#this one is black with light pink suns and white palm trees and i fucking love it

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - The Devil is a Part-Timer

Chapter 01: Hell‘s Gates to City Gates

Miserably, Carmilla opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, the hard earth pressing into her back and the damp grass soaking through her shirt. The damp fabric stuck to her body. A cold wind stung her skin, carrying the distant noise of shrill sirens and roaring cars to her.

"W-What... What happened?" Straining, Carmilla blinked against the bright light reflecting off the mirrored facades of the skyscrapers around her. A glazed veil blurred her vision and her world was spinning. The silhouettes of the trees hovered above her, their long fingers interwoven to form a protective roof against the dark shadows of the skyscrapers towering all around. Airplanes crossing the dark blue imitated shooting stars. The hellish horizon with its blood-red color was gone, the setting sun bathed this strange world in a golden glow.

Groaning, Carmilla sat up and looked around. "Where am I?" she whispered in confusion. Slowly, the spinning of her world subsided and the silhouettes of the trees grew first into half a forest and then into an entire park. An entire park with trimmed lawns, raked gravel paths and neatly lined up benches. She sat among the wreckage of one of these park benches.

"Ouch..." she grumbled under her breath as her hands brushed splinters of wood from her clothes. Suddenly Carmilla froze dead in her tracks, a horrified shriek followed. "My hands!" Mouth agape, Carmilla stared at her palms in disbelief. She now had a pair of ordinary hands, not giant paws. She had fine fingertips with nails painted black, no sharp claws… Like when she was alive...

"What by Lucifer has happened to me?" In disbelief, Carmilla twisted and turned her human hands in the fading light to take a closer look. Desperately, she tried to remember what had happened. The past few hours were a strange blur, her headache was unbearable and the last thing she could remember was the end of the last Overlord-Meeting. The topic had slipped her mind and all she could remember was that she was already packing up her things with the help of her daughters. With her feet on the tabletop, Velvette had decided to stay a bit longer after the meeting had already ended to annoy Carmilla. Suddenly there had been a knock at the door and Rosie was standing in the frame, this last memory followed blank blackness...

"H-Help..."

A pained outcry suddenly snapped Carmilla out of her thoughts. Hastily, she looked around. "H-Hello?" Carmilla asked cautiously as a bright blonde mess of hair emerged from the shadows of the trees. A woman struggled to her feet, her balance swayed precariously and she had to brace herself against the nearest tree trunk. Carmilla's eyebrows began to furrow in confusion. Strangely enough, the woman's features seemed quite familiar to her. Her hairstyle, her flowing dress and the whole way she moved, everything looked pretty fucking familiar to Carmilla.

"C-Carmilla?"

She didn't recognize her until she flashed her her signature smile. "Rosie!"

Instead of the black depths of her empty eye sockets, two beautiful sky-blue orbs now peered at Carmilla in surprise, while full pink lips curled into a relieved smile. Light blonde tousled curls hung in Rosie's face as she stumbled across the damp grass on clumsy feet and fell to her knees in front of Carmilla. "C-Carmilla? What's happened to you? Y-You look so... so different..."

Carefully, Rosie wiped the wavy strands of the long white hair from Carmilla's face and cupped her cheeks. Rosie turned her head from left to right and looked at her scrutinizingly with a very skeptical expression. "You look so..." She thought for a moment. "You look so human... and you're bleeding all over your face." Concern reflected in Rosie's expression as her fine fingertips ran gently over the many scratches on her face and Carmilla winced startled. "What's happened to you?"

"I bet you haven't had a chance to look in a mirror yet, Rosie," Carmilla whispered softly. A tingling sensation suddenly spread through the pit of her stomach as she gazed at Rosie's human form in entranced awe. She was truly beautiful and the touch of her warm hands left Carmilla's skin burning.

"What do you mean?" Rosie wanted to know, confused, when suddenly the deafening sound of a helicopter, its bright lights flashing over their heads, made her flinch violently in shock and she scooted closer to Carmilla on her knees, the damp grass leaving green stains on her dress. Rosie found the noise unbearable.

"M-Mom?" a faint voice called out.

This time Carmilla flinched, alarmed. "Clara?" muttered Carmilla in sudden shock. That had definitely been her daughter's voice, she was sure of it. She and Rosie were not alone. "Clara!" Carmilla quickly jumped up. Searching frantically, she looked around. "Clara, my baby, where are you?" she called back, her voice shaking.

"We're here, Mother!" a second voice called out.

"Hey, wait for me!" shouted Rosie.

Blindly, Carmilla rushed towards the direction of her daughters' voices, momentarily forgetting about Rosie. "Clara? Odette? Where are you?" Panic filled her voice and she looked around desperately. In the distance, between the dense trees and the growing shadows in the sunset, Carmilla recognized two figures. Her steps quickened more a more and finally she began to run.

"Here, Mom!" With a frightened expression, Clara clung to her sister's arm. Her knuckles shimmered white, so tight was her grip, while her nails dug mercilessly into the rough fabric of Odette's shirt. Her older sister waved their mother towards them.

"My girls, my babies..." Carmilla sighed with relief when she reached them. The worried mother quickly wrapped her two daughters tightly in her arms and hugged them close while Clara and Odette buried their faces in her shoulder.

"Are you both all right?" Carmilla wanted to know as they detached themselves from her embrace again. "Are you hurt?" They shook their heads while Carmilla looked them up and down very carefully under a very skeptical gaze. At first glance, nothing appeared to be wrong with them, but when Carmilla took a closer look, she noticed that both of her daughters were missing the black horns on top of their heads and their sclera was no longer deep red, but white. Clara and Odette now appeared like two ordinary teenagers.

"We're fine..." Odette mumbled monotonously. All her attention was focused on her mother's face. She tilted her head while her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Mother, you have blood all over your face..." she remarked. "Were we attacked?"

"I-" Carmilla's hands carefully wiped the dried blood from her cheeks, the exposed scratches underneath stinging slightly. For a moment, she stared at red liquid on her fingertips. "I don't know..." she admitted in defeat. "The last thing I remember is the end of the Overlord-Meeting and the next moment I'm waking up in the wreckage of a park bench in this place..." She sighed sadly. At least the assumption for the origin of her injury was more or less pretty obvious, but what had happened before that?

"Y-You're... pretty... pretty fast, Milly..." wheezed Rosie out of breath as she finally caught up to Carmilla. Breathing heavily, she propped her hands on her knees and gasped for oxygen. "Hey, kids... Good to see you all safe and sound..." she greeted Carmilla's daughters with a weak smile.

"Miss Rosie? You look so different!" Open-mouthed, Clara stared at the cannibal. "Where the Hell are we, Mom?"

Odette tilted her head thoughtfully. First she attentively examined Rosie's strangely human appearance from top to bottom, then that of her mother and sister. "I doubt we're in Hell at all" she pondered aloud.

"What do you mean, child?" Rosie demanded to know, her face contorted into an look of horror. "Where else are we supposed to be if we're not in Hell?"

"We're stranded on Earth..."

"Who-" Startled, Carmilla caught sight of the slender figure of a young girl struggling to rise from the wet mud of the nearby duck pond. Carmilla's eyes narrowed to slits. She looked familiar, with her voluminous hair, her two pigtails left and right and her smug look and- "Velvette!"

Despite her clothes stained all over with filthy mud and the duckweed hanging ungracefully in her hair, Velvette nodded proudly. "The one and only Velvette of the Vees is standing right in front of you. You are welcome to bow before me..."

"Ugh..." Carmilla groaned in annoyance. Of all the sinners in all of Hell, she had to be stranded on earth with Velvette...

"Hey, I'm also not really thrilled to run into you in this park by any chance," Velvette spat back.

"By chance?" Carmilla's teeth gritted. Her words tinged with spite as she clenched her hands into fists. "It just so happens that you refuse to leave the room only once after an Overlord-Meeting, even though you can't ever wait for it to end and are always the first to storm out of the room, and the next thing I know, the five of us wake up stranded on Earth. In my opinion, that's a very weird occurrence and if I find out that this is actually all your fault, that we're all stranded on Earth because of you, then I'll kill you myself-"

"Milly, please keep your temper," Rosie interrupted Carmilla's threat, while Velvette raised her hands and put on an innocent face. She gently placed her warm hand on Carmilla's shoulder. "Finger-pointing and fighting are definitely not going to get us anywhere now. Unless one of you has found a portal here in the park back to Hell, the five of us are inevitably stranded together. We have to stick together if we want to find a way back..."

Grossed out, Velvette grimaced and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You want me to work with her?" She stared stubbornly at Carmilla.

"Yes, we all have to work together..." Odette quickly intervened between her mother and Velvette before the two could get at each other.

"Stop your kindergarten drama now, apologize to each other and shake hands," Rosie demanded.

"Are you fucking mental?" Velvette tapped her forehead and flipped Rosie the bird. "I'm not apologizing to her."

"Excuse me, Rosie?" Carmilla stared at the cannibal in dismay, but Rosie merely crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave them both a very stern look. "I'm definitely not apologizing to Velvette!"

Rosie cleared her throat. "Come now, I've had enough of you two, apologize to each other and shake hands," she repeated her words, her voice low and her tone threatening and leaving no room for further protest. She eyed them both expectantly.

"Yes, Rosie..." Carmilla was the first to obey. "I'm sorry, Velvette." She held out her hand and Velvette took it.

"Me too... Sorry, Carmilla," Velvette replied. She rolled her eyes in annoyance as Rosie praised them in satisfaction. "What do we do now?" she wanted to know as Carmilla began to lead the small group across the grass to the park's front gate. The setting sun blinded them and Velvette had to shield her vision with her hand. The first lanterns came to life with an electric flicker.

"We'll blend in," Carmilla explained as they circled the duck pond. All of their appearances seemed strangely human in their reflection; they no longer looked like sinners from Hell. "We look like humans, so we'll act like humans. We will act as inconspicuous as possible until we find a way back to Hell."

Beyond the park's heavy iron gate, the main road and the deafening roar of rush-hour traffic welcomed them.

"How... do...?" Rosie mumbled half-heartedly. Fascination glittered in her eyes, overwhelmed, she turned on the spot and marveled open-mouthed at the bright neon colors and flashing lights of the big city, which formed a world of its own in the twilight. She had never experienced such centralization and technicalization in her lifetime.

"Help! We're under attack!" Pressing her hands over her ears in distress, Rosie heard an ambulance speeding down the street in front of them, its sirens blaring. The volume was unbearable. Blinded by the flickering blue light, she closed her eyes shut tightly. If Velvette hadn't grabbed Rosie by her collar in time and roughly yanked her back onto the sidewalk, she would have been run over by the ambulance.

Rosie choked on her collar while Velvette, pale with shock, scolded her. "You'd better watch out!" she complained in a huff.

Some pedestrians shot them skeptical stares.

"But I've never ever seen things like this in Hell!" Rosie croaked out with mixed enthusiasm. "This modern world is really fascinating..."

More and more pedestrians turned their heads curiously in their direction.

"Damn it, Rosie, lower your voice!" Velvette scolded, looking panicked around to the left and right.

"You'd better let go of Rosie before you accidentally strangle her, Velvette," Carmilla admonished the girl, when suddenly a young man approached Velvette with a polite smile on his lips.

"Excuse me, please," he quipped kindly. "I must confess that I inadvertently overheard your conversation and wanted to ask if you might need my help. Are you tourists and accidentally got lost?"

"Fuck off!" spat Velvette. "Leave us alone. We're doing really well on our own, thank you!" Before the young man could reply another word, Velvette had quickly pushed Carmilla and Rosie across the street, putting them out of earshot of an answer. Clara and Odette followed their mother like two well-behaved ducklings.

"What was that all about?" Carmilla asked, confused. She glanced back over her shoulder and the young man stood silently on the other side of the street, watching them dumbly as they quickly turned into a winding alley and followed the gray sidewalk. "You were really rude…"

Velvette shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know..." she grumbled, "But when that guy approached us out of nowhere, I suddenly got this weird feeling right in the gut of my stomach. Yeah, I fucking know this guy looked completely normal and just wanted to offer us his help, but there was this sudden gut feeling... Do you know what I mean?"

Odette nodded. "Yeah, I think I felt it too... It was like a bad premonition or something, like something was wrong with him..."

"Exactly!"

Clara shook her head. "Well, I didn't feel anything at all with that guy," she said, waving it off and calling her sister and Velvette more or less silly. "Maybe you guys simply didn't like him."

"You're not allowed to have a say in this, Clara, because your range of emotions fits on a teaspoon..." Odette grinned proudly, while Clara protested indignantly and Velvette patted her appreciatively on the shoulder for her joke.

"Odette... What was that about sticking together?" Carmilla reminded her eldest daughter in a stern voice as they continued to wander through the dark streets of the city without a destination. They passed a few rancid bars and crammed restaurants, the crowds grew bigger and the pushing and shoving unpleasant. Odette grimaced at her mother, while Velvette stuck her tongue out at Carmilla. Carmilla rolled her eyes.

"Maybe we should find somewhere to crash for the rest of the night," Rosie suggested, when suddenly a drunk man stumbled out of the entrance of a bar and straight in front of the cannibal's feet.

He looked up at her with a swimming stare as he staggered to his feet. "I hear you ladies need a place to sleep?" he slurred. A nasty smile lingered on his lips as he winked suggestively at Rosie and tried to touch her. His sweaty fingers gripped the fabric of her dress.

"Careful..." Carmilla growled lowly, clenching her fists and ready to fight. Clara and Odette quickly dug behind their mother, Velvette taking cover behind her as well.

"Let go of me now..." Rosie snarled viciously. She shuddered as his hand tried to move higher. "Don't you dare!" She grabbed his wrist roughly and twisted his arm behind his back. He cried out in pain as Rosie kicked him mercilessly in the crook of his knees and he fell to his feet in front of her. A dark desire reflected in Rosie's gaze, her stomach growling hungrily. Her fine fingertips ran over his cheekbones, a sharp smile on her lips. "I want you on my platter," she whispered in his ear. "I could make delicious jambalaya out of you."

"Help!" the drunk man shrieked, his voice full of fear as Rosie indicated biting off the fingers on his right hand.

Suddenly a throat clearing stopped her. "Do we have a problem here, ladies and gentlemen?" a uniformed policeman wanted to know as he appeared out of nowhere and posed in front of them. He scrutinized the drunken man at Rosie's feet with a questioning look. "Is everything all right with you?" he wanted to know from Rosie.

Slowly, Rosie glanced back and forth between the policeman and her next meal. "Yes, now that you're here, I am!" she announced cheerfully, flashing a broad smile at the policeman, who was looking at her very skeptically. She rudely let go of the drunken man's arm.

"That man tried to harass us and she merely put him in his place!" Carmilla also pushed Rosie protectively behind her. She gave the man on the ground a hatred-filled look.

"She's insane!" the drunken man screamed in panic. His eyes wide open, he gestured frantically with his arms and hands. "She wanted to eat me! Look, she bit my fingers!"

"Okay, that's enough," the policeman exclaimed, while Rosie shook her head and put on an innocent face. "Stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back, you're under arrest."

"What?" the drunken man protested. "You can't arrest me! You have to protect me from this insane woman!"

"I promise you that you'll be safe from the lady in our sobriety cell at the station..." The policeman handcuffed the drunken man and led the furiously swearing man to his car. "I wish you ladies a pleasant night!" bid the policeman before forcing the man into the back seat and getting into the driver's side himself.

The white car started to move and Rosie looked after it longingly. "Too bad..." she sighed sorrowfully. "I'm still really hungry..."

Carmilla angrily turned to Rosie. "You'll never try to snack on pedestrians out in the open ever again!" she swore with a hiss. "That's the exact opposite of our plan of being subtle and inconspicuous!"

"Excuse me..." Sheepishly, Rosie scratched the back of her head. "I really didn't mean to get us into trouble, but I'm really hungry and I think your children are in desperate need of sleep."

"I'm definitely ready for bed..." claimed Odette, while Clara yawned demonstratively.

"Where are we going to sleep, Mom?"

"Uhm... I..." Exhausted, Carmilla massaged her temples, straining to think of a quick solution to their sleeping problem. Panicked, her eyes wandered up and down the street, bars and restaurants lined up one after the other and there were no alleyways or abandoned buildings to hide in. "I'm sure I'll find a solution for us before the night is over..." she promised through gritted jaws. She desperately tried not to let her uncertainty slip out in front of her daughters. They were shivering, and as darkness fell, so did the temperature at this season.

"We're sleeping here!" Suddenly Velvette proudly held a key card to a hotel room under their noses, which she had produced from one of the many compartments of a leather wallet.

"Where?" Rosie looked very skeptically at the small piece of plastic from all sides. "What's that?" she asked curiously. "What do you do with it?"

"It's a key to a warm hotel room with a soft bed, which I found in the drunk's wallet," Velvette explained.

"Where did you get his wallet?" Rosie seemed really interested in the plastic card, she took it from Velvette and examined it closely. "How do you unlock a lock with that?"

"Hotel rooms have electronic locks..." Velvette shrugged her shoulders. "The wallet accidentally fell out of the guy's jacket pocket when he dropped it at your feet. He was too scared of you to notice and I just- Hey, are you fucking crazy, Carmilla?"

Carmilla ignored Velvette's protests and took the wallet. "Well done," she praised her softly as she took out the bills and coins and pocketed them. "The cash will certainly be enough to pay for a cheap place to stay for one night."

"Pay for a cheap place to stay?" Velvette looked confused. "Hey, I know you're a bit older, Carmilla, but even you, despite your advanced age, should have figured out that our stay is free with this key card, right?"

Carmilla glared grimly at Velvette. "Your theft is already a high risk for us... I can't take the additional risk of simply occupying someone else's hotel room."

"I really don't want to question your authority as a leader or mother, Milly," claimed Rosie. "But we can't exactly sleep on the street and this guy will have to give up his claim to his room tonight anyway, he's already spending the night in a cozy sobriety cell at the police station..." She suppressed an amused giggle, while Clara and Odette nodded hastily and Velvette continued to ramble on about a soft bed. "I'm afraid you've been outvoted, Milly."

"All right," Carmilla grumbled. "We'll sleep in that hotel tonight..." she surrendered. Her daughters and Velvette cheered. "Traitor..." she sighed with a put-on pout at Rosie, while the cannibal shot her a widening smile.

"You’re welcome, Milly!"

[demotastic]

Haiku Collection

1

Autumn leaves rustle. Warm colours paint the fresh snow. Orange, white and blood.

Final breaths shallow. It's grave even shallower. Beautiful roadkill.

Watery black beads. I tried to ask: how and why? It just stared at me.

2

When the last snow melts It wets my lips, baths the plants. warm spring, blanket me.

For now it's still cold. I cling onto mismatched gloves. I'll find each pair soon.

I do not fear death. I fear for those who love me. Will they see their sun?

3

Hear that? It is spring! Winter's claim now rots away. a warm bed for growth.

This body is mine. Calm and steady in the mulch. This corpse is now yours.

Plant flowers in me. So I'd give you allergies. We'll be sick together.

4

Radiant summer sun. Even behind my eyelids, you shine so brightly.

Your brilliant warmth, it baths and cleanses my heart. flooded with pure joy.

Even when it rains. Your glow lights the morning sky. Part into rainbows.

5

Sweltering summer. I never hid in the shade. Bare myself to you.

I thirst for a drink. Will you let me have a sip? Do I have to bite?

Might rip out your throat. Might paint the tiles like Pollock, roll around in it.

6

Like moss to a stone. Like parasite ferns cling to trees. Like my hand on you.

Let me be your last. I know your pain, how it stings. Let me stitch those wounds.

Death do us apart. It can try, I'll never budge. Locked between your legs.

7

The air is so still. it is not cold, nor is it hot. painfully absent.

The thunder-less storm. Blots out the moon and stars. A featureless void.

A hand on my chest. I tell myself it is okay. No need for sorries.

8

Block from the birch tree. You carved a puppet of me. Pull my strings gently.

When you give me moans. Want to flay to the bone. Stitch you to my tomb

How you say my name. Enough to take me as claim. Now for you to tame.

9

Dance, the snow it dances. Twirling, spinning, refracting. A billion colours.

It is beautiful. But I want only this one. The colour of you.

I want to paint you. My wife would look cute in you. This colour, so rare.

10

Bite the hand that feeds? No, you're just used to the fist. That beats, batters, breaks.

I open my palm. I know you've bite my arm. but what's another.

Hate the iron taste. My white knuckles blistering. Your pain, I hate it.

11

The dead of winter. black, gnarled fingers reach up high. reaching for heaven.

but there is nothing. just cold bitter winter air. breaking off branches.

bury all the twigs. but I cannot be that cold. you deserve some warmth.

12

You said such nice things. Those sweet words flooded my chest. stuck like spring pollen.

I felt dirty and cheap. My lungs tried to eject it. my heart rejects it.

It is wasted here. It felt nice while it lasted, but I spat it out.

13

Just for you I would. Would wear it around my knees, This dirty rag.

I'd let you stand there, Let you let me bleed out. Beautiful roadkill

Infect every vein. Fuck you with my disease. Fill you with ichor.

14

He is winter skies My eyes dry out when he sighs For I stare, no blinks.

Winter, hope he stays. My excuse to hug my wife. Keep her warm, love filled.

She is spring, it's clear. Sometimes I yearn the cold nip. but it bleeds my lips.

White petals stained red. Her beauty coloured and flush. A shy pink of fear.

Is it so greedy To have two favourite seasons Have one for each hand.

Each snowflake unique. My lungs warm with her pollen. Tongue glued to his frost.

15

Love, it comes and goes. Love, you make it in your bed. Love, never enough.

Hate, gun 'bout to blow. Hate, it lingers in your head. Hate, never runs out.

They both blush your face. They both tie your heart in knots. But one always wins.

16

That was my problem, I held on to it too tight. In return? Frost bite.

I could be evil. Be the prophecy you spoke. Cut it off, Bleeding.

I still have my spring. A boiling, beating heart, loved. And six more fingers.

What will you become? While I have my peace to heal. You? Alone, crying.

You will be rotting. Left there where I first found you. Broken and rotten.

17

I though it was done. Here I stand a tired fool. broken by a call.

a call in the white. Left hand glued to the phone booth. Will my right hand bleed?

Crushed red spring petals. Smelled like love, they smelled like home. but will there be space?

18

Yeah, it's 2am. Got a pocket load of friends. and I feel again

2am again. I'll never feel alone. with friends in my phone.

After all these weeks. Never I've felt such a peak. 2am again.

[positivelly-pessimisticc]

guyss i got a button down shirt from the men’s section that i fucking lovee tho

next time i go to the store i’m getting all the button downs they got. they look so gay i love them sm lmao

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 25

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: Language, implied sexual content, angst 

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 25: Theories of Emotions

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

April 30th, 1976

“HAHAHA!” Y/N let out a scream of mirth. She laughed so hard that her knees buckled, meeting the soft grass beneath and wand slipped from her grasp. Her eyes swam with heavy tears, gasping for air as she rocked back and forth, clutching her ribs. Nonplussed and unamused, Regulus gawked at her.

“You wart. You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

It was a passing joke, that she would teach Regulus how to swim but he took it a little too literally. Now, swimming — or attempting to swim in the shallow area of the black lake, wearing bright yellow floaties to keep him afloat, Regulus kept making large splashes; his arms failed around, legs unsynchronized as he kicked to propel his body.

“When you said your swimming skills were horrific, I thought you were being humble!”

Regulus’s face turned a dark pink, but he wore a sheepish grin. He doggy paddled his way out of the lake, which made her laugh even harder and waddled on land. Y/N got up, threw him a towel and ruffled his hair.

Regulus had been looking a little more lively lately, and Y/N was just happy that he seemed to be doing better.

“We can work with this!”

Regulus tossed her a dirty look, “Promise me you’ll never become a professor.”

“Whatever you say, Reggie —” “Hey!”

Once dry, they walked back to the castle and broke off into separate directions. Y/N promised to meet Remus a little earlier than usual at the library, but before then, she stepped into McGonagall’s office and sat in the chair opposite to her. Career meetings have been going on and her scheduled meeting had been weighing her down.

“Hello, Ms. L/N. Biscuit?” McGonagall gestured to the metal tin in front of her.

“No, it’s okay.” “Don’t be absurd.” Y/N was too afraid to reject again, so she took one.

“So, how are you feeling about the upcoming exams?”

“Nervous. Anxious.”

“I can imagine. You did struggle with the change of curriculum at the beginning of the year, but you’ve consistently improved.” McGonagall flipped through her stack of notes; her little glasses perched up high. She cleared her throat again. “You've always excelled in Defense, Potions and Transfigurations — and I’ve talked to Flitwick, he’s said you’ve improved drastically. Although, you struggle with History of Magic.”

Y/N sighed and nodded. Professor Binns wasn’t exactly helpful. “It’s never been a… strong suit of mine.”

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, no? It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve heard you and Mr. Lupin are quite amicable — you two do study with each other..?”

“Yes, I attend his study sessions.”

McGonagall flashed her a rare smile and Y/N felt immense pride fill her. McGonagall smiling was almost as rare as getting a letter from her mother. “I can proudly say I have faith in you.”

“Thank you.”

“Then, I can assume you’ve given thought to what career you want to pursue?”

This was what she was dreading; thinking about her future. She’d give thought, loads, but it felt like there was such little time to decide the rest of her life. McGonagall waited for an answer as she watched Y/N struggle. “Do you have plans of continuing your education in America or..?”

She tried to make eye contact and her palms suddenly became damp. “I’m having doubts about working in the wizarding world.”

McGonagall pursed her lips.

“It’s not like I don’t want to — I do!” She explained, “I’ve thought about being a Healer. My mother is a Muggle Doctor.”

Professor McGonagall soaked in her words. “Are you struggling because you’re not sure if you want to become one, or do you feel pressured by your mother’s decisions?”

She sat straighter at this. “Er — Yes? No? That’s not my problem — honestly, I think my mom would discourage me from becoming one. It’s just… I mean…” She looked back to McGonagall who nodded encouragingly. “It’s just… the war… I’m not sure if I can…”

“What do you mean?” Her voice shifted, becoming brittle and it took Y/N by surprise. McGonagall wore a look so unlike her. Any trace of her firm, yet strict-kindness facade vanished. It was replaced with deep exhaustion.

