awfully thrilling too; never able to shake the feeling of being watched from round corners, behind doors and… goddamnit, not even work provides her an ounce of solidarity. 

But she… likes it?

After filing out of class, Seungwan spots the black velvet trio in their usual inconspicuous corner, draped in all their menacing glory and laughing about something she can’t quite hear. Seeing as they’re partners now, Seungwan doesn’t think it’s too bad an idea if they got a little friendlier with each other.

Being nice never hurt anyone, she mentally hypes herself up for the challenge.

Feeling emboldened, she gingerly taps Joohyun on the shoulder, proud that she hasn’t passed out from gaining the attention of God herself. She musters up the courage she’s never had to in all her years of living.

“H-hi sunbae,” she says sheepishly, mindful of the girl’s seniority, “I-I think – I think y-you look nice today.”

Her innocent attempt at a compliment backfires instantly, when Joohyun suddenly whips completely round to face her. Books and loose sheets of paper drop like bombs, scattered at her feet when she sees the older girl’s features contort into a scowl that threatens to eat her alive. Poor Seungwan’s absolutely horrified, frantically wracking her brains for where she could’ve possibly misspoken.

The next thing she knows, she’s in a verbal joust; and no points for guessing who’s winning.

“Today!?” Joohyun scorns in disbelief, breaking away from a very amused Jennie and an unbothered Sooyoung, “what, so I don’t look good every day? Huh? Is that what you’re telling me, freshman?”

“N-no! No! Of – of course not!” Seungwan’s brown eyes double in size and she vigorously shakes her head, automatically backing away at the sight of a rapidly advancing, angry Joohyun, “I-I… I just meant t-that–”

“That I usually look hideous but today I ‘got lucky’!?”

The shorter girl gasps in shock when she feels the pointy angle of a door handle dig painfully into her lower back, making her cringe, cornered once again.

“T-that’s that’s th – no no no, I’d n-never!” she winces, brows knitted in fear, trembling hands up in surrender, more than ready to black out there and then.

The intensity of those unwavering pupils is enough to make the kingpin of the largest drug cartel in the world crumble to his knees. And if that’s the case, then Seungwan has even less hope than she’d originally thought. She carelessly grasps around behind her in search of… anything, really.

Joohyun just stands there, clearly enjoying watching the smaller girl fight to stay upright.

“Say, ‘I’m an idiot’.”

The instruction is concise. Clear. But Seungwan unfolds herself in a squeak of confusion; say what?

Her hesitation does her no favours, and a palm slams against the side of her head, rattling the hollow wooden door she’s pressed against. Seungwan’s never complied faster in her life, her words sloppily copied and pasted like a broken inkjet printer.

“AH! I-I’M AN IDIOT! I’m an i-idiot, pleasepleasedon’thurtmeplease…” she pleads, bracing herself for the worst.

And just like that, Joohyun’s sweet, airy music-box giggling fills Seungwan’s ears like she hadn’t almost made her drop dead two minutes ago. Creaking a wary eye open, she sees Joohyun much too close for comfort, grinning knowingly and twirling a lock of her caramel hair between her long fingers. The raging blush now colouring Seungwan’s cheeks is accompanied by distant snickers from the other two loyal observers.

“You’re too easy, Seungwannie,” she whispers so only Seungwan can hear, giving her hair a quick ruffle like she would a little brother, “so cute. Makes me want to bully you all the time.”

Paralysing hysteria and that warm, fuzzy feeling concocts a dreadfully perplexing mixture in her chest, and a dishevelled Seungwan can only watch the back of her bully as she struts off with her posse.

Okay, what the hell was that… and when can she do it again?

~~~~~~~~~~

Joohyun realises she’s five minutes early for her ‘study’ session with Seungwan today. She had insisted they study at her dorm seeing as she had it free for the whole afternoon, but eventually realised Seungwan was too much of a deer in the headlights to be able to make sense of the directions she’d given her. So here she was, playing babysitter, waiting for Seungwan to finish her writing class so they could walk back together.

Blithely sauntering over to the on-campus sweet shop, she orders herself a plain yoghurt smoothie, and a taro milk tea for her little study buddy. Taro milk tea that will definitely stay in the cup like it’s supposed to, this time. Surprised at her own actions, she hands her card over to the man as she hooks her fingers through the handles of the plastic bags holding their drinks. Eh, it’s the least she can do for hovering a jackhammer over Seungwan’s sugar-glass heart yesterday, she thinks.

Her lively mood quickly sours when she notices her favourite nerd across the halls, engaged in conversation with a random boy she’s never even seen. Joohyun grits her teeth, staying stagnant behind the pillar she was passing, watching this stupid boy waste Seungwan’s time.

… … …

Seungwan couldn’t say she’d really noticed him until he’d come up to her today. Deep almond eyes, spidery emerald locks framing a dashingly chiselled jawline, and the fashion sense to match; she could appreciate his good looks. Other than the fact that she wanted to know where he got that black padded baseball jacket and the suede boots on his feet, she desired nothing else from him. That was all it was: objective curiosity.

Although he seemed to be interested in a lot more from her, unfortunately.

“So, I’ve seen you around,” he mumbles through the cigarette between his lips, cupping his palm over the flickering lighter. Seungwan offers a kind smile, unsure of what exactly is going on here.

“Uh yeah…” she offers lamely, trying not to let on the fact that she’s holding her breath to try to avoid inhaling the silvery smoke escaping his lips, “I’m majoring in literature… uh, what are you…”

“I work here part time. Men-Tei, Japanese restaurant just across building B,” he says, cutting her off with a confident puff, “this whole uni business isn’t for me. Dropped out of school when I was 15 and everything.”

She didn’t ask, but okay.

He continues before she can say anything, “yeah, anyway I’m Jong-in. I’ve seen you in my restaurant a couple times too. Figured I’d catch you one of these days to ask you out for a drink or something if you’re down. What’s your name?”

Seungwan lets out a nervous laugh in response to the awkwardness. She really, really wants to leave. This guy may have been blessed with an impressive face, but his approach was anything but. The whole time he was speaking, Seungwan was unfazed by the intensity of his gaze, only thinking about how she could be working under a much more favourable one.

“So what’s your name then, pretty?”

Ugh, gross.

Just as she’s about to hit him with the good old ‘none of your business, coconut head, I have my sights on someone else’, she feels a strong arm curled around her bicep. It’s Joohyun. Just the person she’s never stopped thinking about. She looks proper mad, and she evidently isn’t afraid to speak her mind, looking damned hot while she’s at it; as Seungwan’s fluttering heart will attest without a doubt.

“And that’s not happening, you arrogant bastard,” Joohyun resists the urge to spit in his gorgeously smug face, “get a clue and shove it up your arse.”

Spinning on her heels, she drags an undeniably amused Seungwan along with her, leaving a confused, annoyed man in her dust. The younger girl can’t help but notice a moist coolness brushing against her leg as she’s being led to Joohyun’s dorm, and she glances down, trying to peer into the bags.

“S-sunbae,” she asks between strides. Joohyun is really pulling her along, “w-what did you get?”

Joohyun glares at her for the briefest of moments, but Seungwan sees right past the anger transparently masking those fairy-like features. Plus, she could’ve sworn she saw those cinnamon eyes soften ever so slightly at her curiosity.

“You’ll see. Wait till we get back.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The whole ‘backs-against-walls’ trope fast becomes a common occurrence whenever they are together, and Seungwan can’t help but wonder if Joohyun gets a kick out of this… an innocent kick, of course! Perhaps she finds Seungwan funny when she’s scared out of her mind, perhaps she likes seeing the way she flinches, the way her hands quiver when she’s holding them out like a shield. Or maybe she’s just keeping her on her toes for… god only knows at this point. There is just no straight answer when it came to the girl who pretty much forced herself to be Seungwan’s partner.

They were getting work done, at least. Well, more like Joohyun sat there and let Seungwan juggle between doing a good a job as she could at deciphering age-old literacy, and balancing a rapidly accelerating heartrate and a blood pressure sink-hole.

And she was doing an amiable job at keeping it all together this bright Friday afternoon, if she did say so herself. They were on the floor of Joohyun’s dorm room, open books and note-pad paper spread out around them, and Seungwan was just re-analysing her summary of the notes she’d made against the original text. She was getting into it, finally able to block out the fact that she was unwillingly being observed under a microscope.

That was until…

“Seungwan. Oi. Freshman. Did you hear what I just told you?”

A frazzled Seungwan darts up from her analysis, dropping her pen onto the wooden floorboards with a clatter. She helplessly watches it roll under the bed then looks up to see Joohyun sliding herself across the floor so she’s face to face with her.

“Ah s-sorry… what did y-”

Joohyun suddenly grabs Seungwan by the drawstrings of her hoodie and tugs her in, her cruel smile broadening as she leans in to purr into her ear.

“I told you to be a good girl and not to make me jealous.”

The way Joohyun threatens her so delicate yet menacingly has Seungwan struggling to breathe. She clutches at her own drawstrings, careful not to graze the girl’s grip, and unsuccessfully tries to straighten up, chuckling nervously when it’s obvious Joohyun isn’t done with her just quite yet. Her senior’s eyes warn her of the severity of what she’s just said as she leans forward again, suggestiveness dripping off her words like molten lava.

“…or you’ll make me do something nasty.”

Yep, a defibrillator and stretcher would be useful right about now.

“I-I…”

Seungwan utters the beginnings of a defence as soon as her hoodie is released, but she’s too caught up in whatever the hell that just was, and she just can’t seem to remember how to speak in full sentences.

The one-sided study session continues, thankfully, without another hitch.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her alarm is deafening, and Seungwan blindly reaches her hand over to swipe it off. She hasn’t even had the energy to open her eyes when the image of Joohyun’s teasing smirk the other day flickers in her brain. Before she knows what’s hit her, she’s got a face full of carpet and a sharp sting on the back of her head from where she’d swiped her whole phone down with her. Groaning out loud, she buries her face in the duvet still tangled in her legs.

Ugh, must she be this way?

God couldn’t have blessed her with an actual sense of coordination, could he? Well, perhaps he had, but she’d wasted it all the first day she met Joohyun, and now there was nothing left. Great. Just as she’s pining her loss of the ability to put one foot in front of the other without thinking about her attractive senior, Seulgi’s face peeks through the door.

“Yah, you having nightmares or something? This is the third time you’ve fallen out of bed.”

Seungwan scoffs from under the plush fabric. Nightmares have nothing on Bae Joohyun. She delegates them, if anything. Nightmares have nightmares of Joohyun. She honestly wished she could say she was having bad dreams… I mean, can’t be any worse than accidentally calling your customers ‘babe’, getting very well acquainted with doors to the face, or checking round the corner of everywhere you go just in case a certain someone happens to be there… which was what Seungwan’s entire week seemed to consist of ever since Joohyun had very nicely threatened her. The memory remains pin sharp, and it has Seungwan a complete and utter mess.

Seulgi watches the duvet mountain on the floor collapse and huff in an unspoken request to leave it in peace. It’s a beautiful morning, but the carpet is oh so comfy. The girl rolls her eyes.

“Fine, whatever. I’m making breakfast, hurry up and get ready.”

About twenty minutes later, Seungwan strolls into the kitchen in an oversized, stripey monochrome jumper and some skinny jeans. Her best friend has a piece of toast between her teeth, pattering around the kitchen in search of something or rather. She stops to sniff the air as Seungwan sits at the counter, slouching over with her chin in her palm.

“Are… are you wearing perfume? Ag-again?”

Her only response is a grunt and a hand into the fruit bowl. Seungwan absentmindedly crunches into an apple, eyes glazed over and staring into space. Seulgi observes her zombie of a friend mechanically chew the same mouthful of apple for a good two minutes before she’s had enough.

She sets her own toast down and reaches across to snatch the fruit out of her non-existent grip. Seungwan flinches, almost choking on the apple slush, as it is now, before managing to swallow it down, “yah, what’s wrong with you!?”

“Just checking you can do something other than groan and grunt,” she replies, hands on hips but extremely concerned, “anyways what’s happening? Is this about the assignment? You’ve been talking about it a lot…”

Seungwan hasn’t lied to Seulgi, per se. Told her a vague truth? Yes. Left out a few questionably majorly important details? Also yes. She did feel horrible for it though, seeing as they’d been best friends for years and Seungwan had made them promise to never keep secrets from one another.

With a sigh, she finally comes out with why she’s been acting like a fool all week.

“So… yes it’s about the assignment…and… and I’m uh… I’m paired with someone...”

Seulgi’s reaction is withheld, clearly because Seungwan has a ton more explaining to do.

“And J-…” she catches herself, proceeding to figure out a way to describe ‘she-who-shall-not-be-named’, “… the person I bumped into on the first day… y-you know, the day where you warned me to lay low…”

Seulgi goes wide-eyed with realisation and Seungwan uncomfortably bounces her knee as she finishes the hardest thing she’s ever had to tell another human being.

“Um so yeah, I’m w-working with her, i-it’s good, it’s good though so… so like, no worries or anything we’re good now.”

“You’re working with Joohyun?”

Ugh god no, at the mention of that name alone, Seungwan has another image of vantablack and cinnamon zap through her like lightning. She slumps down onto the countertop, the cool surface almost sizzling at the contact of her forehead. She nods against the marble.

“Oh my gosh, Wan-ah,” Seulgi exclaims. She’s surprised but still able to put the kettle on for her morning tea, “is that why you’ve been such a klutz recently? Yah, she’s messing you up isn’t she? Is she bullying you? Do you need to talk to someone about this?”

Christ sakes, she would’ve… if only she didn’t like being ‘bullied’ as much as she did. She lifts her cast iron head, gazing at her best friend with a look of pure misfortune, “it… it’s not really like that.”

“Then wh-” the other girl stops when it hits her; the perfume, the insomnia, the falling out of bed, “oh no, oh no, no no no… please don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her.”

You poor, poor thing, Seungwan thinks as she sits there watching her friend make breakfast, carrying on with life as usual. She was way past the warning signs; she’d walked right off the edge with a smile on her face. And she’d fallen.

She has fallen and can-not get up.

