#which i abandonned halfway though drawing the ruffles

[cryptidm0ths]

eu crazy b had to do an ad for historical clothing rental place yea idk thats a reason

[luvrlane]

problems in the middle of the night | lhs, s

pairing. dom!bf!heeseung x fem!reader

warning/includes. GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT, daddy kink, (slight) bulge kink, (slight) corruption kink, oral fixation, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), nasty piece of work. but there's a little bit of fluff in it if you squint lol. DO NOT engage in any way if you're a minor.

disclaimer. THIS IS ONLY A WORK OF FICTION.

heeseung wakes up with a breathy moan. his heart raced as did the tent in his pants. great, he's fucking hard.

he glanced over the nightstand beside his bed, clock showing it's 01:51 a.m, and if that isn't the worst thing, it's the fact that he had you in his erotic dreams and now he's hard. you, on the other hand, appeared to be sleeping peacefully beside him, blissfully ignorant to the problem he's currently having.

now what the fuck is he supposed to do? he couldn't go back to sleep nor abandon his hard on even if his life depended on it. he needs to do something about it and he'd admit, he was growing needy. a little help would suffice.

so he started out with his asking for help by kissing your shoulder blades. feeling up your sides, his lips moved to the length of your neck, leaving wet kisses all over his trace. the action made you stir in your sleep. you were a light sleeper, any small disruption is enough to wake you up.

heeseung's lips ghosted on the shell of your ears, pressing a gentle kiss before he called out to you ever so lovingly, "baby. baby," his voice was as gentle as his touch, coaxing you from your deep slumber. "baby, we've got a problem." he cooes, hands now reaching the valley of your breasts, giving one of them a light squeeze.

now you're awake. "heeseung, what is it?" drowsiness was laced in your tone. you fought hard to crack your eyes open. instead of giving you a verbal answer, he opted to pressing his dick onto your hips instead, guiding one of your hands to craddle the tent.

"i'm sorry, baby. i didn't want to wake you." the tip of his pointy nose was tickling your neck now, as he moved down from your ear back to your neck, pressing down light kisses on the expanse.

"but it couldn't be helped." though sleepiness was very much still clouding over you, you knew what he was asking you to tend to.

the amount of love you have for this man is insane.

if being needy wasn't enough, now impatience creeps up on him too. he couldn't wait to get his hands all over you. inside you. but he needed you to give him consent. "can i, baby?" heeseung asked, a little breathy.

a small smile made its way to your face. the limb that sat on his dick reached around until it transitioned to his hair instead. fluffy, fluffy hair, resembling a cloud. you gave it a light ruffle. heeseung naturally leaned more into your touch, loving the way your fingers feel on him. on normal days he's an absolute sucker for your pretty little fingers. he still do, even now, but there's a more preferred place he'd rather have your fingers on. so he asked again, "hm, baby? give me an answer, sweetheart. i need to have you. i want to fuck you nice and slow. right now, baby. i need you right now."

fuck. he was basically pleading. but he couldn't fucking careless. it's weird, you thought. even in this mood, heeseung was able to set butterflies in your stomach. you gave him a small nod, before you decided. "go ahead, daddy."

go ahead, daddy.

daddy.

daddy.

he's fucked.

heeseung wasted no more second after you gave him an okay. you were already lying halfway on your stomach since before he woke you up, so he climbed over you, nudging your legs apart. your nightgown was riding on your ass now that he's had you spread out prettily for him. he pushed up a leg, and your heart started to drum.

lee heeseung will never not get your heart skipping a beat. even now, even when he's about to prep you, even when he's casting your nightgown to god knows somewhere in the bedroom. you never once uttered a complaint through it all. you let him get his way with you. not because he owns you. but because all the trust and devotion accumulated over the years you spent with him had proven its worthwhile.

so when heeseung spread your dry folds with his fingers, you whimpered. you have just woken up, after all. heeseung played with the nub, fingers never really entering inside you. "daddy.." you moaned out. the waves of pleasure is starting to arrive on the scene. heeseung had his face close to your cunt now, giving the plump lips a light peck, while a finger slowly eased in.

he intended to make you wet first, before anything. and his method so far is successful. a wet muscle licked stripes on your folds, it had you moaning a little louder this time. simultaneously, his one finger pumped in and out of you, while he's licking and sucking your bud.

and now, you're fucked.

your arousal started pooling around your pussy, due to his diligent fixation. heeseung eased a second finger, smearing the wetness around the lips of your cunt. "fuck, daddy. f-feels so good." fuck, fuck, fuck. it felt so, so, soo fucking good. honestly, fuck lee heeseung and his crazy oral fixation.

heeseung hummed a response. he sucked on your folds, with some of your juice sucked in too. his cock is even harder now. lord, you are the death of him.

then something pooled in your stomach. cum, you were going to cum. solely because of his fingers and tongue alone.

heeseung must've sensed this, the way your walls tightened around his three fingers now, as he had added another one just a little while ago. he raised his head, your juice daubed on his chin. "cum, sweetheart. cum on my fingers. then after this cum on my cock. over and over and over again." his words only heightened the feeling inside of you. your face contorted in pleasure, eyebrows knitted together as you bite down your pillow. your legs moved around hastily, you were unable to hold your cum no longer.

heeseung brought his face onto your pussy again. all it took was a lick over your folds, along with the nonstop draws of his thick, long fingers, and then you cummed. heeseung didn't stop his administration. instead, he slowed it down, helping you ride your orgasm. he smiled as he felt your walls are now much softer, more relaxed, ready to take him in.

heeseung withdrew his fingers out of you only to suck on them himself. tasting your cum, which he claimed as the sweetest ever. aside from your lips, that is. "good job, baby." he complimented you, and even with your face flushed out, he managed to get you blushing.

he rose up from his stance, blanket pooling on his legs, and he discarded his boxer, pulling out his god damn well endowed of a cock to give it a few slow stroke. you watched over your shoulder, pussy still spasming from the head he'd just given you. "gonna fuck you now, baby."

he didn't have to say that. if possible, your heart thrummed even harder than before.

with that, heeseung guided his hands onto your hips, pulling your ass back by a bit and raising them in the position he'd dreamt to take you tonight.

the clock is now 02:22 a.m.

he was showing no sign of stopping soon. in fact, lee heeseung had just gotten started.

your cheeks were smushed in the pillow now, given the position. "remember your safe words, baby?"

you gave him a confirming nod.

from there, heeseung pushed his fat cock into your hot, velvety walls. the two of you moaned in unison. the stretch was bearable, remember how he had prepped you with his three equally thick fingers. but it still stings. he was bigger than average, and longer too. god, you fucking love your boyfriend.

"look at it, baby. look how your pretty little hole is accomodating my cock. holy fuck. you're so hot." at this point, heeseung was a goner. "too big, yeah, baby?" though you couldn't see clearly, you could picture his stupid grin.

"too- too big.. but so good.." heeseung loved compliments. especially if it comes from you. especially if it's about him. especially if it's about how he's fucking you so damn sweet. honestly, fuck lee heeseung and his big, fat dick.

heeseung hasn't even entered himself all in. yet you feel so incredibly full already. you swear, you could feel him in your stomach.

he gave you few experimental thrusts at first, to make it easier for him to slide the remaining of his girth home. your moans took a higher pitch. "ah, ah, ah!" and lee heeseung fucking had the nerve to laugh.

your ass is hanging midair, and his dick is moving in and out of you. could this night get even better?

"breathe in and out, sugar. i'm going to bottoms up." you loved the way he's always, always giving you a heads up in whatever he's about to pull next. so you did as you were told, breathing in and out.

your toes curl when you feel heeseung pushing his hips tantalizingly slow into you, feeling every delicious stretch of his length, the veins protuding your walls. you couldn't close your mouth. you're all too fucked out now, and he hasn't even began fucking you properly.

"there we go. that wasn't so hard, was it? that's my girl."

that's my girl.

you're absolutely wrecked.

you were drooling. lee heeseung's dick had you drooling. whimpers were let out from you. you could feel every inch of him and he's filling you up so well.

then he rocked his hips. "daddy!" you yelped, out of both surprise and pleasure. "fuck, fuck! daddy!" the pool of blanket around his legs and yours began to follow his movement. he angled his hips a little higher as his arm rests on your the small back of your waist, pushing your ass down by a bit, and then he pistons inside you. you fucking screamed. "ahhh, daddy!"