“I’m a New — Muggleborn… most people — wizards — aren’t kind to someone like me… and I heard that they’re training them to be medics. I would be in the midst.”

McGonagall took off her spectacles, unveiling her red-rimmed eyes like she’d lost sleep or been crying. She sighed, so sorrowful and heavy that it even affected Y/N. “I won’t lie and say you’re wrong…” Her palms rubbed her tired eyes. “But you can’t let them win. Don’t let go of your dreams to submit to them. I won’t let my students diminish their talents and dreams.”

The professor took a long pause. “I know several institutes that transfer magical credits into Muggle credits if you’re seriously considering disconnecting from Magic. But, I urge you, think about it.”

She nodded gravely. There was already a considerable disconnect from her and the Muggle world that going back seemed impossible, but it was probably the safest.

McGonagall broke the silence, reshuffling her papers.

They continued to talk for some time, jumping from courses and mark requirements for NEWT level courses and Y/N left with a stack of papers and mock schedules. With a heavy heart, she headed towards the library. It seemed like every week when exams neared, the earlier group sessions would be.

Y/N flopped down on one of the couches near the back and let her head loll to rest on the cushion. She wasn’t alone for long before she felt the couch dip beside her. She peeked open one eye; Sirius in all his glory was there. In one hand, he held the Marauder’s map before she snatched it.

“Now you’re stalking me?”

His head made a funny gesture. “You know about the map?”

“... James.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I haven’t told anyone. I promise!”

He beamed and when Y/N flipped through the papers McGonagall gave her, she felt Sirius place a hand on her thigh, slowly inching up.

Snogging — shagging — it made life a lot more fun. Unresolved anger between each other? Broom closet with heated words between kisses. One of them was stressed? Take it out on the other. Wanted fun? Sneak up to Sirius’s dorm. Sirius being a fucking asshole? Kiss him and he’ll shut up (although, Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that he knew this and was purposely being a dick to get a reaction now). Their anger was slowly dwindling to extinction. Moreover, rather than brooding exchanges across the hall, there were one or two sly smiles.

But, they had four unspoken rules they followed:

Never talk about whatever they were,

Because surely, neither meant anything to the other,

If they were with anyone else, they would have to tell the other,

And most importantly; never, ever, tell anyone.

“You look ravishing.”

Y/N felt her face heat. “I wish I could say the same about you."

Sirius smirked, his fingers trailing dangerously close to her inner thigh.

“Here?" She hissed, "What are you doing?"

“The thrill is the fun part.” He pressed a few sneaky kisses to her jaw, “You spend too much time here with Lupin and not enough time with me.”

“Jealous?” Y/N’s brow rose and she turned to look at him. “Of Lupin?”

Sirius didn’t answer but momentarily pulls away. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Slag.”

“You know French?”

“Second official language in Canada.”

Sirius nodded. “Well, I’m a slag… for you.” She teasingly smacked him on the head with her papers.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Feelings mutual, princess.”

Y/N hid a smirk, resuming to ignore him as she flicked through the stack of papers. There was a dreadful feeling settled deep within. Everything was moving too fast and she felt like she had nowhere to turn. Overwhelmed, she pressed herself into the couch further and groaned out, “Fuck —”

“Maybe we can do that later?”

An involuntary chuckle slipped out which had Sirius grinningly like a fool. There it was again, that Sirius Black grin… it made her heart do wild flips. “You’re a literal dog.”

“And aren’t you a lovely witch?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, flipped him off and went to tug on Sirius’ hair to pull him off before a loud moan ripped from him and echoed throughout the library. Y/N’s eyes grew large, mouth agape. Sirius was unapologetic though; his smile grew bigger.

“I promise I’ll let you slap me, lightly,” he winked and wiggled his brows. “Or hard, whatever you want.”

She shook her head and shoved her things into her bag and pulled Sirius to his feet before he led her up to his dorm. His name spewed from her lips like a prayer and consumed every thought.

At some point, they flopped down on Sirius’ bed as they breathed in deeply, catching their breaths. Y/N was filled with content and went to turn on her side, facing Sirius and cuddling up to him. Gently and mindlessly, pressed a series of light kisses to his forehead while massaging his scalp.

The sun made one last feeble appearance before being engulfed by dusk. Rays of golden glow spilled in as she embraced him. Her hands ran feather-light touches up and down his bare skin and Sirius’ head hugged close to her chest. The soft touches were filled with nothing but her (not so) hidden affection and calm peace. She didn’t think much about her actions.

Something she’d come to learn during their stolen kisses and nights under white satin sheets; Sirius was beautiful in a wild, carefree way. He was wild like how wind sweeps through the branches of willows trees and meadows on a cool summer's eve or carefree in the way waves from the ocean crashed upon rocks. He was hauntingly beautiful in a turbulent, pliable way — wild in not just beauty, but essence too.

And it hurt. What were they doing?

Everything moved so quickly. Not even a month ago, she was supposed to be hating Sirius — now their limbs were tangled together. The ever-present war crept up during the worst times and she and Lily hadn’t spoken since their fight.

Lily…

Y/N tried to be indirect, catching her eyes during class or in their dorms, but nothing. She would always re-direct her gaze. It’d grown awkward in the dorms; Marlene and Dorcas caught in the crossfire.

She really missed Lily. Their late night talks, silly games, Lily keeping her in line and Y/N getting Lily to let loose; everything and more.

Usually, once she and Sirius were done with each other, they would leave, peel off each other but Y/N was so tired of — well, everything.

Trapped in thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Sirius’ body go rigid until his body began to tremble. Sirius made a small strangled noise that she originally mistaken as a laugh or snore until she felt wet droplets fall on her skin.

Y/N pulled back to find Sirius silently crying. She watched him, thinking that she should comfort him but was rooted in place and eyes drifted to the door, thinking of leaving. It felt like an intrusion being there with him and comforting someone was not on her list.

“Er — Sirius?” She whispered, alarmed. Her smile fading and his breath hitched. She awkwardly patted him before going to stiffly stroke his arm, but it only seemed to make him cry harder. She quickly ripped back her hand and put distance between them. Her mind raced a mile a minute as she listened to him. “Sirius? Hey — what’s wrong?”

“Get out.”

She froze and looked back at him. “Do you want me to get someone —”

“GET OUT!” He yelled. It scared her so much that her body jolted and Sirius hid his face with his hands. Sirius crying and screaming at her unprovoked made her panic and recline. He stayed quiet after that, rolling over, pulling his blankets above his head.

She chewed on her bottom lip so hard that a metallic taste flooded her mouth. In a rush, she quickly threw on her clothes and grabbed her bag. She shuffled towards the door but then looked back at Sirius; he looked so small and his cries made her fill with immense sadness. She debated; should she leave and respect his wishes? But the way he was crying, so hysterically and abruptly — she worried he might’ve done something impulsive and stupid.

She decided on leaving and sat right outside the door just in case. She listened to his sobs that managed to seep through the walls.

She waited there for a very, very long time that she almost fell asleep before she heard his muffled voice and swore he said her name.

She knocked twice, “You okay?”

There was a knock back.

“Was I that bad of a kisser?” She tried to joke after some time. Luckily, she heard Sirius choke out a heartbroken giggle. This time there were two knocks. A no, she assumed. 

Silence crept back in and Y/N leaned against the door and looked around the hall. Nobody else was there, but just in case put up a spell for any prying ears.

“Do you still want me to leave?” She asked. “Just say the word.” Communication with him felt weird.

Sirius remained quiet but then she heard him hop off his bed, feet coming closer to the door. She then felt a small nudge against the door as Sirius slid down to sit on the opposite side.  

“You can talk to me,” Y/N said nervously, not wanting him to blow up again. “Did I do something? I promise I didn’t mean it.” She remained still, listening to his quiet sniffling.

Two knocks. 

“Er — I won't push and you don’t need to tell me but — um, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even the other Marauders. It’ll be our little secret.”

It takes a long time before Sirius eventually stops sniffling and she listens to his uneven breaths; she's extremely uncomfortable and baffled. He tries to speak several times but ends up cutting himself off.

A sharp exhale came from him, shallow and irregular. In a small, weak voice that made it feel like an invisible weight pressed against her chest, he finally spoke.

“Je suis —” Sirius started before switching to another foreign language. Y/N was able to pick up on a few words: it was Italian.

“Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.”

More silence ensues; Y/N thinks that he might’ve walked away until he speaks again.

“Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo.” Sirius stops, taking a shaky inhale, “Non sono ancora pronto.”

Then, she hears the door click open and the knob turns. She backs away until it opens and her head peaks in. Sirius is staring at the ground to avoid her eyes, hair acting as a curtain to hide his face. She shuffles in, Sirius leans against the door and shuts it. Y/N shifts to sit in front of him. He’s dressed again, but the sleeves of his shirt were damp with tears.

She inches closer to place an encouraging hand on his but stops, remembering earlier. “Can I touch you?”

He closes his eyes — like the question was a mental battle before he nods. Y/N reaches up, pushing back the strands of fallen hair, revealing his red, puffy eyes. Her thumb strokes over his skin tenderly — intimately, but it causes a broken whimper to escape him, but leans into the touch.

“Whatever you said,” Y/N mutters, “Thank you for telling me.”

Pink floods his cheeks and he hesitantly reaches out, his arms going around her waist to pull her into a hug.

“Mi sbagliavo su di te.” He mumbled to her shoulder and Y/N was left to think.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

They both missed the study group and dinner. Eventually, Sirius fell asleep and Y/N snuck out of his room before the Marauders came in. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm to face Lily and was extremely hungry. She then thought back to Sirius before going to grab food for both of them.

She slipped out into the night, being accompanied by Nearly Headless Nick who had a worried expression on his face. Y/N didn’t think much of it, if anything, she was rather annoyed; after the day she’s had, she wanted to be alone for a while.

The house-elves helped to line a large platter of food before she thanked them, making her way out of the kitchens. Nearly Headless Nick floated close, urging her to speed up.

“Sir Nick, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you following me?”

“Making sure you get back to Gryffindor’s tower safely.”

That caught her attention. “Safely?”

Sir Nick’s eyes widened. “My poor girl, haven’t you heard?”

She and Sirius missed a lot when they were together. Nobody was quite sure what happened to Mary; she wouldn’t speak a word of it, not even to Marlene. All anyone knew was that Mary was a victim of Dark Magic and was found in a torpid state by Hufflepuff’s Head Girl; used as an initiation for Mulciber for the Death Eater ranks.

Word ran wild around the school of Mulciber’s expulsion and everyone was left on edge. Rumours went around of the Imperius curse. Mary was fine physically, Sir Nick told her, but mentally…

Y/N’s blood ran cold while Nick had a sorrowful smile of reassurance. “You’ll be fine — your friend will be fine but you need to come with me, now.”

But out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a shadowy figure peek out from the shadows and Y/N drew her wand, Sir Nick floating right behind her.

“Lumos!”

There, tall and unwavering was Snape.

He marched up to her, but Y/N began to quickly walk away until he reached out and yanked her back by her shoulder with bone-crushing strength.

“Lay your hands off!” Sir Nick cut in.

Snape ignored him, “What did you say to her?!” His cheeks were tear-stained; eyes glowing with something dangerous and Y/N wanted to run. “She won’t even talk to me!”

Lily must’ve finally confronted him.

“Let go of her! Let go, let go!” Sir Nick chanted, wisping through Snape until he stumbled back.

Y/N turned around, and heard Snape mutter darkly, running off. A cold wave embalmed her as every hair on the back of her neck rose.

“Come with me now,” the ghost said. She didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment she stepped inside the common room, Y/N felt every bone in her body relax. Her footsteps were quiet and rounded into the main area when she saw everyone there. James and Lily were pacing back and forth. James tugged down on his hair; Peter was by Dorcas and Remus, Marlene looked deathly pale, the two Head Boy and Girls were there. Sirius sat in a chair, his arms cradling Toulouse as he nervously swallowed, face imprinted with distress.

Remus was the first to notice, his head snapping up once he sensed her presence. He stood, “Y/N!”

Everyone’s head snapped towards her. James shouted, running up to her. “Are you okay?” His hands went straight to her face and handled her like a doll. “My Godric! We were so worried — we were about to go and search for you!”

Sirius abruptly stood up; chair screeching, eyes wide but then quickly took a seat as everyone tossed him an odd look.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just missed dinner and wanted to get food!”

James tackled her into a hug and she almost dropped the plate of food.

Her eyes then travelled to Lily, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Lily made a move to go up to her, hand slightly outstretched before stopping and quickly ran up the staircase. Everyone noticed but didn’t mention it. Then the Head Girl and Boy exited wordlessly.

Lily leaving fucking hurt.

“I heard from Headless Nick, how’s Mary?”

There was a collective sigh. Marlene got up, going over to her and pulled her into another hug and pulled back. Her usually smooth skin was now littered with furrowed lines. “She’s with Madam Pomfrey, I’m going to sneak into her room now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Should any of us come?” Peter interjected.

“No… I don’t think she even wants me there. It might overwhelm her.”

“Be safe,” Dorcas said, her eyes wide with worry. And then she left.

Y/N made her way to sit down, James practically glued himself onto her as she plopped down next to Sirius, but still far enough to avoid suspicion.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Remus said. “When you didn’t show up for the study sessions and dinner we all… thought the worst.”

“Sorry…” Then her eyes wandered to the staircase, thinking about Lily again.

Dorcas stirred in her seat. “Don’t take Lily’s absence as offence. She was really worried.”

“She suggested we go out to find you,” Peter said. “Also had a nasty row with Snape in the courtyards too. Everyone saw it. What a bell end, Snape.”

“I think, for now, we all ought to start pairing up,” came Remus. A solemn noise of agreement went around. Nobody talked for a while and Y/N placed the large metal tray of food on the table, no longer having the appetite to eat.

James was the one who broke the silence. “Where were you?”

Sirius stopped petting Toulouse and listened carefully. “I was busy talking to McGonagall. Something about careers. Then I just got tired and ended up sleeping through dinner.”

It technically wasn’t a lie and everyone seemed to believe it.

The air was tense and James wouldn’t stop fretting. Ultimately, Dorcas began to talk to Peter, Remus had a pensive look before going to crack open his book but seemed tense. It was only until she felt Sirius nudge her foot. She shifted her head gradually to examine him.

‘You okay?’ He mouthed, searching for any kind of lie or injury. His eyes were still puffy but overall looked better.

She shook her head. ‘I’m okay, you?’

A nod.

His reaction earlier had new questions arising but she saved that for another time. Her eyes darted to the plate of food and then to him. ‘It’s for you.’

But then she peered up and saw Remus watching their interaction. He seemed to be deep in thought and took a large inhale. She swore his eyes flashed a golden glow. Worried he was catching on, she initiated a conversation. “Moony?” She teased.

When he wore a judicious look during times like these, Y/N is reminded just how smart and intimidating he could be. It was like he knew everything before anyone else did.

“Sorry — thinking ‘bout something. Anyway —”

While occupied with Remus, Sirius glanced shyly over to Y/N and bent over to take a treacle tart, biting into it. The gesture was so heartbreakingly touching to him; so unexpected coming from her.

Sirius was left in a transitional phase. A lot of the inner turmoil he held — or thought he had — was released today and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Whatever irritation he held towards Y/N vanished. He looked forward to their bickering, shy forehead kisses and the feeling he got that was the opposite of dread or disgust after being with someone.

It felt nice, doing something he truly wanted for once — not engaging in intimacy out of coping rather than genuine interest.

But then, it unleashed everything else he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. His reaction to touch earlier had set off a bomb buried so deep within him but Merlin — he hadn’t realized it would’ve affected him that much.

Truth be told, now all he wanted to do was ruin her to bits and pieces but he was getting too ahead of himself — becoming attached too quickly and he already felt himself disconnecting. The only thought that lapsed in his mind was: run, boy, run.

It echoed through his head again, love wasn’t — isn’t a magic potion, far from it. So what was he doing? He needed to make a decision; continue doing whatever they were doing, work on himself or run.

Running away is easy. It’s always been easy. But he was tired of it.

And after the intense fear that paralyzed him, that made his mouth go dry and heart pound in his chest when nobody could find her when she left — after knowing what happened to Mary; it almost caused Sirius to spike and go into a panic attack.

Sirius wasn’t afraid of many things. After all, he’d already gone through so much that there wasn’t much to be afraid of anymore. But if he had to choose, and it was at the forefront of his mind, it would’ve been her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Y/N headed to bed early as Dorcas waited for Marlene to return to the common room. It left her alone with Lily.

It was already dark, aside from a small lit candle that seeped through the cracks of Lily’s bed drapes. She did her evening routine before slipping into bed, listening to Lily faintly scribble in her diary. Only when Y/N felt herself relax, she heard Lily get out of bed and drew closer to her.

“Y/N?” Her voice was apprehensive. Y/N’s back faced her. She pretended to be asleep. “Psst… hey?”

Lily sighed before she sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't move for a long time. When they heard footsteps coming to their dorm was when she rose and uttered, “I’m glad you’re alright…Gave me a bit of a fright there… I’m sorry.”

Lily rushed back to her bed, drawing her curtains together when Marlene and Dorcas entered.

Y/N finally exhaled heavily, balling her blankets tightly. A thousand words, questions and thoughts were left unsaid. But, when she knew everyone finally was asleep, she uttered out an inaudible, I’m sorry too, and shut her eyes.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Translations

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?

Do you want to sleep with me?

Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.

None of my lovers have touched me like this without wanting something in return. You don't make me feel used and I'm terrified (of it).

Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo. / Non sono ancora pronto.

The way you make me feel scares me and I can't handle it. / I'm not ready yet.

Mi sbagliavo su di te.

I was wrong about you.

[alwerakoo]

“It’s all there”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwerakoo/works

------

Tommy is afraid of many things.

Like spiders, for example. And not the little ones, the big and hairy ones that always managed to somehow find their way into his sleeping bag in Pogtopia.

And fireworks. Loud and colorful, even if there were no crossbows around.

He's scared that at last, the one person from whom he was trying so desperately to hide will eventually catch him in his newly found home, grab him by the neck and pull back to Logstedshire.

He's afraid of the consequences of his own actions.

But now, he's even more scared of being punished for something he didn't do.

''Did you do it?'' Techno whispers in his ear

Although he can't see him, he feels his presence behind his back; a hand brushes past his shoulder.

''No.''

The inside of what's left of the Community House is blurred by walls of water. Dark silhouettes of his former friends and Dream.

He can still taste smoke in the air.

''If you're not affiliated with Tommy then give me that stupid disc.''

No.

Dream's voice echos through the water, ringing in his ears. He tasted something bitter in his mouth as he gasps.

Someone puts down an ender chest.

''No!''

The pearl he throws takes him to the other side, through the streams of water. His stomach twists when he lands.

Tubbo turns to face him, but his eyes are unfocused, searching.

For several long seconds, Tommy lets his hands materialize before his eyes. The burning feeling of potion still lingers on the back of his tongue.

Tubbo's face grows paler with each passing moment.

''This is what I was talking about! Why is he here?!''

Dream stands tall, his voice firm and strong, and he looks even bigger than usual.

In Tommy's eyes, he's hardly the most terrifying person standing among the flooded ruins.

''Tommy?''

The rays of setting sun illuminate Tubbo's back. Its horns cast a long shadow over the stone remains, reaching the tips of Tommy's boots, climbing up higher and higher.

''No, I... Please. Don't give him that disc. Tubbo, listen to me-''

Tubbo's gaze shifts downwards, to the netherite ax he's still desperately griping in his hand.

''You really shouldn't be here.''

''I know. I know, I know, but ... This? It's not... It wasn't me! Does this look like something I would do Tubbo?''

At fist, he doesn't notice when Techno appears right behind him. Someone in the crowd gasps.

Tubbo's expression changes suddenly. It's that unreadable mask, the same one Tommy saw at Wilbur's funeral.

He stares at him. With the same eyes that stared at the decorated inscription on the gravestone.

„Wilbur. Beloved friend, father and brother.”

The chest opens with a soft noise.

Mellohi still shimmers in the sun.

Tommy's breath gets caught in his throat.

''Everything,'' Tubbo stands up ''everything I ever did was for our country, Tommy! Everything!''

He holds his hand out.

Dream's face remains hidden under the mask, but in his hands the disc seems so important. So dangerous. He drags his nails over its delicate, black surface.

Tommy can taste blood.

''I'm sorry. But you can only blame yourself.''

Tommy looks at him.

And realizes how pathetic Tubbo looks.

In his oversized uniform, with a crooked tie. He tries to sound confident, but his voice is shaky.

His shirt is missing a button.

He looks at his best friend and sees, for the very first time, a sad parody of everything Wilbur once was.

Of everything Schlatt was.

Tommy laughs, but it comes out more like a sigh.

''Your country ... Is more important to you than your family?''

Techno puts his hand on his back.

Tubbo grimaces.

''I don't see my family here.''

When Tommy was running away from the first festival, someone shot an arrow right in his back. He fell, but got up as soon as his hands touched the wooden path. The adrenaline in his veins eased the pain.

And only later, in the tunnel leading to Pogtopia, when he saw Tubbo alive and well again, the metal arrowhead reminded him of its existence, the sudden ache making him collapse in Tubbo's arms.

Now Tubbo stood in front of him, aiming his bow straight at him.

The intangible arrow buries itself deep into his chest. A promise of future pain.

Techno's hand drops to his side.

''... Oh. Well, then.''

He turns to his brother.

And in that split second when their eyes meet, Tommy gives him permission.

To do what he previously called the worst possible option, something that still terrified him

He gives him permission to do something, for what he previously called him a traitor.

''I see you around, Mr. President.''

He puts all the venom that gathers in his throat into those last two words.

The inside of his cheek is bleeding.

He pulls his arm back, ender pearl in hand. Then freezes mid-movement.

''Oh. And I'll tell Phil you say hello.''

Tubbo looks at him for the last time, as he disappears behind the water.

 ***

 Nights in the snow biome can be brutal.

Snow blizzards, when Techno takes Carl inside, letting him hide from the cold. Little ice crystals forming on the tips of his eyelashes. Phil putting hot bricks under his sheets to keep his feet warm.

But now, the layer of snow beneath their boots shimmers in the soft light of full moon. Trees letting a thin layer of white fluff cover their branches.

They follow a familiar path towards their house, leaving shallow footprints behind.

It doesn't matter. Nobody is looking for them.

''... I'm sorry,” Tommy says, finally breaking the silence.

Techno looks at him, raising one eyebrow.

''Sorry for what, exactly?”

''For when... for when I... fuck,” he stutters.

Can't find the right words.

He sighs resignedly. Techno hums softly.

He takes off his fluffy hood, tilting his head back. A few snowflakes land on his reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry I called you a traitor," he admits ''You were right. You're always right.''

His heart beats around the tip of his intangible arrow.

His eyes sting.

Techno laughs breathlessly.

''Yeah. To be fair, I was the only one that was honest with you the entire time. If you would only... Oh, Tommy.

He realizes he's crying.

He stops, pressing his hands against his eyes.

''Fuck. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm...'' he puts his palms on his wet, cold face.

Techno stands in front of him, hesitantly reaching out his hands, then freezes, looking a bit conflicted.

Finally, he sighs as he spreads his arms.

''Come here.''

Tommy feels much smaller in his arms, but it doesn't really matter. He presses his face against Techno's chest, letting herself have this moment. A little moment of weakness.

His coat is soft and warm.

Perfect to wipe away his tears.

 ***

 By the time they get home, the moon is already high on the sky. Tommy reaches out, tracing its shape with his fingers.

They're laughing on the porch, but their voices quiet down when Techno opens the front door.

From the room upstairs, Tommy can hear soft snoring.

''Phil's sleeping.''

Tommy steps in, feeling the pleasant warmth from the fireplace.

Some snowflakes fall through the gap, dissolving on the floor. But Techno doesn't close the door.

''We could,'' he says, and for the first time lets some uncertainties creep into his voice ''start preparing. Now. If you're not tired?''

Tommy gives him a weak smile and opens his mouth. His gaze suddenly falls on the coat hanger standing next to the door frame.

''Go. I'll join you. I just want to warm up a bit.''

Tommy isn't sure how Techno will interpret this lie, but it doesn't matter.

''Okay.''

Techno gives him one last look and silently closes the door behind him.

Phil's old coat is a bit rough to the touch. Tommy turns it over in his hands carefully as if it's about to fall apart in his hands (and looking at how old it is, it definitely wasn't impossible).

He reaches into one of the inside pockets with his hand, almost immediately finding what he's looking for.

He spreads the small piece of paper with fingers.

He still remembers drawing it.

When the hours his five-year-old self spent with Phil, mindlessly rewriting the same lopsided letters and shapes, finally paid off.

He remembers how hard it was for him to find the right pink for Techno's hair. The shapeless stain next to Wilbur, that was supposed to be a guitar.

He remembers when Tubbo asked him to draw a bee next to him.

He remembers how genuinely proud Phil looked, pinning the drawing to their kitchen wall and then later on putting it in one of his coat pockets.

''So that I always have my family with me," he said with a soft smile.

The drawing is shaking in his hands. There's an old, big water stain in it's left corner.

He looks at the family of his former self.

His fingers are trembling.

He rips off the left side of his drawing in one, smooth movement.

It only hurts for a moment. Like ripping off an old bandana. Only for a moment, his heart aches, as the smiling figure with the words "TubO" underneath it, falls to the floor.

Tommy looks at the rest of the paper. The rest of his former world, all gathered under the lopsided: "My Fami".

And it's all there.

No one is missing.

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina :) this isn't really anything having to do with all the pics going on recently, I just wanted to pop in and ask if (besides the obvious one being your tumblr header) you have any favorite quotes that come to mind from any of the larry fics you've read? I've started making a list of some that I find beautiful whenever I read a new one and wondered if you might have some too! You're an incredible writer so I thought you might have an eye for them :)

You know, there used to be a blog dedicated to that, but I can’t remember the url anymore and I think they’re gone anyway, but yeah... I do have some that I love. I used to be much better about saving them... so these are old, but it’s still some gorgeous writing IMO.