~~~~~~~~~~

It really was one thing after another with Joohyun. For once, Seungwan is early to class, avoiding the hassle of squeezing past a line of other people and saving herself the embarrassment of having to apologise for tripping over a bag strap or clipping someone over the head. She’s all set up, feeling rather happy the seat next to her is empty. She isn’t claustrophobic or anything, it’s just nice having more room to yourself sometimes. Although Seungwan can’t help her wandering gaze, scanning the sea of faces for a particularly mean one. She spots her usual seat, but it’s just Jennie and Sooyoung. They’ve got their phones out and they’re whispering; probably something evil, Seungwan assumes.

She inwardly shrugs. Guess Joohyun’s a no-show. How typical, she thinks, guess who’s gonna have to catch little miss ‘I’m-too-busy-being-sexy-and-intimidating-to-come-to-class’ up with today’s lesson. God, that girl is something else. Seungwan makes her mind up, she’s standing her ground today. No more reading off her notes. If she can’t come to class on time, then she can find someone who’ll roll over and let her read theirs.

Of course, it’s not until half an hour into the class, when Seungwan’s finally getting into the groove of what the lecturer is saying, when she feels an all too familiar presence materialise in the seat next to her. She almost doesn’t want to look. And when she finally not so discreetly does, she’s met with windswept tresses cascading in shiny, black waves down a Saint Laurent rib-knitted black cardigan and cheeks flushed a slight pinkish. How someone who’s clearly had to run to class can still look like she’s ready to walk the runway at Paris Fashion Week is beyond Seungwan.

Whatever concentration she’s built up in the thirty minutes class has been in session evaporates into thin air sitting next to this stunning beauty. This stunning beauty whose hand was ‘accidentally-not-on-purpose’ gently resting on her forearm, raising her body temperature to dangerously high levels.

“Can I see your notes?” she whispers, leaning in so her breath is hot against Seungwan’s ear.

Shivering inside and out, she instinctively slides her exercise book across the table. She doesn’t see Joohyun’s sneaky little smile as she reads the neat cursive of Seungwan’s hard work. The younger girl focuses extra closely on the way the lecturer’s tie is slightly off-centre and how he has one cuff folded while the other remains snugly buttoned. She knows she’s just going to give herself a breathing problem if she looks the other way.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hyun-ah,” Jennie says, bringing a fistful of popcorn up to her mouth, “when are you gonna quit playing with her?”

Joohyun gives her a questioning hum, as if she doesn’t know exactly what her friend is asking her.

“Yeah,” Sooyoung quips with a laugh, “come on, aren’t you worried you’re gonna give her like… a heart attack or something? That poor kid’s a medical emergency waiting to happen if you ask me.”

“What’re you implying, Young-ah,” Joohyun says, nonchalantly pressing a strawberry to her lips, “you saying I’m gonna kill her?”

Sooyoung huffs in amusement, “duh, I mean I literally saw her soul leave her body that time after class. You aren’t afraid she’s gonna like, I dunno, snap and get you back someday?”

At this point, even tough-as-nails Kim Jennie and Park Sooyoung can sympathise from afar, all too knowing of how Joohyun’s little bullying games could end.

“Nah, she’s a good girl, she knows she’s mine. C’mon, start the movie.”

“Good girl, huh,” Jennie sneers, snatching the remote away before Joohyun can even reach for it, pink lips curled into a playfully sly grin, “hey Young-ah, I think Hyun has a crush on that little nerd.”

“Defs,” the girl replies, settling down between them both, “this is the longest you’ve kept up with tormenting someone. When are you gonna move on, huh Hyun? Stop playing with her.”

Sooyoung and Jennie’s smug expressions visibly deflate when Joohyun purses her lips, indifference written all over her face as she looks them straight in the eyes.  

“I’m not playing with her. I’m going to make her my girlfriend.”

The almost indiscernible smile that traces her lips after that last sentence tells the other two that she means damn well what she says. The conviction in her aura is unwavering. Jennie and Sooyoung exchange quick glances before shrugging; nothing they can do about it anyway. Joohyun’s mind is made up. And their friend’s the definition of a go-getter.

“Aight, whatever, call me when you guys get together,” Sooyoung teases, grabbing the bowl of popcorn out of Jennie’s lap and reaching for the nearest cushion to cuddle as the latter presses play.

Joohyun finds it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the movie they’re watching and not let her mind wander to clumsily charming milk tea spillages and nervously stuttered apologies.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan would find it easier to wrap her head around if someone had dumped her upside down in a mirror maze with a map of Disneyland and a small audio recording of a voice screaming, ‘biscuits and cheese’. 

Because right now, she is confused with a capital ‘c’.