"sweetheart. baby. sugar." heeseung groaned out. "your pussy. mine. mine." he punctuated his words with a set of hard thrusts. "only mine." he had you crying for real now. from the position the two of you took, the tip of his dick was abusing your sweet spot continuously. have you ever been fucked so good that you cried from pleasure?

"you. all of you. the whole of you." he declared. his dick is in your stomach now. you're sure of it. when he pulled out his cock, leaving the tip kissing your folds, he muttered, "you're only mine. all mine." and then he dived right back into you.

"yes! yes—ah! ah! y-yours!" you had to drag out the "o" and your hands are balling the sheets. "daddy!" he loved it. he loved hearing you scream. he loved fucking you good. he loved loving you. "and i'm only yours, sweetheart." he whispered, though midway through his sentence, he choked and grunted in pleasure. "until the end of time."

you couldn't contain your moans. not when your boyfriend's thick cock has made a home for itself in your pussy.

"so—good!" look at you. you failed to find it in you to form coherent sentence.

his pace had gotten quicker. he had picked them up, and your folds made a squelching sound from the collective arousal of you and your boyfriend. "uh, uh!" you attempted to wipe the tears from your face, but heeseung had interlocked his fingers with yours before you could even reach your eyes. his other hand was hoisting your hips up in an angle that presses down that exact bundle of nerves in you. your thighs began to shake.

"a mess. you're a me—ss." he stuttered in between his words. it only go so far to prove that this rutting is affecting him too. very intensely.

you let go of his fingers to reach around your back, placing your hand on his pelvis. "y—yellow.." you muttered out.

yellow. a change of position. he smiled and slowed his tempo down.

heeseung had set your bums down, with his dick very much still in you. then, he turned you around so carefully, until your eyes are meeting his. your hair has gotten all over your face, but he didn't mind. he took one leg over his shoulder, and bent down to press a quick kiss on your lips, your inner thighs burning at the action.

now, you're all in his view. your face. your perky, round mounds. chest rising up and down. the curve of your sides. your slick, wet core. still attached to his dick. if you glance down, you could see the wide stretch. luckily for heeseung, he didn't need to glance down, for it's all before him already.

heeseung left a peck on your leg, dangling over his shoulder. he took one of your arms, giving your knuckles a peck, too. and then his hips stirred. "..!" you weren't alarmed. "oh!"

your eyes almost screwed shut due to how deep he's hitting inside of you. the expression you had on was dumb, and there's only one person to blame: fucking lee heeseung. he abandoned his hold on your legs and fingers, his hands now clamming your sides, pressing you down on him.

"fuck, baby. look." following his order, your eyes trailed to where he's looking. your stomach. you could feel his dick moving. no, you could see his dick moving. that seem to drove him even further south. "fucking hell, sweetheart. your cunt is too tiny, the way it stretched at my width. and now i'm reaching your stomach. you're driving me crazy."

as if he wasn't driving you crazy too. you arched your back at his comments and his thrusts, chants of his name falling out of your lips. "da—ddy! ah, ah!" you dragged out the "a", your eyes rolling back. "slow—down!" heeseung's forehead creased, pounding into you like a mad man quelching his thirst, he was unavailable to comply to your request. your commands only made him set his pace quicker.

you're going to cum. heeseung is moving way too rapid, every drag of his cock are designated into assaulting your sweet spot. if you were drooling on your pillow before, now you're drooling in your face.

"eugh! da—ddy," your throat was hoarse from screaming. he could feel the way your walls closed on him. it made him choke, struggling to keep up with his own pace.

"yes, baby? what is it that you need?" the leg on his shoulder is shaking, and you're bucking your hips wildly.

"c—cum.. i need to cum.."

"then cum, baby. all over my cock." was all it took for you to spasm all around his length, coating them with your fluids. heeseung leaned down to leave kisses on your neck while you were chasing your high, muttering praises that were lost in the hazy feeling you were having from pleasure. "that's my girl. good job, baby."

heeseung's hips faltered into a series of slow thrusts. he lied about fucking you nice and slow. none of this was nice nor slow. it was intoxacting, all consuming.

you were in and out of consciousness when heeseung tapped your waist. "stay with me, sweetheart. we're not done yet."

the clock is now 03:49 a.m. on most days, heeseung is a man of words. he keeps his promises and says things from the bottom of his heart. but once in awhile, in cases like tonight, he felt like having a cheat day.

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 20

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Follow whenihaveyou.romione on Instagram if you’re interested!

Note: This chapter exists purely because I wanted to write Ron and Hermione making out in an empty classroom.

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Chapter 20

A month later, Ron once again found himself at Hogwarts; however, this time for a good reason. It was a moment he’d been looking forward to since last September, since the moment he’d said goodbye to Hermione on Platform 9 ¾. 

After today, in just a few short hours, she would be done with Hogwarts. She would leave, and she would be coming home. 

For good. 

“I’m glad you’re so supportive of my education, Ron,” Hermione said after he’d expressed his enthusiasm of her finally being finished that morning. He and Harry had arrived early, around breakfast, to see the girls before the small ceremony began. Now, they stood in the Entrance Hall, half an hour to go, with the graduating seventh years. 

“You know I care, Hermione,” Ron said, smoothing down her robes. “But, I’m still thrilled that you’ll be finished soon. I can go back to seeing you every day.”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “I must admit, it will be good. Though, I can’t stop wondering about the NEWT results. I keep thinking about the exams and all the things I might have missed. It may affect any job —”

Ron silenced her with a kiss, to which she hastily pushed him away, very red and looking around at the snickering faces. 

“Not here, Ron,” she hissed. 

“What?” Ron asked, also looking around at the other students. “Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No, but, this is a formal ceremony, and you’ll mess up — Ron, where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere more private, if you’re all awkward about it.” Ron dragged her to the side of the Entrance Hall and pushed open an empty classroom. It appeared to have not been used all year, instead storing extra furniture.

“Ron —”

“Shoosh,” Ron said, and he stepped forward, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. 

“Ron, I appreciate —”

“This is the last time I get to kiss you as a student,” Ron said. “Let me have my moment.”

“Your moment?”

“Shut up and just kiss me, would you?”

Hermione stared up at him for a moment, looking torn between bewilderment and amusement. But eventually, a devious smile formed on her lips, and she stepped forward and engulfed him in such a passionate kiss that it took Ron by surprise. But he hesitated only for a second before drawing her tightly towards him and responding with just as much enthusiasm as she suddenly had. 

This was, Ron realised, a complete fantasy of his he may or may not have possessed for a few years now. Trapped inside an empty classroom, alone with her. There was an appeal to it, a romantic side that he was very surprised to find Hermione seemed to be enjoying as much as he was. 

He moved his hands from her face, sliding them down her arms, creasing up her robes, but he didn’t care, and it seemed, nor did she. 

Very un-Hermione-like. I like it.

His hands continued to trail down her robes, testing just how far she'd let him push it (she didn't seem to be asking him to stop anytime soon). He had just slipped underneath the hem when a blinding light had them springing apart.

"Sorry, Professor, perhaps I should have warned you —" Ginny's voice trailed into the newly opened room, clearly trying to stop herself from laughing.

Ron and Hermione looked up to find a stunned Professor McGonagall staring between them, and behind her, a highly amused Ginny who was covering her mouth with silent giggles.

"Well, I never…" McGonagall said. "Miss Granger! Of all the people, of all the times… not once did I ever expect such indignity from you." 

Despite her harsh tone, Ron could tell that McGonagall was far more amused than she was upset or angry.

Hermione, however, was very red in the face. One look at her, and Ron had to stifle his own laughter. Her hair was frizzier than usual, her robes all creased and ruffled, not to mention her flustered face that had very little to do with embarrassment at being caught. 

"S-sorry, Professor," Hermione said, taking out her wand and casting a spell to flatten her robes again. Then, regaining some of her dignity, she added, "Is it time?"

This time, McGonagall's amusement was in plain sight. Her lips curved up as she said, "Yes, Miss Granger, it is time. I'll see you in a moment." Her eyes fell on Ron. "As for you, Weasley, I strongly encourage you to join Potter across the lake when Miss Granger and Miss Weasley are no longer students. That way, you're both free to… do as you please." Giving another small smile, she turned and walked away.