“You look like flowers,” Louis whispers softly. “A meadow. Somewhere warm and colorful and all my own, where I go to be all by myself. And you look like my favorite book with the tea-stained pages, all the highlighted parts that speak to me in ways other books just don’t. You look like a bonfire, the brightest thing around, so bright I can’t look at anything else. And you look like silk, and softness, and happiness. That’s what you look like.” - Hiding Place by alivingfire

“Except I wouldn’t want to keep you, would I?” Louis’ smile instantly dips a little, finger withdrawing, but Harry clasps his wrist, holding it to his chest. “I wouldn’t want to keep you, because I’d make you want to stay.” - A Red-Dusted Planet by onewasturning

Louis slips their fingers together, slotting between the gaps and curling around his like a possum’s tail around a branch. - A Red-Dusted Planet

Louis is looking up at him, and his eyes are as bright as the moon and the projector light flickering through the window, and it’s like Harry has caught starlight in his hands, something like a wish, a hope, shot straight through the night and burning into the fate lines of his palms. - A Red-Dusted Planet

He smiles down at him, all rosy-appled cheeks, and he’s so beautiful, Harry thinks he must have been magicked from the sky itself. Thinks he can still see remnants of the storm spinning in his eyes. - These Roads We Stumble Down by onewasturning

It makes all the sense in the bloody world and the realization cracks over Louis’ head like an egg, dripping down his neck and trailing down to his toes. - The Actor by mizzwilde

"If you were nobody, and had nothing, and were going nowhere at all, I'd go nowhere with you and make it somewhere. And yeah, I'd still want you. Fuck," he laughs, rough into Louis’ mouth. "'Course I'd still want you. You're like, you're like everything. You make me feel everything." - Little Technicolor Things by scarycrow

Instead, he wonders if it’s possible at all to miss something he’s never had. If the tall boy with his long fingers brushing against the turn of Louis’ ankle was supposed to have been in Louis’ life ages ago but the author forgot to write him in when he had meant to, if maybe that’s why Louis is falling into him so quickly, because he’s trying to make up for lost time, trying to catch up. If maybe that’s why Louis’ life has been so off lately. - Little Technicolor Things 

He imagines a world where it’s possible to drag someone back in time, one where time is a two-way street and he can grab Harry’s hand and pull him along until they’re stumbling breathless into the past, into the empty days Louis spent alone and filling those days with Harry—with morning breakfasts and paintings and summer-sun smiles, with cheeks dimpled in laughter. - Little Technicolor Things

“Nothing, just,” Harry starts. He laughs a little, and Louis looks up at him solely because he doesn’t want to miss the way his eyes crinkle when he does. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he just shakes his head again and dips to plant a light kiss on Louis’ cheek. “Nothing,” he repeats, and Louis wonders what nothing really means. - Little Technicolor Things

He learns quite a few things about Harry, really, but the one that stands out to him the most is this: Harry is soft. He isn’t soft in a bad way, in the way people these days throw the word around and use it to mean weak and frail and scared. He’s soft like spider webs are soft, like cashmere is soft and the music you fall asleep to is soft. He’s soft when he reaches out slowly across the carpet and touches two fingers to Louis’ wrist without looking at him, soft when he hums along to the songs on the playlist Louis made, soft when he licks his finger and waggles his eyebrows and turns the page of a book, carefully, carefully carefully. Softly, softly, softly. And because he’s soft, he’s brave. Or at least that’s what Louis sees when he looks at him, when he hears him talk about how scared he was moving to London, how angry he was when his dad left, how terrifying the idea of living on his own instead of in a dorm with other university students was. - Little Technicolor Things

Harry does, but not before grinning wide and easy, his arms moving to bracket Louis’ body against the dresser, and Louis melts into him like the winter melts into the spring. His mouth is warm and velvet-y, tongue heavy in Louis’ mouth. The kiss doesn’t feel forgettable right now, but Louis kind of hopes that it is. He hopes that their future is filled with so many kisses that this one is nothing more than one out of a thousand, each one better than the last, that Louis kisses Harry and Harry kisses Louis so many times that the only time he’ll ever remember this kiss is in the middle of some winter night, when he dreams about it and wakes up in the dark, before curling into the curly-haired boy lying next to him and dreaming about the next kiss. - Little Technicolor Things

He thinks that’s kissing Harry is like turning a dial: where everything is cold, now there’s only warmth; where everything was dark, now there’s only light; where everything was bleak, now there’s life, blooming like the blossoms on Cherry trees, blushing pink and white with awaking. With waking up. Harry wakes Louis up. -  Little Technicolor Things

There is so much music in you: bare feet against the floor, the sandpaper glide of your palm on the stair rail, of your skin against mine, of your ceaseless fingers tapping at the table. He's music, Louis thinks. I'm in love with a song. Little Technicolor Things

(clearly, I adore this fic)

And that’s what Harry hates, Louis knows, because black has always had a connotation with death, and despair, and disease. It’s never been associated with good things, happy things.

But there’s more, too. Because Harry isn’t a demon who was twisted into darkness when he was still human; he chose darkness, a self-sacrifice. His soul is black but in the same way the night sky is black: deep and endless, sprinkled with bits of light. Sparkle. Vast and overwhelming, containing the possibilities for anything.

It’s black like panther fur is black, shifting blues and purples when the light hits a splay of powerful muscle. It’s black like an eclipsed moon. Black like tattoo ink. The blackness has meaning; the blackness is meaning: it hides speckles of brilliance in its depths, adds contrast to the bronze braids of hope and faith in Harry’s soul, the harp strings of kindness buried inside him that the sin could never touch.  - Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire

I’m sure I have others... but these are the ones I came across first. Thank you for the great ask. It’s refreshing! LOL. And thank you for the wonderful compliment. It means a lot. 💜

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader. 

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  general angst.    

tags / warnings.  everything about this is pain.  you can literally spin in a circle and point at somewhere on the page and it’ll be pain.  i’m sorry.

beta reader(s).  @midnighttifa​ (your comments make my days better, @pars-ley​ (you’re so lovely), and @papillonsgf​ (i owe you my life and all my love).  thank you, my dears!  💖

wc.  3k

chapter three.

You’d thought they’d left - all the memories of him.  Packed into cardboard boxes and plastic bins, folded between clothes and bare picture frames.     

You realise now, they’d only been hiding, waiting for his return.  

The smell of your perfume.  His favourite one, strawberry jam and cosy cedar wood.  It calls to moments together, of his face buried into the side of your neck.  Wandering hands and wondrous laughter, warmth crowding everywhere.  The wet of his teeth against your skin as he’d smile.  Springtime and Sunday matinees, fresh picked fruit and messy kisses.  

The mirror in your hallway - the one you’d taken too many photos in front of, that’d you almost broke one drunken stumbling night.  The one he’d loved you breathless in, with a hand at your throat and another on your waist.  Where he’d whisper sweet nothings with eyes only for you.  Where your little piece of paradise was preserved by a pretty iron frame. 

The tee shirt that you’d washed and promised to return but never had, keeping it as a trophy.  A rightful reminder of his love.  How it fits you just right without fitting you at all, comfortable and lazy and effortless.  A mirror image to the one he wears now.  

You find pieces of him scattered everywhere, swept under rugs and tucked within cupboards.  He’s there in the kettle that whistles and the tea that steeps, dipped in the honey pot and hidden behind your curtains.  He’s there in your thoughts, tucked away on the top shelf that you pretend doesn’t exist.  

Even as he sits, still and unimposing on the couch you’d both picked, he’s everywhere.

How is he everywhere?

“Want some help?”  It floats across the space, comfortably as if he’d never left.  It fits easily, familiar and lovely.  You hate it.  You hate how it makes you feel, digging up emotions you’d buried from their rightful place in the ground.  

“I’m fine.”  

A lie.  Lily white and inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things. 

You’re not quite sure why you bother.  Whose feelings were you sparing - his or yours?

“You sure?”  It’s closer than you anticipate, a ghost of a breath over your shoulder.  It sends your mind reeling, feet following in the same fashion as you all but slam into the hard block edge of your counter.  You nearly topple mugs as you go, only avoiding a disastrous mess when hands find you, catch you like that’s what they were made for. 

Jungkook’s an indomitable figure, palms searing heat into every nerve ending beneath his touch.  You can’t help the way you instinctively lean into him.  You love him somewhere deep in your bones, in the stardust that makes up every atom - a moth drawn to his flame. 

But you knew better now.  Fly too close to the sun - you’ll only get burned. 

“Please don’t touch me.”  

It’s you who breaks away first, turned towards the scent of chamomile and lavender.  You can only imagine his expression;  it’ll twist out of shape, crooked like you’ve just kicked him while he’s down.  

You suppose you have, but he’d thrown the first punch.

“Why’d you invite me in if you’re only going to ignore me?”  It hits like a shot to the gut, exactly as it’s meant to.  He isn’t asking for the sake of asking - he’s asking so you’ll cry yourself hoarse and find comfort in his arms.  He’s asking because he knows the answer and he wants you to regret it.  

You know it.  You know this side of him, even if you wish you didn’t.  

Even if you wish he was still the same boy who you’d fallen in love with years ago, full of sunshine and promise.  The one who’d have held you all night, kissed you senseless under the moon and held your hand through the sunrise.  Who’d break his own back bending over, weather a hundred storms for the people he loved. 

It’s a silly wish - a useless one, wasted on shooting stars and broken bones.  

He would never be that boy again.  He’d come too far, changed too much.  You hardly even recognise him now, cut from stone rather than cloth.  A thousand sharp edges you catch your hands on when you foolishly reach for him.  He is an incomplete masterpiece and you’ve never been artistic.  There’s nothing for you here.  

A mug is extended - an unnecessary apology.  An olive branch in the form of your old ritual.  “Please don’t say that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?  Can’t do or say anything.”  It’s petulant and angry, a riot crowded behind his teeth.  You’re worried what the words might do - how they’ll beat you black and blue. 

“I don’t know what you expected.”  You can’t hide the exasperation, the overwhelming sadness that starts in your heart and branches out into your veins.  It creeps further, presents itself prettily in jewels nestled along your lash line and the tremble of your chin.  You’d cry if you weren’t so tired, every ounce of your effort eaten up by the boy that glares at you now and demands more than you can possibly give.  

He sighs - a long, unbroken sound - and something shifts, snaps into place as if the entire cosmos has aligned to allow this moment.  

He looks like him suddenly, like the version of himself you’d thought long lost.  It’s hidden in the peculiar shape of his mouth, uneven around his frown;  it’s there in the light of his stare, where sunbeams pour past boarded up windows.  It’s there, even where you can’t quite see it, in the corner of his soul and his drifting heart.  He’s always been a wanderer.

But then he moves, retreats back to his seat and to himself.  

He feels farther away than the moon, his silence that of the stars.

You take a careful sip of the liquid that burns through ceramic - anything to distract from the cold hands of memory that claw at your neck.  You turn words over in your hand - test them for clarity and weight, a jeweller inspecting their most prized possessions.   Was there anything you could say that would make this better? That would fix this gaping, Jungkook-shaped silhouette that tore a hole right through you?

You remember how you’d fallen for him, tumbled headlong into love with him - intensely, blindly, wholeheartedly.  It’d been easy then.  You’d dived into depths too shallow, climbed trees too fall;  you hadn’t thought your heart would break, even if every other part of you did. 

You’d thought it’d all be worth it.  

Instead you’re left with alkaline bones calcified under paper-thin skin, parchment sewn together by shaking hands and sodden by saltwater.  It’s hardly a body at all, ripe for the picking and bruising and tearing beneath teeth like knives.  

Can you blame him for how he hurts you when you’d already hurt yourself?

There’s a tang on your tongue.  It pools between seams, dripping misery into your mouth and swallowing the sob that’s formed in a wave.  It crashes against your teeth, stings the pink of your gums with salt;  it rises and crests, engulfing sandy shores you’d once built your home upon.  It comes and comes and you can’t stop it - sound bursting forth like a siren song.

He’s upon you then, utterly defenseless to your call.  He crowds you before he can think twice about it;  a drowning man seeking air.  It’s a pretty metaphor for a pretty boy.  What he doesn’t realise is that he is a galaxy all his own - not a sailor lost at sea but a swirling vortex not fit for human life.  Jungkook contains no oxygen of his own, smothering you in what he calls love and feels more like hell. 

“I’m sorry.”  It disappears into velvet, clinging to silk like electricity.  They spark in your eyes, electrifying your thoughts.  “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”  

Arms do the opposite of what they’re meant to.  They crush your resolve beneath the weight of them - pry open your insides - and you’re crumbling.  The agony comes in sheets, like September rain.  It streaks down your cheeks and soaks your clothes, sinking beneath your skin until you’re waterlogged. 

“Don’t say that.  Don’t you say that to me.”  

Don’t lie to me, you think.  

He speaks the words he thinks you want to hear, weaving them until they’re a muzzle for your sadness.  “I’m sorry.  I never meant to hurt you.”  As if good intentions make up for the way your heart aches. 

They don’t. .

“Forgive me.  Please.  I need you.” 

Forgive him.  Forgive him?  You don’t even know what you’d forgive him for.  You’re certain there are more skeletons in his closet than in the ground.  Dig one up and another three would rise - some sort of awful hydra’s head born from your nightmares.

“I can’t.”  It claws itself out of your throat and into the air that suffocates, ripping it apart with teeth and nails.  Hands find the collar of his shirt and it isn’t clear whether you’re shoving him away or clinging to him.  You can’t make up your mind, fisting the material between your fingers until the strands might snap.  It feels terribly familiar, like the thing behind your ribs that’s six seconds from tearing.  

You’re pushing and pulling, hitting and halting.  Hauled in a million different directions.  It’s too much.

“What’re you sorry for?”  A fist to his chest, right where your heart lives (or dies, rather).  Your demands are barely coherent, words with no beginning and no end.  “Tell me.  Tell me what you’re sorry for.”  

He could push you away.  It’d be easy, really.  You half expect him to.  He hates being told what to do.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.  I’m sorry for not realising how good I had it.  I’m sorry for forgetting about what we had.  I’m so fucking sorry.”  They’re confessions you’ve heard a hundred times.  Over the phone, through the door, on his knees.  It never changes - a recital he knows intimately well.  “I’m sorry for letting you down.”  

You shouldn’t have expected more.  It would never come - not with him.  Not from him.  He had too much to lose and you’d never be enough.  Nothing in comparison to those thin white lines, those flashing lights, those women. 

You thought you’d known that.  You’d had three long years to learn that.

These apologies aren’t answers;  they’re excuses.

You peer up at him - into those wondrous eyes, so full of light and swirling with constellations - that you don’t think he expects it when you thrust your hand into his chest, past sinew and gristle to find the truth.  It squeezes, incremental, around the organ that you’d once thought beat in time with yours.  Silly girl.  It hardly beats at all.  

“That’s not what you should be sorry for.”  The tears still fall.  They come, relentless, as if his mere presence undoes all your hard work;  they carry your words, pull them off your tongue like white water rapids.  “You should be sorry you’re asking me to forgive you.  You should be sorry you’re putting me through this.”  It’s those same fists, over and over again, as if you might force something more out of him.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you go.”

“Please let me go.”

“I can’t.  I can’t.”  Jungkook cries like his tears might sway the tide.  “Stay with me.  I can’t do this without you.”  It’s a lie - a terrible, poorly-dressed lie - but he speaks it like the truth, like you’re his truth.  

He begs as if he doesn’t remember the harsh sting of reality and how it fits within your story.  He pretends like these chapters haven’t been written together, passages underlined in garish red ink.  He acts oblivious to the mistakes you point out, refusing to read between the lines even when they’re written in. 

Fault lies with him - mostly, wholly - carried in the palm of his hands with small portions - sections of his knuckles - divided up to reflect the ache of your mutual loss. 

He knows that - but knowing something doesn’t mean facing it.  

“I need you, Pumpkin.”  

“You don’t need me.”  Hasn’t needed you in years, far longer than even the last three.  He’d found others to need, others to fill the gaping you-shaped hole he swore was real.  

Women with beguiling eyes and beseeching mouths.  Women whose names you never learnt but whose perfume found a home somewhere along your shelves, whose clothes masqueraded as yours when you’d find a wayward scrap of lace in the back pocket of his jeans.  Women who took your everything - but only because he’d been ripe for the taking.  

I miss you, he’d insisted over those first few weeks.  I can’t wait to come home to you.  Nothing’s the same without you. 

You should’ve known then that someone so used to having it all would never let go so easily.  

In a perfect world, you would’ve fought less, given more - uprooted your whole life to travel across the world with him.  He would’ve stayed at your side, found his vice in the shape of your smile, the beat of your heart.  You would’ve been happy.  Together. 

You wonder - would it have made a difference?  Or would all paths have led to this?  Had you been doomed from the start?  Star-crossed lovers?  

You’d like to think so.  Passing blame helps - softens the pain and drowns out the what-ifs. 

You never had a chance.

He wants to tell you it’s true, that none of them mean anything close to you.  He wants to tell you that you’re the love of his life and that, when he gives this all up - flickers out like a star that’s burned too bright - you’ll be the one he crashes into.  You’ll be the only arms he seeks, his northern star in human form.

But you told him not to lie and you’d insist he was, so he doesn’t. 

He stares at you instead, soft and sad and so desperate he can trace the fractures in your composure as he levels you with that unwavering intensity.  It stutters to life a hundred hummingbird wings;  he can practically hear them buzzing about in your chest.  He thinks they’d burst out of your chest if you weren’t careful, caging them beneath brass.

“I love you,”  he tells you, words so sweet, so tender - a melody he strings together only for your ears.  It warms your cheeks and fizzles quietly in your stomach, melting away the ice that crystallises your heart and turns it cold.  He strips you bare with the admission, hoping to find some sort of acceptance in your eyes.

He forgets that he is not a blameless boy and your body is more than a confessional booth.

You believe it when you say it, half-hearted and defensive.  It would hurt more if it weren’t so wet.  “You don’t love me.” 

“I do.”  What can he do to convince you it’s true?  He thinks he’d do anything if it brought you back to him - where he wants you most - tucked away in his arms and his head and his heart.  “I swear I do.”  

He reaches for you with high hopes.  It’s silly of him, he knows.  You’re lightyears away, tucked among the stars.  It’s where you belong, out of reach and shining bright.  He can’t deny how badly it hurts.  He wants you here, beside him;  he wants it selfishly, as he wants most things.

“You don’t love me, because you don’t hurt the people you love.”  It’s a phrase Jungkook’s heard before.  From your lips, from movie screens, from god knows fucking where.  What a stupid phrase.  He didn’t mean to hurt you.  He didn’t mean a lot of things and didn’t that mean anything?

Each time it comes, it agitates him, stewing his blood to a boil.  It simmers in his veins like witch’s brew, a love potion rotten and ruined - sweet milk gone sour.. 

Was this that - a relationship that had run its course?  A bond past its expiration date?

“I love you,”  he repeats, ever harder.  As if the words might turn to amber, remain forever on the top of his tongue, crystallised and perfect.  It feels like it.  He’s told you enough times, ever since he was fifteen years old - practically an eternity.

“”You don’t.”  It’s your own insistence, biting and cold and yet somehow still a summer’s day.  You weren’t always like this.  He’d driven you to this.  But you were never very good at keeping him out;  warmth always crept in, sunlight streaming through the clouds.  That was the glory of your love.  It was irrefutable.  

Your skin may have thickened but the fire roars on.  

“I love you.  I love you so fucking much.”  He holds you, seeks to burn the truth of his words into your marrow.  Thumbs sweep the point of your chin, right below where he’d like to leave the impression of his mouth.  

There’s a sadness in your eyes - an ocean of melancholy that turns them bitter blue.  “Love is sacrifice.”  You pry each finger from your face, turn knuckles alabaster with your gentle ministrations.  A part of him wishes you’d tear them clean off;  your kindness hurts more than your hate.  “And sacrifice is something you’ll never understand.”

You lead him to leave, just as he’s led you through hell.  You don’t falter when the door of your home swings open, the one in your heart slamming shut in tandem.  

When you tell him to go, he isn’t ready - wants to spend the rest of his life in this place with you - so you guide him out, with a tiny shake of your head and a click of the lock.  He stares at the wood grain when it shuts in his face - memorises the patterns of the home you’d built together.  He stands there longer than he should, setting sun searing upon his shoulders.  He should leave, he knows.  

But you’re his weakness and he doesn’t know whether he loves you or hates you for it.

author note.  this was really meant to just... explore their past a little bit?  so i hope that comes across?  actual plot movement will be forthcoming.  tysm for reading!!!  💜 

tag list.  @jalexad​​​ @aa-ronpa​​ @kookiesbreaky​​ @celestialflamefairy​​ @xjoonchildx​​ @pars-ley​​ @seokjinssi​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​ @patpus​ @dazedjjk​ @koozui​ @jinhitwhore​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[writingbakery]

“what’s new, pussycat?”

this work is my absolute pride & joy, one that i hold very near & dear to my heart! it was previously written for a different fandom, & ive reworked it to fit here. i hope you love it as much as i do, & yes - there will be more parts to this story! ✨taglist; @katsukisprincess @secondhand-trash @redbeanteax @monst @shinhoetoshi @shinsouzone @togasknifes

[pairing; panther familiar! hitoshi shinso x green witch gn! reader]

[warnings; fluff, meet-cutes, magical au, bitchy witches, soft words, strangers to lovers]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

for a green witch in a relatively small town, you’ve got a pretty good life.

you’re not the most powerful witch around; your talents are more centered around healing, crafting potions & spells, but you don’t mind. you like helping people, whisking away their problems & leaving them happier than when they walked into your little shop.

your shop is perfectly situated right at the forest line at the end of town, making it easy for you to restock your supply. you don’t get many customers, but you treat everyone like they’re most important, focusing on what they need & providing them with just what they’ve asked for. you don’t have many friends, most of the other witches not thinking much of your talents or your profession - they were all more modern witches, using electricity & technology to help others - but the ones you do have treat you nothing but kindly.

you’ve got everything you need in your little shop; a tiny apartment just above it, a loyal customer base, & the forest to soothe your worries.

the only thing you don’t have is a familiar.

you turned twenty six months ago, the age at which every witch receives their familiar. sometimes, it happens sooner, sometimes it takes a little longer. you’re just a hint impatient.

you’ve been ready for your familiar since your powers emerged at six years old, little flowers & vines bursting from chubby fingers & small palms. your friends even had a betting pool set up, sero swearing that you would get a kitty cat, & kirishima insisting it would be a rabbit.

you don’t care what your familiar is. you just want to meet them.

you’ve nagged your mother more than enough over the years, whining & complaining at your lack of a companion - both the animal aspect of them, & the human. familiars often became their witches’ best friends, & on most occasions, have fallen in love with them.

it’s a romantic concept, really. two magical beings, tied together forever by their shared powers, falling in love.

you’ve had dreams about it. kaminari makes fun of you for it whenever he can.

still, you don’t need to fall in love with your familiar. you love them already for supporting & adding to your magic, even if you haven’t met yet. you just know you’re going to be the best of friends.

you also side with sero. you’re definitely hoping for a kitty.

you alway tell your friends you don’t mind being patient, but secretly, you wish your familiar would speed things up a bit.

the other witches in town don’t tease you outright, a bit more poised than that, but you’ve heard more than enough whispered giggles of “bet it’s a fly, & it just can’t find them” & “maybe [y/n]’s just too weak for one”. you know they consider you a joke, a laughingstock, but you do your best to ignore them, burying your head in your spellbooks & inventing new potion strains.

you’re good at what you do, & that’s all that matters. but with a familiar, at least you’d fit in. you’re not expecting anything huge, not like the wolf inasa got, or the pheonix momo was gifted. you just want something that’ll care for you, help with your little tasks & fill the hole in your heart.

you even have a little side room set up in your shop for them, complete with a small fluffy bed & lots of pillows. kaminari had wrinkled his nose at the setup. “what if they don’t like all the fluff?” he’d asked - his familiar, an overexcited ring tailed lemur named mina, had absolutely destroyed the setup kaminari made for her, choosing to snuggle the taller witch in her human form every night. you had a separate betting pool with kirishima & bakugou about when those two would finally start dating.

mostly, you just hope your familiar won’t be disappointed with you. you aren’t the fastest on a broomstick, or the smartest with spells. your potions are good, but they take you a while to brew, & you don’t get that many customers. you’re definitely not the best witch in town, but you try your best, & you hope that counts for something.

it ends up counting for a lot, even if you don’t realize.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you’re looking through your little vials & plants one day, crafting a rejuvenation potion for mrs. parks - she’s got a garden to maintain if she wants to win first place in the landscaping competition next week, & at 85 it doesn’t always come naturally - when you realize you’re clean out of starflower. the pretty little orange & yellow foliage always added an extra boost to your energy potions, & you chance a glance out of your shop windows. it’s a nice day, sunny but not too hot, & you easily tug on your jacket & basket to gather some from the forest.

the air is warm, floaty with the smell of spring & you bask in the pleasant heat of the sun as you walk. the forest is unusually quiet, a sort of energetic thrum hovering just under the surface & normally, you would be concerned. but the day is so lovely, the warmth seeping into your bones & you brush it off as a slight imbalance in the woods.

you find the right clearing relatively quickly, sitting cross legged amidst the flowers & beginning to pluck them. you coo to the brightly colored petals gently, asking them to feel safe, protected. you wouldn’t hurt them, nor waste them unnecessarily. they were headed to a good purpose, & you reassure them as such as they make their way into your basket.

the already quiet air stills suddenly, birds silent in the trees & leaves pausing their ruffling. you shut your eyes & soaks up the sudden silence, an odd sense of calm settling over your body before you open them again.

a pair of amethyst violet eyes stare back at you, barely ten feet away from your face.

you open your mouth to scream, but let out nothing but air; your breath seems caught in your throat, lodged painfully deep. the creature in front of you is still, black fur gleaming glossy in the afternoon sun - a panther, twice the size of any normal big cat, sharp fangs glinting in its large mouth. you just stare, frozen & wide eyed.

the panther tilts its head at you inquisitively, letting out a sharp exhale through its velvety - almost cute? - black nose. you do scream this time, a barely there squeak that youd defend to your dying day as a very aggressive yell.