Joohyun magically pops up during every one of her shifts at the café, and Seungwan can pretty much make her iced Americano blindfolded with her hands tied behind her. Joohyun likes it with exactly five ice cubes, no more, no less. Not that Americanos are hard to make in the first place, but Joohyun seems to know how to make Seungwan’s hands just that bit shakier, and her mind, just that much fuzzier. Between spilt milk and chipped teacups, it’s a wonder she hasn’t been fired yet, if she’s brutally honest.

But it isn’t as simple as that.

Joohyun is there during her break hours too, every time without fail, holding up none other than her favourite: taro milk tea with half sugar and less ice. Seungwan notices the seat next to hers in their shared literature lectures might as well be reserved for her royal highness, with how frequently she turns up ‘late’, and has to sit next to her out of nothing but ‘convenience’. And that one pivotal occasion where Joohyun corrected her ‘sunbae’ to ‘unnie’ in the midst of one of their little weekend revision sessions. That’s another thing. Their usual allocated Friday meetups after Seungwan’s writing class has bled into full-blown weekends of ‘study time’, where Seungwan finds herself discovering more and more about the girl who wears mystery like a well-loved winter coat, the girl who’s like a baked cinnamon roll; burnt and scalding to touch, but warm and sweet in the middle.

There is really no turning back from all this.

Seungwan is in waist deep, and she can only pray Joohyun is too.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Coco

Rating: K+

Genre: Drama, Angst

Characters: Héctor, Ernesto

Warnings: [Spoilers??? But nothing we don’t see in the movie...]

Description: Twenty one years after his death, Héctor finds that his photo has finally been placed on an ofrenda. Ecstatic, he hurries across the marigold bridge... and finds himself in a hauntingly familiar city that is not Santa Cecilia, in a place that is not a home.

Something strange is going on.

Beta Readers: @jaywings, @tomato-bitch, and @uncuentofriki

Notes: Here’s a fic I started like... two years ago, and finally brushed the dust off of and finished. Hope you guys enjoy!

—

It was going to work this time. It hadn’t worked last year, when he’d worn a skirt, or the year before, when he’d worn a blouse, but it would work this year—he was certain. This year, he wore a wig, and a dress, and had Tía Yolanda help him out with some makeup.

He had to look like somebody.

Surely.

But as Héctor got closer and closer to the check-in gate, he felt a nervous fluttering where his stomach used to be. He’d waited all year for this. What if it didn’t work, again? What if he had to go another year without seeing his Imelda? His Coco? She was an adult now, older than he’d been when he’d married Imelda. Was she married now? Engaged? He didn’t know—he had no way of knowing.

It had been twenty-one years since he’d died.

Twenty-one years since he’d last seen his family.

He couldn’t bear going another year without catching so much as a glimpse of them.

“Next!”

Héctor gave a start, then shook himself bodily. Basta, that was enough of that. As Ernesto would say, it was showtime.

Putting on a calm expression, Héctor strode up to the counter and smoothed out his dress. “¡Hola, señor!” he said, using the same falsetto voice he’d learned to fake in previous years. “You don’t have to worry about my photo. My family always—”

“Er, wait—Héctor? Héctor Rivera?”

Immediately his non-existent stomach gave a jolt. The border agent, who had been shuffling through a massive stack of files containing names, copies of photos, and who-knows-what-else, was now adjusting his glasses as he stared at him.

“You are Señor Rivera, sí?” the agent repeated.

Quickly feigning outrage, Héctor put a hand to his chest and reared back. “Ex-cuse-me, señor! I am the very honorable Señorita—ah—” And immediately he faltered, blanking on the false name he’d chosen earlier.

But the agent only waved him off. “You can drop the act now, Señor Rivera. Listen—”

“No, you are mistaken!” Héctor cried, hoping the way his voice shook passed for outrage rather than desperation. “My name is not—”

“Señor, please, we have people waiting—”

No, no, he’d waited too long for this, he wasn’t going to back down now! “So why won’t you let me—”

“SEÑOR! You have a photo at another gate!”

Héctor opened his mouth to reply, only to freeze as the words sank in. “...¿Qué?” he managed to squeak.

The agent, while clearly relieved he’d gotten through to Héctor, still looked annoyed. “You’re lucky I’m used to dealing with you, or you may have been thrown out of line.” He shook his head, rubbing his face. “But I’ve been informed that you have a photo on an ofrenda in another city. So, por favor, take that disguise off and get to the gate!”

Héctor could barely hear him. “Another… city? My photo?” he murmured, dropping the fake voice. “I-I had wondered if they’d moved, or lost my photo, but I’d never thought—!”

“There will be more information when you get there. We have an alebrije ready to take you to the proper destination. Now por favor, Héctor, get going!”

While Héctor was still in a dazed fog, something blunt struck him from behind, and he found himself falling onto the back of a bat-winged, purple-and-red goat alebrije. It bleated as it carried him away from the gate, and flew him off the nearby ledge.

“Feliz Dia de los Muertos, Héctor!” the agent called after him, and it finally sunk in.

Whipping off his dress and swapping his wigs in record speed, Héctor sat up as straight as he could, throwing his arms out and belting out the loudest, most triumphant grito he’d called out in years.

The alebrije, to Héctor’s delight, took him to the very front of the line at an enormous gate with an equally enormous bridge—even bigger than the one to Santa Cecilia. At first the people in line were quite angry to see him cutting in front of them, but the crossing agent was quick to let them know that this was supposed to happen.

Wiping away the remains of his makeup, Héctor stepped off the alebrije, which trotted up to a blanket off to the side of the counter and curled up. “Gracias,” he said to it, adjusting his goatee and faded neckcloth as he stepped up to the counter. “I-I believe you were expecting me?”

For the briefest of moments his breath caught in his chest—what if this had just been a fluke? What if this was just a big mistake, and Imelda or Coco hadn’t really found his photo? What if this was just another rotten twist of fate, like that rotten chorizo—

“Héctor Rivera, yes?” the agent said, glancing quickly between him and the folder in front of her. She then did a double-take, her tired eyes widening in shock as she stared at something in the file that Héctor could not see. Terror rattled in his ribs before the agent breathed out, “Oh, wow.”

“Is—is there a problem?” he asked, tugging at the tattered pink sleeve of his charro suit.

“No, señor, I just had no idea you had a connection with—” She shook her head, clearing her throat. “Well, you’re clear to go. Your photo is on your… friend’s ofrenda.”

Héctor’s stomach dropped. Not “your wife’s ofrenda” or “your daughter’s ofrenda.”

“Wait, wait, wait, my friend’s—?”

“Sí,” the agent affirmed, stacking the papers together and setting the folder onto a teetering stack to her right. “The ofrenda of Señor Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Immediately the people behind him began to murmur: “Ernesto?” “That singer?” “The famous songwriter? But how?” “This guy’s clothes are so ragged, it can’t be—”

Before Héctor could respond, the agent ushered him forward, and he stumbled out to the platform before the bridge.

This was a lot to take in.

Not Imelda, not Coco. Ernesto had put him on his ofrenda. Why now, though? Why in a totally different place from Santa Cecilia? Was he traveling still? Did he move? Why was Ernesto putting his photo on an ofrenda before his family did?

Another skeleton nearly bumped into him, and he placed a hand to his head, idly letting his legs carry himself forward as he tried to piece this together.

Had something… happened to Imelda and Coco? No—no, that couldn't be right. He would know if that was the case—he’d be alerted right away. Had they moved? He supposed that was possible—it was strange to imagine Imelda going anywhere else, but perhaps she had moved the zapateria she’d mentioned in her letters to another town. A larger city, with better business. She did have to take care of the family on her own, so… yes, that made sense.

But still, why was Ernesto the one putting up the photo? Sure, he was his friend—his hermano, even—but…

Wait, what if Imelda and Coco had moved in with Ernesto? Wait, wait, no, that was ridiculous. While Imelda never hated Ernesto, the two hadn’t exactly gotten along perfectly. So perhaps Ernesto was visiting Imelda and Coco? Maybe he’d somehow found the photo he’d thought he’d lost, and brought it over to their house, and set up an ofrenda?

Héctor’s non-existent heart leapt at the thought. Yes, yes! That had to be it! He’d find his way to Imelda’s house, and finally get to see her, and Coco, and Ernesto!

But then the murmurs he’d heard behind him came back to him.

Ernesto… he’d been singing Héctor’s songs for all these years—become a household name by this point. All the newly-dead were talking about him, and his music had spread like wildfire across the Land of the Dead. It hurt to hear those songs played everywhere, especially that one, but… Imelda had to know, didn’t she? Ernesto had to have told her that he’d died—she’d let him play his songs, for some reason…

Ay, it was too much to take in. He’d have to sort through it when he got there.

Speaking of—where was he now?

Shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, Héctor glanced around, and gave a start at seeing himself standing atop a floor of cempasúchil petals, with an enormous drop off to his right side. With a yelp he jumped to his left, bumping into a young woman. “¡Lo siento!” he cried, holding up his hands defensively and glancing warily back at the edge of the bridge. Right, watch where you’re going.

As he continued to move forward, he looked down at his bare feet (he’d lost his left shoe back in February, and there was no point in wearing just one), amazed to see the petals easily supporting them. He looked up at the people around him, and back down at the bridge, and at the border in the distance behind him, and—

Dios, he was crossing the bridge!