The moment she was gone, Ginny roared with laughter. "Oh, come on, Hermione," she said, "don't go all embarrassed on me. That was funny."

But Hermione didn't seem to agree. She marched from the room, leaving Ron to follow in her wake. They got halfway to the Entrance Hall when he couldn't help himself either. He chuckled.

"Ron, it's not funny!" Hermione said, still very red. 

"Yes it is," he said. "Hermione Granger, the perfect student, will no longer be remembered for her record-breaking Outstandings she receives at NEWT level, but for being caught in a compromising position with her school droput boyfriend inside an abandoned classroom by the Headmistress." He chuckled again. So did Ginny.

"Oh, McGonagall is going to be so disappointed!" Hermione sighed.

"She was laughing!" Ron assured her as they reached the Hall. He placed a kiss on top of her head and then said, "Besides, what can she do? I'll see you on the other side, alright?"

Still grinning, Ron walked past the other students, some he recognised and waved to along the way. 

That, he decided, had been one of the most exhilarating moments of his life. He walked down the steps and onto the grounds, where he spotted Harry waiting for him. Ahead, McGonagall was directing students towards the lake where boats were waiting to escort everyone across for the very last time. She cast a very wary, very amused look Ron's way.

Once upon a time, Ron might have felt humiliated by it, but not being a student anymore, knowing that this would probably be the last time he'd ever set foot in these halls, he could only grin back at her. 

"What's got you looking so gleeful?" Harry asked when Ron joined him by the lake a moment later.

"Nothing," Ron said, holding back another laugh. "Though I'm sure Ginny will tell you later anyway."

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, but Ron only shook his head and said, "Come on. Otherwise we'll miss them."

Ron had never attended this small ceremony before — not even when his brothers had completed their seventh years. It wasn't too exciting, but Ron had insisted on coming to see Hermione and Ginny make their last journey from the school, across the lake in the same boats in which they had first arrived. Then, he and Harry would ride the train back to King's Cross for the very last time. 

They walked across the grounds, all the way to Hogsmeade station. There were only a few others there — a few sets of parents, some siblings and perhaps some other boyfriends and girlfriends. 

They sat down on a bench in front of the steaming, scarlet train that was currently empty. 

"I'm looking forward to riding it again," Ron said, nodding towards the Hogwarts Express. “For old time’s sake, you know? It’s a little weird to think we’re done with that part of our lives. For real, I mean. You spend so long desperately waiting for your letter —”

“Well, not for me,” Harry said. “Or Hermione.”

“Yeah, well, it was painful,” Ron continued. “Especially when you have five older brothers who all get to go before you. You think your time will never come — especially when Fred and George keep telling you you’re a Squib — and then you do get to go, and it’s over in a blink of an eye…”

“It did go very fast,” Harry admitted. “Now we’re in the real world… adults…”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “How weird.”

Steam filled the station as they sat in silence. It wasn’t broken until a parent nearby gasped and pointed. 

Ron and Harry looked up just as the seventh year students emerged onto the station, all laughing, cheering and whooping over the fact that they were done. 

Ron beamed, waving Hermione and Ginny over through the crowd. They hurried to them, Hermione throwing her arms around Ron’s neck. 

“Finally,” he said. “I can have my girlfriend back.”

“Is that all you care about?” Hermione asked lightly.

“Absolutely,” Ron said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yes, but unfortunately on this side of Hogwarts, there’s no more classrooms,” Ginny said slyly.

“No, but there’s plenty of empty rooms at Grimmauld Place,” Ron replied quickly.

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, punching him in the arm. “Stop.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Ginny and Hermione said together, Hermione not meeting Harry’s eye. She shot Ron an appalled look, to which he shrugged and grinned at her. 

Many people around them were hugging family members, and soon, the rest of the school would be arriving, ready to go home for another school year. 

“Come on,” Ginny said. “Before all the compartments fill up.” She led the way through one of the open doors on the train. Their trunks and everything would be sent down later, so they were free to wander through the carriages, searching for the perfect compartment.

“This one will do,” Ginny said after a while, sliding open the door. She sat down, the others following, and sighed. “I can’t believe it’s over. So many years of wishing to go, begging your parents to let you go early, and then… it’s over.”

“I said the same thing to Harry just before,” Ron said, laughing. He looked between Harry and Hermione. “But these two, of course, don’t understand it. They both got a letter and then a few months later they were off.”

“Lucky,” Ginny said. “As a wizarding child, it’s torture. You just want to see it for yourself. Especially when you have six older brothers who get to go before you. Though —” she looked at Ron, “— at least none of them tried telling me I was a Squib and wouldn’t get my letter.”

“Fred and George?” Hermione guessed, looking at Ron.

“Yep,” Ron said. “I believed them, too, even though I had displayed accidental magic many times. Was terrible at controlling it, though.”

“Yeah, I still remember the time you set fire to the kitchen, all because Mum dared ask you to help with dinner.” Ginny chuckled.

“Well, at least you knew what was happening,” Hermione said. “It was rather frightening when you’re really upset and all the doors to your house fly open at once, then slam closed again, and then continue flapping.”

“Or when you — what I now realise — accidentally Apparate yourself onto a roof to escape your cousin and his friends.”

“You Apparated as a kid?” Ginny asked, looking at Harry with an incredulous expression.

Harry shrugged. “Can’t think of how else I got up there.”

“Woah!” Ginny said. “That’s really cool. The best I managed before five was turning one of my toys into an animated object for five minutes. Terrified me rather than excited me.”

“I remember that!” Ron said. “You cried for hours.”

He couldn’t help but smile as they all reminisced their childhoods, Harry and Hermione having a much different experience to his and Ginny’s. It was funny how things worked out, how a mere eight years ago he’d been an eleven-year-old boy, simultaneously excited and terrified of going to Hogwarts, afraid he’d have everything to live up to and not be able to achieve any of it. 

He’d done alright, though, he thought. He would never be Charlie at Quidditch, or Head Boy like Bill had been. He’d never be as clever as Percy, or as funny as Fred and George. But, he had helped save the wizarding world. He had destroyed a Horcrux, which led to the eventual downfall of the Darkest wizard to ever exist. And, unlike the rest of his siblings, his name would be mentioned in the history books for many years to come, right beside Harry and Hermione’s. It wasn’t what he’d expected, or even hoped for, when he’d boarded this very train all those years ago, but he also wouldn’t change it for anything. 

As the train began to move from the station, the chatter of excited students echoing down the carriages, Ron couldn’t help but smile. He really had done alright in the end. And in just a few short years, he’d be a qualified Auror to boot. What more could he ask for?

…

The answer to that question came the next morning in the hallway just after he’d woken. Hermione was already out of bed, but he found her on her way back, having just finished breakfast. 

“Morning,” she said brightly. “How’d you sleep?”

“The best I’ve slept in a long time,” Ron told her truthfully, grabbing her by the waist and drawing her towards him. He kissed her deeply. "It's because I know you're here to stay," he added once he'd pulled away. 

"Well," Hermione said, wrapping her own arms around Ron, "I do have to go and see Mum and Dad at some point. Probably later today." She stood up on her tip toes and kissed him. "Want to come?"

"Sure," Ron said. "You know I visited them when you were away a few times? We've become quite tight."

Hermione smiled, nodding. "I do. They told me. They were rather pleased to see you. They've been a bit lonely, I think, especially because all of their friends thought they'd moved away and all moved on. They're trying to reconnect, but it's been hard. You made their days when you visited." She let go of his waist, her hands falling to her side. "Thank you for doing that."

Ron shrugged. "It was nothing, really. I like your mum and dad. I, er, did bring Dad with me one time. He begged me."

"Oh, they told me that too!" Hermione said, this time chuckling. "They thought he was funny, interested in the most simple things — well, simple to them."

"Yeah, he was a little excited…" Ron grinned at her. "I think his favourite thing was a toaster. He has many of them in his shed, but I think he liked seeing one in action." 

Hermione smiled, and for a moment, they stood in silence in the middle of the hall. It wasn't uncomfortable at all — quite the opposite, actually. Pleasant, nice, like they could be in each other's presence forever and not speak and be perfectly happy. 