& then you pass clean out, slumping to the cool forest floor.

above you, the panther simply snorts, rolling bright purple eyes in mild annoyance as it curls its lithe form around your unconscious body, settling in for a nap.

it protects you from harm, patiently waiting for you to wake up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you wake up confused & a little dizzy.

you’ve only been out about an hour, but already the sun sits lower in the sky, a chill sweeping through the quiet wood. you’re disoriented, taking a few moments to remember where you are, & why. youre warm despite the cool forest air, body swathed in silky softness. you burrow deeper into the warmth, sighing softly as you toe the line between sleep & awake.

then you remember the panther.

shooting straight up from the dirt, you look around wildly, all traces of sleepiness gone as you take in your surroundings.

the panther lays curled around you like a warm blanket, keeping you tucked up against its shoulder with massive black paws crossed in front of your legs. it’s fast asleep, not even stirring as you shift a little to study its face.

gold runes run from the tips of each large, silky ear, trailing down either side of its face to its long whiskers. each rune matches one on your own arms, elegantly winding down your smooth skin. a little flutter settles in your chest.

this is your familiar.

you run one slim finger down the sides of the panther’s sleeping face, gentle & light as you trace over the marks that mirror the ones you’ve had since birth. it’s a little nerve wracking, a little unreal.

you’re so awestruck you don’t feel a pair of sharp violet eyes tracking your every move, looking just a little fond.

you start a little when the panther stretches, long heavy limbs arcing out into the air as it yawns. you get a good eyeful of sharp, gleaming white fangs & an impossibly cute pink tongue before the panther is staring at you again, seemingly waiting for your next move.

oh right.

hastily clambering to your feet, you stand in front of the lying animal, just about level with its head. you swallow a little nervously, shifting from foot to foot as you look up into bright, curious eyes.

“a-are you my familiar?” you ask, immediately cursing yourself for stammering & asking stupid questions. you’re supposed to have your shit together, you’re the witch here.

the panther seems unfazed, if not a little amused, as it nods once, then twice, eyes twinkling in the sunlight. your own eye twitches.

you’ve got a familiar. a panther familiar. you, [y/n l/n], who can’t fly a broomstick straight & nearly burnt down your shop crafting a potion last week.

suddenly everything seems a whole lot less simple than it was before.

bracing your hands against your knees to catch your breath, you let your mind go wild, running through a million thoughts at once. what would the other witches say? what would your friends say? how the fuck was this panther going to fit inside your house?

you don’t have a single answer for any of them that won’t send you into a panic.

your stomach ends up deciding for you, the low rumble of it breaking the tense silence. the panther actually does roll its eyes at you this time, standing to its full - very, very tall height & moving to kneel at your side. it motions towards its back a little impatiently, & you scramble to climb on.

you can feel lean, powerful muscle underneath you as the panther begins to walk through the forest, quickly shifting through the underbrush towards town.

it’s much quicker than you walking on your own, & you appreciate that.

you know you’re going to get plenty of stares once you hit town, & you’ve already got a plan set: make it through quickly, avoid questions, & once you’ve got the both of you locked up in your shop, the panther can shift to its human form & introduce themselves. simple.

the second you step foot - & paw - into the town, you know you’re screwed.

all of the townsfolk are staring wide eyed, giving the pair of you a very wide berth as the panther trots along the street. hushed whispers are already circulating, & you can feel endless sets of eyes digging into your back.

just a couple more feet, a few more moments. then we’ll be safe, you think as your shop comes into view, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. you slide down off the panthers back to unlock the door & usher it in, locking it behind you both with another relieved sigh. you relax too soon.

there, in your kitchen, sit sero & kirishima, both gaping as they stare at the massive panther in your foyer. sero’s got a teapot in one hand, the other cupping the air - a shattered mug at his feet.

“we came for tea,” kirishima squeaks. sero is dumbfounded where he stands. the panther huffs unamused, tail flicking & breaking one of the china plates along the wall.

you sink to the floor in despair.

what the fuck, is all you can think, burying your head in your hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

your friends take it all in surprisingly well. sero sweeps up the shattered mug & dish, kirishima makes them all tea, & you have a mild panic attack.

the panther simply curls up in a corner of the shop, avoiding everything delicate as it takes up a good chunk of the space. kirishima can’t stop staring at it, eyes blown wide as he takes in every inch of the creature.

“it’s really yours? your familiar?” he’d asked, voice hushed. you swatted at his arm with a scowl, glancing over at the uninterested panther. “stop talking about it like it’s not here! you know it can hear you.”

truthfully, however, you don’t even think the panther is listening. it has an air of disinterest clouded around it, lazily examining its paws & twitching its whiskers every so often.

sero maintains that he won the bet, much to your chagrin. “it’s just a really big cat!” he insists. kirishima simply rolls his eyes & tells him to take it up with bakugou.

it takes an hour or two, but eventually you manage to shoo your friends out of your shop, a headache building at their incessant questioning - “so what's its name? boy or girl? did it try to eat you? why is it looking at me like that?” - & all you want to do is sleep.

you lead the panther to the small side room you’d dolled up, albeit for a much smaller animal, wincing at the judgemental look you receive in return. “right, that won’t work. i mean, you could stay in my bed? it’s really big, just a bunch of cushions & blankets on a floor mattress?” you offer, twisting your fingers in your shirt a little shyly. the panther pauses, then nods again, squeezing its massive frame through the narrow staircase to follow you upstairs.

your bed - a custom made mattress that spanned nearly across the entirety of your bedroom floor - seemed to accommodate the panther just fine, and it paced around once, twice, before settling in one corner of it. its lithe form took up a good two thirds of the mess of blankets, & you can’t help but coo at the sight. it really was just a big kitty cat, although you’d probably never say it to the creature’s face.

you busy yourself with getting ready for bed, washing your face, brushing your teeth & changing into your baggy blue silk pajamas - they’ve got little yellow crescent moons sewn into them, & you swear the panther laughs at you in them - before settling between the sheets.

“goodnight, mr. panther,” you mumble sleepily, silently hoping that things would be easier to fix in the morning before drifting off to dreams.

above you, the panther huffs a little fondly, nuzzling your soft little cheek before falling asleep as well.

—

the next few days aren’t any easier.

for one, you’re swamped with customers for the first time ever, people crowding into the tiny shop to catch a glimpse of the enormous panther curled up in the corner. normally you wouldn’t allow it, but the panther doesn’t seem to mind, & everyone who walks in leaves with something - you’re making a killing.

another little problem: the arrival of your - rather powerful - familiar means your own abilities have gotten a much needed boost. everything you make is soaked in energy, & your plants are shooting towards the ceiling every other hour.

in short, you’re probably the most powerful nature witch in the country, let alone the county.

you appreciate the fact that you’re better at what you do, but it tires you out quicker, & you’re twice as busy now that you can do so much.

all of this would be reasonably manageable, if your familiar wasn’t still stuck in its animal form.

the panther’s refused to shift for the entirety of the time you’ve known it, staying in its animal form in the corner of the shop. it simply watches & observes, occasionally nudging the right vial or plant closer to you with its large black nose. it’s a cute sight, the little nature witch bustling around the shop in your emerald green robes, a huge black panther tracking your every move with a fond expression. you’ve started to get comfortable around it as well, but you would like to get to know it eventually, & you enlist kirishima’s help.

the more experienced witch drops by with an old history book one afternoon when you aren’t as busy, the pair of you sitting at the table to read up on familiars.

“it says here familiars usually shift within the first day of meeting their witch,” kiri reads from the book, squinting at the tiny text. you had shooed the panther into the garden so you could talk uninterrupted, & you watch as the large creature nips at the butterflies circling its head. it makes you smile, heart a little fond at the sight.

“it’s been almost a week, kiri,” you pout, looking up at the witch in concern. maybe it's not comfortable with me yet, you add in your head. your stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.

kirishima, seemingly sensing your worry, ruffles a hand through your hair, a reassuring smile on his face.

“don’t worry, [y/n]. i’m sure they’re still getting used to being here with you,” the taller comforts you. “just give it a little time.”

watching as your familiar tramples your hydrangeas, looking up at the window with a guilty expression on its face, you can only sigh.

“i hope you’re right.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

nearly two months later, you’re starting to doubt kirishima’s advice.

your familiar still hasn’t shifted in front of you, although you’ve got a sneaking suspicion it does while you’re asleep, a smattering of all black clothes hidden in random corners of his shop.

you still know absolutely nothing about them, every question you throw at the panther met with unblinking silence. but the panther knows all about you.

it knows which tea you prefer in the morning & evening, nudging out the right canisters with one massive paw. it knows every plant in your shop & garden, delicately ripping out whichever ones you need with sharp fangs. it knows to growl when a potion is boiling over, or huff when a customer is at the door. it even ran off a few thieves a week ago, snarling with its hackles raised at the foot of the stairs as they screamed & ran. you had given it an hour long head massage, complete with ear scratches, as a thank you.

the panther has settled itself in your shop & your life almost perfectly, a constant presence that you’ve grown fond of. but it doesn’t change the fact that they still haven’t revealed themselves to you. you feel like this relationship is ridiculously imbalanced; the panther knows you inside & out. you don’t even know their name.

still, you push down any doubt or insecurities you’re feeling, determined to let the panther come to you in your own time.

the mayor’s birthday changes all of that.

the mayor always requests a grand celebration, complete with magical fireworks, charmed balloons, singing lilies, & a three tier magical cake. normally, he only requests singing lilies & roses from you.

this year, you get a golden invoice for everything.

the mayor wants you to craft the cake, enchant the balloons & streamers, gather the singing flowers, and charm the fireworks, all in less than two days. you immediately break into a sweat.

you can’t ask your friends for help, as they’re tied up in their own town’s festivities. your only choice is to get the other witches’ in town; surely they’d help with the mayor’s birthday celebration.

surely not. they laugh you away from their shops the moment you ask, a pleading expression on your face.

“you shouldn’t need help, little dirt witch. you’ve got that powerful familiar of yours, don’t you? unless you can’t handle it,” they mock you, & your fists clench unwillingly; you force yourself to breathe.

you don’t need their help, or their disdain. you’re going to do it all by yourself.

you start with the flowers, collecting the brightest & loudest singers from your garden & placing them in charmed rainwater to keep them pristine. the panther helps where it can, delicately holding them between its fangs.

enchanting the streamers & balloons takes the better part of the day, & you’re up late into the night crafting the fireworks the right way. you fall asleep in a spellbook, the cake left forgotten till the morning. the panther simply rests its head next to yours on the table, the pair of you fast asleep until the next day.

when you wake up, the birds are chirping steadily outside, sunlight filtering in through the windows. it’s calm & soothing, & for a moment you’re at peace.

then you see the time, panic immediately setting in.

“wake up! wake up! i have to have the cake ready in four hours! it’s going to take me three just to mix the batter!” you’re running around the shop in a flurry of robes & quick spells, arms full of supplies. the panther just watches from its position on the floor, eyebrow quirked.

you’re halfway through mixing the batter when you realize you won’t finish in time.

you can’t focus on charming all three tiers at once as he mixes, but if you do them one by one you won’t finish in time. you pause, turning desperate eyes onto the panther.

“i know you’re not ready, & i didn’t want to push, but please. i need your help,” you plead. hands clasped in front of you & flour in your hair. the panther continues to stare, unmoving, as though immune to your begging.

it’s too much all at once, stress & anxiety building until you snap.

“why not! why! i get it! i understand you’re disappointed! i’m not some high tech witch in a big city, i’m not powerful! i’m weak & i suck & i can’t brew potions fast without blowing them up & i fell off my broomstick in the garden & you saw, i know! i just need help, for god’s sake! just help me, & you don’t ever have to talk to me again!” you promise, eyes watery as you burst into tears.

dropping your head into your hands to muffle your sobs, you barely register the faint whirling of air in front of you.

hands suddenly flutter over your crying form, hovering just above touching you as a low, rough voice pulls you from your misery.

“please stop crying, shit, please, i’m sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to make you cry, fuck,” you hear, & you tilt your head up, rubbing tears from your eyes.

there’s a man standing in front of you, wearing all black. he’s got messy purple hair sticking up from all sides & dark eyes, a hint of violet flashing through them in the light. there’s circles as dark as his clothes under his eyes, a familiar look on his face - like you’d seen it every morning waking up.

this ridiculously handsome man, looking slightly panicked, is your familiar. every time you’d called him a “pretty kitty” suddenly flashes through your mind.

fuck.

pushing all those thoughts to the back of your mind, you straighten up, hastily wiping your eyes on your robe sleeves. “can you stir the second pot, please? i’ll worry about the other ones,” you ask meekly, a little embarrassed now. you ignore the familiar’s prying gaze, simply muttering spells under your breath as you stir the first mixture.

the pair of you don’t speak unless it’s instructions, racing around the tiny shop to craft the magical cake. flour & sugar & icing cover every available surface as you wave your hands, whisking it all over the towering cake. you struggle a little to reach the very top, on your tiptoes as you attempt to frost the highest tier. warm, strong hands grip your waist & lift you right off the ground, holding you up to help; you blush furiously as you quickly finish.

you’re just putting the final smattering of glitter onto the cake when the mayor’s party attendants arrive to collect it. you can finally breathe as you watch them carry off everything you both had made, shoulders sagging in relief.

your familiar leans against the counter, wiping down the tables with a rag as he watches you. now that everything’s been finished, there’s no avoiding it.

“i’m hitoshi. that’s my name,” the panther - hitoshi - offers, presumably sensing your nerves. “& for the record, i think you’re a great witch. youre powerful all on your own, even without me.”

you can’t help your smile at that, a little flush to your cheeks as you sit at the table. “then.. then why didn’t you shift?” you ask softly. up close, you can see tiny freckles in place of hitoshi’s whiskers, the glossiness of his hair reminiscent of his panther fur.

the familiar shrugs, cheeks going a bit pink themselves as he stares at the table. “at first, i was just a little shy. it’s nerve wracking, meeting your witch. & then you just… passed out, you know? i was worried about how you’d react, so i decided to give you time.” you can understand that, listening closely.

“you were so nice to me, you weren’t scared at all. you scratched behind my ears & made me cleansing potions. & you let me stay in your bed, so easily. you were just…. nicer than i expected. and…. and prettier.” the familiar’s cheeks are a rosy red now, bright in contrast to his soft skin & prominent dark circles. you think it’s adorable.

“i just didn’t want you to think any different of me, you know? you liked panther me a lot, even though i kept breaking stuff, &.... i wanted you to keep liking me.” you outright coo at that, ignoring your familiar’s protests as you dissolve into giggles.

“really? of course i’d still like you, silly! i let you cuddle me! i called you mr whiskers for a solid month! oh god, i called you mr whiskers,” you whine, pouting a little. you’d called hitoshi a bunch of silly nicknames before he’d shifted, from pretty kitty to mr whiskers to sugarpaws. you’d been trying to compensate, in your defense, & hitoshi had seemed to like them.

hitoshi’s the one laughing now, smile bright as he gives you that same fond look. “it was cute. you were trying really hard,” he admits, head cocked to the side as he watches you.

you sit in a comfortable sort of silence then, simply taking in each other’s presence a moment.

“so, you thought i was pretty, huh?” you tease, breaking the silence as you move to stand in front of hitoshi. you giggle more at the flush that follows, ignoring hitoshi’s mumbling rant about “soft little witches” & “green robes & moon pajamas, that's ridiculous”, your smile growing ever wider.

you tap a finger against hitoshi’s nose, the familiar protesting in flustered panic. standing on tiptoe, you press a light kiss to the cranberry stained cheek, watching hitoshi absolutely melt.

“i thought you were cute too, pretty kitty,” you smile, turning to tidy up the pots & spellbooks & leaving an awestruck hitoshi at the table, hand frozen where you had pressed your lips.

i could get used to that, you think, giggling as hitoshi trips over himself to squish you against the counter, covering your face in kisses.

just you, your shop, & one pretty kitty.

[muchadoaboutbucky]

a night to remember || oneshot

After the battle of Wakanda, and the defeat of Thanos, you and Bucky make an unforgettable night.

PAIRING: Bucky x Native American!Reader WARNINGS: mentions of battle, canon character death, loss of virginity (male), smut, fluff, Supernatural binge-watching. NOTE: This work takes place in a post-Infinity War AU. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. 18+ only - if you are not 18, please leave/unfollow me! 

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The battlefield is quiet. 

The screaming of Wakandan warriors, the blast of weapons and firearms, the growling and snarling of the Outriders, it all goes dead silent within seconds. You freeze, waiting for the hammer to fall and shatter your entire world. Nothing good ever comes out of silence.

And then the monsters start to fade away. 

Charred black skin crumbles into dust as whines of fear and pain die on the breeze, and you reach out, blindly feeling for the large boulder beside you to try and keep steady as the thick, frantic crowd of bodies around you suddenly collapses, fading away into the distance. 

“Where did they go?” The Dora beside you glances around, spear clutched tightly in dirt and bloodstained hands in preparation for something to attack. “What happened?”

You let out a shuddering breath, the realization falling on you in one swift, crushing blow. “We won. We beat him…”

Without another word, you leave the warrior to gather her comrades and take off, running towards the trees on the other side of the forest through fading clouds of dust and smoke. Your rifle and knife fall to the ground, tears blind your vision as you search in vain for any sign of your lover. 

He can’t be dead, not after you’ve won. Two years, you’ve waited for him, and if he’s dead now, after everything you’ve been through to have each other, you’ll never forgive yourself...

And then you see the shimmer of obsidian-black metal, a flash of gold. Bucky stumbles out of the trees, a hundred feet away, metal arm glinting in the light of the late-afternoon sun. He heaves a breath, stands straight, and turns to glance back into the trees.

“James!” You let out a ragged cry and speed up, almost tripping over your feet as he turns on his heels and starts to rush towards you. He’s limping, a gash on his thigh leaving his pants stained dark, and he only makes it a few steps before you’re throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing into his neck. He wraps his arms around you tight enough to squeeze the air from your lungs and breathes in the smell of sweat and dirt and warm leather from your suit. Your shaking legs give out, and Bucky falls to his knees with a pained grunt, still holding you close

“Hey, baby,” he pants, “I was gonna come looking for you, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you reply breathlessly, throat still constricting with sobs, “fuck, James, I… what happened? We won, right, you gotta tell me we won.”

He grins, teeth white against his flushed, pink lips. “We won, honey. Some big guy just came right outta the sky and killed him, I saw it.”

“Did we lose anyone?” You step back, gazing over his shoulder as Steve emerges from the trees, cradling his right shoulder gingerly. There’s a look on his face that you can’t tell is pain from his own injuries or… 

“Vision.” Steve swallows thickly, sorrow heavy on his brow. “We couldn’t stop it, he’s gone.”

Your throat grows tight. “Wanda?”

“Nat’s with her,” Steve replies, “she won’t leave him yet.”

Bucky reaches up to brush your tears away, and with a sofe “c’mere, honey,” you sag right back into his arms and let out a shuddering sob. “It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes you, his own voice growing tight. “It’s over, it’s all over.”

***

ONE WEEK LATER…

You’re home. Everything’s as normal as it can be, what with the compound being surrounded by media vans and reporters almost twenty-four-seven. Bucky’s adjusting slowly, which is good, and the wound on his thigh’s now just a thin pink scar that’s fading by the day.

It’s taken almost all week to readjust to getting back. With Tony also being home, things are a little more tense, and more often than not, Bucky avoids being in the same room with the billionaire, muttering to himself about how if there weren’t nearly as many media trucks camped out around the compound he’d take off and find somewhere else.

Fortunately, he has something on his mind to distract himself. 

He finds you up long after everyone else has gone to bed. You’re soaking in the oversized bathtub, head tipped back against a towel that covers the rim. The air smells like warm peaches from the foamy white bubbles, and he perches on the edge of the tub.

“Hey.” You reach over the rim of the tub and poke his knee. “Where’ve you been?”

“Uh, went on a walk.” He laces his fingers through yours. “How’re you feeling?”

You shrug. “Adjusting. It’s weird, living in this place. It’s so... fancy. I haven’t stayed in one place for more than a week.” You sigh, your breath blowing swirls in the rising steam. “I’m used to sleeping in the jet or some crummy hotel when we could get into one—”

“I wanna have sex.” Bucky speaks over you, swallowing thickly in the steamy air.

You smile. “What?”

Bucky sighs. “I just… we’ve known each other and been… whatever we are, for the last couple years. We fooled around enough in Romania for a while, and then we almost lost each other. And then I had to go to stay in Wakanda, and then last week, we were seconds from being dead, and…” he swallows. “I just don’t wanna end up losing you before we’ve…done that. I mean, I don’t wanna lose you at all, but… honey, don’t laugh, y’know what I mean—”

You watch his cheeks turn red. “You’re so adorable, you know that?”

“Come on—”

“Baby, it’s sweet.” You sit up in the water and gaze up at him. “My sweet little virgin lover.”

Bucky can’t help but snicker. “Is it dumb that I asked?”

“No.” You kneel up, bracing your hands on the edge of the tub, and Bucky sighs at the way the opaque bubbles slide down your smooth, wet skin. “You really wanna do it?”

He nods. “Yeah. With you.”

You lower your eyes and pluck your fingers along the waistband of his pants. “Then get in here with me.”

He almost chokes. “I didn’t mean… in bed—”

“And you’re already anxious as hell, I don’t want you to be stressed out.” You sit back in the water. “Come and sit with me for a little while, there’s room for two in here.”

Bucky obediently strips his clothes and sinks into the warm, bubbly water behind you. You scoot up on his lap, balancing on the strong muscle of his thigh. His arms wind around your waist, and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Can you believe it’s been this long?” he murmurs. “It feels like we just met… but I guess that’s what happens when you’ve got memory problems, huh.”

“Well, we only really spent half that time together,” you reply, “and most of it was us trying to stay as under the radar as possible so we didn’t get caught. It’s not your memory, baby, it feels like shorter to me, too.”

Bucky waits for you to turn your head, remembering with the touch of your lips on his the moment he’d actually kissed you in front of everyone else for the first time when you’d stepped off the Quinjet in Wakanda, neither of you caring that the goddamn king was mere feet away or that fifty other people could see. “I love you,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. “I love you too.”

The two of you sit in the water until it starts to grow cold, and quickly dry off before retreating to the bedroom. Bucky’s a little more hesitant to touch, but the moment you pull his body flush against yours, lips meeting for a tender kiss, he practically melts. You guide him back, letting him lift you up to lay you out on the bed underneath him. He’s already perking up, swelling eagerly against the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing you a little harder, tongue swiping against your lower lip. He lets out a soft moan when you take him in one hand and give a long, steady stroke that has him giving a hard pulse, twitching straight before relaxing in your grip. “Hey, baby…”

You keep your hand between his legs when he pulls back a little, lifting his head to gaze down at you. “Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna mess this up.” He rubs his metal thumb over your cheek. “I want you to feel good.”

You quell his anxiety with a gentle squeeze, earning a soft huff that makes his cheeks turn red. “I will,” you whisper, “just lemme show you, baby. It’s like what we’ve been doing, just… more.”

He swallows, eyes darting from yours, down to your lips, and back up again. “Can you be on top?”

You respond with a gentle press against his shoulder. He moves, rolling back and dragging you on top of him. It’s easier to see you this way—he can run his hands all over your warm, slightly-wet body, searching for a good, solid place to hold on as you rise up, guiding him between your legs until he slips into a divot of slick heat.

“Baby—” his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as his eyes rake over every inch of glorious skin.

“Hey.” You lean down, pressing your lips under his jaw. “Relax, Bucky, I got you.”

The sensation of wet, warm flesh wrapping around him makes every muscle in his body tense up. His fingers curl into your skin, metal and skin holding you tight as you ease down. He waits until you settle still, thighs pressed snugly on either side of his hips, and lets go of the breath he’s been holding with a long, ragged sigh.

When you move it’s even better. Your pussy squeezes tight and drags along his shaft, and his eyes snap open to focus on you when your own little moan works itself from your throat. Metal fingers skim up to cup your breast, thumb skimming over a pebbled nipple as you brace yourself with your palms splayed out on his chest and start to move a little faster.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he pants, “you feel so good, baby.”

Your lips stretch into a smile of pure pride as he plants his feet on the mattress, heels digging in for leverage so he can move up into you. It takes a few stuttering, clumsy thrusts, but you let him settle into your rhythm without a protest. If anything, the added pressure from his own little shoves makes it better. It’s been a long time since you had anything but your fingers or your favorite toy inside you, and this is Bucky... big, strong, tender-lovin’ Bucky.

“Here.” You reach for his flesh hand and guide it between your legs. He knows what you want from him, and he gets his thumb on your clit without hesitation, working that little piece of you from sheer muscle memory. You stiffen, hips jerking against his, and he groans when you start to ride him even harder, desperately chasing your orgasm. Eager to see you writhing and shaking, he focuses everything he has on getting you there, listening to the soft smack of your body on his and the wet sound where he’s inside you. 

It’s primal, there’s nothing remotely sensual or romantic about it. He can’t think of doing this any other way, not when he wouldn’t have the wet slap of skin on skin and the sight of him disappearing between your legs, the bounce of your breasts, the animalistic chase of pleasure that has both of you shaking, moaning...

You don’t warn him when you’re gonna cum. He feels it, a sudden spamming pulse around his dick that makes his breath catch as you let out a long, high-pitched moan and shudder against him, grinding yourself down on him while he works your clit over and over again.

“Okay—” you gasp out, pushing his hand away, “okay…oh, Bucky...”

He lets you slump down, lips trailing over the growing scruff on his jaw, and holds you close. “You good?”

“Yeah.” You lift your head to press a kiss to his lips. “You wanna stay like this?”

In response, he performs a practiced roll, laying you out on your back and arranging himself between your legs. He’s still inside you, and he shifts closer, pressing deep until he can feel his hips against your ass.

“Lemme try,” he pants, “you okay, baby?”

You nod, letting your knees fall back and open to welcome him closer. He rocks his hips, testing the movement to see your reaction. You give a little moan, hands sliding down his back to brazenly grab handfuls of his ass.