The joy of it hit him even harder than the initial excitement had, and he didn’t realize until his vision began to swim that he was crying. Frantically he wiped at his eye sockets, scrubbing at them with a frayed sleeve, trying in vain to steady his breathing. He was aware that people were probably staring at him, but he still gave a stuttering gasp when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, amigo?” one man asked, looking at him in concern.

For a moment Héctor couldn’t quite remember how to talk, but even if he could, the joy seemed to be drowning him. After taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to gasp out: “I—I’m going to see my wife.”

Immediately the man smiled in understanding. “Aaaah. First time crossing, eh?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak again.

“It’s always a hard wait, but you’ll get to see her now, and every year from now on.” Giving his shoulder a friendly shake, the man stepped away. “Have a good time!”

Swallowing, he nodded again and scrubbed at his eye sockets. Briefly he thought that he should be careful to look nice for Imelda and Coco, but they probably wouldn’t be able to see him, would they? No, of course not, idiota. You didn’t see the dead come to life every Dia de Muertos, did you?

The thought made him laugh, which made him nearly start crying again. Ay, he was a mess. A very, very happy mess.

As he reached the highest point of the bridge, he could see an enormous graveyard stretched out before him, and a huge city beyond that. It seemed vaguely familiar, but then, he’d traveled so much before he died, every place felt familiar to him. Every place felt the same.

He felt a pang in his chest as he realized he wouldn’t get to see Santa Cecilia, but then, that was a small sacrifice to make to get to see his family again.

Looking out over the graveyard, which was bathed in a welcoming orange light, he had to wonder what city he’d been led to. The crossing agent had neglected to say—he probably should have, but maybe Héctor had thrown him off with his antics. (He supposed he probably deserved that one.) Regardless, he was going to have a time finding Imelda, Coco, and Ernesto in a place like this.

...How was he supposed to find them?

It struck him with a burst of anxiety and fear. How on earth was he supposed to find his family in a city this huge?

All around him, people were confidently walking one way or another as they reached the end of the bridge—had they lived here? Was he going to have to ask around?

Looking around him frantically, he scrubbed his face of the remaining tears and tried to focus. “D-disculpe, anyone, I—h-how do I—how am I supposed to—”

A man turned back toward him, and he recognized him as the man who had been friendly to him a few minutes ago. “How are you supposed to find your family?” he asked, and Héctor responded with a nod and a hopeful smile. “Easy, amigo, just follow the petals.”

“Petals?” Héctor looked down at the petals beneath his feet, but the man shook his head.

“No, no, at the end of the bridge.” He pointed to where the bridge met the ground. “Do you see a trail of petals?”

Sure enough, there was a narrow trail of petals starting at the foot of the bridge and leading through the graveyard. “Sí, I do, but—”

“You can only see the petals that lead you home. Follow them, and you’ll be fine.”

Héctor heaved a sigh of relief. “Gracias. I was worried for a moment there.”

“It’s all right, amigo. Everyone’s new to death at some point.” With that, the man hurried ahead before Héctor could correct him.

It bothered him for a moment, but he shook himself. What did it matter if he’d been dead for twenty years or a hundred? He was going home!

As he approached the foot of the bridge, he stopped when he saw what appeared to be a barrier of some sort. Yet other skeletons were walking right on through as though it hadn’t been there at all. Watching in curiosity, he found that as people stepped off the bridge, they became vaguely translucent and tinted an orange shade—the same shade as the cempasúchil petals he’d been walking on.

Héctor looked back at the barrier, feeling a familiar twist in his gut. Even though he’d passed the border, even though he’d crossed the bridge, a part of him still wondered if there had still been some mistake—if he wouldn’t be able to pass through this barrier. But, taking a deep and completely unnecessary breath, he stepped through it, blinking as an orange glow enveloped him.

He’d… he’d made it!

Letting out a wild cheer that startled several people around him, he bolted down the narrow marigold path as fast as his feet would allow. Unfortunately the graveyard was exceedingly crowded, and he had to force himself to slow down before he bumped into anyone or anything.

All around him were families, both living and dead, gathering around graves, talking, laughing, and carrying offerings. Not long ago, Héctor would listen to the Remembered with barely-concealed envy as they talked about how wonderful it was to catch up with their families. But now things were different—tomorrow, he’d be right there with them, sharing new stories about his daughter and his wife, for once.

But he had to focus on the petals. Keeping his eyes to the ground, he continued following the narrow trail as it finally took him out of the cramped graveyard and into the city.

The city was big. He’d seen it from a distance, but now that he was actually walking down its streets, it felt even more enormous.

And familiar.

He'd traveled to many cities during his last fateful tour with Ernesto, though. Perhaps this was just one of them, and he couldn’t fully recognize it because it had been two decades. A lot could change in that amount of time. But not too much. He knew this place. He knew it—!

As he continued following the petals down the street, he barely noticed the sound of something loud and rumbling until some massive vehicle was barreling toward him. With a frantic yell, Héctor dove out of the street, breathing heavily as he watched the thing swerve down the road and turn a corner. Right, cars. Hadn’t seen one of those in a while.

If he’d still had a heart, it would have been hammering in his chest, but any residual fear was quickly washed out by annoyance at the sound of laughter. A few skeletons stood nearby, giggling at him, and he gave them a frown as he stood up and brushed himself off. “I’m fine, I know what I’m doing,” he muttered, and looked back for the petal trail, which was, fortunately, unaffected by the passing vehicle.

“Newly dead?” one woman said with a laugh, and he looked away from her. “You know those things can’t hurt you, right?”

“They go right through you!” the other woman called out.

Well… that would’ve been good to know before. Héctor gave a tight nod. “Gracias,” he said, only to pause, turning to face them fully. They were both dressed in fancy clothing, carrying baskets full of bottles and pan dulce. “Perdoname, señoras—could you tell me what city this is?”

That only caused them to break out into another fit of giggles, and briefly he wondered how much of the contents of those bottles they’d already consumed. “This is Mexico City!”

The name hit him like a bolt of lightning.

But the women took no notice, stumbling down the street in the opposite direction, and leaving Héctor standing there in horror.

It took him a moment to realize he was reaching for something in an inner coat pocket—one of the two things he’d had on him when he died, and that he fought to protect from the elements at all times. One was his photo.

The other was a train ticket out of Mexico City.

Forcing himself to draw his hand back to his side, he shook himself bodily. No, he didn’t need to look at that again. He knew where he was. He knew the ticket was still in his pocket. He knew the train station was somewhere in this hellishly massive city with too many people and fondas that sold rotten food—

Basta—STOP IT!

Héctor ignored the phantom pains that were building in his nonexistent abdomen, swallowing as he forced his legs to move forward, continuing to follow the petals.

Of course, Ernesto would wind up moving here. He’d always talked about how much he loved this city. Héctor just… wished it hadn’t been the city that he’d wound up… where he…

Drawing in as deep a breath as he could, he held it until his ribs hurt, then breathed out slowly. You’ll have to get used to it, then, amigo, he thought, focusing on the petals again. If you want to see Imelda and Coco and Ernesto again, you’ll have to get used to coming here.

Or hope they move elsewhere.

It didn’t matter, anyway—he was already dead. Wishing he’d died elsewhere, or that his familia had moved elsewhere, wouldn’t change anything. What mattered was that he’d be seeing them again. That was all that mattered.

Even so, he wished these awful petals would lead him out of these terrible streets soon.

—-~~~—-

“There, Héctor, do you see it?!”

“No, Ernesto, I can’t see the building we’re standing directly in front of.” The comment earned him a playful shove, and he grinned. “Is that where we’ll be performing?”

“Of course! ...Eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Sí. Tonight we’re performing at the cantina next to our hotel on the other side of town.”

Héctor sputtered, resting his guitar and suitcase on the street. “Wh—?! Then—then what was the point of dragging our stuff out here?!”

Ernesto smiled, wrapping an arm around Héctor’s shoulders. “Because one day, hermanito—one day we’ll be so famous this theater will be begging—begging!—for us to play there! Can’t you see it? Ernesto y Héctor, performing for one night only—”

“Okay, okay, hermano.” Héctor returned the gesture, wrapping his arm around Ernesto’s shoulders with a half-smile. “But let’s save the daydreaming for after we’ve dropped our luggage off at the hotel.”

“These are not daydreams, Héctor.” And Ernesto gave him a look—one Héctor could never forget. It was a look of such determination, it was vaguely frightening. “Soon, very soon now, they will be reality.”

“...Sí, Ernesto. I’m sure they will be.”

Héctor absently rubbed his shoulder as he stared up at the theater, then down at the thin trail of cempasúchil leading up to its doors.

“You were right, hermano,” he breathed. “It wasn’t all daydreams… You did it.”

With my music, a bitter part of him added, but he swallowed it down.

It really shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, given how he’d heard of Ernesto’s success even in the Land of the Dead. But standing where he’d stood all those years ago and looking up at the theater they’d only dreamed of performing in—that Ernesto was now actually performing in—was something else entirely. It left him with a pang of nostalgia in his chest, not to mention no small amount of confusion.

The petals were supposed to lead him home. These led to the theater.

A strange place for an ofrenda.

Perhaps Ernesto was celebrating the holiday in private here with Imelda and Coco, in some back room. Knowing Ernesto, his schedule was probably packed, and he’d be performing even on the holiday, so this was probably the only place where he was able to celebrate without being late for a performance.

So long as Imelda and Coco were there as well, Héctor didn’t care.