After a moment, though, Hermione said, "Do you want some breakfast? Harry and Ginny are still in the kitchen. I was just about to shower —"

"I just want you," Ron said, and he grabbed her around the waist again, pulling her against him once more, kissing her hard on the mouth. 

Ron didn't know if she simply didn't have the ability to refuse him, or she didn't want to (he liked to think it the latter), but she responded to his mouth against hers and threw her arms around his neck to draw him even closer. 

This was what he'd missed since last September. Just seeing her in the corridor of Grimmauld Place, or waking up and finding her next to him — or knowing that she'd spent the night there at least, considering she liked to get up earlier than him. He'd longed for this part of their lives to start, because he knew there was nothing stopping them now. Whatever happened from here on in, they wouldn't be separated anymore. 

"Oh my God, is an abandoned classroom not enough for the two of you?"

Ron reluctantly pulled away from Hermione, feeling her arms unwrap from around him. They turned slowly to find a disgruntled Ginny standing on the landing, Harry behind her, still on one of the steps. 

"What?" Ron asked. 

"Well, you're spoiling my breakfast for one thing," Ginny said. "And secondly, I don't really want to come up and see —"

"Well, last time I checked, you don't actually live here," Ron said. "So mind your own business."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't live here either!" Ginny said, though she didn't sound angry or upset.

Ron frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, that if you want to do —" she gestured wildly at them, "— that, why don't you do it in your own place?"

"This is my place," Ron reminded her.

"I don't mean this place, you idiot," Ginny said as if she were speaking to a five year old. "I mean a place for just the two of you. You know, that you have together."

Ron stared at his sister, not daring to look at Hermione. The latter didn't speak — or move at all for that matter. What was Ginny on about? Was she suggesting he and Hermione move in together? He was fairly certain that was where she was going with it, but he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Well, he did, but he doubted Hermione would want to consider such a thing so early into their relationship.

You've been together for over a year now, a little voice said to him.

Yeah, but most of that has been apart, he reasoned.

What does that matter? You know it's her forever.

Yes, but maybe she doesn't see it that way.

The silence grew, turning into something very uncomfortable. In fact, Ron grew rather irritated by Harry, who didn't seem to want to come to Ron's defence at all. He joined Ginny on the landing, nibbling on some toast, but saying nothing. Did that mean he agreed? Surely not! They'd had a great time living together in this place.

But that was before their girlfriends had finished school. And, to be fair, in the short time Hermione had been back, Ron had wanted nothing more than to be alone with her. 

"Oh, come on, you two!" Ginny huffed. "Listen, I can't kick you out, Ron, but at least if you have your own place you can dance around naked for all I care, and Harry or I don't have to worry about seeing it, because you've made it abundantly clear you can't keep your hands off one another."

Ron tensed, finally daring to look down at Hermione. He’d expected to see her blushing furiously, maybe even struggling to meet his eye, but to his surprise, she was looking thoughtfully at Ginny, as if what his sister was saying made sense. 

“Alright,” Ginny said when no one said anything. “Whatever. I just thought it would help all of us. You don’t see me and Harry —”

“And I don’t want to!” Ron interjected before she could finish that sentence. 

“And you think I want to see my brother?” Ginny asked. “I love you guys, I really do, but this is not something I think the four of us can live with. One day, someone is going to see more than kissing, and that will just be embarrassing for everyone.”

Again, Hermione didn’t seem phased by what Ginny was implying, which left Ron rather speechless. She wasn’t actually considering Ginny’s suggestion, was she? He couldn’t say he liked Grimmauld Place all that much, but he'd seen himself here for a few more years before… well, he supposed living with Hermione was where he'd hoped the next step would take him.

Ginny went back into Harry's room. Harry still said nothing, but gave an apologetic shrug as he followed her.

"So, is this what it's going to be like?" Ron scowled once they'd disappeared. "Ginny calling the shots and him just going along with it? He's supposed to back us up." Why had Harry stayed silent in the matter? Harry usually had no problem speaking his mind. The only thing Ron could think of was he wanted Ron out of the house but didn't want to say it.

"Come on," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's hand, her tone still thoughtful. "Let's get ready and we'll go and see Mum and Dad."

…

Harry swore loudly as the Exploding Snap cards exploded in front of him for the third time that night. Cursing the game, he threw his remaining cards into the pile.

“That’s me done for tonight,” he said, taking his wand out and clearing the ash and grime from his glasses. “Honestly, why am I so bad at it?”

“You’re just too slow,” Ginny said, patting his arm. “But I think I’ll stop tonight, too.” She yawned, climbing to her feet. “Night, Ron.”

“Night,” Ron said as Harry and Ginny left the living room where they’d been playing. Using his wand to collect the cards into a neat pile, he left them on the arm of the sofa and headed up to bed himself. 

Hermione had gone up earlier than the rest of them, uninterested in the game and saying she had something to do. What, Ron had no idea, but he had noticed she’d been rather quiet since Ginny’s outburst that morning.

At first, he’d thought she’d just been contemplating what his sister had said, maybe toying with the idea of whether or not she and Ron should get their own place together. But as the day had worn on, spending lunch and the afternoon with her parents, she’d gone very quiet, even asking her parents if she could look through the Muggle newspapers they collected.

Whenever he’d asked her if she was alright, she smiled, nodded, and said yes, so he’d given up asking her. 

He supposed now, though, he’d have to address the matter, because he couldn’t go to bed pretending that what Ginny had said hadn’t affected them. Ron had been able to brush it off, laugh at the idea even, but it seemed that Hermione was more bothered by it than he was.  

The old Ron might have been upset by such a reaction, but he couldn’t really blame her this time. They’d been together for a little over a year, but a whole lot of that time had been apart, and then the rest of it had been filled with grief and a high dependency on one another for comfort. Really, they’d probably only had a month, maybe two, of actually being in a proper relationship, and while they had spent almost all of those two months together, it was a completely different story actually sharing a home together. 

Not that that had happened yet, but if they ever felt the need to spend a night apart, they currently were able to do that. 

As he walked down the hall towards his bedroom, he noticed that a light was still flickering from underneath the closed door and couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. If Hermione had been asleep, then he could address it in the morning. 

He’d never felt nervous opening his bedroom door knowing that she was there before. At least not since the very beginning of their relationship when he was sneaking her into his bedroom each night at the Burrow.  

“Hey!” she said cheerfully, closing the book that she’d been reading while propped up against the headboard, the gas lamp in the corner flickering brightly for her. 

“Hey,” Ron said. “I thought you might have been asleep by now.” He began to undress and change into his pyjamas. 

“No, I was waiting for you to come to bed actually,” Hermione said, and to Ron’s surprise, her voice sounded even, controlled — unlike it had earlier. 

“Right,” Ron said, unable to control his voice. “I suppose you want to talk about what Ginny said earlier.” He sat on the edge of the bed, only half dressed. “Listen, I don’t think she actually meant it. She was probably just upset about catching us, so we’ll just try to be a bit more discreet in the future. I know it’s too soon for us to be officially living together or anything.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I know — wait —” he looked at Hermione, who was looking at him with a controlled expression that matched her voice. He stared back at her, mouth open for a moment, before regathering himself. “I… I think it’s too soon,” he said, now second guessing what she’d meant by that question. “You agree, right?”

He continued watching her, waiting for her to nod and agree. But that never came, and his chest tightened ever so slightly.

“I think Ginny had a point, actually,” Hermione said, and she set the book aside, picking up her wand in its place. A moment later, three Muggle newspapers and two editions of the Daily Prophet spread out on the bed in front of them. 

Ron looked between Hermione and the newspapers. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“Well,” Hermione said, and for the first time since he’d come into the room, her cheeks had gone slightly pink, “I couldn’t help but think about what your sister said this morning. I know she didn’t really mean it, but she got me thinking, and as the day went on, I, um… I thought maybe we could live together.” The colour in her cheeks deepened to a red. “You know… get our own place.”

“What?” Ron asked, staring at her. “Wait, you’re serious?” he added when she said nothing.

Hermione nodded. “I am serious. I mean, let’s be honest, Ron, did either of us have plans to spend a night apart?”

The honest answer to that question was no. Hermione must have realised that because she nodded and pointed her wand at the newspapers. 