“Keep doin’ that,” you murmur, “but harder.”

Bucky lets out a soft sigh and draws back, trying to go off muscle memory from the last time you’d messed around like this. The rhythm is familiar, instinctual. But it’s different because he’s inside you now, so deep in hot, tight, velvety wet that it’s hard to focus on keeping his pace and not just fucking so he can get off.

When his thrusts grow stronger, your back arches into a bow, the new angle making your bodies move closer until he can feel your clit rubbing against the hot, wet skin above his dick. He focuses his movements there, panting open-mouthed against your throat. Your legs splay open to let him closer, and Bucky lets out a heavy grunt when he feels the sting of your nails biting into his ass.

It’s too much, he thinks. He wants to last, but you keep making these new sounds, and you’re so warm and wet and snug around him, and you’re squirming and arching to get yourself off again, he can feel it—

He can’t stop his orgasm when your second one hits. The quick, rhythmic pulsing forces his vision to white out, and he arches up, getting as deep and close as he can to spill into you. His hips shudder, and you hold him close and tight until he settles, limp and trembling on top of you.

“Mmm, you’re heavy,” you pant, fingers threading into his hair.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “here, lemme…”

He maneuvers to lie beside you, allowing you to keep a leg slung over his hips. One arm slides under your neck to cradle you close, and you lean in to meet him for a kiss as his metal hand settles on your thigh.

“You have fun?” You press your index finger on the tip of his nose, and he smiles lazily, cheeks flushing pink.

“Yeah.” His forehead smushes against your cheek. “I wanna do that way more often.”

You giggle. “We definitely can… let’s clean up and make something to eat, huh?”

He nods, kneeling up and offering you his hand. You retreat to the bathroom and use the lukewarm water still in the tub to clean—Bucky’s eyes go wide when he sees the first slide of pearly white down your inner thigh—before dressing in just a little more than underclothes and peeking out into the hallway.

Lights out for everyone else. Good.

In the kitchen, you knead the ingredients for fry bread together and hop up on the counter to drop the flats of dough into a pot of hot oil. Bucky tests the first piece with a wince, because he’s never listened when you warn him about letting things cool off a little before he digs in, and proclaims it just as perfect as every other batch you’ve made. 

You end up carrying a plate of hot fry bread, nutella, and strawberries back to bed and turning on the TV, ignoring the glaring clock on the wall that reads one o’clock. The plate’s empty, and the end credits of the most recent Supernatural episodes is rolling when Bucky reaches for the remote, flicks the television off, and tugs you underneath him.

“Again?” You tip your head back as he kisses down your throat. “Are you just gonna love me all night long?”

He responds with a heavy grind of his hips between your legs. “You up for it?”

You grin, allowing him to slide metal fingers under the hem of your shirt. “Always.”

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[obx-snippets]

Chapter 2 ∫ ≈ Ocean’s Siren at the Kegger ≈

Summary: Reina goes to her first kegger in the obx and it’s a lot more than she bargained for.

Warning: Cursing, panic attack, mentions of aquaphobia, drowning.                  S L O W B U R N

Word count: 3.2k

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!oc

Masterlist

a/n: thank you to those who are showing interest in the series so far! Hope you stick around till the end!  

After long-wearing hours of searching for a suitable outfit, Reina gave herself a pep-talk in the mirror as she sat on the floor, staring deep within herself. If it weren't for Mina and Chris being at work so late, they would diagnose her to be clinically insane.

"It's a party, quit being a pussy."

"It's near water, why the hell would you even go?"

"I mean....you were invited, so it's sort of rude if you don't."

"I don't even drink anymore, so I could bring my own Gatorade."

"Why would you say 'yeah, I know where the boneyard is.' Fucking dumbass, you just moved here yesterday."

"Where are my pills?"

The setting sun was seated on an orange and pink horizon that it claimed as its throne. The breeze carried the ocean's salty scent in the air, tousling Reina's hair that she fought to keep tucked behind her ear. Her flip flops slapped against the hard cement, moving her bike by her side, not yet having the courage to step in the sand as she walked alongside the beach. She could hear the faint sound of pounding music, and as she neared the supposed kegger, the hollering a cheering of teens became clear as day. The lights of burning torches danced across her brown as she stopped just at the beach's edge, her toes only inches from the golden sand. A familiar sensation bloomed in her stomach like a flower that was hidden from the sun for too long. Excitement? Thrill?

A feeling that she hasn't experienced since that night. There was a smaller crowd of teens surrounding a small area of a particular part of the beach, and Reina had to squint her eyes to make out John B holding up a blonde boy by his ankles as he performed the infamous game, the keg stand. Pride tugged at her heart, knowing her past self would have stood up to the challenge of lasting longer. But she stayed put, hugging her body over the soft material of her white oversized sweater that covered a portion of her blue tennis skirt.

Her jaw instantly clenched, and eyes screwed shut upon hearing the water so close. The waves were mocking, tormenting enough to make her breathing ragged and uneven.

A gleeful cheer brought Reina to open her eyes to see John B patting his blonde friend on the back after he successfully lasted thirty seconds on the keg stand. Cheap beer dripped down his contoured chin, his laugh traveling to where Reina stood. She guessed he was one of the other boys in John B's van but wasn't sure what his name was.

Was he Pope or JJ?

His cerulean eyes shimmered under the torch lights, his toothy grin surprisingly contagious. Reina hadn't even noticed she was smiling until a pair of blue eyes latched onto hers, heat quickly radiating up her ivory cheeks. Her lips parted as if to say something but realized how far he was and quickly closed her mouth. It seemed the blonde surfer discerned what she attempted and opted to pass her a nod before stalking away with his arm draped over John B's shoulder.

Reina couldn't comprehend what she felt once she made eye contact with the boy. His ocean eyes. His handsome, chiseled features. That toothy smile that spread to her own lips. That gray muscle tee that made her mind wander. Her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth as she watched Kiara punch another boy on the arm for tossing his red solo cup on the sand.

The one who ordered the sprite.

John B was leaning forward as he sat on a fallen tree trunk, his finger prodding the blonde's side before gesturing toward a gorgeous blonde girl dancing provocatively in a small crowd. It seemed like she was the bait for the night, but Reina wasn't impressed.

"Hot, isn't he?"

Reina let a yelp slip her lip as she jolted away from the smirking girl standing next to her. She was casually drinking her beer; her dyed hair pulled up into a bun with bobby pins holding back stray hairs. She had seen her at the Wreck along with the other rowdy teenagers that occupied too much of her time for just a couple of drinks.

"W-what?" Reina cleared her throat, playing dumb as she wrung her hands to let her sweater's sleeves cover her hands.

The girl glanced at her from the corner of her dark hazel eyes as she gave her a pointed look. "The one you were ogling is JJ." she stated, pointing one of her fingers that held her red solo cup toward the blonde who was currently staying still so Kiara could pluck something out of his eye. "The sweetheart who ordered the sprite is Pope, and you met the rest--oh, and I'm Harlow. Westwick."

Harlow held out a hand, and Reina glanced down at her black painted fingers before shaking it gently.

“Reina Lynch.”

Harlow made a face, “Reina. I like it.”

Reina was surprised when she felt a smile pull at the corner of her mouth. She looked back up at Harlow, a kind expression of her own on her face.

“Thanks,” she replied.

Harlow took a large gulp of her drink, blinking wildly when some of it splashed into her eye, “So,” she started, clearing her throat, “how long you been in the OBX?”

Reina let out a sigh, carding her hand through her hair before tugging her sleeve back over her hand, “not long,” she answered, “definitely still adjusting.”

Harlow nodded her head, shivering from a gust of wind before brushing some of her baby hairs from her eyes, “Yeah, it takes a while,” Harlow laughed, “where are you from?“

“Cali.”

Harlow gaped quickly with a laugh, “Oooh! California, I like it. That’s totally rad, dude.”

Reina let out a laugh, a real laugh. “Nobody talks like that in California, you know?”

Harlow’s pink lips parted, ready to reply to her when the song switched, causing a gasp to slip from her mouth, “I love this song!” she exclaimed, turning in small circles to find a place to set her cup down, “dance with me!”

Reina clammed up immediately, the smile slipping from her face as her eyes darted to the crowd of drunk dancing teenagers. “Oh, no, I-“

“Come on!” Harlow cried over the blaring music and shouting, her dainty hand wrapping around her wrist, “please! nobody else likes to dance to this song with me!”

Reina pondered for a moment, letting Harlow shake her limp arm, chewing on her bottom lip. Worry pooled her eyes, wondering how it would feel to jump back into the party life so soon. She hasn't had a drink, so as long she steered clear of any and all alcohol consumption, one dance didn't seem like the worst thing. Besides, her blue Gatorade was tucked safely on her bike, where she had parked it by a palm tree.  

“Okay,” Reina sighed, itching a random spot on her neck before she touched her regrettable scars and coiled her hand away, a smile touching her lips once she met Harlow's eyes, “one dance.”

She didn't seem like it at first, but Harlow Westwick was a firecracker who's adrenaline had boosted to a hundred by the time she started dancing. Reina couldn't help but laugh anytime the girl poorly busted a dance move that, in her opinion, was killer. Instead of trying to mirror anyone else's movent, Reina gradually let her body sway to the heavy pumping music, her eye getting lost in the darkness and focusing on the song's base. Soon enough, the two had been dancing for an hour, disregarding Reina's 'one dance' policy.

Reina followed the tipsy girl around the boneyard, not bothering to tell her to ease up on the drinking as she didn't see it as her place to tell her what to do. She had caught Kira glancing toward her and passed her a small smile before quickly grabbing Harlow's waist when she nearly fell face-first on the sand. Too occupied with keeping Harlow upright as she marched down the beach, Reina overlooked JJ, John B, and Pope staring at her from where they sat around a bomb fire.

“So,” JJ started, downing the last of his beer, “what do we think of the new girl?”

John B casted his eyes over to Reina, who was dancing with their friend, more trying to hold her up than anything, “She seems cool,” he replied with a shrug.

Pope nodded along, his eyes still on Reina and Harlow down the beach, “She sounded nice, and she’s currently babysitting Harlow, so seems like she could hang.”

JJ tapped his ring clad finger against his plastic cup, his eyes dancing side to side, “Think I could bag her?”

His question sent the other two boys into a groan, Pope rolling his head back and John B tossing a nearby empty solo cup at him,

“Jesus, man! Do you think about anything other than sleeping with girls?”

JJ looked up, pondering, “Weed,” he answered, “spend a lot of time thinking about weed.”

“Yeah, we know,” Pope said, rolling his eyes.

“She could be gay,” John B suggested.

“What makes you think she’s gay?” JJ asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“What makes you think she’s straight?” Pope rebutted.

“Touché, Pope,” JJ tipped his empty cup at him, “touché.”

The wind was nipping at Reina's skin once the music suddenly died down. She had been following Harlow for so long that she just realized how different the sand felt under her sandals. The ground was a bit more firm but squishy at the same time, unlike the dry sand she had been wondering just hours prior. Reina stopped dead in her tracks when the sound of waves broke her from her trance. She inhaled sharply, her smile dropping, and her eyes widening in mild horror. The smell of salt became like a toxin in her lungs, and she stumbled back, her hands balling into a fist. If she knew Harlow would lead her this close to the water, she wouldn't have taken up the offer to dance. The dark sky made the water look like a raging god, calling her to step into its deadly grasp.

Despite the influx of cold wind, Reina found herself sweating under her sweater as she created more distance between herself and the ocean. A flash of a flowy green dress came across her eye when she saw Harlow drunken figure dancing toward the water. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, seeing her tread dangerously closer to the shallow part of the ocean. The girl couldn't even keep herself balanced on the sand, and the waves would devour her immediately if she got any closer.

"Um, Harlow," Reina's tone was scarcely over a shout, not wanting to scare the girl. "could we maybe head back to the party?"

Harlow flimsily whipped her body around, her pale cheeks flushed with heat as a grin played on her lips. "There's not a pool at the party, Reina!" Harlow stated, her hand's failing to properly set on her hips as they kept slipping off.

"This isn't a fucking pool, it's the ocean. Now could you please--Harlow!

The giggling mess of a teenager took another tantalizing step into the water until she was knee-deep. The waves roughly slapped onto the back of her legs, her body bucking forward, bringing Reina to gasp. Any person with sense would have marched to Harlow and dragged her away from the water to prevent her from drowning. But Reina stayed glued in place, watching the tipsy teen splash water about. Maybe if she called her enough times, Harlow would listen.

Reina bounced on one of her legs, her pleading eyes desperately trying to spot one of her friends in the crowd that seems small considering how far they had traveled. Another loud splash brought Reina to look back at Harlow. Water must have got in her eyes, and she was brutally rubbing her knuckles over her eyelids to cease the burning. Reina's heart stopped upon seeing a wave hurtling toward Harlow, but as her words got stuck in her throat, the water slammed into her back, her body lurching forward face-first into the icy sea.

"Harlow!" Reina cried, taking a hesitant step forward. Her ears keened in on the waves, her eyes adjusting to the darkness to try and spot Harlow but nothing. She prayed that her head would appear above the waves, smiling and breathing. But nothing again. It's as if the ocean had eaten her alive and didn't think twice to bother apologizing.

Reina's breathing became uneven once she realized Harlow wasn't resurfacing as long as she stood there doing nothing. "Fuck me.." she huffed and shook her head.

Without a second thought, Reina was dashing forward down the small hill that led to the water, kicking off her sandals. Her mind was so hellbent on saving Harlow that she didn't focus on how the water felt on her torso, how it tugged on her figure to swim deeper. She knew if she let her mind find out that she was indeed in the ocean, she would surely drown, and both girls would be lost at sea.  

Reina's hair was now wet as she was forced to dive under and let the salt burn her vision as he tried to make out Harlow's silhouette in the darkness. She kicked around, her hands roaming the area until she felt her hand swipe across a clothing material. She instantly heaved the girl's body up until Harlow's face was above water. She was completely unresponsive, and a sting of guilt tugged at her chest. If she hadn't hesitated, Harlow would still be breathing.

She pulled Harlow to the shore with all her strength, letting her body lay on the wet sand. Reina brushed her damp hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears to better examine the girl. "Harlow," Reina called to her urgently, cupping her face in her hand to try and shake her awake.

She had never performed CPR, but this was a life or death situation. Reina pressed both hands on Harlow's chest and began pumping up to thirty. Reina gripped her jaw and plugged her nose to pry her mouth open and started breathing air into her lungs. She repeated the action a couple of times, and just when she lost hope, Harlow's body began jerking violently until she was coughing up water to the side along with some of the cheap beer that she let screw with her mind.

Reina's heartbeat eased as she let out a sigh of relief and sat back on her heels, looking up and letting her eyes flutter shut. Harlow wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before sitting up, her eyes wide with her mouth agape as she stared ahead at the ocean that nearly killed her. Silence loomed over the two girls, both trying to process what had just happened. The only sound was their heaving breathing, the taunting ocean, and the party that was likely to go on until the sun rose.

"We shared our first kiss," Harlow giggled after fleeting silence, resulting in Reina snapping her neck toward the girl.

"W-what?" she muttered, her face reddening as confusion pulled at her brows.

Harlow was beaming, and the wink she sent to Reina made her squirm in place as she stared at the girl stunned.

"Harlow!"

Both girls looked back to see Kiara, JJ, John B, and Pope rushing toward them.

“Holy shit!” Pope examined the girl's soaked state and shivering bodies, “what happened?”

“Had a near-death experience, P man,” Harlow answered as her feet wiggled in the sand, “but God herself over here saved me.”

“Are you seriously cracking jokes right now?” Kie shouted, her features stitched into an angry frown, “you almost died!”

"That's an exaggeration," Harlow quipped with a quirked brow. With shaky hands, Reina helped Harlow to her feet. She looked among the girl’s group of friends, averting her eyes from the ocean beside them.

"I had to perform CPR," Reina mumbled quietly to her statement. But it seemed Kiara and Pope caught on as they're eyes bulged from their sockets.

“Dude, for real, are you okay?” JJ asked, his eyes bouncing between Harlow and Reina.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Harlow sputtered with a shrug as she held her body to find warmth, “never almost drowned before, so I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“What is wrong with you? You could have died! You can’t just go out into the ocean drunk as shit!” Kie lectured.

“Yeah, Kie, I get it, alright!”

The two girls' voices started to rise as they argued, John B and Pope hurried to step between them, trying to mediate. Reina stood a few steps away from them, biting through the skin of her lip until her mouth filled with the taste of iron. Without knowing what she was doing, her feet started to move her away from the group, unaware JJ had his eyes on her the entire time.

________________________________≈Ω≈___________________________________

Reina's hands were trembling as she unlocked the door to her house, her face blank when she entered the cold living room. The driveway was vacant of any cars, meaning she was completely alone. Alone with her thoughts.

Her worst enemy.

When she took another step across the cold wood floorboard, she nearly slipped. A gasp sounded through her lungs, and her mind found an opening. A door that had been locked for so long that she never dared be this close. But with her soaked hair making a puddle on her feet and her wet sweater weighing her down, the tears that began streaming down her cheeks were inevitable.

Reina tossed the keys toward a wooden table near the door and fled to her bedroom. She had to use the wall as support as she pressed her hand against her chest, trying to even out her breathing. But it was too ragged, and she felt like collapsing. Though her room was large in width, she could feel the walls closing in on her. Like her nightmares had finally cornered her.

A sob racked her throat, and she began to tear off her skirt along with her underwear. She didn't want to feel anything related to tonight's events. She regretted going at all.

Reina finally stripped out of everything until she was bare. Her legs gave under her, and she fell to her knees and shuffled back until her spine made contact with her bed. If ripping her wet hair out was an option, she would do it immediately. From the air conditioning blowing down on her, she knew a stuffy nose was guaranteed, but she didn't want to feel anything.

With her jaw wobbling uncontrollably and her body shaking, she held her legs close to her chest and rocked back and forth.

You're not in the water anymore.

Reina threw her head back, scraping the side of her neck along the pattern of her scars. The tune of the windchime seemed so distant, but yet it was enough.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

Her heart steadied, the warm tears continuing to flow like a blanket trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, dad."

@pogueszn @mdlyncline @bricksatanakinswindow @ponyboys-sunsets @kaitieskidmore1 @casper17 @moonshinerbynight @cordeliascrown @acvross-the-universe 

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter XII: Terminus, Limit

Previous Chapter (XI: Et Invisibilia Filum)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): drama, comedy, suggestiveness

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

“he’s not the one who’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

red, pink or peach?

tch.

unbelievable.

changing your choice of lipstick because of lee hyunjae?

who am i?

where am i?

you yank the cap off the peach lipstick and start to trace it along your mouth, but a loud, prolonged honk crashing its way through the calm morning startles you, and a peach line gets drawn off your upper lip.

an agitated groan escapes your throat while you wipe the mistake off, and you start to speed up your application of make up, including on your neck.

the honks start to become more frequent, and by frequent you mean like once a fucking minute. 

you find your briefcase and push yourself out through the door, locking it while yelling at him over your shoulder. 

“neighbours are not going to be happy about this!”

“it’s your fault you took so damn long! what are you taking so long for anyway?! there’s literally no amount of make up that can correct how hideous you look!”

your eyes roll in plain sight as you skipped down the steps, and he gets back into the drivers’ seat without helping you with your door. 

the sky was clear today, in stark contrast to the day before. the roads were already bustling with vehicles driving back and forth, some cars had students in them, some cars with some rich guy driving off to work, some were lorries. 

your attention was suddenly yanked back into the car when your jaw was pulled away from the window, and his touch on your chin pissed you off for some reason. 

“interesting choice of lipstick,” he tilts his head and raises a brow, his eyes glued to your lips. a little bit annoyed, you lift your head out of his hold and swat his hand away, suddenly aware of the layer of foundation you had around your neck. his marks from the party four days ago were still there. 

the ache between your legs was gone, but not his stupid territorial marks.

what does he think he is? an animal?

“peach is a common shade, don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

he chuckles and lands both palms on the steering wheel, the light thwack earning your attention from the side of your eyes. 

his grip on the steering wheel pumped up all the veins in his hands, and the lone one or two arteries were showing on the back of his wrists. they trailed along his forearms and disappeared under his rolled up sleeves, and in your peripheral vision, you notice the white dress shirt he was wearing looked a tad tight around his shoulders and chest. 

the car jerks as it moves off, and it also jerks you back into your senses.

fuck’s wrong with me-- ew.

no.

you shut your eyes tightly and open them extremely wide, vision looking straight out the window in complete disgust with yourself. 

traffic was pretty light, given how early it was, and hyunjae must’ve still been in his morning mood because he doesn’t say anything either. 

but hatred and resentment for someone will never be able to match up to hatred and resentment you could harbour against yourself.

your heart was fucking racing for some godforsaken reason when the car starts to reverse into the parking lot.

he wasn't even looking at you -- hell -- it's almost like you weren't in the car.

his arm comes around the passengers seat and his strength pushes the seat forward just slightly, and him turning around to look at the rear of the vehicle reversing does nothing but pull the material around his shoulders and chest even more.

the black tie falls to the center console, and your reflexes decided that turning your head to look at him was a great idea.

the muscle in his neck was strained as he looked behind, and there was a vein shyly exposing itself on his skin under his ear. the contours of his jaw makes your lips feel so unsettled that you had to suck them between your teeth.

the white material that gets stretched around his torso puts stress on the buttons, and his skin was peeking out from the tiny gaps between them.

stop fucking looking man--

the arm that was still reached out for the steering wheel now had the two arteries on display, and the sight in general, coupled with the shitty lighting of the carpark, was making you feel things you shouldn't be feeling.

the car finally stops reversing and you look away, slightly panicked and in shame. his ears were slightly red from the effort, but the blood quickly dissipates once returns into his seat to pull the car into parking mode.

you stay completely still in your seat while he checks all the gears, and there was this nagging voice in your head telling you to cut it out.

but he suddenly reaches across you, his forearm with his stupid arteries just inches away from your chest as he pushes your door open.

not only that, he pulls away only enough for him to rest his palm on your right thigh.

every nerve and muscle freezes, and you were so grateful that they didn't tense up; he would've felt it.

the heat from the carpark swarms into the vehicle as you feel him scan your face from the side, like you were too scared to look at him.

he gives your thigh a small stroke before removing it, hands running all over the gears once more as he says, "get out, i don't think i want to be seen together."

after clocking into your offices, hyunjae leaves for his rounds while you stay in yours to refresh the patient’s records. 

work was such an efficient method to fit you into reality, a place where you could divert and dedicate all your attention to your profession and taking care of patients. 

rather than that annoying man next door. 

your press your peach-tainted lips together and rub them, the layer of coating becoming drier and more stuck to the lines on your lips. the classical music runs its course in the background before your phone alarm sounds, cuing you to start on your rounds before you head over to the research department before lunch. 

hyunjae was already seated in his cubicle and walking around to different research officers to ask some questions about something he was doing. meanwhile, eric greets you with a hug when he walks past the lift you were in.

“y/n! good morning!” 

the physical contact stuns you, but you remind yourself that eric was american-born.

“someone’s in a great mood,” a grin spreads on your face and you watch as he carefully pulls away, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. 

“oh, my god, you’ve got no idea,” he turns and walks to his desk, but his face was still tilted to the side so you could hear him as you followed. “the storm yesterday was insane.”

the enthusiasm in eric’s voice was so contagious, the grin never comes off your face. walking your way to your cubicle, hyunjae stops just close enough for him to say something that was loud enough for you to hear.

“don’t you dare try any funny ideas.”

confusion and slight resentment befall on your face as he walks away, a sneer appearing on your lips before eric catches your attention again. 

his mug was on his table now, and he’s got his butt planted to his chair, rolling his way over to you. 

so cute.

your briefcase gets laid on the table and you start up the computer, eric fiddling around on his phone while waiting for you to sit down so he could start his story. 

“you were saying?” using your feet to position your chair near enough, you slump into your seat and lean back, hyunjae in the distant background getting up from his seat and walking over to another research officer’s cubicle again.

“the thunderstorm blew down this tree right outside my friends’ place yesterday and their car was super wrecked,” the phone gets fished out and he shows you the picture. 

“oh, my god,” your palm covers your mouth at the devastating picture, a picture you’d probably only see in newspapers. “nobody got hurt right?” 

“oh, no,”  eric shakes his head and removes the phone out from your sight. “everybody’s fine.”

“that’s a relief,” the computer screen lights up and your eyes naturally turn towards it, eric still fiddling with his phone. 

“also, y/n, i can’t believe i’m saying this but i accidentally deleted your number yesterday after i got it.”

“you what?” a chuckle breaks free from your lips and you turn to eric, hands already at the desk where your keyboard is.

“yeah, i may or may not have saved it before exiting the page and it’s just gone.”

unbelievable.

“but i’d still like to ask you to hang out sometime soon, so do you want to go for dinner tonight after work or something?” 

your lips part with an answer in mind, but your vision zooms out into wide view and your attention lands on lee hyunjae. 

one arm resting on the cubicle partition, the other hand holding the research document file to his torso, and his eyes glued to you. there was a pen being twirled around in his fingers, and the look in his eyes looked too tempting to manipulate. 

he was warning you.

“dinner after work?” the eye contact breaks and you return your attention to eric. “i have rounds till 6, maybe later, though so if you’re willing to wait then--”

“doctor l/n!” 

eric snaps his head around when hyunjae calls for you, and he was waving the research document file in the air while he walked along the cubicles and stopped between the two of you. 

“sorry... eric,” hyunjae says the name like he hated it. “can i just steal her for a bit-- i got instructions from doctor choi--”

“doctor choi? why are we getting instructions fro--”

“can i just--”

“i’m gonna go...” eric points over his shoulders and glances at the two of you, his feet already pushing himself back to his seat. “tell me if you’re up for dinner tonight later, okay?”

watching him roll away because of lee hyunjae again was such a sour, bitter sight. hyunjae’s shadow covered you from the morning sun, and you angle your head upwards to squint at his features that were darkened from the silhouette. 

his shoe comes into sharp contact with your chair but it doesn’t make a sound besides startling you, and he turns so suddenly, his coat runs into your face. 