Ignoring the oddity of the situation, ignoring the increasingly likely idea that his family may not actually be here, ignoring the feeling in his gut that told him that something was very strange about setting up an ofrenda in a theater, he stepped through the doors.

Quite literally—his translucent body phased through them as though they weren’t there at all, leaving him with an oddly cold feeling in his bones.

The theater was massive, luxurious, and already crowded; there were people everywhere in the foyer, excitedly chattering about Ernesto de la Cruz and his special Dia de los Muertos concert. So that much was true—he had a performance today, and was probably having a quiet celebration to himself in a private room in the back beforehand.

Part of him wanted to stay in the foyer for a moment, to look to see if Imelda and Coco were there (what did Coco look like? How tall had she gotten? Would there be a man by her side, now?), but something within him told him that he needed to follow the petal trail, and quickly.

The petals led around the foyer and through a door marked no entry. On the other side of the door was a long, curved hallway, built to wrap around the main part of the theater. The trail led him further and further down, past frantic stagehands that were shouting to each other about last minute adjustments to the set. Héctor paid them no mind, barely noticing when he phased through a performer that suddenly stepped out of a nearby door. His eyes were on the trail of petals, his mind already at the end of it and trying to picture what he would find.

Just as he was starting to wonder if the hallway was endless, the trail of petals curved to the left, and under a door emblazoned with a star, and a sign reading “de la Cruz.”

Well, this was it.

Drawing in a deep breath, Héctor stepped through the door.

To his confusion, there was no ofrenda immediately in sight. Instead, he was greeted with a large vanity, a mirror that did not show his reflection, a rack of flashy, beautiful outfits that would have probably cost him several months’ wages each, a table covered in letters and gifts, a guitar case, and, finally, a curtain that blocked off a corner of the room.

Had there been a mistake? Could this really have been some cruel joke the universe was playing on him, letting him through security, across the bridge, back into the Land of the Living, and all across a far-too-large city, only to lead him to an empty dressing room?

Looking back toward the door, he gave a start—no, the petals were still leading further inside… and behind the curtain.

Héctor crept forward, holding in his breath as he stepped through the curtain to find…

...a pitifully small table, upon which sat a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, a single candle, half a dozen orange petals, and, in the center, a simple photo lying flat on the table.

The breath held in his chest cavity burst out of him in the form of unexpected laughter. All of that agony waiting in line, fearing he’d have to go another year without seeing his family, worrying that the fact that he’d gotten through was a mistake, following an endless petal trail halfway across an enormous city, and this was what he got?

Ernesto was famous—the most famous singer in all of Mexico, and had more wealth than Héctor had ever known in his life and death—and all he had to give Héctor was this pitiful excuse of an ofrenda, set up two decades after his death? To top it off, Ernesto wasn’t even here.

And neither were Imelda and Coco.

It wasn’t until the makeshift ofrenda in front of him began to blur that he realized his laughter had turned to tears.

Dios, what kind of cruel joke was this? Was this his punishment for not trying to return home sooner—for leaving home at all? For dying away from his family? For trying to run off on Ernesto? To finally give him a scrap of hope that maybe something—something would go right for once in his miserable, lonely afterlife, and then—?!

Basta, ungrateful cabrón, he thought, scrubbing his face with his sleeve. This is better than what you’ve gotten every other year. Your tíos and primos don’t even get to have this. At least you can bring something to share with them.

But… ay, he would trade the finest wine, the sweetest pan dulce, the most extravagant offering just for a glimpse of his family again. Or even if Ernesto would just—

The door swung open.

Abruptly Héctor stopped crying, spinning around as a familiar voice snarled at someone in the hallway: “I don’t care! I don’t care, señor, so long as it’s set up before I walk out on stage! And don’t you dare step foot into this room again unless it’s a real emergency!”

SLAM.

“...Neto?” Héctor breathed, shakily stepping past the curtain.

The charro suit was such a clean, bright, glittery blue it nearly blinded him. Ernesto’s head dipped as he ran his hand over his hair and heaved a sigh. “Sorry, old friend,” he said, and turned around to face him. “I hope you’ll forgive that rude interruption.”

Héctor staggered backward, clutching at his chest in shock. Could Ernesto actually—?!

And Ernesto immediately stepped through Héctor and up to his vanity.

Héctor shuddered at the feeling of wrongness that rushed through his bones at the—well, not touch, but the sensation of being passed through. Well, that answered that question.

Given he was intangible, he had to wonder what it was, then, that made Ernesto pause and look over his shoulder. Whatever it was seemed to pass, however, and Ernesto plucked up a comb.

Taking a few steps closer to Ernesto, Héctor watched as he fixed himself up. He’d lost the more youthful look Héctor had known when they were still alive, but was still very much in his prime. If his face bore any wrinkles or blemishes, they were likely covered with some of the makeup that was scattered about the vanity. He did, however, have gray hairs gracing his sideburns.

Héctor ran a skeletal hand through his own youthful wig.

“Now that that’s taken care of…”

Ernesto stepped behind the curtain, stood before the little ofrenda, and stared at the photo.

Curious and mildly numb, Héctor watched as Ernesto then picked up the bottle of tequila, stared at it for a long moment, then filled the two shot glasses sitting on the table. When Ernesto picked up one glass, Héctor reached out to pick up the other, finding it solid beneath his phalanges. When he lifted it off the table, the original glass did not move, but a spirit copy of it appeared in his hand, and he stared at it, turning it this way and that. Huh. He'd always wondered how that worked.

It was a moment before he realized Ernesto was completely silent, staring down at Héctor's photo on the table. He took the time to examine it: a faded photograph of... himself, of course, as well as Ernesto, the two of them side-by-side and posing with their guitars. In a flash the memory returned of when they'd had the photo taken—it had been done so they could use it for promotional posters in the future, for when they became famous.

Heh. When they became famous.

"We... would have made such a team, hermanito," Ernesto said, and Héctor gave a start, facing him again. Ernesto reached down to pick up the photo, and only now did it strike Héctor that he was being mourned, even as he stood beside his friend.

It was a bizarre disconnect, unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

"You could have been here beside me, you know, on that stage."

The pang of nostalgia hit his chest, and he swallowed. While he missed his Imelda and Coco most of all, a smaller part of him did miss performing alongside his best friend... albeit, more in the days when they still played in Santa Cecilia, not the tour. Compared to everything else, the tour felt like a long, repetitive haze.

"If you only hadn't..." Ernesto trailed off, his voice choked.

"...hadn't eaten that rotten chorizo," Héctor finished, and barely resisted the urge to knock back his shot. He would wait, though; he may as well, until Ernesto offered the toast.

As he watched Ernesto, waiting for him to continue, he couldn't help but wonder what was going through his friend's mind. He was standing rigidly still, and if Héctor hadn't known better, he would have thought he was just nervous about the upcoming performance. But Ernesto had never feared those... no, he was still staring into that photo, and... his face was growing pale, his hands shaking.

Taking a step back, Héctor glanced around the room again—they were standing in a corner, blocked off from the rest of the room by a curtain. He could understand the need for a private moment, but...

The thick curtain, the hastily-assembled ofrenda, the look on Ernesto's face...

Something was wrong.

Ernesto wasn't choked up out of grief, Héctor realized, a strange emotion welling up within his chest.

He was working up the will to confess something.

Knock knock knock.

Both Héctor and Ernesto jumped, nearly dropping their respective glasses as the door creaked open. "Señor?" a voice called urgently. "You have five minutes until showtime." The speaker then ducked back out of the room, and the door closed again.

All at once Ernesto seemed to regain his composure, even as Héctor felt his phantom heart still pounding, and for a moment he worried that Ernesto would step out without saying... whatever he'd meant to say. The man set the photo down and sighed, smoothing a hand through his hair, banishing all traces of his anxiety from before.

"Well, you heard the man," he said, holding up the glass. "I suppose I'll make it quick."

Ernesto faced to the side, and it almost seemed as though he could see Héctor standing before him. Yet Héctor could see that his friend's gaze was unfocused—he was clearly imagining Héctor being there, not truly aware of his presence.

Sighing, Héctor copied Ernesto and held out his glass. No harm in pretending as well, though he couldn't hide his disappointment that this meeting with his friend was already being cut short.

"To our friendship," Ernesto murmured. "I truly would have moved heaven and earth for you, mi amigo. Salud."

They moved their glasses forward in time, though there was no satisfying clink. Instead, the spirit copy briefly clipped through the physical glass before they both knocked back their shots.

Héctor was taken aback by the strength of the flavor, like nothing the Land of the Dead had to offer him. His eyes watered, and he coughed, choking down the tequila and striking his sternum. The last time he'd tasted something this strong was when he'd been alive, and he'd had that final toast with that awful, bitter tequila Ernesto had offered him. He was so distracted by the taste and burn of the alcohol that he nearly missed what Ernesto said next.

"Heh. Not to worry, there's... no poison this time, my friend."

Rolling his eyes, Héctor wiped at his mouth. It may as well have been poison, for how...

He ran through the words in his mind again, suddenly feeling strangely hollow.

What did he mean, this time?

Héctor looked up, hoping to see a familiar smile creasing Ernesto's face—the same he would get whenever he told a really terrible or offensive joke—but instead he was staring down at the glass seriously, intensely, his chest heaving, hands trembling.

The shot glass slipped out of Héctor's hand, shattering against the floor, but all he could hear was the argument they'd had that night—one of many, when the homesickness gripped him so strongly that he couldn't stand it, but Ernesto's grip on "their" dream had been stronger. Except that night, Héctor's will had finally won over, and Ernesto had been so angry... until he wasn't.