“So, we would essentially be living together anyway, just not officially. So why not make it official?”

“But —” Ron looked at the papers. “— you… you want to live with me?”

“Do you want to live with me?” Hermione asked. 

“Yes!” Ron said before his brain had a chance to contemplate a more appropriate answer. “I mean… well, yeah, I do. But I thought… I didn’t know if you’d —”

“And once again, you’re acting as if I’m not in the same place as you are in our relationship, Ron,” Hermione said, though she smiled at him. 

“Sorry.”

“I know we’ve spent a fair amount of time apart, but I love you and if we didn’t do it now, we’d probably do it in a year or so anyway.”

Ron contemplated her for a moment, fully aware of the smile playing at his mouth, and not caring one bit. “You always surprise me,” he said after a moment. 

She smiled.

“Alright, let’s do it then. If that’s what we both want.” He finished dressing and climbed fully into bed, drawing the blankets up to his waist. “Though, will you please tell me why you’ve suddenly started collecting newspapers? Is this your way of trying to tell me of your bad habits or something?”

“No,” Hermione said, “it’s me trying to find us a place.”

“Oh. In a Muggle newspaper?”

“They have sections with places to rent,” Hermione explained. “I thought it would be an option…” She shook her head. “But it was all a little complicated, even for me, so I then looked at the Prophet. There’s not much in there, but I found two small advertisements from yesterday’s and today’s editions.” She tapped both Prophets with her wand and all the words disappeared save for two miniscule ads in the middle of each one. She passed them to Ron. 

“One is in a little almost all wizard village, which looks alright, but I was more interested in the other one. It’s in Diagon Alley, which is really convenient. It’s just a little more expensive.” She looked up, some apprehension on her face at those words.

“You’re worried we couldn’t afford it?” Ron asked. He looked at the advertisement. It would cost fifteen Galleons a week for the place in Diagon Alley. The other one was only ten. 

Hermione hesitated. “Well, I know —”

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Ron said. “That isn’t too bad. Even a trainee Auror’s wage isn’t too bad.”

“I don’t have a job yet, Ron, and I won’t until after the NEWT results come in — and that’s if I get decent enough marks, of course.”

“Which you will,” Ron said. 

“Well, either way, I… it might be hard, but…”

“What are you trying to say, Hermione?” Ron asked, trying not to laugh. 

She blushed. 

“I feel really bad about this, Ron, but at least until I can get a job, you may have to —”

“Consider it done,” Ron said, closing the paper. “I’ll have us covered until then. It’s alright.”

“Ron, it’s a lot of money. I know —”

“No, it’s fine!” Ron said, grinning at her. “Honestly. I’ve never been able to be the one to pay for something for someone else. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that. And I can cover that well enough, with some gold to spare each week. Don’t worry. Besides, once you get all your Outstanding NEWTs, then we’ll be even again, alright?”

Hermione said nothing. 

“We’ll get this place,” Ron said, pointing to the Prophet with the Diagon Alley advertisement. “And, we’ll live together, and we’ll be happy. We can even throw a housewarming party once we move in. Have everyone over.”

Hermione laughed. “You’ve got it all planned out for someone who didn’t think we were ready for that step.”

Ron shrugged. “Once you get my mind on something, I discover I like it. You, for example —”

“Ron!”

“What? It’s true.” Ron shrugged, leaning across to kiss her, grinning. “Love you,” he said.

“For some reason,” Hermione said, looking at him amused, “I love you too. And I’m so excited to be living with you.”

Ron drew her towards him, kissing her forehead. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m excited too.”

And he was. He really was. 

[bonemarroww]

Something Else - Trans!(O) Amajiki Tamaki x (A) F!Reader

Summary: “You’ll get there someday!” Mirio always says. “You’ll do better next time.” Tamaki doesn’t want to get there someday. And if every Alpha always does, well, maybe he’s something else then.

Warnings : Crochet inaccuracy, probably. Also, confession stress.

Feedback is welcome !

(I do not own the picture)

AO3

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

——————— Chapter 3

“I j-just don’t know w-what I should do.” Tamaki admitted, his head comfortably against the wall of Nejire’s room.

Ever since he had come out to his best friend (and a little later, to said friend’s mate), things had been going rather well. They had not really changed when out and about, as to most he was still the shy Alpha from class 3-A. He didn’t mind it too much, for luckily, though people identified him as an Alpha from his scent, it was a subject unlikely to be discussed in most contexts. As long as he could be himself around his friends, so far, he was satisfied.  

Since Mirio and Nejire knew, Tamaki had taken to just leaving his nest made in his room, simply locking the door on the off chance that someone else would visit him while he was not here.

One thing bothered him, though, and that was not knowing how to behave around the Alpha that caught his interest. The thought of telling her of his feelings as an Alpha was only slightly less dreadful than that of coming out to her. He was at a dead end.

“I’m pretty sure she likes you.” Nejire shrugged. “She would probably accept any kind of confession, if it’s from you. A letter maybe?”

The shy boy shook his head, sighing defeatedly.

“She’s b-been raised t-to be the best Alpha. I have to be m-more traditional than that.”

From behind him, he could hear Mirio humming.

“So that leaves making her a homemade gift, or asking her to scent something, depending on how you want to go about it.” The blonde thought aloud.

Tamaki shook in his shoes as he remembered his dreadful attempts at any sort of crafting when he was younger. His father had tried to get him to crochet, his go-to practice when nervous, and his mother had tried to take him woodcarving; but young timid Tamaki hadn’t even known how to make the simplest bead bracelets or drawing.  

The intent behind it made the craft feel so overwhelming. He had quickly decided he would wait until finding a potential mate before trying again any of these.

“Maybe I should just s-stay like this. M-maybe if I just keep spending time with her as her f-friend, I’ll g-get used to her presence...”

Nejire was quick to come grasp his hand, pouting.

“Come on, I’ll teach you how to make these cute little thread bracelets! Or Mirio could show you how to patchwork a blanket.” She offered.

The sad Omega shook his head.

“These bracelets d-don’t last forever...” He sulked against the wall.

Tamaki tuned out Nejire’s coos about how much of a closet romantic he was at heart. The obvious answer would be to ask her to scent something for his nest, but he didn’t want to come off as not making enough efforts to court her.

“Maybe you could ask her.” Mirio helpfully decided. “Tell her you don’t know where to begin, have her help you. Maybe she’ll even tell you her favorites.” He coaxed.

With a sigh, Tamaki timidly looked away from the wall.

“Y-you think?” He tried to mask the hopefulness in his voice.

The blonde Alpha and his mate looked at each other, feeling they may have finally breached the shy boy’s defenses.

“I am certain.” The bubbly Omega grinned.

.

Much to Tamaki’s relief; his Alpha friend –and secret flame– had been ecstatic at the idea of helping him in his future courtship. She had first asked a lot of questions, the kind that left him with burning cheeks and ears, as he told her he couldn’t tell her yet.

When asked why, he had panicked and said he wasn’t sure of his feelings yet, and that he wouldn’t want to embarrass himself telling her if it was to be rejected soon after by said potential mate.

She had seemed to believe his lie – as he was positive there was no one else on this planet for him but her and her sweet scent.

The Alpha had given him clues as to what he could try; saying in passing how crochet was her favorite way to go. It took time, dedication, and a lot of love for someone to go through the exercise. Tamaki immediately chose it.

Next was what to do.

“If you were an Omega.” She looked at him in the eyes. “What would you like best from your Alpha?”

The shy boy had thought for a moment, unwilling to make his feelings too obviously out in the open. Looking for words, he fumbled with the rim of his shirt; suddenly aware of how hot the day was. Had his cheeks been this flushed the whole time?

“I-I guess I would w-want something that m-makes me think of t-them... S-something p-personal between us...”

In her smile, he knew he had a given a good answer.

“The key to a good gift is to make it thoughtful. Show the Omega you’re courting that you understand their needs and can provide.”

Early on, as she made him choose what colors he felt could be best for his work, Tamaki knew what he would do. He could not identify a single fault or need in her being, but he could make something that called back to their shared history. A scarf.

He chose a soft green that reminded him of the comfort her smell brought him, and a pretty pearly white that suited her bright personality.

His Alpha chose her own colors, so she could teach him by example.