“you--” the hiss seethes out between your gritted teeth, and you purse your lips when you realise your lipstick got brushed onto his coat. your eyes widen when you see the small mark, but his one step was so large, he was already too far for you to call without distracting the other research officers in the space. 

the little blob of peach on his coat was so glaring to you, you worried if anybody else was going to see it. three steps became two while struggling to keep up with hyunjae as he walked off into the pantry again. 

the memory you associated with this place starts to flicker like a spoilt bulb in your head, but him dropping the research file on the table in the pantry knocks you out of your thoughts.

“which part of ‘don’t try any funny ideas’ did you not understand?”

so he’s bothered.

“i’ve got no clue what’s wrong with going out with eric though,” an arrogant brow perks itself up on your face and your arms cross your chest. his fingers brush across his forehead, and him being visibly stressed about a lame situation was really making your day. 

the sunlight was brimming in with sharp lines on the floor, the shadow of the window grills making grey squares on the floor behind him. 

a considerable amount of effort was spent to keeping your smirk to yourself, and the frustration that was radiating off him was being lapped up by your confidence like a dog drinking water after a walk. 

he finally stops pacing after a few steps and literally stops an inch away from your nose, the close proximity pulling your pupils away from his direction. 

“how can you even think of other men when you have my hickeys on your ne-- you know what?”

a pause.

“i’ve got two things i need you to know, kitten.”

oh, god

that name.

his scent starts wafting through your nose like poison gas and his breath hits you on your cheek with your face turned away. he was craning his head lower to level your eyes with his, though you were looking somewhere else. 

you tend to forget that he was the stronger ares. 

“one: you’re not available tonight. two: you can flirt with eric all you want but he’s not the one who’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

the reflection off the microwave oven shows you your distressed brows after you process his words, the pain of the truth seeping into your bones against your will and liking. 

your jaw and chin start to get traced with his finger before he pulls your face towards his, and your eyes were already going to shut themselves when you feel just the surface of his lips brush against yours. 

but he stops, and pulls away. 

that cocky smirk surfaces on his lips when he notices your annoyance, and he reverses to retrieve his research file off the table. 

“you seem to forget that i too can play this game, kitten.” 

the nickname kicks you in the gut once more, this time harder and more difficult to swallow. your hardened eyes freeze on his figure while he leaves the pantry, and your temples tighten with frustration when you start to realise he was going to spend the rest of the day proving his point. 

by the end of the day you’ve counted a total of ten times he’s brushed a hand across your waist, touched your hand, bumped shoulders into you, and all you could think of was shoving your research papers down his throat.

the physical contact was only alleviating your need for more, and it wasn’t to your liking that it had to be him. 

and that blotch of peach lipstick on his coat... there was no way he didn’t know it was there. 

was he just waiting for someone to point it out?

by the time you told eric that you wouldn’t be able to make it for dinner, you already had a ton of electricity in your body. 

and by electricity you mean unwarranted displeasure. 

your rounds concluded almost on time, so returning back to the office to find hyunjae idling outside yours was like a nightmare. 

“what do you want now?” the office door clicks open and he follows you in while you pull off your coat and pack your things. 

“what do you mean ‘what do i want’? i told you to tell eric you’re not available tonight because you’re not.”

why did i tell eric i wasn’t available when i didn’t even have a reason...?

“am i expecting to be drugged out and tied to a chair--”

“well, if you’d like that--”

“stop,” you warn with a finger in the air, briefcase already in hand before you turned off the main switch for the stereo. “not another word.”

“request declined,” he looks at you with eyes you should be becoming familiar with, his tongue poking the inner side of his ride cheek. he shifts his weight on his feet and a small smile appears on his lips, the sight of it all only encouraging you to wonder just what the fuck is wrong with you?

you give in first and turn away, picking up your briefcase to exit the office with him tailing you. the lift takes forever to come, and some other doctors come by to speak to him, greeting you in the process. 

“leaving together?”

“yeah, we are.”

what?

“oh, to where?”

to hell--

“my place. we had a little deal for her to give me her opinions on my culinary skills.”

the lift door opens and the ride was so painful to swallow. hyunjae just went off about cooking and being his mother’s helper in the kitchen when he was younger and blablabla...

and the other doctor gets off at another floor while the lift continues down to the basement.

the heat of the carpark swamps the lift when the doors open, yet he doesn’t bother to tell you to follow him. “why the hell am i going to your place to eat dinner?” 

silence.

“lee hyunjae!”

“can you just shut up and get in the car? i don’t want to be seen by anybody else.”

a look of disapproval slaps onto your face as you stormed over, the car beeping when he pulls the car door open. “wha-- you literally just told her that i’m going to your plac--”

“one more word...” the ribbon around your top gets tangled in his grip and pulled forward, just enough energy without him pulling it off. “kitten...”

not again.

“and i’ll make the day even harder for you to tolerate.”

his breath hits your lips when he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, and he dramatically releases the ribbon around your neck. 

“get in. i don’t think you’ll need eric to help you into the car, do you?” 

“you--”

the sudden lack of vocabulary crushes you when his soul dug his way through his pupils, and the light from the car park glimmers off the whites of his eyes. he angles his neck so carefully and it exposes the vein right under his right ear. your knuckles whiten when your grip around your briefcase tightens, and your legs turn to jelly for a split second.

“get in the car, or i’ll show you what it means to be wrapped around someone’s finger,” he drags his finger across your chin and looks at your lips for a second, quickly looking back up at yours without leaning any closer. 

“and right now you’re already halfway there to being wrapped around mine, kitten.”

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

Chapter XIII: Inferno

A/N: i felt like this was a rlly shitty chapter imo but it wouldn’t have been complete if i didn’t include this in the line up. it’s really to show the change in dynamics between the two of them so i hope it isn’t too hard to swallow ;(

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Firstborn | ii. pact

Summary: You make a pact with a demon, in exchange, you give him your firstborn.

Word Count: 2838 words

Page Count: 8 pages

A/n: hope you guys like the second part!

Tags: none :) feel free to ask to be tagged.

[ F I R S T B O R N  M A S T E R L I S T ]

       "We're doing this outside?"

        "Yes, [ Y/n ], outside. Don't worry, you won't melt in the sunlight. The sun is setting soon anyways." Solomon mused, taking the old path to an opening where he used to hold any summonings when he was younger, his excitement was radiating off him. The large Cajvana and Mercheasa trees clouded any vision past 6 meters, and the large roots had made the walk turn into a workout that even Adonis himself would struggle with, the fact that you carried the bag with all the materials needed as well didn't help your mood either.

        "After this walk, I better have thighs rivaling Hermes- Solomon! Don't laugh! I don't have gigantic legs like you!" You yelped, trying to catch up with your cackling younger brother, if he wasn't so tall you'd slap him upside the head.

        "Oh, I can't help it! Watching you struggle adds years to my life!" He laughed loudly, dodging the hand that swung at his head, only to run into the clearing that you finally managed to get to.

        "Hey! That's abuse! Why would you hurt your baby brother like that?" He joked, throwing his hands out to his sides, twirling around the open area.

        "I'll show you abuse! Get back!" You laughed, your intimidation falling through quickly, chasing the snowy haired man around the area. He managed to avoid you a couple times, checking you when you got too close, before he ended up tripping and falling on his ass- essentially causing you to die of laughter while you messed up his hair.

        It was a warm moment, something you were sure to think of whenever a mention of Solomon comes by, he always made you smile. He made even the worst of situations lighter, draining the dark grim smoke from the air and allowing you to breathe- your light. While you both chuckled and set up the large summoning circle he had planned, he made it seem so... natural. 

        You don't know how to explain it. This idiot- your idiot- always eased you into the wildest situations and made it seem normal.

        Like summoning a Prince of Hell.

        The second strongest one to be exact.

        Because he would be the nicest.

        What the fuck, Solomon.

        "Are you okay?" He asked, his hand pushing lightly on your back, the large bowl in your hand groaned in your grip.

        "Huh?" Looking up, you noticed the sun was going down at this point, the honey mixing into a delicious peach tone- before being kissed by the dark tears of the universe highlighted with the light of the heavens. So much color at one time, you always loved when the sun woke or went into its slumber, it was like looking at everything the universe had to offer for this short time.

        It calmed your mind. The stars never changed, they never left, always unchanging- never moving on.

        Moving on.

        Fuck, what are you going on about again? The stress must have been getting to you, making you have lucid moments that leaked into the manic ones, you just wanted this to be over. Have your family all right again. You wanted them to be safe, healthy, and live their lives. Get their jobs up and running, find someone, get married and have some kids. Live full lives.

        You wanted to move on. And you're working to it.

        But moving onto what? This new chapter in your life, in debt with a demon- tied to you with a promise to fill his greed, but that was better than now. Now it has no color. It's a cloudy night sky. Solomon is the wind, pushing away the clouds to allow the stars to bleed into the eyes of all the living beings here, he's doing what is natural to him.

        If Solomon was the wind, what are you? This demon you're summoning?

        "It's just, hitting me now, the shock has left and I'm understanding everything- this pact and what comes with it." You continued, looking up, wanting the concern to just... vanish.

        "Do you want to do this? You don't nee-"

        "Yes. I do." You cut him off, looking to the soft grass at the candles placed down sat firmly, the giant sigil decorated to accommodate the needs of Solomon and Mammon.

        "I'll light the candles, where are the matches?"

        "I usually use... magic... to light them." He laughed awkwardly.

        "Ugh. Alright." You closed your eyes, practically feeling the excitement radiating off Solomon, the man was shaking at the thought.

        "Calm down. It's simple-"

        "It's magic. Your magic. And you're using it, on your own, after all this time. I..." He trailed off, looking around as his eyes glossed up, his smile wavering slightly.

        "You've taught me so much, and after what happened with Mother, seeing- feeling your magic again just-" He took in a deep breath.

        "It's comforting. Like a warm hug, a Mothers love that I only found in you, something that makes me feel safe. You were always so beautiful when you used magic. So powerful, yet, gentle. It was- IS everything to me." He was trying to calm himself, breathing deeply as he turned from you, swiping any tears from his face harshly, turning his head down quickly to stare at a lone candle.

        You didn't know what to say, with a deep and soft sigh, you flexed your fingers lightly- warmth erupted from your nails and filled your blood, flames flickered in the air, a small figure dancing from candle to candle lighting the wicks as she went, another smaller form followed the other quickly before meeting at the candle Solomon was staring at. 

        "[ Y/n ]." He smiled, watching the two figures fly up as their flames trailed behind softly, both going to kiss each side of his cheek before fading into a small white smoke. The kiss from your pyre had him giggle, and you saw your baby brother again in a flash, before seeing the man in front of you.

        "I'll... make sure you feel that way more often. I promise." You looked at him with a smile, his eyes meeting yours, relieved you had him back.

        "Now, let's summon that demon."

        "Damn. Lay it on thick."

        "Heh."

        "Stop."

*****

        "You've been chanting for an hour now." You sighed, playing with the wrap on your palm, the cut that you had made was needed though. Blood is needed for any pact, Solomon told you, and is always spilled in any formation of one. He had told you about one demon he made a pact with, Asmodeus, who made one with him by kissing your brother and biting his lip- leaving him breathless and bleeding for the demon. 

        He didn't go into detail, but the red of his ears and pink dusting his cheeks spoke for him, you only smirked.

        At least your brother had taste.

        Literally.

        "He's a bastard! God!" He yelled in anger, before yelling the summoning again, hands in his hair as the pact marks on his body started to glow a deep, bloody, red once again. For what? The seventh time this night? Was this Mammon demon always late? Or just doing so because of Solomon's reputation? 

        "God? Ironic." You mused, moving the bowl over and laying in the middle of the circle, your tiredness had finally gotten to you and you're not fighting the bitch today.

        "Agh!" He yelled in exasperation, his body shivering while the cold nipped at his exposed upper body, all the candles flaring up into the air a few meters high before settling down again. The flames only lived for a few seconds before getting snuffed out by a harsh wind. Darkness enveloped the both of you and neither even dared to breathe in again. You stared at the darkened sky, Solomon stared at the ground, and the change in magic was felt. The weight on your stomach was nothing with adrenaline pushing your body to run or fight, though, fainting sounded like a good option too.

        He's here.

        There's a pull. Your heart is tugging forward, your eyes wanted to follow so desperately, but you didn't want to. There's a muffled sound.

        "Hello? You humans deaf or something? I'm here! Mammon! Your deity! Your god!" His face moved to yours quickly, his lower body sat comfortably on your stomach as both of his jeweled hands came to either side of your head. 

        Oh lord, and as ironic as it was, he had the face of an angel. Well, maybe a fallen one?

        Snowy white locks were messily placed on his beautifully tanned skin, icy blue eyes sparked with a flash of gold looked straight into your eyes, his face sculpted with love and adoration. Inky black horns twisted into themselves, contrasting from his hair, you noticed the small white markings that decorated the smooth flesh under his eyes. Your face flushed heavily, and your hands found each other as your left hand thumbed at your palm, your voice in your throat.

        "You came..." Wonder was in your voice, though quiet, it was heard. A large smile came onto his face, his eyes closed, and his head tilted much like a puppy.

        "Of course! You have something to offer up right? As long as I get my payment, I'll come running, loyal as ever!" He laughed, and though it was cute, you couldn't help but deadpan just a bit. He really lived up to his title, with the demanding aura he gave, though his personality seemed... off, but he is a demon, a demon who was greedy. The air around him felt heavy, lightening up the farther away you are from him, and yet it was so alluring. His presence demanded attention, good or bad, he wanted all eyes on him and everyone to listen to what he had to say.

        "Mammon! Off my sister, you moron!" Solomon's voice cut through the moment, grabbing him by the thick gold choker on his neck, his wings fluttered and flared as his air supply was cut off. Not that he needed it. He wore long black pants, very loose and made of silk, and they hung low on his hips, being held up by a tight golden scarf to keep them in place.

        "Stop being dramatic. You're immortal." Solomon sighed in irritation, having the demon land on his ass a few feet from you, his shirt back on his torso. Rolling his eyes, he helped you up, checking you over before going to collect the items used to summon Mammon. You noticed the ivory claws that were his nails, his bare feet held the same sharp nails as well, you couldn't help but look at Solomon.

        "Solomon, because you have a pact with Asmodeus doesn't mean you can treat me as you please, be glad I'm not like my brothers." The growl in his voice was evident as he stood up. The markings covered his entire body, and what didn't have white markings was covered in jewels and gold, his body was toned and defined quite well.

        'You're not thirteen. Stop. You've seen men naked before.' You thought to yourself, looking between Mammon and Solomon, you didn't know exactly what to say. You felt the irritation between the two of them, Solomon staring Mammon dead in the eye, almost uncaring of what he could do to him, but the last thing you needed was an angry demon and a brother who practically got high off his own magic.

        "I'm sorry about him, he gets a bit protective, are you alright?" You asked him, looking to his neck to see any irritation, which he lacked. You brought your hands up in a surrendering manner, not needing a fight right now, you would play mediator if need be.

        "Eh? I'm fine. Anyways, I was summoned, and quite crudely. Meaning you need something important, and you need it quickly. At any price." He mused, walking up to your smaller form, glaring down at you with a mischievous look. Your stomach dropped, it feels like so much has happened, but here you are.

        So close. 

        You're here. This is it. You pay a price and you save your sister.

        "I need you to cure my sister. She's deathly ill, I've tried everything, and now I need your help. Can you do it? Can you save my sister?" You stood your ground, staring up at him with intensity that shifted the mood, it was so quick it almost gave the poor demon whiplash. His brows raised and the smile dropped.

        "Oh." It was soft, barely there, but you heard it. He looked into the fierce fire that flickered into your eyes, but he saw it, the familiar begging look that he saw in his brothers- in himself the most. Wanting your sister to come back, to be okay, alive and well. His heart ached for a slight moment as he thought of his brothers, his late sister, even Diavolo and Barbatos. His entire situation. 

        Damn it. He needed to stop it. Being emotional always got him into trouble, and he needed to stop, but hearing your voice.

        Oh father, he felt a tug towards you, and this wasn't good.

        "What do you have to offer?" He didn't know what to ask for, curing a human and bringing them back from an inevitable death was expensive in the Devildom, and he wouldn't let his powers go for free.

        That wasn't in his nature.

        No matter what.

        He is a Prince of Hell. 

        He is greedy.

        "I have money, some status, I... have a lot. Though, it's in the family name, not directly to me- it belongs to my siblings and I." You thought out loud, realizing, everything you had- you shared. You all shared the money, the status, the knowledge. The only way someone could gain power from your family was to be in it- something your family had done for generations, to be sure that if one person died the entire family fortune and name wouldn't disappear and be stolen.

        Damn it.

        "So, you offer me your money and status, though, it all belongs in the family, hm?" He asked, a hand coming to his chin, the other holding his elbow. The wind blew and you shivered, Solomon came up behind you keeping a distance as you spoke with the demon, everything you two needed was in the netted bag.

        You had a lot, and he wanted it all, no doubt. He wasn't going to tear a family apart though, he's a demon, not a fucking monster. He knows what it's like to have a family torn apart, and having each other is the only thing that kept them going, he was the second eldest. While Dear Old Luci was to protect their physical well being and their status, Mammon cared for them emotionally for as long as he could, trying to mend the wounds that weren't shown to the world.

        He knew that burden.

        So how could he get what he wanted?

        Well, he needed someone in the family to be his.

        "Your firstborn. I want the first child you give birth to."

        "Mammon, what the fuck."

        "That's a thing?" You asked, surprised at the request, though you did feel your heart start up again. The shock was on your face and Solomon didn't look pleased. The wind blew harshly again, and you knew it was your brother, you sighed before turning to give him a look.

        "Solomon, shut up for a moment. I'm making a pact with your sister, not you, you don't get a say," His voice was low, and the magician looked at both of your eyes, the wind calmed just a bit. You still shivered.

        "I want the right to your firstborn." He spoke again, crossing his arms, golden chains and bracelets clink together as they met.

        "The right? As in? There are many rights you can have, you need to be specific." You said.

        "Every right. The right to marry them. To take them as my own. Any right you can give me, I want it." 

        "Why? Don't you want money? Or something else? Why a child?" You were curious why he would want your child.

        "I didn't think I'd have to explain it, damn it. Think, woman. If I have every right over your child, I can use them for my needs, so that when the time comes your debt is paid." He spoke nonchalantly.

        "Your needs?" You perked up a brow, wondering if your mind just had a habit of going to dark places quickly.

        "I am not making them a slave for my sexual pleasures, if that's what you're asking. I'm Mammon, not Asmodeus, I work with money." He looked a bit irritated, though the pink that flushed his ears spoke for his embarrassment. Was... he a demon that was shy about sex? Was that a thing?

        "My firstborn, and every and any right that comes with that, am I correct?"

        "Yes."

        "Then we have a pact."

[wowweeharrystyles]

Part 12 | Sunsets & A New Normal | 6.7k words

‘Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

A/N: &&&&& we’re back !!! I’ve set a new posting schedule for the rest of this story & will be posting every other week until the end of July. cannot believe there will only be 3 more parts after this one 😩 

Sequins & Zippers Masterlist

General Masterlist

Here’s Part 12 ! 

She’s gotta stop comparing things, Aurora thinks. Her “normal” doesn’t exist anymore. This is her normal now. 

A sweaty, t-shirt wearing, tattooed rockstar is her new normal. Who would’ve thought? Definitely not Aurora. 

The familiarity of the dark, low lit SoulCycle studio feels like her old normal though. At one point, this was a home away from home in NYC, even in London. It’s comforting to clip the clunky cycle shoes into the pedals after adjusting the seat exactly how she needs it. The feeling of the rubbery handlebars on her dry palms causes her to release a breath. Aurora almost forgets that Harry is sitting at the bike next to her. They’re towards the back, Aurora prefers it here and Harry seems to as well. She can feel him look at her. A smile flashes across his face when she meets his eyes.

The room gets a touch darker and the music gets louder and then there’s a voice over the speakers. If Aurora thought the Dallas heat was high but this studio feels like it’s surrounded by fire compared to it. She doesn’t mind it though. After 3 months in new countries and unfamiliar hotels, the heat is the least of her worries. Aurora’s been craving some sort of familiarity. This studio is the closest she’ll get for a few more weeks. 

Aurora lets herself forget about everything around her; about the stress, about Harry next to her, about the jetlag, about everything. She focuses on the beat of the music that she can feel rattle the room, the voice of the instructor and how her legs pedal to the rhythm of the song. It doesn’t take long til she forgets it all. 

Class ends sooner than Aurora would’ve liked. How is it that 45 minutes can seem so long on a plane but so short when you’re enjoying something? 

Aurora's unlocking one of the white lockers in the lobby when Harry groans. She hands him his shoes, phone and wallet then grabs her own bag. She gives him a questioning look, but he doesn’t see it. 

“Ror, I’m sorry,” he says looking towards the windows that line the front of the lobby. She follows his sightline. “We’ll have to go quick,” his eyes dart across what is visible on the street outside. “I think there’s only one.”

Aurora can’t see what he sees but she can feel his change in demeanor. Harry tucks his laces into the inside of his shoes and slips them on, not bothering to tie them.

“One what?” she asks as she puts her own shoes on. Harry moves himself to stand closer to her, almost blocking her into the small space by the lockers. 

“Pap.” Aurora looks up to him, shoe laces in her hands, foot propped onto the open locker. He drops a hand to the small of her back. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine.” 

Aurora ties her shoes and tosses her bag over her shoulder. “Alright, lets go.” 

Harry’s hand moves from her back to grab her hand. As they walk towards the door Harry switches hands and moves to her other side, seamlessly. “The car is parked on the street towards the right. Pap is towards the left. I’ll give 'em one shot and they should leave us alone, but let's not hang around.” Harry squeezes Aurora’s hand. She squeezes back. 

“Okay.” 

Harry opens the door and moves his torso abnormally to block Aurora as much as he can. He can’t stop the paps from being here but he can limit what they see. He’s sure to keep his hand tight around Aurora’s. She can feel him pull, only slightly, away from her to show his face in the opposite direction. She keeps her head down and within seconds Harry is by her side again. Aurora can feel the slickness of sweat on Harry’s arm as he gets closer. The heat didn’t bother either of them, the sweat either. The sleeves of Harry’s tshirt are still rolled up and it only allows for more of his skin to press against hers. Aurora focuses on that rather than the possibility of a stranger in a bush taking her photo. 

When they get to the big black rental suv Aurora can feel Harry relax his grip. He doesn’t let go of her hand until he opens the passenger door, helping Aurora in. He closes the door once she’s settled in the seat. Once Harry is in the driver’s seat he starts the car and blasts the AC. 

Now the Dallas heat is top of mind. Harry takes a large gulp of his water and then offers it to Aurora. She takes it gratefully. Neither of them say anything until they stop at a red light a few blocks away. “Think you could hold off on a shower for a bit?” 

“What?” Aurora asks with a surprised laugh. 

“The sun is starting to set and heard about this garden to watch it from.” 

Aurora leans over the consol and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Okay.” She kisses his cheek again before settling back down in her seat. 

“I have it bookmarked, will you pull up the directions?” Harry asks as he hands Aurora his phone. 

The automated voice of the GPS guides them as they drive down unfamiliar streets. There’s a small smile on Harry’s face when Aurora turns to look at him as they drive into an almost empty parking lot. Before Harry turns off the car, he turns around and peers out all the windows. Aurora doesn’t comment on it and Harry doesn’t say anything but Aurora knows he’s looking to see if anyone has followed them. No cars and no new people stroll into the lot or walk down the path near the water in front of them. 

Harry gets out of the car wordlessly and Aurora gets her jacket out of her bag at her feet. She’s met with Harry opening the door for her and helping her out of the car after she slides her arms into her jacket. 

Harry is quiet and Aurora can feel that he’s still tense, the opposite of what he should be after working out. They walk in silence, both clearly seeking out the open bit of grass near the water where the sun is starting to fall at the horizon. 

“Everything alright?” Aurora asks, voice soft. She reaches out to him and pulls him to a stop by his elbow. Harry turns around and smiles at her after shaking his head and running a hand through his hair,

“Yeah, alright, just thinking.” 

“Harry.” 

“Just feel bad that there were paps there.”

“You can only do so much.” 

“I still feel bad.” 

“Please don’t. If it helps at all, I felt completely safe. It’s awful that you’re good at it, but it is what it is. You took care of me. It’s fine.” Aurora smiles at him. “Honestly, I’m surprised we got through an entire SoulCycle class without anyone saying a thing to you.” 

“Yeah, sometimes it’s surprisingly easy,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Aurora sits down on a soft piece of grass and Harry sits next to her. “Come here,” Aurora says to him, hand rubbing on his shoulder. He shuffles himself in close to her, his back falling against her chest and shoulder. Harry immediately grabs Aurora’s hand that is resting at his shoulder. Leaning partly against her bent knees, she supports his weight fully. Her free hand moves to push his hair back, uncaring to the sweat that still lingers at his roots. 

The sun in front of them is starting to disappear behind the horizon and the orange and pink haze that covers the water and grass and all the trees makes Harry’s skin appear much tanner than it is. He looks up to Aurora for a moment, his eyes more golden than green in this light. She smiles at him and can’t believe the sight in front of her. Her lips find his in a drawn out kiss and when they open their eyes the orangeness of the sky makes everything into black silhouettes. Aurora can no longer see the golden and green flecks in Harry’s eyes. He turns his head back to the view in front of them and sighs. 

“Thanks for this,” Aurora says softly.

“Thought we’d enjoy a calm night before getting back to work,” Harry explains. 

“Harry?” Aurora questions after a few minutes. “Have you thought about what’ll happen at the end of all this?” 

A scoff comes from Harry’s chest, “End of all this? What d’ya mean by that, Ror? Got plans to dissapear once your jobs done or something?” 

“No! End of all this as in end of tour, like come July, last show is done…” Aurora trails off. “How’re we gonna do us?” She asks the last question quietly. 

“We’ll figure it out.” Harry’s answer seems so sure, like he knows there’s no way they won’t make it work. “Are you worried that the last show will end and you’ll go back home to New York and I’ll fuck off to LA or London and that’ll be it?” 