He'd been angry before. Even violent, once. Yet it had never struck Héctor as strange that suddenly Ernesto was neither—suddenly perfectly happy to let him leave, to end with a toast (with terrible, bitter tequila, so much more bitter than normal), to walk him to the train station. He'd been too happy that their friendship had not ended to notice.

Too happy, until his stomach wrenched in agony, the blood filled his throat, the darkness engulfed him.

A sharp shatter of glass cut through his numb shock, and he was back in the dressing room, Ernesto glaring down at the glass he'd smashed against the floor, his teeth bared, eyes wide.

"You brought it on yourself," he snarled, and stepped through the curtain. There he drew in a deep breath, let it out, lifted up the guitar case, and walked calmly out the door as though nothing had happened.

As though he hadn't just admitted to...

Héctor's mind spun, trying to reconcile it, but suddenly it made sense, it all made sense, why Ernesto had sung his songs, why he'd never given him credit, why Imelda and Coco never put up his photo, why he'd never gotten to see his wife or his daughter because of course Ernesto would never tell them that he'd... that he'd...!

He found a glowing bottle of tequila in his hand, and smashed it against the table with a wild yell.

Yet even the sight of the shattered glass, the dripping alcohol drenching the spirit copy of the photo, couldn't calm the agonized rage that engulfed his soul, that filled him from the inside out, overflowing in the form of a blazing heat and agonized tears.

Before he realized it he was charging through the curtain, the door, and down the curved hallway that Ernesto was calmly walking down, not a trace of shame in his posture. Without another thought, Héctor let loose a wild snarl and lunged at him, his hands aiming for his throat and grasping nothing, phasing through Ernesto's pristine collar as Héctor crashed to the ground. Every vile curse he could think of came spilling out of his mouth, his voice both shrill and hoarse with anger as he tried desperately to grasp at some part of him, only clawing at the carpet and punching the floor.

"YOU POISONED ME!" he shrieked, praying with all he had that his voice would carry through to the living world. "I TRUSTED YOU! YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

While his hands never reached Ernesto, while the living could not hear the dead... Ernesto stopped in the hallway, suddenly looking back, his eyes wide. Yet his fearful gaze never met Héctor's narrowed, reddened one, and he resumed walking ahead, toward the backstage. But the confidence had gone from his posture, instead replaced with a prickling paranoia.

If that's how it would be, Héctor would take what he could get.

Scrambling back up to his feet, he bolted in front of Ernesto, walking backwards to keep ahead of him, reaching out as though to clutch his friend's collar. "How could you do this to me?! I just wanted to go home! I just wanted to see my family! I would have written you all the songs in the world! All of them, Ernesto, hermano—" His voice cracked, and Ernesto pushed ahead, ducking through the doors as he was surrounded by people, one man handing him a hat, one woman making a last-minute adjustment to his outfit, another asking him if he was feeling well.

Héctor could have charged after him, continued to haunt him throughout that wretched performance as he sang that warped version of Coco's song, but instead the weight of it all finally dragged him down to his knees. He tugged at his hair, as though he could tear it out. He felt like he could scream, but he didn't, for fear he would never stop. Some distant part of him recalled how he felt when he'd walked down that marigold bridge, which couldn't have been more than an hour earlier, but it felt like a lifetime ago. His world had seemed so much happier, so much brighter then, and now...

He wished he'd never crossed the bridge. He should have kept trying to cross over into Santa Cecilia, never gotten on that alebrije, should have turned right around the second he realized he was in this wretched city, he should have never gone on the tour—

Thunderous applause erupted from the theater, music blared, and Héctor clamped his hands over his head.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't stay here. But he couldn't cross the bridge—he couldn't face anyone else, not yet. He was afraid of what he would do if he did. The thought of seeing other souls milling about the graveyard, laughing, collecting gifts, watching their families, while he had been saddled with the revelation that his best friend, his brother, had become the reason he hadn't seen his family in twenty years—

It crashed over him all over again, and he couldn't hold back the scream this time, only covering his mouth to muffle it. If there was another soul in the theater, they never heard him over the music and applause.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but it was long enough for his voice to give out, for any spirit left in him to evaporate. The emptiness in him was neither gnawing nor numbing—it was simply nothing, like he truly was a ghost drifting aimlessly in the mortal plane.

Not knowing what else he could possibly do at this point and not finding it in him to care either way, he rose to his feet, and phased through the wall, stepping into the theater. Whether he did it for a last glance at his friend, or a last chance at haunting him, he didn't know. He never got the chance to find it out.

Before he could take in the spectacle of the theater, before he could register just how truly grand the stage was, or just what song Ernesto was singing (mangling, bastardizing), there were two sounds in short succession:

Snap.

CRASH.

The theater, so thunderously loud moments before, was utterly silent save for the faint ringing from the giant bell that had crashed on the top of the stage. This silence lasted until the curtain fell, and the theater exploded into chaos.

In the cacophony of screams, shouts, and hurried conversations that followed, Héctor found himself breathing, his legs moving, carrying him up to the stage and past the dense curtain. Women in elaborate dresses were hurrying away from the wreckage while the stage crew were trying to lift the bell. Several were screaming out a name.

"Ernesto?" Héctor breathed, scrambling up the stage as the efforts of the stage crew grew more frantic. On the opposite side of the bell, some of them managed to pry part of it upward, while another man peered underneath and shone a light. Only seconds later, he cried out, his face growing pale, the flashlight clattering to the ground.

Héctor bolted up towards the bell, tempted to phase through it to see for himself, but stopped himself; if the stagehand's reaction was anything to go by, he probably shouldn't take a glance. But then... was it really...?

"Señor!" someone cried in despair. "Señor de la Cruz...!"

"He's dead, isn't he," another murmured, voice wavering. "El Señor de la Cruz is dead."

"N-no, he can't... we have to get him out—!"

Unlike the others who were losing themselves from the shocking turn of events, Héctor found himself regaining his senses. Distantly, his heart ached at the thought of what had happened—at the thought that something this horrific could happen to Ernesto—but before the grief could fully register, another thought struck him.

If Ernesto had been killed... if he was truly dead... then...

Héctor looked back toward the closed stage curtain, out in the direction of the graveyard he'd come from, then looked back to look at the bell.

Ernesto was no longer there, but Héctor knew exactly where he would be.

Before he had time to question himself, he was already bolting past the curtain, off the stage, and out of the theater, charging back down the path of petals from whence he'd come. He was no longer sure what emotion he was feeling, but one thing he knew for certain:

Ernesto had some answers to give him.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze (21/25)

Previous

__________________

Jaskier sang giddily as he practically skipped towards his classroom. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, the birds were singing and he was in love. He simply couldn’t be happier. Half term had been blissful. He’d spent the end of the week tucked up in the studio with Priscilla recording a few songs for a new album. If he’d used fire based metaphors liberally then who could really blame him? He had a hot fireman boyfriend and it was so very nearly the summer holidays. Just a few weeks left. Melitele bless the summer term.

“Morning, Jaskier.” Triss greeted him with a wave.

She was wearing a pale blue summer dress with roses embroidered into the fabric. He envied her slightly. His shirt was probably the thinnest one he owned, that wasn’t see through, and luckily Tissaia allowed them to wear short sleeves. Shorts, however, were another matter. Apparently shorts were unprofessional and they had to wear trousers. He’d considered turning up in a dress, he had a lovely white chiffon dress that he’d stolen from Pris back when they were still dating and never wanted to give back. Unfortunately, he was already walking the wire with his more liberal teaching views and he was almost positive he wouldn’t last the day if he turned up wearing a dress. So he was in his long trousers, pale yellow shirt and a dark red tie. He fucking hated wearing a tie, but he was determined to be on his best behaviour until the end of term.

“Good morning, Triss!” He beamed at his friend and gave a little bow, his fringe flopping in front of his eyes.

Triss laughed, the freckles on her skin seemed to have doubled over the week off. She must have been enjoying the sun. She looked relaxed, the tension from her shoulders was gone and her soft brown eyes were practically twinkling. “You seem happy?” She asked as she ran a hand through her thick curls.

Jaskier tilted his head as he thought back on his own half term. The benefit of having Yennefer in the know was that she’d been able to cover for them and managed to trick Lambert into babysitting Ciri over one lunch time whilst Geralt snuck out to see Jaskier. It hadn’t been for very long but they’d made pancakes with bacon and maple syrup for lunch, which led to some very sticky sweet kisses. Geralt had returned to Ciri with flour over his shirt and a set of terrible excuses. Yennefer hadn’t been impressed when Geralt blamed the mess on her. Ciri had been equally unimpressed when she’d learnt that Geralt had gone for lunch with ‘Yennefer’ without inviting his daughter along.

Jaskier didn’t envy Geralt. Living alone meant that Jaskier didn’t have to make such excuses and it was his job that was causing them such a fuss. He would have to make it up to his boyfriend in the summer when the both had more time.

He grinned soppily and sighed. “Yeah.”

Triss cackled. “Oooh I know that look!” She rested her chin on her hands. “You, Mr Pankratz, are in love!”

Jaskier blanched. “What?!”

“The idiotic smiles and the simpering sighs. It’s like with Geralt all over again!” Triss raised an eyebrow at him.

Jaskier laughed nervously. “No, no. Absolutely not. Not in love. I… got a new instrument!”