They settled in her room, in the 2-B dorms. It was the first time one of them discovered the other’s sanctum. Amajiki took in the soft colors of her walls, white and green. She had told him these tints helped to calm her Alpha down, when it proved to be restless. For some reason, Tamaki felt even more nervous to be in her den. Sure, he had already been in Mirio’s dorm room several times, and knew visiting each other’s den was something most Alphas didn’t have trouble doing nowadays...  

It probably didn’t feel any different to her than showing her place to one of her Beta friends, he thought, his Omega sorrowful, as it was simultaneously ecstatic to be shown around his Alpha’s place.

The room was drenched in her scent...

“It’s not easy, but don’t worry too much. You’ll get the hang of it soon.” She reassured him, sitting on her bed and him on her chair, as she showed him how to crochet with her own project.

Her colors were a light blue, a pale purple and white.

She spent an hour showing him different simple knots, letting him decide which ones he preferred. Feeling overwhelmed, Tamaki chose the first one she showed him, internally freaking out too hard to concentrate on the others. She also showed him how to change the colors, and gave him ideas of patterns.

They started immediately; the shy boy afraid he would forget if he was to leave now. He knew he wouldn’t have the courage to ask her again another time.

His beginning was sloppy, and he abandoned his first pattern idea when he struggled to change the color on a bad first try. Still, when they decided they were too tired to go on, Tamaki actually felt proud of what he had crafted.

The Alpha hadn’t asked more questions, so neither did he, but he had noticed while working in comfortable silence that her work was quite wide. Was she making a blanket? These gifts were very popular among Omegas. Easy to scent, soft enough to be put in a nest, warm. Tamaki wondered if she was just making it to accompany him, or if she too had someone in mind to gift it to.

.

Tamaki got his answer the next day, after class, as they had agreed to continue working on their projects in each other’s presence as soon as they could. Mirio had cheered for him as quietly as he could manage, and had batted away his fear of her having an Omega in mind. All in all, after spending the day with his friends and discreetly repeated the moves the Alpha had taught him, the shy boy was quite eager to get his courting gift (he still couldn’t think the words without blushing madly) finished.

At the time they had agreed on, Tamaki made his way to her dorms, hiding his face bashfully whenever he caught the gaze of one of her classmates.

A very tired looking Alpha opened the door to him, and seeing the bags under her eyes, and her hair ruffled from sleeping, Tamaki panicked. Had he mistaken her invitation of the passed day? Should he have checked by text if she was available? Or, worse, had she forgotten about him? His inner Omega wailed at the prospect.

“Oh, come in!” Her gaze lit up slightly when she noticed it was him. “I’m sorry for the state I’m in, I didn’t get much sleep.” She yawned as she moved from the door.

Tamaki nodded, and found his spot from the day before. As he got his halfway project out of his bag (where he had made sure it wouldn’t get messed up), he noticed she didn’t.

“A-aren’t you f-finishing yours?”

A bad feeling seized him then, only confirmed by the Alpha’s bashful expression.

“My Alpha wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. She’s very eager to give it away.”  

There was no sound coming from the third year, though he wondered how to talk over the painful crack of his broken heart. His Omega whined, the urge to nest for comfort strong as he contemplated the pitiful work he had done.

“Oh.” he simply said.

He wouldn’t cry in front of her, he decided, as the urge to felt more and more intense.

The girl apparently felt his distress, though she misunderstood its origin.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m still here to help you, and I’ve got plenty more yarn to show you if you don’t remember well the gestures.” She reassured him, voice sweet, her calming scent a bit stronger.

Tamaki eventually managed to keep on his work through the sorrow. If the Alpha noticed his sadness, she didn’t comment on it, as she read over her homework while he crafted.

The elf boy didn’t dare ask her how her mate reacted. Eyeing her when she wasn’t looking, he could see her small smile through the exhaustion. If she had confessed her wish to court an Omega, the lucky person had most likely accepted.

Who wouldn’t? Tamaki got angry at the very notion that someone might not share her feelings. She was the most perfect Alpha, even to those who weren’t her mate –or not even Omegas, to her knowledge. He knew that very well.  

After some time, all his thoughts blinding him, Tamaki realized what was supposed to be the end of his scarf was now a mess of knots not even closely resembling what he had in mind.  

Ruined. His courting gift was ruined .

A tear escaped him, despite his efforts not to let it upset him.

He would never be enough for her. What Alpha, or even Omega, would want to wear such an ugly thing?

The Alpha must have felt his distress in the air or in his scent, for the next moment, she was all over him, her hand on his shoulder and her cheek pressing against his hair as she leaned down to take a look at his failed attempt at a scarf.

“I-it’s r-ruined.” Tamaki choked up, unable to keep the tears in.

Instantly, she coddled him, whispering sweet nothings to make him feel batter. She pried the fabric from his hands, inspecting the place where everything had started to go wrong.

“It’s okay, Amajiki... It’s salvageable!” She smiled at him. “If you only let me...”

The boy took the thing from her, heart on a full-on crisis. What use was he if he could not even make the girl he loved a proper courting gift?

“Y-you c-can't! I-It's supposed to be m-made on m-my own...”

He saw in her gaze that she understood the real struggle. Her eyes became soft, her soothing words becoming cuddling as she took it upon herself to comfort him.

“It’s fine... It’s only the first time you’re making this, you should have seen mine when I first learnt...”

And then, for some reason Tamaki would never understand himself, he told her. He told her in a cracked whisper, voice wet and miserable from his tears and body shaking.

“I-it was sup-supposed to b-be for you...”

As soon as the secret escaped him, two things happened at once.

One, he realized the nature of the confession he had just made, his hands flying to his mouth as if it would still keep the words in.

Second, above his hurried apology, a loud, loud purr was heard.

So loud, he felt it emanating from her chest against his side; so loud, he barely could think above its rumble.

When he dared look into the Alpha’s face, confused, what he found in her gaze was nothing less than joyful excitement.

“Really?” She exclaimed, crouching in front of him to get a better look at his eyes, from beneath his bangs.

His Omega quieted its cries at the excited contentment showing on her face, and the continued purr. Tamaki nodded shyly.

She stood up, practically ran to her dresser, and came back with a grin and a folded bundle of light blue, pale purple and white that she promptly thrusted his way.

“It’s a plaid. You can use it as a loose scarf –I know you don’t like anything too tight against your neck– or as a small blanket. I thought it would suit you well.”

For the first time, the shy boy saw her expression grow bashful.

“That is, if you accept it as my courting gift.”

Tamaki’s cheeks burnt, and he felt like hyperventilating as he felt the honesty in her voice. The purr hadn’t lessened, louder than he knew an Alpha could express their joy. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, overwhelming as they were.

“I-I do. Ac-accept it, I mean...”

A mess of jumbled words escaped him, and when he nervously stopped talking, afraid of making a fool out of himself, Tamaki only found fondness in her gaze.

“Then I declare you, Amajiki Tamaki-”

“J-just Tamaki is f-fine...” he interrupted shyly.

“-my mate. Tamaki .” She repeated his name as though to prove a point, equal parts amused and tender.

————————

I know absolutely nothing about crochet, and so, forgive me for any unrealistic detail about the making of their courting gifts. I read that a scarf could be made by a beginner in under 6h with favorable choice of yarn; as for the plaid made in one night, let's just collectively agree that she has a side quirk that allows her to crochet faster than is normal.

On a happier note : Tamaki got a girlfriend ! Yay !

PS : it's not the fact that he's an Omega that prevents Tamaki from crafting a gift, but the responsibility it holds that makes him too anxious to do it. ;)

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - male dragon shifter x reader, Part Thirteen (sfw)

Hey folks - sorry I didn’t post it yesterday. Here it is, at 6.30am on a Saturday for you instead! And we finally get a glimpse of Mikaeïl in his... bigger form too...

Next week is our final chapter! I can’t believe it! Thank you so much to those of you who’ve let me know you’re enjoying it, and to those of you who have reminded me (on more than one occasion!!) that Friday means Embers day, and where the hell is the story, Ghosti!! haha.

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

Mikaeïl’s request that you ‘bring something warm to wear’ for your weekend with him confused and mystified the hell out of you. Added to that, he absolutely refused to give you any more information about it, so you found yourself driving over to his house with a number of different jumpers and coats packed, and a knot of anxious tension in your stomach.