“Don’t think it’s that.” 

“Cause you should know that I would never do that to you. If anything, I’d follow you back to New York.” 

“Would you really?” Aurora aks, surprise evident in her voice. 

Harry turns his head so he can look at her, even though the almost set sun has casted a shadow across her face. “If you’d let me, think I’d might.” 

“I don’t even have an apartment in NYC anymore, I technically live at home right now. Would you still follow me knowing it’s my childhood bedroom at the end of the trip?” 

“As long as those old 1D posters are put away.” 

Aurora laughs and gently pushes Harry’s shoulders. He barely moves, only jostles a bit, still all of his weight relaxed on her. 

“We’ve got time to figure this out, yeah? Don’t worry about it too much.” Harry sits up then and twists around to face Aurora on his knees. Both of his hands land on the grass on either side of Aurora. “Anyways, you might be sick of me by the end of tour,” he says with barely a centimeter between their noses. 

There’s only a split second before Aurora decides to close the gap between them. And there’s only another split second before she feels blades of grass poke through the fabric of her jacket as she falls the short distance to the ground. 

On the drive back to the hotel, Aurora enjoyed the calm silence between her and Harry, his calloused hand in hers and both of their lips a bit more red than normal. Aurora thinks she can get used to this new normal. Evening workouts. Drives to go watch the sunset. Whatever comes in between. Maybe even making a routine out of it when tour is over, in whatever city they find themselves in. Even the hiding from paps part she doesn’t mind having to add in her new normal if it means feeling like this; loved, safe, content, happy… she could go on and on.

| | | | | 

Aurora applies a face mask to her skin using precise motions, evenly coating the pale green clay like substance all over her face. She isn’t applying this face mask as her normal skin care routine. It isn’t a sunday morning or evening like it when she normally applies a messy face mask to rid her skin of any residue left from the week. She’s applying this face mask to feign a feeling of being put together, to feign feeling normal. 

Her breathing is surprisingly calm considering the way her phone was blowing up only 15 minutes ago and the erratic heartbeat that was escalating with each notification. Said phone is face down on the chair across the hotel room and on silent now. Aurora washes her hands and towels them dry before leaving the bathroom, the facemask barely starting to set. She turns on the small coffee maker that sits on top of a small table across from the bed, next to the annoyingly large hotel tv that she never turns on. When it beeps and the light turns on, instead of brewing a cup of coffee she runs the machine just with water, a random hotel tea bag in the chunky class mug. 

An unnecessary face mask and a random cup of tea. Aurora knows what’s happening. She wishes it wasn’t, though. She sits down on the chair that’s sitting in the corner by the window. The hot cup of tea in her hands keeps her present in some way even though she won’t ever be taking a sip of it. 

She starts making a list in her head, a way to organize the chaotic thoughts that are clouding any sense of judgement she has, a tool from her college provided therapist. 

She’s in Houston, Texas, in a hotel room, on her own. 

She’s exhausted, maybe a bit hungover after too many drinks at dinner with Sarah and Helene after the Dallas show last night. 

There are photos of her and Harry leaving SoulCycle in Dallas. 

There’s a video from the show in Melbourne when Harry turned to Aurora during Sweet Creature.

There’s a photo of her standing in the mix wearing Harry’s black and white Gucci jacket.

There are thousands of tweets with photos and videos of Aurora, now, some from older shows, a lot from the Dallas show. 

Many of those tweets are terrifying to her. 

She has people coming out of the woodworks trying to contact her. She wasn’t secretive about her job. She posted about it on instagram when the tour started. It’s not like her instagram had a huge following (though it grew day by day). But now it’s getting 100’s of followers, likes, and comments by the second. Aurora didn’t even think about this, didn’t even cross her mind. 

There are so many notifications coming through on her phone, she can’t even filter out the ones from her family, from Lelia, from Issac, from Harry. 

She’s not upset that people know about her and Harry. She’s upset about the things people are saying. Flashes of news article headlines appear when she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Harry Styles falls in love on the bike, a soulcycle date for the books”

“Rumored Girlfriend of Harry Styles also works for him!”

“Spotted: Harry Styles’ new GF wearing the jacket from his voted worst outfit, ever”

“Harry Styles fans upset over rumored new GF” 

“The top 15 tweets from last night after fans found out Harry Styles is dating his stylist” 

She doesn’t like that she’s reacting this way. She knew that this was bound to happen. 

She’s scared to move, scared to go anywhere, to do anything. 

There’s a knock on her door. Aurora doesn’t recognize it at first. The sound of her heartbeat is loud in her ears and sounds just the same. There’s another knock on her door. It shakes her out of her thoughts. She stands up, the list in her head on pause. She’s shaking like she’s cold. She’s not cold. Aurora looks through the peephole in the door. She recognizes Harry’s eyes in a millisecond. Reaching for the door handle, she takes a deep breath. She opens the door slowly and only enough for Harry to slide in quickly, the door falling shut behind him. 

“Ror,” he says with furrowed eyebrows and his head tilts slightly. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” The sight in front of him is confusing. He expected Aurora to have shut down and panicked by now. Jeff called him and told him what he woke up to that morning-- emails from media sources, calls, texts all of it. The second Harry got off the phone he got Rory’s room number and here he is now. Surprised, concerned, broken hearted for her, and now confused. She seems calm, a face mask covering her face, her eyes aren’t red or puffy. Maybe she’s okay. Maybe Harry worried for nothing. 

“I-I I turned it on silent. Haven’t looked at it in a bit, now,” she answers quietly. She may appear to be fine, but she doesn’t sound it. Her shoulders start to hunch, her arms wrapping around her own torso. 

“Rory, are you alri-” Harry doesn’t even get the question out. She’s sobbing now, tears abruptly falling from her eyes. She looks surprised, like she’s confused by the way she’s reacting. Harry lunges forward to hug her but her hands land on his chest, keeping him at a distance. She motions to her face. 

“Don’t wanna-” she chokes out, “get this all over you.” He nods, a small smile on his face at her priorities in this quick second. Harry instead places a hand softly at her lower back and walks her into the bathroom. He pushes her lightly to sit on top of the toilet seat. 

Harry wets a washcloth in the sink once the water runs warm. Neither of them say anything. Harry lightly wipes at her face, trying his best to remove the cracking mask, but wanting to be gentle with her skin. He has to use his free hand to hold her head up by her chin. She doesn’t have the strength or want to hold her head up and she lets it drop, chin to chest everytime Harry steps back to the sink. Silent tears fall from her eyes now, her shoulders shaking every few seconds. Silence fills the bathroom and after Harry wipes away the last remnant of the clay off Aurora’s face he tosses the cloth to the counter not paying it much attention. He drops to his knees in front of her. 

“Hey,” he says, wiping a tear from her cheek, the pad of his thumb warm and comforting on her skin. “I don’t want to push you and we don’t have to talk about it right this second, but we do have to talk about it. We have to.” His voice is strong but still soft--caring but concerned. 

“Okay,” Aurora whispers as she locks eyes with him. She can tell Harry’s not okay, but he’s better at dealing with this stuff. He’s done it for years. 

“How about you get changed and do what you need? I’ll make some coffee and then we can talk about it. Getting ready and some sort of normalcy helps me when this stuff happens.” Aurora nods and tries to manage a smile but she’s sure it doesn’t translate. 

Harry kisses her forehead before walking out of the bathroom. Aurora does as Harry advises. She goes to her suitcase and pulls out a pair of clean leggings and a white t-shirt. She takes off her pajamas from the night before and gets dressed, combs her hair into a low ponytail and even puts her jewelry back on. When she looks in the mirror, the bright bathroom lights make her squint but she can still see the splotchy skin on her cheeks, the redness of her eyes and her chapped lips. She doesn’t bother to do anything about it now though.

“Ror, I didn’t know you ever drank tea?” Harry questions from the other room. She turns off the lights and goes to find him.

“I don’t.” 

He tilts his head again, “Love, you’ve got a full mug of tea here,” he says, motioning to the mug that has gone cold now. 

“Uh yeah…” she trails off, “it’s a weird habit I have.” She grabs the mug and pours it out in the small kitchenette sink. “When things get all,” she motions around her head with both hands, fingers separated, “jumbled, chaotic,” she drops her hands before continuing, “I tend to do things that make me feel like everything is okay. Like I’ve got my shit together.” She lets out a hefty sigh, feeling the exhaustion from the panic start to weigh on her. “Not a weird habit I guess, more a bad habit.” 

“Makes sense,” Harry validates as he messes with the coffee maker. “Do what you gotta do for it to feel okay. When I was little and got upset or something happened at school, I would watch Alice in Wonderland.” Aurora smiles a bit. “Nobody really caught onto it until everything with the band started happening. Something would happen, either I’d mess up or something online would mess with my head and I would go back to it. My mom called me on a bad day and I had just started watching Alice,” he shrugs. Aurora moves closer to him. “It was then she put it all together. She always kinda knew that I would watch it but thought I just loved it so much that it made me happier, but really I just needed to see the chaos that Alice went through. It helped me forget what was going on with me.” 

Aurora hugs Harry from behind, her hands resting across his stomach. Her forehead presses between his shoulder blades before she lands a kiss against his t-shirt. Harry turns around in her arms after a minute or so. When Aurora looks up to him, his green eyes are more muted than normal and it doesn’t quite sit well with her. She figures it’s the stress. Harry’s touch is featherlight when he tucks Aurora’s hair behind her ears. 

“Thank you.” 

Harry’s head tilts in question. 

“For telling me that,” she clarifies. “and for being here and just being you. For loving me, even through all this.” 

“Hey,” Harry says softly, brows knit together, “Ror,” he grazes his thumbs over her cheeks, “I love you no matter what.” His thumb pulls at her bottom lip that she’s worrying between her teeth. “We both knew that this could be hard sometimes, but, I don’t wish to be doing it with anyone else.” Harry presses his lips to Aurora’s forehead and he can feel Aurora let out a breath, her shoulders falling. Her warm breath hits his neck. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you your coffee and we can talk about this a bit more.” 

Aurora does as he says, sitting in the corner of the small couch. Harry comes over with 2 hot mugs and sits down next to Aurora, making a point to sit down facing her. Aurora lets out a deep sigh. 

“I’ve dealt with this a lot, I know how hard it is. It’s still hard for me,” Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, across the stubble that is scattered across his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Aurora can tell he’s thinking about what he wants to say next. “I’m really sorry, Ror,” he settles on. 

“Harry, please, no reason for you to be sorry,” she tilts her head, eyebrows raising and heart sinking. Aurora hadn’t taken a moment to see how Harry had been dealing with all this. Now she can see it. She can see the effect on him, the stress he’s holding in his shoulders, the worry in his eyes. She knows he’s been here before, somewhere else in the world, with so many different people; friends, family, lovers, just about anyone he’s held close to him. But he’s here now with her, with his Rory, and she knows he hates this part. This is where it’s bound to change. “This was all gonna happen sometime.” 

“But not like this,” he stresses. He’s clearly thought about it, planned how he would have preferred the news getting out, how he’d be there with her when the articles came out, when the tweets would surface. 

“There’s no way we could’ve planned for this,” she shares and Harry seems almost surprised when she practically reads his mind. “I knew something like this would happen.” 

“I’m still sorry that it did and I want to help you get through it.” 

“There’s no getting through it though, is there? It’ll happen time and time again.” 

“Ror-”

“Harry, it’s not like I didn’t expect this. We’ll figure out how to deal with it together, yeah? That’s what we have each other for.” Aurora can’t help but find some clarity when she realises she isn’t in this alone, when she realises Harry needs her just as much as she needs him. 

“I’m supposed to be the one helping you through this,” Harry says with a light laugh and then a clearing of his throat. Aurora smiles at him. 

“You may have experience with all of this, but that doesn’t mean I’m the only one being affected by it.” Aurora reaches her hands out to him and he takes them gratefully. They’re clammy and she can feel a slight tremble in them. “We’re in this together. I’m not going anywhere and there’s no reason that you should have to take care of this on your own. If I don’t have to do this on my own, neither do you.” 

Harry squeezes Aurora’s hands. “Haven’t really dealt with this not on my own before.” Aurora’s brows furrow now. “I always have to pick up the pieces, try and make it right, try to make it okay, but it’s hard when it seems like it’s all on me in the end. I’ve lost so many people because of this. I just want you to be okay… and to stay.” There's a slight hitch in the tone of his voice and it makes Aurora lurch from her seated position. She climbs onto her knees and her arms loop around his neck and shoulders. Harry’s surprised by her sudden movements but his arms enclose around her waist just a second later. His shoulders start to fall and Aurora can feel his even breathing on her neck. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear it. Harry’s arms tighten as confirmation. “We’ll take care of each other.”

| | | | |

“Sweet Thang” begins to blare through the speakers and they know they’ve got to get going. Harry pulls away from Aurora, regrettably. The familiar twang of the song means 1 thing and 1 thing only, Harry’s got to be walking up the stairs onto his stage in 4 minutes. 4 minutes and 12 seconds. Harry turns to jog down the hall but turns back around quickly, to press a messily aimed kiss to Aurora’s lips. 

“You taste like strawberries,” he rushes out, “did ya know that?” and then he’s gone. Aurora can barely focus on the shiny red boots running down the hallway away from her. 

She runs a finger across her bottom lip. They feel numb, tingly, swollen as she stands in the middle of Harry’s dressing room. 

| | | | |

Harry arrives at the arena with a new melody stuck in his head, a bright, sunshiny, just-for-aurora smile, and an iced coffee (also just for Aurora) in his hand. 

“Have you seen Aurora?” Harry asks the first person he sees. 

“Uhm, I know a lot of the crew were hanging out in the parking lot today. They set up tables and tents out there because it’s so nice out, maybe there?” 

Harry hums and then yells a thank you as he picks up his pace, almost jogging away and down the hall. He follows the signs until he can hear a roar of a group, laughter, chatting, some music. 

He squints his eyes when he walks through the propped open doors, the Nashville sun shining bright, a light breeze blowing through his hair. It doesn’t take Harry long to spot Aurora and his mother sat in 2 chairs and another 2 chairs have their feet propped up. They’ve taken it upon themselves to pull the chairs out from under the large white tent to sit in the sun instead. 

It’s a sight in front of him--his mother and his Rory laughing together. Harry makes a beeline towards them, waving and smiling at those who say hi. Instead of grabbing a chair of his own, Harry picks up Aurora’s feet and sits down across from her. 

“‘Ello, ladies,” he greets them, dropping Aurora’s feet onto his lap. 

Aurora and Anne say hello in unison and turn to each other and giggle. 

“Have a nice time today?” Harry asks with a dimpled smile. 

“Such a lovely time,” Anne answers. “We went for lunch and got our nails done.” 

Harry hums and reaches out for Aurora’s hand. He examines her nails, “Black, not surprised,” he comments with a squeeze. “Mum?” he asks, now motioning towards Anne’s hands. “Red, also not surprised. Both of you are very predictable.” 

Aurora rolls her eyes before asking, “So how was the studio?”

“Really, really, good, managed to knock out almost an entire song.” 

“Oh? and will we get to hear it?” Aurora asks with a sweet smile. 

“Mhmm, not quite ready yet,” he shares and when Anne turns away from them for a quick second, Harry gives Aurora a wink. A blush rises to her cheeks and she presses her lips together in a line to hide a smile. 

A welcomed silence settles between the 3 of them. They all relax as much as they can into the folding chairs, heads tilted up towards the sun. Harry slides off the sandals on Aurora’s feet and drops them to the ground. He starts to dig the pads of his thumbs into her arches, his other fingers trailing along the top of her feet. Aurora lets out a content sigh, eyes closing,  as another gush of the wind passes. 

The sun is warm and so are Harry’s hands on Aurora’s feet and calves as they trail up her leg slightly. Her skin is heating up as the minutes pass, Harry’s hands leaving searing paths over and over again. He breaks the silence slowly as he subconsciously starts to hum. The melody causes Aurora’s ears to perk up and pay more attention. 

“Why’s your foot twitchin’ like that?” Harry asks around a laugh. 

Aurora opens her eyes and looks at her foot then up to Harry, “must’ve been tapping along to your humming,” she figures. Harry tilts his head and some curls fall out of place. A mischievous smirk slides across his face before he lets out a short, deep, “hm,” like his brain is piecing something together. Aurora’s brows furrow for a moment, “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he brushes it off, face going neutral again. Aurora shakes her head and lets it go. Harry’s hands are back on her skin and massaging the muscles of her feet, her eyes closing once again as she turns up towards the sun. Aurora doesn’t see the smirk that sneaks back up on Harry’s face. 

Harry and Anne had gone back into the arena a little while ago--soundcheck, a few people to meet, some time with his mum after spending the afternoon in the city. Eventually the sun begins to set and Aurora can’t help but think about summer sunsets on Lake Erie at the family lakehouse back in New York. She’ll have to bring Harry there one day. It could be the perfect post-tour getaway, after everything settles down. Late august at the lake house is Aurora’s ideal end of summer farewell. She had missed it last year as she was still in London. Aurora sighs when the alarm on her phone interrupts her daydream. 

 Wiping at her eyes, tired from the sun, she finds her way back to the dressing rooms. Aurora goes through her routine; Adam and Mitch first, they’re never in their dressing room, then onto Sarah and Claire, who are always in theirs (most of the time, Mitch and Adam are there, too). Then she makes her way to Harry’s dressing room, Anne is sitting on the couch when she walks in. Aurora notices the absence of nerves that would fill her stomach when Anne was around. She happily greets her as she begins to get Harry’s suit ready. 

Meeting Anne for lunch whilst Harry went to the studio, Aurora was 90% nerves. They disappeared as the minutes passed. She got more and more comfortable around her. Anne asked Aurora about the whole ordeal that happened in Texas. “Want to check in with you, sweetheart, how are you doing from earlier?” Anne didn’t have to outright say what she was talking about, Aurora knew. Harry must’ve told her, she didn’t mind though. 

Aurora assured her she was okay, that she’ll learn to deal and knows it comes with the territory. Anne shared some sound advice and reminded her that it’s all what they make it. She told Aurora how the first time Harry got upset over an awful press post, how it was that moment, once he calmed down, that he vowed to keep his work and personal life separate. 

“Kinda hard to keep it separate if I work with him,” Aurora jokes sheepishly. 

“Oh sweetheart,” is what Anne kept saying to calm her. Anne is at a loss for words for a moment and Aurora is too. When they meet eyes they start to laugh. “New territory I suppose,” Anne decides to say. 

“Definitely is for me,” Aurora responds with a smile. “But I’m being honest when I say i’m okay. and I know what you mean with keeping work and personal stuff separate. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Harry told me you said that.” Aurora raises an eyebrow in question. “That you 2 will figure it out. That you were quick to be there for him just as much as he was there for you.” 

“We’re in it together. That’s what relationships are about, yeah? Taking care of each other.” 

“You know,” Anne’s smile begins to widen as she speaks, “I’ve never heard anyone say that outloud, especially when talking about my own kid. You always think that that type of thing is implied in a relationship but you end up finding out that not everyone sees it that way.” 

Aurora isn’t sure how to respond, so she shrugs. 

“It’s refreshing, especially as it’s my son that’s involved. So, thank you.” 

“Please, Anne, don’t thank me. There is absolutely no reason for that. I love Harry,” she shrugs again after finding it so easy to say that outloud in the moment. “He deserves the same amount of love and care he gives me. I just hope I can do that for him.” 

“The way he talks about you,” she shakes her head, “he’d be so cross with me if he knew I was telling you this but,” Anne shrugs, “he thinks you walk on water. He just adores you, really haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. Most of the time he gets to a point where he realises what this other person really wants and he  ignores it and is miserable and it’ll end in a horrible way. He’s tried so many times to try to see past it, the way people use him, the lack of compassion, he tries so hard to ignore it.” 

Hearing Anne talk about Harry like this makes something click in her head. 

“I think we’re very similar in those regards,” Aurora says before taking a sip of her water. “We’ve both gone through some hard relationships in the past. Think we’re done with playing around.” Aurora is almost shocked at how she voices the thoughts running through her head. Anne can tell that she’s surprised and she reaches out to Aurora’s hand and squeezes it lightly. 

“It’s good you’re on the same page there. I can definitely see the difference this time around. I think he’s happy with his work and being back on stage has been so good for him. There’s obviously no need to rush anything but I can see you both are pretty serious about it all.” Aurora smiles and at the mention of Harry’s work Aurora feels the need to be clear about her work as well. 

“Anne, I do want you to know that I didn’t intend for this to happen,” Aurora shares. Anne’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I came on tour to work, to move forward in my career. It was always about work and it still is. I don’t want you to think I took this job with the plan to go after Harry.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think that at all.” 

“I think you might have a little bit at first and that’s okay. I knew it was a cliche. ‘Stylist falls in love with rockstar’, the whole shebang.” Anne laughs with Aurora. “And I also want you to know that I did not get involved with Harry to get further in my career either. I had no malicious intent behind anything that has happened.” Anne nods with a smile. 

Their food comes to the table and they thank their waiter. After a few bites in, Aurora continues.

“I just want you to know that I know how it could look and it’s an unusual situation. I hope you can understand that, just like Harry, my career is incredibly important to me and that it was always the ONLY reason I had taken this job. And in the end, we got lucky, I guess.”

“Aurora, you don’t have to explain yourself. Like I said, the way Harry talks about you, and how I’ve seen you do your job at the shows, I don’t question anything at all. And maybe I did at first, but that’s a mum’s job right?” They both laugh again. 

“Mother’s know best,” Aurora compliments. “They always do and always will.” 

Now back in the dressing room, Aurora joins in with the conversation being had with Harry and Anne, and Ayae too. She’s comfortable, at ease and most importantly happy, she can’t deny that. The royal blue suit in front of her is bright even without the stage lights and the rhinestones that line the edges of the jacket as well as the cuffs and lapel are iridescent and remind Aurora of an old dance costume she had when she was little. Aurora swears she had jazz pants that looked just like the ones she’s steaming for Harry, rhinestones and all, but hers was most definitely made by her mother and didn’t have a Gucci label on them. She shares a photo she had from the dance recital that year. She was 8 and Anne did all but cry at the photo. Harry was convinced he had never seen anything cuter and it made Aurora’s cheeks go bright red, the heat radiating from the steamer didn't help either. Aurora directed Anne through the album of all her old dance photos and Anne promised to share some of Harry’s baby pictures later. To which Harry whined about but Aurora shushed him with a quick kiss to his jaw after she situated his button down shirt on his shoulders and before she began buttoning it (Harry ended up unbuttoning about 2 of the top ones only seconds later).

When Anne leaves the dressing room, Aurora finds her usual perch on the counter in the echoey bathroom, Harry’s royal blue rhinestone suit coat resting on her lap.

“There’s something different about you today,” Aurora says as Harry wipes his mouth after brushing his teeth. 

“How so?” 

“Not sure, exactly,” she says squinting her eyes at him. “Might be because your mom is here? But there’s something else too…” Harry shrugs his shoulders and begins humming the same melody from earlier. Aurora watches him finish his routine as he starts to fall into a few vocal warm ups.

He’s singing words and melodies she’s never heard. 

“Wonderful and warm…. Da da daaaa, da da daaaa,” he trails off. 

“Is that the song you were working on today?” He doesn’t respond but keeps singing, in his own world. “Could ever go without… tastes like strawberries on a summer evening…” He repeats a few phrases over and over again. 

It’s right before the 5 minute stage call that it clicks. 

“It’s the song,” Aurora states. “That’s what’s different. It’s the new song you’ve written, huh?” 

Harry pulls Aurora in, pulling her off the counter  with a strong hand on her waist. “I think it has more to do with the inspiration behind the song rather than the song itself.” 

Never did Aurora think Harry would write a song about her, but she guesses this is what her new normal looks like. 

comments & feedback ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS welcome & appreciated !!!

[sourbat]

Here’s a short Skwismag I wrote today. 

Summary:  Skwisgaar remembers an evening with Magnus.

Warning: Drug use; implied sexual content. 

Skwisgaar remembered sitting at the edge of the old apartment’s railway, legs dangling and swaying in accordance with the late summer winds. Magnus stood beside him, shirtless and elbows pressed on top of the flimsy metal frame. The sun was setting, or had just started to set. Skwisgaar couldn’t recall the exact hour, nor month this memory occurred, only that the sky was a rich shade of orange. Magnus slid a foot back before offering Skwisgaar a hit of his blunt, grinning mad and spilling smoke from the parting rows of teeth, flicking the end and letting the ash rain all over his faded gray Toyota Camry before passing it down to Skwisgaar.

“We ams supposed to be leavinks soon,” Skwisgaar commented, but raised his hand up in agreement.

“I’ve driven under worse.” Magnus retorted, and Skwisgaar, despite knowing it was wrong, had to agree. He drank up the smoke, held it in until his lungs burned, and spewed it all in a long, seamless stream.

A few minutes later, the magic hit and the vibrant orange and burgeoning shades of violet in the distance started to magnify and glisten. Skwisgaar thought it was just good weed, but in six hours would come to terms that he was under the influence of a mixture of dangerous club concoctions. For now, he stared at the setting sun, jaw dropping at the magnificent array of colors that ate his senses whole. High as he was, he knew better than to meet the sun head-on, but witnessed its peeling outer layers melt into the blood orange sky. The stars were there. Skwisgaar remembered there being stars once it hit, and they sparkled and shimmered long rays of brilliant light into the deepening violet and pink. Another warm breeze passed through the streets, and this time Skwisgaar could make out each individual stream of air that tickled his neck and tasseled strands of his long blond hair. Magnus sways to the left, spilling more smoke into the air, and Skwisgaar recalled the strange aftertaste it left in his mouth, and wondered what other drugs Magnus failed to mention.

“What are you looking at?”

Skwisgaar turned. “Them suns.” He answered, pursed lips forming a degenerate smile once he caught Magnus in his sights. “It ams looking like pretty van Gogh painting, what with thems purple and swirly organses and yellows.”