Triss just looked at him, clearly not impressed.

“A trumpet!” He announced. “A very beautiful instrument, it’s silver plated. Oh and you should hear the sound it makes, so rich.”

Triss giggled. “Right, So does this silver plated trumpet have a name? Or do you just like to blow it?”

“Triss Merigold!” He gaped.

She had a point but in his defence he really had bought a new trumpet. He wasn’t sure when he was going to get round to learning how to play but it had just looked so sad and lonely in the shop. The silver varieties really did produce the most beautiful sounds, he’d always meant to give the brass section a go, but he’d gotten hooked on stringed instruments and keyboards. The flute was alright, but the trumpet was loud and bold and unafraid.

Not to mention that the way the light had bounced off the silver plated instrument had reminded him of Geralt’s hair.

Triss didn’t need to know that.

“What ever happened between you and Geralt?” Triss asked more quietly.

Jaskier sighed and hopped up to sit on her desk, ignoring her protests as the desk pen was knocked into her lap.

It was time to act.

He owed her at least some explanation after he’d sobbed all over her. He sighed again, more dramatically this time, trying to set the scene.

“Well, my dear Ms Merigold.” He tossed his hair from his eyes. “It was a slightly chilly autumn day, last September if memory serves me well.”

“Jaskier, get to the point” Triss prodded his arm. “And off my desk!”

“I fell in love, like a star falls through the sky. It was magical and beautiful, burning ever so brightly.” He brushed his hand in the air in front of him as he pictured the light of the star streaking across the sky. “But just like a falling star, it flashed before my eyes and faded back into the darkness before I could even find the words to describe the sheer perfection of its beauty, nay its resplendence.”

Triss groaned and shoved him hard so he fell off the desk, he barely managed to keep on his feet as he stumbled across the floor.

“Oi!” He spluttered. “You asked!”

“You could have just said you’ve moved on.” Triss pointed out.

Jaskier winked. “Oh well, now where’s the fun in that, my darling?”

Triss smiled sadly. “It’s a shame.”

Jaskier put a hand on his hips. “And why is that?” He asked hiding his glee, he felt a pang of guilt about deceiving his friend but it was for the best.

Triss shrugged. “I just thought you could have been good together. Esk thought so too.”

“Esk?” Jaskier teased.

Triss tried to hide her smile and glared at him. “Eskel, we’ve been hanging out.”

“Ooh, hanging out.” Jaskier gave her a cheeky smily.

Triss threw a pen at him and he had to duck out of the way. “Get out of here, Jask.” She snapped but he could see the barely concealed laughter in her eyes.

“I’m filing a grievance!” He called out as he picked up her pen and pocketed it. Pens were like gold dust in this place. He’d never managed to keep one for more than a week before it got lost, or more likely stolen.

“No!” She called after him. “Give that back!”

He spun back round with wide arms and a grin on his face. “Give what back?” He cackled.

“Jaskier!” Triss shouted.

“Farewell, my dear!” He giggled as he scarpered off towards his classroom.

__________________

His classroom had been fucking hot all day and he was starting to wonder what he liked about summer so much. The kids couldn’t concentrate and quite frankly neither could he. He was ashamed to admit that his lesson plan had flown out the window, along with his sanity, and just before lunch he’d wheeled in the TV set to put on some cartoon about words and sentences that was probably better suited to a year 3 class but it was just hot and the children enjoyed the cartoons. It had taken a while for them to work out how to get the subtitles to work on the old video cassette but the kids kept shouting out ideas until they found the right button.

He’d even let Filavandrel and his class in on his masterful plan. They had both sat at the back the classroom fanning themselves with a text book. Filavandrel was a peculiar person. Not the sort of man Jaskier would have pegged for a primary school teacher, but then Valdo Marx hadn’t been either. Filavandrel was a regal fellow, it was best description Jaskier had, slightly haughty with a definite superiority complex and a disdain for his fellow teachers. The only person that he had seen Filavandrel talking to during break times was Francesca Findabair, who taught the Daisies, one of the year four classes.

Still Jaskier wasn’t one to judge. Filavandrel was at least tolerant towards him, which is more than could be said for some of the other teachers. He’d been downright hostile towards some of the staff.

He rolled the TV set back down the corridors to the storage room. His kids were out on lunch, hopefully staying in the shade. He felt sorry for who ever was on playground duty this week. He was more than happy to stay inside in the scolding heat.

By the time he’d made it to the staffroom there weren’t any seats left so happily plopped himself on the carpet with a contented sigh and closed his eyes. The ground wasn’t exactly a fluffy cloud but he’d been on his feet most of the morning trying to keep his Buttercups focussed and he was tired.

He felt the shadow creep over him as the staffroom fell silent. He opened his eyes and looked up to find Tissaia de Vries staring down at him. Even in the hot weather she was wearing a full length skirt and long sleeved blouse. He didn’t know how she was coping.

“Mr Pankratz, my office, now.” She said sharply. There was a sadness in her eyes that he couldn’t place, and she’d called him Mr Pankratz rather than Jaskier.

Cock.

He scrambled to his feet and brushed down his trousers. He chewed his lip anxiously as she left the room. “Fucking cock balls.” He moaned and shuffled his weight, flexing his fingers and digging his nails into his palms.

“What did you do?” Triss asked quietly.

An excellent question, hopefully it was his spontaneous video lesson, but he’d checked and no one else had the TV booked out for that period! Perhaps it was another parent complaining that he’d dared to mention that anything other than heteronormative lives existed. He frowned, had Tissaia been psychic and known that he’d almost worn his dress to work?

Fuck!

The only other thing it could be.

No.

They’d been careful.

He felt sick. “I don’t know.” He stammered. “I’ll. Umm. I’ll see you later I guess.”

The walk towards Tissaia’s office was the longest walk of his life. He had to stop twice to lean up against the wall to catch his breath. He almost ran to the toilet once to throw up but managed to keep his lunch down, just about. He stood outside her office feeling about two feet tall, and five years old again. The last time he had felt so small and helpless was standing outside of his father’s office after he’d come out to them over dinner.

That had been his last dinner at his parent’s house.

“Mr Pankratz, please stop hovering and come in.” Tissaia called through the door.

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath before plastering a smile on his face, hoping he could charm his way out of this one, or maybe he could set the school on fire and Geralt could come and rescue him? No. That was a terrible idea.

His heart pounded in his chest as he walked into the office. Not only was Tissaia there, but Philippa Eilhart was perched at her shoulder looking like a fierce warrior who was about to charge into battle.

“Ah. Ms Eilhart!” He stammered. “You are looking radiant as always.”

“Sit down, Mr Pankratz.” Philippa said in lieu of a greeting.

He dropped down into the sit opposite Tissaia’s desk. “And Tissaia can I just say, I love what you’ve done with the office.”

“Jaskier.” Tissaia sighed with a shake of her head.

“Right. Ok then.” He mumbled and smiled sheepishly up at the two women, feeling a little like one of his kids. “Can I ask why I’m here then?”

“We would tell you if you just stop talking.” Philippa answered sharply.

Tissaia’s face was a mask of indifference. Jaskier couldn’t work out what the hell was going on and he certainly would not want to play gwent against the headmistress. She just gave nothing away. Philippa on the other hand was a brewing storm, a blizzard of ice.

Jaskier was fucking terrified.

“We should probably start by saying what an asset you’ve been to the school, Jaskier.” Tissaia started calmly. “Whilst your teaching methods have been… controversial at times, it’s no secret how much the children adore you, and they always leave your class as the best versions of themselves.”

Jaskier beamed at the compliment, that was better than he’d been expecting. Perhaps he’d read the whole situation wrong. “Thank you, I really do try to understand their individual needs and make sure I’m teaching a wide and diverse syllabus. I think the music helps, the government really doesn’t understand the importance of the arts in helping to develop creativity and problem solving skills, not to mention communication skills and learning that it’s alright to have hobbies for the fun of it. Music really just brings people together, and I think—”

“Mr Pankratz!” Philippa snapped before regaining her composure. “That’s quite enough about what you think. Here’s what I think.”

“Right, yeah. Well…” Jaskier mumbled.

“What I think” She said ignoring him “is that I’ve had several reports about the nature of your relationship with Mr Geralt Rivia.”

Jaskier felt as if his heart had stopped in his chest.

“Ciri’s father?” He asked quietly.

“One and the same.” Philippa raised an eyebrow at him. “The allegations, Mr Pankratz, are that you have been engaging in some vastly inappropriate conversations with another member of staff about Geralt’s looks.”

“That’s not a crime!” Jaskier protested.

“Conversations which if they’d been about a female would have reported as sexist and misogynistic, and highly inappropriate, especially regarding a parent of a child that is in your class.” Philippa stepped forward and peered at him intensely. Her eyes were jet black and he felt like he was staring into a blackhole. Around her neck was a long silver chain, a heavy owl pendant with bright yellow eyes gazed back at him.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but he had no excuses. She was right. He’d been careless at the beginning, too stunned by Geralt’s beauty to know how to keep his mouth shut.

“What’s more is that there have been allegations that because of your infatuation with Mr Rivia, you have been treating Ciri more favourably in class.” Philippa added.

“That’s not true!” Jaskier cried. “How the fuck have I been treating her any differently to any of the others?”

“Watch your language, Jaskier.” Tissaia chided sharply.

“I demand to know!” He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I deserve to know.”