It didn’t help that he’d texted you before you’d set off to say, ‘When you get here, come round the side of the house to the back terrace.’ And that had been it.

So, dutifully, you followed the gravel path around the side of his huge, sandstone, ancestral mansion, and emerged onto the upper lawns.

At the sight that greeted you, your fingers lost their strength and you dropped your weekend-bag to the ground.

Standing on the lawn, resting his huge, coppery wing on the thumb joint like a bat, was a gleaming wyvern. Large, perhaps thirty foot tall when he drew his head up to its full height, with metallic scales the same colour as those you’d seen on his human body, ranging from bright copper to tarnished bronze and even gold along the crest of his back, Mikaeïl was stunning.

Drawn by the movement of your arrival, he watched you fall still and stare openly at him, though a soft, familiar, low-frequency rumbling pervaded the whole garden, and the sound of it stirred you back to life.

Leaving your bag where it lay abandoned on the sunny gravel path, you walked over to him with awe etched onto your face, and breathed, “Mikaeïl?”

The wyvern nodded once, slowly, golden eyes glinting.

“Can you talk when you’re like this?” you asked as you continued to approach him.

“I can talk,” he said, though his voice was different. It still had all the delicate enunciation of the Mikaeïl you knew, but it was richer, far more sonorous, and much deeper.

When you were standing beside him, you raised your palm, barely noticing the trembling excitement in your fingers, and pressed it gently against his cool scales.

He lowered his head and sank his body to the ground, lying down for you like a colossal dog while you just explored the miraculous strangeness of his incredible body. “You’re so beautiful…” you whispered. Two horns curved back over his head, the same ruby-red, flecked with gold, that you knew from his other form, only they were so much larger like this.

“God, Mikaeïl,” you chuckled in wonderment. “You are just so beautiful…” He was; fabergé looked like they could have taken inspiration from him for one of their unbelievable creations.

If wyverns could blush, you suspected Mikaeïl might well have done. As it was, his nostrils flared, and his head shied away slightly, showing off the beautiful array of spikes at the edges of his jaw and head, and he rumbled something again more deeply. In response, you put your palm on his deep chest and felt the vibrations of it shiver through you.

Suddenly, the penny dropped about the clothing, and your eyes went wide. “Mikaeïl… when you said to bring warm stuff to wear… You’re not… We’re… We’re not going to…”

A slow, deep laugh rolled out of him and he shifted his weight slightly, drawing your eye from his glimmering scales - each one like hand-hammered bronze - down to his clawed hind feet and the tip of his wing which rested on a single, massive, taloned thumb. While you waited for his reply, your fingers wandered to the leathery, sunset-yellow membrane of his wing, right near the knuckle which propped him up, and a shudder ran through him, all the way to his barbed tail.

“Sensitive?” you murmured with a wry smile.

“Mmm,” he rumbled, lowering his head and slowly, luxuriantly, inhaling the scent of your skin right by your neck. “How do you feel about going for a short flight?” he asked softly.

“Honestly…?” you said breathlessly, “I have no idea. I’ve never, uh… flown before. I mean, not like that…”

“Test flight?” he asked.

“Please tell me that you don’t have spines on your back because I’m not sitting on that and trying to cling on…”

Mikaeïl laughed his rich, deep laugh and said, “Take a closer look at the junction of my neck and shoulders…”

He rolled slightly towards you but still you couldn’t see the top of his back properly, so in the end he had to help you up with his wing like a leg-up onto a horse. His back was smooth for perhaps a foot and a half between the end of his sinuous neck and the start of his back - the perfect space for someone to sit. You ran your hand over the space and he shivered again.  

“It’s like it was made for someone to sit here,” you commented.

“Not quite,” he said dryly, “But my family were royal guards, a thousand years ago - which is why we have three forms: human, half human, and this. We have been known to carry royalty into battle or over long distances…”

“Royalty,” you cooed as he lowered you back to the ground. “Nice… You sure I’m worthy? I’ve never even sat on a motorbike, let alone a wyvern…”

Again, Mikaeïl laughed at your sense of humour, and nuzzled his nose affectionately against your stomach while you rubbed his forehead. His head was as big as a small couch and it was going to take some getting used to, but he was so damned gorgeous that you could hardly process the fact that this magnificent creature was the Mikaeïl you’d come to know.

“Put on a coat to keep warm while we fly, and I’ll take you for a little trial run… if you like. You don’t have to though…”

“You’ve got something else planned though, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s alright if you don’t want to fly there.”

“No, let’s try it,” you said, as you scuttled back to your bag and dug out the warmest coat you had. You imagined that with the wind rushing past you, even on such a sunny day, it would be cold.

And you were right.

You clambered warily onto his back, settling yourself in the smooth crook of his shoulders, nestled at the base of his neck and the start of his hugely muscular wings. Conveniently, he had two large horn-like spikes at the base of his neck, to which you clung for dear life as he began to flap his wings, trying to get some lift. You clamped your thighs around him as tightly as you could and leaned forward, honestly terrified.

“I won’t let you hurt yourself,” he promised and then you lurched upwards into the sky.

The ground rushed away beneath you and he continued to rise in jerky movements that made your stomach churn and drop each time. Eventually he had climbed as high as the roof of the mansion, and began to glide, the canvas of his great wings spread to catch the air, and you tried hard not to lose your breakfast all over his beautiful scales.

Mikaeïl did one lap of the parkland of his property and then began to descend gradually, spiralling down until the ground rushed up to meet you and he landed with a jolt that his body absorbed before it could throw you from your tenuous position atop his back.

“Alright?” he asked nervously, tilting his head to one side to see you out of the corner of his golden eye.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, with your heart still pounding in your ears, you nodded and swallowed. “Yeah,” you croaked. It had felt like a rollercoaster ride, only much, much wilder. “That was… amazing…!”

His laugh rippled through you and he said, “Why don’t you stow your bag in the conservatory, and if you could lock up, that would be amazing. Then if you’re alright with it, I want to take you somewhere a little further away.”

You nodded, slithering and landing weak-kneed on the grass beside him.  “Come here first,” you said, crooking your finger and beckoning his head closer.

He obliged, curious and amusedly wary, and when his muzzle was level with your face, you took his smooth, leathery head in your hands and kissed him squarely on the tip of his nose. His laugh came out as a warm blast of air through his nostrils, ruffling your hair, and you laughed too as he closed his eyes for a moment, clearly enjoying the closeness and the contact.

Nudging you playfully away after a minute or so, he rumbled happily, the sound halfway between an alligator and an elephant, only much deeper and louder, and you trotted off to do as he requested.

Once back, you ran your hands over his shoulder and chest again, letting the deep, appreciative sounds thrum through you, and watching as he closed his eyes again in pleasure. “You’re going to cause trouble if you keep touching me like that,” he said eventually. “And then I won’t be able to fly.”

“Not decently, anyway,” you grinned and he shook his head, laughter dancing in his yellow eyes.

“Get back on board and we’ll go before you render me incapable of flight altogether.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” you asked coyly and were met with a snarl that held no danger.

“Get. On.” he said but the fierceness of his tone was ruined by the laugh that bubbled out of him immediately afterwards.

“Fine,” you pouted, and clambered back on his back the same way you’d done before.  

With a final glance up at you, those eyes turned serious and he said, “Are you ready? Comfortable?”

“Yeah. How long will we be in the air?”

“About twenty minutes,” he said. “You let me know if you need me to land though, alright?”

You nodded, and he turned his attention away from you, hind claws gripping the earth as his great leathery wings, the colour of saffron, began to beat again, and he lifted skywards once again.

To be concluded next week...

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[blankdblank]

Money Bunny

“Careful, careful!” wide eyed the Dwarves watched you snatch the small stuffed chocolate colored bunny with a maroon bow out of Dwalin’s hand, “Don’t hurt my Money Bunny! My Gramps made it for me.” The lot of them turned for a shared silent conferencing glance at one another then turned to look back to you. Sure you didn’t enter the Company the best of ways, in disturbing their peaceful night by screeching through them with a boar after you that you had woken by falling on top of it. They got a much better dinner and that should have calmed them but back on your assigned boulder you inspected the bunny in your palms ensuring it was safe while the younger Dwarves continued to inspect your bags for anything dangerous.