He raised a finger towards Magnus, giving it twirl to indicate the direction of where the light was headed, then another to point out the stars above. Magnus raised his head up, mouth agape as he stared up at whatever mystical performance he witnessed under his high. Skwisgaar snickered, then rested his arms on the bottom half of the railing. His fingers scratched at the peeling layers of metal, unearthing stained rust that collected under his nails. The rust reminded him of dried blood. When Skwisgaar grew sick of staring at his fingernails, he turned and saw Magnus above him, eyes glued on his form. 

“What ims it?” Skwisgaar asked. He blinked madly, trying to make out the man behind the shimmering lights, but couldn’t see past that rose-tinted veil.

Magnus snubbed the end of the laced blunt into the handrail. “Nothing, just admiring you,” he said plainly, which only made Skwisgaar turn and check over his shoulder to see if their apartment door was open as they had left it. It was, but Skwisgaar leaned further, saw there was no one in the living room or kitchen.

Relieved, Skwisgaar dropped to the floor. “You shouldn’t be saying them things out louds,” Skwisgaar warned, then ran a hand across his face. He was starting to sweat, and his throat was dry. “Nathan and the others will hears you.”

Magnus dropped to a squat, or his knees? Or, did Magnus remain put, keeping his limber form against the railing as he let loose a low, almost threatening chuckle?  

“Let them fucking hear. What are they going to do?” Magnus asked with a sharp, antagonistic snap. A finger laced around several strands of his hair. Magnus must have been at his level then. Maybe they were lying together. If he couldn’t remember anyone being there, then maybe this was one of those rare cases where Magnus wasn’t afraid to show more than just a drop of affection in public.

Another veil draped over them. Magnus must’ve been sitting beside him, because Skwisgaar was sure it was his dark hair spilling over his back and shoulders, cascading around them and creating a small reprieve from all other outside stimulation. Skwisgaar stared up  at the shadowy form of a man who was so gone his eyes almost appeared black.

“I like the way your eyes look when they’re dilated,” Magnus told him, then lowered further to meet Skwisgaar’s lips with his own. 

A disturbing compliment, but they were high at the time, and Skwisgaar didn’t know any better. All he knew was Magnus was kissing him in public, on the eve of a hot, summer day, telling him how gorgeous he looked, and how tragic it was that he couldn’t have more to himself. They always kept things casual during the daylight hours, with Magnus performing the subtle art of flirtation whenever the opportunity arose. 

“You ams high, Magnus.”

Magnus cackled at the remark. “And so are you.”

How the conversation turned to the rave, and getting inside the car was a mystery. Skwisgaar couldn’t think straight, or maybe couldn’t bring himself to go any further past that moment where Magnus took advantage of their seclusion, of having him cornered in a spot. He breezed through the fuzzy recollection of a fingertip that curled under his palms, tickled his wrist before snatching and pulling him up so that they could dress and head out of the apartment. If memory serves correct, Murderface just left his room and asked Magnus for a ride to the pawn shop. Or was it Nathan? Another fast forward, and Magnus and Skwisgaar were in the car, ignition on, and faulty conditioner blowing lukewarm air at full blast. Skwisgaar’s seat groaned for him as he threw his head back, letting Magnus brush his nose across his neck, get lost in the nape before whispering hot words into his ear, asking if he wanted to ride to a more secluded spot before they hit the rave.

Magnus tore through the highway, reaching speeds that should’ve warranted their deaths, but always knew when to break at the last minute, when to drop speeds before ramming his clunker into the trunks of bigger, better cars. Trapped in his daze, Skwisgaar rolled down the window to stare out to the setting sun, the purple that shushed and tucked it deeper into the horizon, and the sparkly blue sky that glistened and blanketed the day into night. Skwisgaar saw that familiar set of trees, the bright orange sign located just a few miles away from their exit, and neon lights pointing towards a casino Skwisgaar kept saying he’d visit, but never did.

The exited the freeway, drove up a set of hills and into nicer neighborhoods with fenced yards and two story houses. Skwisgaar fished through the glove compartment for condoms, while Magnus continued to lift and drop his sunglasses, squinting at signs and trying to locate the entrance to a hiking trail no one bothered to visit during this late in the hour. Skwisgaar couldn’t remember the way back to that hill, nor could he recall what Magnus said to convince him that they should stay in the front of the car this time. The summer’s top 10 played, and Skwisgaar pulled the lever and lowered his seat, resting his simmering body against the heated passenger seat. The arid atmosphere seeped into his eyes, adding to the mild discomforts of his already  fuzzy head and cotton-dry mouth. Magnus hummed to one of the songs, then threw his belt on top of the dashboard and–fast forward–black consumed the sky once they were done, and the air outside had finally reached a tolerable temperature for the two of them to enjoy and bathe their sweaty bodies in before hitting the floor.

For some reason, Skwisgaar saw Magnus sitting on top of his car’s hood: pants and shirt on, but the latter only buttoned partway. The man was silent, eyes surprisingly steady given the concoction he’d smoked, licking his chapped lips as he stared down the hill at the city’s glowing palette: the white headlights and red taillights, the blue and green neon lights, flashing rainbows beckoning people over, and glowing balls of office buildings that were coming to their close.

Skwisgaar knew it couldn’t be the case, because Magnus never settled or allowed himself a chance to reflect on their brief liaisons. He was always ready to move on, and once he was off Skwisgaar, asked for the address to the club.

Still…

“What ams you staring at?” Skwisgaar pretended to say to the version of Magnus that was either depressed, ashamed, coming down, or tired.

“Everything,” Magnus answered, then raised a heavy arm down at the city.

Skwisgaar walked over to the front of the car, then sat next to Magnus. The car groaned under their added weight, but Skwisgaar hung low, resting his elbows on top his legs as he and Magnus viewed the shimmering freeway below.

“Ims beautiful,” Skwisgaar said.

And because this was his memory, a made-up figment of his imagination, Magnus looked away from the lightshow to instead witness him. “Not as beautiful as you,” he said, offering a free hand for Skwisgaar to indulge in. And, instead of going to the club, Skwisgaar and Magnus remained on that hill, letting their shared high trick them into believing the glimmering city beneath was made of gold, jewels and lightning. Magnus would divulge into some random diatribe of how everything was out to get him before being snuffed by Skwisgaar’s lips, and for once, Magnus would accept the kiss as it were. They laid on top of the car together, holding one another in the cooling winds and switching between the waves of immersive, incandescent lighting below, the faint glimmer of twinkling skies above, and the joy seeping out from their wide, dilated pupils.

Skwisgaar wanted it to be real. It was a modest way to end the night, but anything was better than what occurred. Magnus would take the wrong exit, and they’d be lost for nearly twenty minutes because Skwisgaar couldn’t remember the exact name of the club, and when they arrived, the line was so long by the time they made it past the front doors Magnus was irritated and already on edge. Someone bumped into him later, and didn’t apologize quick enough, and Magnus threatened to kick his ass. The next time it happened, Magnus swung a fist. Skwisgaar forgot how he calmed Magnus down the first time, but knew he failed miserably to even pull him away the second. Someone caught them together, and Magnus was still recovering from that initial fight, but they made the horrendous mistake to call them a foul name. Magnus just couldn’t let the insult go, and threw himself on their provoker, fists beating down on him before Skwisgaar could shake off the effects of the offense. When he finally did, people were turning on them, and names only grew worse. Although Magnus scared most of them off with his mangled, rage-induced form, the stress and fear he caused led to them getting kicked out, to Magnus telling him this was why he can’t ever really be happy, and blaming Skwisgaar for tricking him into thinking they could be anything more than just a dirty secret.

What really happened… Skwisgaar staring up at the vast night sky, spotting fewer stars than he remembered back at the apartment, when the sun was still falling, and Magnus sitting at the curb, analyzing his trembling, bleeding hands and falling deeper and deeper into a state of self-loathing.

...

Magnus looks so happy. It was all Skwisgaar could think when he stared up at the frozen still of him. Nathan and the others pointed fingers at the massive screen, openly criticizing Magnus’ way of starting fights and disorder at nearly any given opportunity before shifting their attention and the tone to Toki. The man wasn’t around, but he could be seen in the corner of that image, arms up in jubilation as he cheered the older man on, looking equally as excited, if not more for Magnus’ successful attack. But Skwisgaar couldn’t bring himself to rest too long on Toki. Staring too long at his smile only made his throat burn, his heart sour and turn green with jealousy. The image flickered as Nathan hit the remote, skipping several frames, and resting on an image of Magnus taking Toki by the hand, bad eye squinting from the array of flashing lights, but grin expanding beyond what Skwisgaar had ever seen.

People were huddled around them, pointing in their general direction. Even without the disguises, there had to be at least one person there calling them names, and Magnus, donning wrinkled attire stained with flecks of blood, couldn’t have been happier. 

“I’ll be real: they don’t look bad,” Pickles said, dropping his stare to return to the bottle he’d been nursing.

“Still gay, though,” Murderface pointed out. 

“I mean, at least they’re not being sissy about it, right?” Nathan said, then hit rewind once more to replay the scene.

“…which brings us to our two favorite party boys, Toki Wartooth and Magnus Hammersmith!”

Skwisgaar watched the dreaded minute-long clip, lips pulling inward when he saw Toki rush a man in the center of the dance floor, crashing into and bringing him down. Magnus appeared from the corner and pulled Toki up before saying something that couldn’t be heard through the crowds, then patted the man on the back before tugging him close. The host joked about their naturally brutal nature, their shared interest in music and how adorable it was that the two could do both while keeping their image. Hearts filled the screen as Magnus threw a fist at a man, much to the surprise of Toki. Another shoving Magnus just a second later, only to be rammed by Toki. Tweets flashed across the screen, showing dozens of fan reactions. The host returned to the clip, and people were screaming and music was playing, and Skwisgaar couldn’t hear the words Magnus whispered to Toki each time they returned to one another amidst the chaos. The crowds backed away once they recognized Toki without his hat, and the massive applause erupted once everyone realized who had kicked their asses. With just a few seconds left, Magnus turned to the camera recording the scuffle, raised a bloodied hand at him while Toki stood in the corner, beckoning Magnus back with a loving wave and coo. That was all it took for Magnus to turn, the video clip to suddenly end, and for the host to laugh off their violent date with another well-placed joke.

“Hey. Hey, Skwisgaar,” Nathan grunted, prodding Skwisgaar shoulder with his finger. “What do you think about Magnus and Toki being all gay with each other?”

Skwisgaar’s fingers ran up the neck of his guitar as he struggled to keep it all down. Middle and index shuffled between the four strings. Throat tightened at the memory of those cruel words, and Magnus blaming him for their shared suffering. 

“But don’t worry: Toki’s got Magnus’ back!”

Skwisgaar raised his head up just in time to witness the second recording pulled from the internet. Toki and Magnus were situated in the far corner of the club, half a dozen klokateers with weapons aimed at the dispersing crowd. Toki held Magnus’ hand, observing his fingers and scolding him for the damage he caused. Magnus said something in return. Skwisgaar couldn’t tell what it was because his back was facing the camera, but whatever it was, Skwisgaar could feel it, experiencing it when he saw Toki’s eyes light up under the circulating rainbow lights. Just before the video ended, Toki drew forward, eyes lidding as Magnus mirrored him and closed that already small gap.

“Well, ain’t that sweet. Calm down boys, save it for later!”

Skwisgaar looked away, unwilling to partake any further. Next to him, Murderface complained about them being gross, while Pickles laughed at the irony of it all, and Nathan, in his ignorance, nudged Skwisgaar again.

“D’ja see that?” Nathan said, snickering at the now frozen image of their two rhythm guitarists locked in a kiss. “Hey, Skwisgaar? Skwis, get a load of Toki and Magnus, here!”  

So what if they were kissing? So what if it was taking place in public?

“J-ja,” Skwisgaar said, choking through the single word. “It ims really gay and sillies. Kissing in publiks for everyones to see?!”

But Skwisgaar couldn’t bring himself to so much as glance in the direction of the still. He wouldn’t dare face that version of Magnus, the one he dared to make up whenever he tried to reminisce and find something positive, or just malleable enough to hold on to. That version of Magnus that Skwisgaar had to convince himself was real, then later reminded himself that he never existed.

That version of Magnus that Toki unearthed and had the pleasure of showing off to the world.

[viinas-writes]

Fire and Silver: After the War - Ilum and Charity

Something old-ish that I recently found. I miss these guys. I love writing soft scenes like this more than big action sequences. I’m just a big fan of character dynamics. And these two are particularly fun for me to write.

__

I’d never been to the big lake on the outskirts of town. It was a still, quiet area where old guys would take their boats or outdoorsy people liked to go canoeing. Aero once told me that when he was young, he and Vanessa would come to swim. According to him, being surrounded by nothing but water, trees and sunlight made it feel as if time didn’t exist. 

He’d soon come to regret the sentiment. He couldn’t come back to this lake without remembering all the time he’d taken for granted, pretending that the company of the one he loved most gave him immunity from the time he’d one day be desperate to get back.

Despite it all, I couldn’t help but understand what a younger Aero saw in a place like this. The setting sun skimmed the horizon and glittered over the water. It was glass-smooth, expanding beyond my field of vision and disappearing into a blur of white. Strokes of pink and gold painted the sky and shone over the foliage in a way that looked surreal. It would be easy to get lost in a place like this. Silent. Vast. Peaceful.

Charity sat at the very end of the dock, her black hair streaked with gold sunlight. She was dressed in the same casual getup I’d grown used to -- loose white tank top, faded shorts, and a red flannel shirt tied around her waist. It made me think of a version of her from a different, ostensibly simpler time, eyes filled with fire as she pinned my wrists to a wall and demanded I help her. We’d been so ill equipped then, but somehow, it was only the beginning of what would become a lifetime of chaos.

The dock let out a low croak under my footsteps as I made my way down. Charity startled and cast a glance over her shoulder. I saw her lips pull into a grin.

“Stalking me?” she asked.

I approached her, stepping into the same light that made her shine gold. I took a seat next to her on the edge of the dock, letting my legs dangle above the water.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I teased. She wasn’t entirely off, though; I did come hoping to find her. 

Aero wasn’t the only one who had memories of this lake, after all. 

“Sure,” she mused, swinging her long legs back and forth. She glanced up and down my body, then asked, “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Fine.” I stretched my arms over my head until my shoulder gave a satisfying pop. She wrinkled her nose. “You can barely tell I was fighting for my life just last week. It’s sweet to know you’re concerned, though. You must have missed me terribly.”

Charity snorted. “Is it too late for you to slip back into a coma?”

“Alas. Here I am. Forever and always, baby.”

“Call me baby again and I’ll kick your ass into the lake.”

I laughed and whatever tension may have fallen over us since the end of the war shattered, just like that. I felt my chest fill with warmth. For the first time in days, things felt normal. 

“You didn’t just happen to stumble upon me, though,” she said, more quietly. To her credit, whether it was a light moment or not, she always knew my intentions. 

I followed her eyes to the surface of the lake where I could just make out our silhouettes reflected in the dark water. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I admitted.

She leaned back, pressing the heels of her palms into the dock. Her eyes remained fixed on our reflections. “Of course I’m okay. It’s over, right?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

I touched her arm and her gaze met mine. God, those eyes of hers. They were ocean-blue and compelling, like sirens dragging me under. It was part of what made it so easy to trust her, and what made it impossible to lie to her. 

“I get trying not to fall apart in front of Caleb, your uncle, or even our friends,” I said. “But it’s just us right now.” 

She sighed, letting her eyes flutter closed. She nodded once. 

“I think I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to find meaning in everything we did out there,” she said. “And even if I do, a part of me will always be in that asylum, or on the forest floor, or on the other side of Aiden’s knife.” 

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing the goosebumps pebbling her arms. 

“It’s over, but it’ll never be over. Not really,” she said. “I knew that when I signed up for this and I’m trying not to have any regrets, but if you want to hear the truth...this is it.” 

“Do you resent me for it?” 

It was an unspoken question between us since the day I roped her into this mess. But now, past the battlefield and the settled dust, when there was nothing left to anticipate, only reflect upon, I had to know. 

“No,” she said immediately. “If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that I don’t regret any part of this that had to do with you.”

“Why?” I asked. 

She gave me a sad smile. “You know why, Ilum.”

My heart leapt in my chest. I was brought back to the morning of the infiltration, when she kissed me in the car, and then the night after, when we fell asleep entangled in each other’s limbs, the other’s desperate kisses still stinging our lips.

Yes, I knew why. I should have hated myself for it. 

But I didn’t. 

I couldn’t when the road to Hell also brought me to her. 

“I know what you mean, when you talk about it all lingering,” I said.

Trying to find the right words with Charity was worthless. The only way we knew how to communicate was by emptying our hearts into each other’s hands. So I didn’t rifle through my brain or think. I gave her what she deserved and what I knew how to give only to her. 

Honesty.

“It’s like when a lost spirit clings to you and you don’t know how to help them cross over,” I went on. “It’s a burden you’re not sure you deserve, but one only you can carry. It’s a personal Hell too unique to explain and you feel like even if they find their way to the other side, a part of their soul will always be with you. I still feel that way about Aiden. Sometimes I wake up and I’m not sure whether it’s me or him inside my head.

“But I’m trying to come back. Every day, I look at Aero, Avril, Hel, Ellard, you, and I remember that this war has taken so fucking much from me and I’ll be damned if it takes anything else.”

Despite herself, she gave me a crooked grin. “You know, a past version of you would have considered that selfish.”

“Maybe I am selfish.” I turned to face her. An inky strand of hair fell in between her eyes and I carefully moved it aside, letting my fingertips graze her jaw. Her breath hitched and her cheeks went a beautiful shade of pink. “I don’t want to waste anymore time. Life is too short.”

She swallowed and studied my face. “What are you saying?”

“I want to kiss you.”

I could feel my face prickling with heat. I’d never felt so vulnerable and confident all at once. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted from a lot of things. I didn’t know where the next phase of my life would take me or whether I’d ever fully recover from the things we experienced.

But Charity? She was the only thing I never had to question. Right here, trapped in her gaze, and grounded by her honesty, I was safe. 

She smiled and suddenly the sunset looked pale. “Well, don’t be a coward.”

So I took her face in my hands and kissed her. She smiled under my lips and leaned into it, wrapping her arms around me, gripping the back of my shirt. 

I thought of our first kiss and how it was one-sided and hasty, and then the night after the infiltration when we kissed to lose ourselves. This time, we took it slow, knowing that for once, we didn’t have to worry about it being the last time. I ran my fingers through her silky hair, savored the rose-petal softness of her lips, and admired the way the curves of her body fit against mine. 

Kissing her like this was like breathing for the very first time. I fell open under her touch and at that moment, I was willing to tell her every secret, give her everything I ever had and show her everything I ever was. 

Maybe I already had.

Maybe that was why this felt so good. 

“You’re beautiful,” I murmured against her mouth. I kissed her again, and again, and again.

When we pulled apart, she was flushed all over and her hair was disheveled. I wanted to kiss her again but instead, I watched the rise and fall of her chest and the way the sunlight shimmered over her skin. Beautiful wasn’t the right word. Right now, she was downright ethereal. 

“I…” She shook her head and giggled. “Sorry...I just...are you sure about this?”

“About…”

“Us,” she clarified, then blushed deeper. “Because I know how I feel.” 

Charity took my hand and wove her fingers through mine. 

“I’m sure about you,” I said. If there was a shred of certainty in the aftermath of all this, it was Charity. 

She leaned back in and left a kiss so soft on my lips it made me shiver. 

“So am I,” she said. 

[mychemicalficrecs]

any and all ray/mikey will keep me happy forever,, ty!!

I already have a Ray/Mikey list, but I found some more stuff! (And included the smut I didn't put on the other list xD)

More Ray/Mikey

What What (In the Butt) by anoneknewmoose, 2k, Explicit. Mikeyway, tragically, has never been fingered.

This Jet Black Feeling by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 5k, Explicit. It wasn't Romeo and Juliet, or even Buffy and Angel. But Ray had never had sex with a vampire before, either.

Grinding is The Most Fun a Guy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off by ragingrainbow, 1k, Mature. Mikey presses closer, his hand creeping downwards a little, breath warm on Ray’s ear as he whispers, “Y’know, there’s a great cure for insomnia…”

palm of your hand by somethingradiates (orphan_account), 1k, Explicit. mikey realizes around the middle of july that he might have kind of a problem.

It's Not A Thing (except for when it is) by ladyfoxxx, 2k, Explicit. Mikey likes it when it hurts. Ray accidentally finds this out.

Cinderella's Eyes by morphosyntactic, 1k, Mature. It starts off as nothing, just some dumb drinking game. Frank stares at Mikey with a manic glint in his eyes, clears his throat, and says, “I have never spent a whole day wearing a chick’s underwear.”

The One with the Spirit Animals by hulubululu, 413 words, General Audiences. In which Mikey has to explain what exactly is owl-like about Ray. It has unexpected consequences.

Bus by anoceanmonster, 1k, Mature. “Shit. Sorry,” Mikey says as he starts to unstuck his legs from the sheets. “I promised you a blow job.”

Didn't Get To Heaven, But You Made It Close by gala_apples, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ray's new to this thing, whatever it is. But she'll do it right for her girlfriend. Mikey deserves getting it right.

Domestic Arts by jjtaylor, 3k, Mature. Mikey’s pacing because Ray is coming over and this is undeniably, unequivocally a date.

Lather, Rinse by argentumlupine, 741 words, Mature. Ray never washes his hair. Mikey washes it for him.

3:00 am by mournful_optimist, 904 words, Teen And Up Audiences. It's the middle of the night, and Mikey is being weird.

Candy Cane Vodka by Haze, 5k, Teen And Up Audiences. "Yeah, Mikey, you accidentally made fucking peppermint Everclear. Congratulations and all, but Jesus Christ." Mikey gets an idea on the road after finding a bargain bin book on homemade infusions. Experimentation follows, and Yuletide chaos ensues.

I’ll Never Let Them Hurt You, I Promise... by FatefulAfterlife, 8k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey is a vampire in the notorious vampire gang, the Ways. He has fallen in love with a human and they decide to run away to get married. This is their journey.

Privacy by shadowhive, 8k, Explicit. While going back to the bus to grab a phone charger, Mikey makes a discovery about one of his best friends that will change things forever.

To Death We Venture (Rikey) by AuraDrax, 11k, Mature. Mikey Way is the bassist in the band My Chemical Romance. Ray Toro is the guitarist in that same band. While Gerard, Mikey's older brother and lead singer, has always been the emotional and slightly weak Way brother, Mikey begins to loose his strong outer shell. No one knows why. Mikey won't let Gerard close and stopped talking to Donna and Donald Way. While everyone in the band is concerned, Ray is the only one daring to get close. But how far will he venture to save Mikey? And who ever said Mikey needs saving?

Mr. Sandman by flockofdoves, 10k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. It's the end of November, and Christmas is gaining on Ray's heels. Festive lights and trees are appearing out of seemingly nowhere, the nights are getting even darker earlier, and the freezing temperatures and snow nips and bites harshly at his tan skin. But one of the most noticeable things about Ray is that he is alone. When given the coincidentally convenient chance to wish for something, Ray jokingly wishes for a guy of his dreams, not believing that it ever will come true. Why would he? It's not like it would happen. Things like that don't happen to Ray Toro. Right?

Pushing Daisies by orphan_account, 29k [WIP], Mature. "How do I passive aggressively say 'fuck you' with flowers," Mikey Way asked. A florist AU where red roses are banned from conversation, and pink and khaki don't go together.

They Won't Steal What Burns In You by orphan_account, 31k, Teen And Up Audiences. Nobody would of thought it would of been Mikey who tried to kill himself. It always had to be Gerard, right? Gerard was the one who openly hated himself, Gerard was the one who-- No, no, no. Mikey too. Mikey hated himself. No one knew except Gerard, only Gerard understood Mikey. He tried to help him, he really did. But enough's enough. He finds himself in a painfully bright white room when he wakes up, the last thing he remembered was a bottle of pills and Gerard crying. He hears a few words from an unfamiliar voice. "... In-patient crisis stabilization center... have his mother sign these... wake him up..."

Boku no Pico by GeesCLUELESSgirl, momiji_neyuki, 6k, Explicit. "He's cute and shy." Gerard started setting up the beer. "Yeah, but he's lonely. He has trouble making friends cause they don’t understand him. "Poor kid. Hey, you know when I get off, I can take him around." "Really? Oh man Ray, that would be awesome of you!" "Sure, no problem."

The Sun In My Eyes by SunshineAndRoseWater, 8k, Teen And Up Audiences. “Mikey, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your girlfriend’s a vampire.” Mikey pulls his hands away from his face, staring at Gerard in disbelief. “How high are you right now?”

Just Leave the Chemical Freak Alone by orphan_account, 12k [WIP], General Audiences. "And he just so happens to be better at Chemistry than you, Mr. Toro"

Don't Tell A Soul by Geminimum, 27k [WIP], Explicit. Rays confiding to Gerard and Mikey's confided to Alicia. Will anyone else find out and if they do, what will happen?

Someone Out There Loves You by casesandcapitals, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. He feels more confident; pretty and smart for once. He holds himself differently, shoulders back and chin up instead of tucked in on himself. He feels... really good.

Wishing it's real (and knowing it's not) by ladyfoxxx, Pennyplainknits, 8k, Explicit. After a break-up, Mikey needs a pretend boyfriend to make the ex jealous. Ray's just the man for the job.

Pan Verse by Roxy_palace, 42k, Explicit. "Second street on the left, and straight on till Mornington Crescent. Tell them Pete sent you."

Secondhand Smoke by orphan_account, 31k, Explicit. They walk in on Gerard boning somebody's girlfriend, and it all goes downhill from there. (Rikey-centric).

Prostitution is the World's Oldest Profession by mizubyte, 20k, Explicit, Mature. Mikey's always gotten everything for Gerard. Everything and anything, including band members. The series starts in 2001 with the start of My Chemical Romance and continues up through 2006. Or, alternatively, "the series where Gerard pimps out his little brother and there is much angst" // A series that started with "What if Gerard pimped Mikey out to get things?" and ended up with extremely co-dependent Way Brothers, drug abuse, mental disorders, dubious consent, brainwashing, emotional manipulation and Ray just completely head over heels for MikeyWay.