“You spent longer speaking with Mr Rivia at parents’ evening in October, which incidentally I saw for myself at the beginning of term. You have met with Mr Rivia on multiple occasions outside of school.” Philippa smirked.

“Who told you that?” Jaskier asked incredulously. His fingers began to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, he so sorely wished that he had a notebook or his guitar. He needed to do something! Anything. He settled for shuffling his weight, hopping from one foot to the other.

“I’m afraid we can’t disclose that, Jaskier.” Tissaia said softly.

At least she had the decency to look guilty at the accusations. Ms Eilhart seemed to be delighting in his suffering.

“When did these alleged meetings occur?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Mostly between January and March. Although you were also seen getting a taxi with Mr Rivia at the wildfire the other day.” Philippa stared at him without blinking, a smile dancing on her lips.

Jaskier spun round and flung his arms in the air.

“Is someone stalking me?” He yelled. “What? Do you want a breakdown of every time I’ve seen Geralt outside of school and why? Is that it?”

“Jaskier, calm down!” Tissaia snapped without raising her voice.

“Ok, I’ll give you a breakdown!” He put one hand on his hip and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Jaskier.” Tissaia sighed.

“No. no. If I’m to be accused, let’s make sure the facts are quite clear.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice told him to shut his fucking mouth for once in his life.

He didn’t listen.

“Yes. I have seen Geralt outside of school. Yes, I find him attractive. That is not something I can control and I won’t apologise for it either, but I will admit that I have said some things that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for that. I started seeing Geralt outside of school after parents’ evening at the end of October, so you can correct that on your little list of all my wrong doings. We ran out of time on parents’ evening, this is not me favouring Ciri. Ciri is just more complicated than my other students. On the surface she appears to be coping very well with her trauma but she’s young and I am worried that she’s not processed it properly.”

“So you admit to spending more time on her.” Philippa’s smile made his toes curl, and not in a good way.

“Because her needs require more time. This is no different to me spending my weekends learning sign language because Dara’s needs require it!” Jaskier pointed out. “Geralt had concerns and quite frankly so did I. Ciri expressed an interest in learning to play the guitar, we both thought it would be a good way for her to work through some of the things that might have been bothering her. We talked about different instruments and I suggested a few good teachers.”

“You were seen out drinking with Geralt’s colleagues.” Philippa noted, writing something down in her notebook.

“Lambert is a fan of my band. Geralt mentioned it and I reached out to Lambert to say thank you. My band is not very well known so it was nice to meet a fan.” Jaskier put his other hand on his hips. “They are good people. We became friends, or am I not allowed to make friends outside of school now?”

“These gentlemen are people that Ciri considers to be family. So I’m afraid not.” Philippa said cooly.

Jaskier scoffed. “Istredd is dating Yennefer, not to mention half the staff are friends with Yennefer. Triss is dating Eskel, Ciri’s uncle. Why am I not allowed to be friends with my colleague’s partners just because Ciri is in my class?”

Philippa narrowed her eyes at him, but Tissaia looked away with a small smile.

Point to Jaskier!

Ha!

“That is different.” Philippa insisted.

“It is not!” He countered firmly. “And just for the record I saw the news about the wildfire. I was curious and I was not the only person there. There were dozens of people watching the firefighters. I wanted to make sure my friends, plural, were ok. Geralt came over when he saw me, the others left without him. It was cheaper to share a taxi back to town.”

“It was inappropriate.” Philippa said sharply, her voice was brimming with cool anger.

Jaskier could almost feel the sparks in the air as she pinned him down with an icy stare.

“Please don’t suspend me.” He pleaded. “Not now, I can’t leave my kids now.”

Philippa appraised him with eyes, not dissimilar to a shark hunting its prey.

“Please.” He repeated as he dropped back down into his seat. “I will stay away from Geralt. Just, please let me finish the term.”

Philippa glanced at Tissaia. “And what do you suggest, headmistress?”

Tissaia smiled at him with an almost maternal fondness. “Jaskier is one of the best primary school teachers this school has ever had. Not only is he great with the children, but he is committed to bringing diversity and equality to the school. Suspending him now would do more harm than good.”

“And what would I say to those who claim his objectification of Mr Rivia is no better than the comments made by those who have been suspended?” Philippa asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“I would say that Jaskier was foolish but he only ever wears his heart on his sleeve. I believe, whilst ill-judged, he only said those things out of a deep fondness and respect for Mr Rivia. That being said, it would not be right for there to be no reprimand for his, or Triss’s behaviour at the start of term.” Tissaia’s words were calculated and Jaskier almost fell out of his chair in relief.

She was defending him.

Philippa nodded. “Very well. Jaskier, I will be writing to you with a formal decision regarding any action that the school board will be taking. You will have an opportunity to challenge this should you think it’s unfair. In the meantime please cease any contact you have with Geralt and Ciri’s family outside of school. Is that understood?”

Jaskier gaped.

He’d gotten away with it.

Sort of.

“Umm, actually I do have a couple of questions?” He raised his hand awkwardly.

Philippa rolled her eyes. “Go on, make it quick.”

“What if Triss, or Istredd invite me out to the pub and Eskel and the others are there?” He asked, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers on the desk in front of him.

“Then you find a way to politely decline.” Philippa answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what about when term ends?” Jaskier asked, desperately trying to keep his voice from wavering.

“Why would that change anything?” Philippa asked, her dark eyes piercing into his soul.

“Oh well, I wouldn’t be Ciri’s teacher? I could… be friends with them again?” He tried a smile but his stomach was twisting and he could taste bile in the back of his throat.

Philippa laughed darkly. “Tread carefully, Mr Pankratz. You’re dismissed.”

“Oh hey, no, but you haven’t answered—”

“Out. Now.” Philippa cut him off.

“But that’s not fair!” He protested.

“Jaskier.” Tissaia’s eyes were warning him to shut up but once more he didn’t listen.

“This fucking bullshit.” He snapped as he kicked his chair out from underneath him. “Bollocks to the lot of it.”

He stormed from the room in a fury.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

He considered going home sick. He was too hot, too tired and bloody fuming, but his kids. They needed him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. He still had another ten minutes of break time left. He hit the speed dial, praying that Geralt would answer.

It rang twice before he heard Geralt’s voice hum through phone. Jaskier finally felt as if he could breathe again. He looked behind him at Tissaia’s office and then trotted off towards his classroom as he spoke.

“Dear heart?” He asked, his voice shaking more than he would like.

“Hmm?” Geralt answered ever so eloquently.

“There’s been a slight problem.” He sighed quietly.

“Ciri?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No. Not her.”

“Spit it out.” Geralt grumbled.

“Alright, moody.” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Sorry. Long shift.” Geralt sighed.

“Tell me about it.” Jaskier agreed. “Tissaia asked to speak to me, with Philippa Eilhart.”

“Fuck.”

“Yup.” Jaskier agreed.

“Is everything alright?” Geralt asked quietly.

Jaskier thought about it. “I don’t know, I really don’t know.”

“I’ll ask Renfri if she can look after Ciri tonight after I’ve put her to bed.” Geralt suggested. “I can come over.”

“Does she know?” Jaskier frowned.

“She guessed.”

“Oh.” Jaskier sighed. “Right.”

“Jask?” Geralt whispered.

“No. It’s alright. I’m fine, dear heart.” Jaskier lied, but he’d promised Tissaia and Philippa that he would stay away from Geralt until the end of term. He had to at least try. “I’ll see you once term is over.”

“No.” Geralt groaned.

“Love, please” Jaskier whined. “Don’t be difficult.”

“Are we ok?” Geralt asked in hushed tones.

Are you breaking up with me?

That was the real question.

“Of course we are, three things?” Jaskier asked gently.

“Chocolate chip pancakes, cornflowers, chamomile tea.” Geralt answered without missing a beat.

Jaskier let the hidden meaning behind those words wash over him, let them clear away his doubts and fears.

“I adore my Buttercups, my darling, you know that.” He answered with a sigh. “I’m just not sure whether teaching is what pleases me anymore, not if I can’t have you.”

“Jaskier” Geralt growled.

“Summer, my dear. If we can’t be free then, well… I always did want to become a musician.” His heart clenched in his chest.

“Three things.” Geralt stated firmly.

Jaskier froze.

Geralt had never asked him that before.

He couldn’t find the words.

How could he choose just three things that made him happy?

“Not sure I can beat chocolate chip pancakes.” He teased.

Geralt hummed but didn’t answer.

Jaskier took a deep breath. “The way the moonlight shines on a river and changes the world into one of magic and power and intrigue, the golden eyes of a wolf as it watches its cub play in the woods, the warmth of being known and loved by someone I adore.”

Geralt was silent on the other end of the line.

Jaskier laughed nervously. “So umm. There’s that.”

“When is the end of term?” Geralt asked.

“Not soon enough.” Jaskier replied with a dramatic sigh.

“Hmm. IOU.” Geralt mumbled. “Fuck, I need to go.”

Jaskier smirked. He really should have kept a tally of all the kisses that Geralt now owed him, and vice versa.

“Stay safe, my darling.” He replied just as Geralt hung up.

He sighed as he reached his classroom, his eyes drifting over the paper buttercups that covered his door.

What made him happy?

What pleased him…

He wasn’t lying when he told Geralt that he wasn’t sure anymore, but was he really going to give up his career for a relationship that probably wouldn’t even last?

He pushed open the door and then turned to lean on it, sliding to the floor with a long groan.

It was going to be a long three weeks before the summer holidays.

____

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