Gloin asked the burning question, “What is a Money Bunny pray tell?”

Again your eyes met his and you said while two of the men inspected the bag of varied colored bunnies all bearing different colored bows around their necks complete with supplies for more to be made. “Well, you make a stuffed bunny and you take a coin and stitch it into their belly. It’s supposed to bring luck and money your way.” That made all the Dwarves look at you curious at how they had not known of this tradition when their culture was based around treasures and finely crafted priceless items of even rarer skill. “This one’s mine though, the last gift my Gramps gave me before we lost him. Even gave me one of his favorite gold coins he stitched inside.”

Dori lifted a bunny from the bag asking, “These bring funds to your path?”

“I mean they don’t come to life and race off to steal from others for your gain, it’s like a horseshoe or a four leaf clover.”

All in their conference they rushed into a huddle for you glanced at Bilbo who stepped closer to you saying, “I think they are lovely.”

“Thank you. Been wandering for a week now needed something to do, snapped one of my knitting needles falling off some freak cliff in this just wall of water out of nowhere…”

Suddenly the men turned to face you fanning out from their huddle and Thorin stated, “You’re hired.”

Blinking at him for a moment you tried to understand then asked, “For what?”

Gloin, “We are off on a quest to reclaim our home from a Dragon including our lost hoard. We need all the luck we can muster up.”

A contract was produced and all through dinner you read it over and stammered through stealing glances at the men choosing from your supply of bunnies already made before producing coins from their purses they squeezed in their palms and swore to protect their bunnies you eased the coins into the bellies of you sewed shut. Each of them gladly accepted their bunnies they tucked carefully into their packs while Balin accepted the contract you reluctantly signed unable to find a better idea on what to do after waking up wherever you were. Fully fed and content on a dry night the Dwarves all circled the area chosen for the campsite Bilbo subtly motioned you to join them in. Eyeing the cold hard dirt you weren’t looking forward to sleeping on it again.

Zigzagged inside the camp the men laid out stealing glances at you in a woven tassle ended blanket you had picked up on your backpacking trip through South America that landed you here after a bad fall in a canyon that had lost your sleeping bag. With a spare sweater crumpled under your head you laid on your side closing your eyes trying not to notice how every time you moved your foot Nori had pressed his boots to yours. Steadily snores filled the campsite and between shivers somehow you had managed to fall asleep in this group of strangers.

Midnight however as usual a sharp clench in your side and a dreaming escapade for a bathroom ending with more and more crowded locations with absurd possible toilets signaling you to realize it was time to wake up. The pull of your leg in from their stiff awkward flailed spot in a try for comfort came in your awkward lift up, somehow onto your knees leaving the blanket in your spot. Over the men in your way you stepped making for the trees, at the edge of which all of the Dwarves now were wide eyed shifting up after confirming their traditional woven pattern of connection between all of the men to ensure safety. Whether by foot or hand a connection was made and in true Dwarven fashion their snores stirred up vibrations in the earth and once a connection was broken each and every one of them could feel that someone in their circle was lost.

Upright Thorin and Dwalin sat up looking to Bombur on watch who signaled that you had gone to relieve yourself. Upright they stayed until you were seen exiting the trees in a quick trot whisper shouting on the way to Bombur, “Get it off, get it off, get it off! There’s something in my hair!”

Hunching forward helped the Dwarf now gasping at the lizard burrowing in your hair he helped to dig out and let down and try not to laugh at your full body shiver, “Lizard free.”

“Ugh, lizard, I thought it was a spider, just jumped at my face and dove for my hair..” In his motion for you to head back to your pitiful spot assuring you were safe under his watch noticing your fingers ruffling through your unruly half knotted curls you twisted up in a messy bun. Down again onto your knees you went to tangle yourself in your blanket and plop ungracefully into your spot that Nori irritatingly waited until you fell asleep to ensure at least one of his feet was tapping yours. Only for everyone of them to be woken again at the next shift of guards finding you awkwardly on your stomach troubling Nori to keep up with your feet in his sleep.

By morning the otter like Dwarves kept stealing glances at you wondering if this would be a nightly occurrence until they had finally succumb to their more than once suggested idea of just sprawling across you when you had fallen asleep so they could sleep through the night. But like the boar it seemed you brought more luck than they had assumed with ample food crossing their paths through the days and the more irritated you seemed to get through the day the better the camp and break experiences went. And with the colder and wetter nights grew the men couldn’t help but relax at your randomly choosing one of them to sprawl across your blanket burrito self to keep warm and at least partially dry.

For all their wonder at the first couple days on the effectiveness of the bunnies you had given them stolen bends from you brought the random bouts of coins discovered in the dirt followed by each morning waking with some sort of gem to be pulled out from under you and your chosen snuggle buddy. The hefty haul dropped heavily and again your luck struck as in their ordered flight from the trolls tearing them from camp face first you slammed into an armored chest on the Elf who scrambled to help you up again and gather his group to return with you and aid your friends.

In a move to gather a wagon for Bifur and Ori’s sliced legs the Elves had hurried off only for another trip to find a bathroom had half the Dwarves racing after your shriek at falling into a hidden hoard on your way back. Baffled didn’t come close but the sight of you laying on your back in a large pile of gold and stolen trinkets and weapons tangled in a bundle of vines you swore had lurched out to grab you. “Get these off me.” Again they all leapt to your rescue and accepting use of your internally warped satchel they poured all they could to empty the cave of any and all goods with a pair of blades saved to secure to you and your place in the Company as their official Master of Luck.

Rivendell had beds and bathtubs and ample space and food without need of being on top of one another. Yet at the call for a certain meeting between Elrond and Gandalf straight to your bed the Dwarf King trudged heavily plopping onto your bed and nestling up behind you clinging to all the luck he could find to keep his motivation up to continue onwards. Needless to say an uncalled for argument and you storming off away from a certain White Lady had you muttering to yourself packing your things. Signaling the Dwarves to do so as well and join you on abandoning Gandalf in his meeting with the same infuriating woman who had tried to encourage you to just go home as death was coming for you.

.

Death could have come, on eight legs, only you managed to play your every sheer dumb luck card by asking the same tree you could have sworn to hear humming the night prior to help you. Well, begging more like, but all the same when the Elves came to help they stood wide eyed seeing the now conscious Ent stomping at and tackling the spiders. The final one came with its holding you in the air to keep you from being eaten by the now crushed spider on the ground under its foot drawing a loud guttural roar that echoed through the forest that began to shift violently sending the remaining spiders into panic.

An awkward wave from you to the Elf King when you were called forward broke his try to intimidate you and the Company, eventually leading to his sitting on the edge of the lowest steps to the throne room with chin propped in his palm and eyes narrowed in focus while you shared how you had gotten here so far. Under careful watch a Feast was called for and after what essentially was a game of verbal chicken even he was stunned at his place armored atop his Elk the following day to guide you to Erebor.

Painful long miles of steps found you being carried at the halfway mark by the crouching Elf King who assured you frequently you were safe and weightless to him. Yet all the same his jaw dropped hearing, “Alright, Master Burglar, Master of Luck, as soon as we get this door open, you’re up.” Ten minutes they scrambled at the wall and up behind Bofur you walked taking his arm he was pointing with to aim it at the invisible spot giving off a faint glimmer silencing the men who froze and glanced from you to Thorin, who then approached and laughed aloud at the key in his fingers slipping right in the hole.

It should never be as troubling to cross a country, meet Kings, or to climb stairs or even to enter an abandoned Palace. But it is, it always is for you. And firmly holding Bilbo’s hand while he internally bickered with each and every Dwarf at Balin’s leading you in further saying, “Now, all we need is the stone, just slip in and out without waking the Dragon. The Arkenstone is a big white stone, you’ll know it when you see it.”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” you finally muttered five hallways later making Bilbo smirk he wasn’t alone in seeing how absurd this all was, “Never been near gems before this trip and now ‘you’ll know it when you see it,’ highly doubtful.”

All the same wide eyed you spotted the hoard you both entered timidly and eased down the gold coated steps you tried not to shift any of it to keep quiet to the snoring dragon. Down more and more into the shifting sea of gold you both trudged and sank wiggling yourselves free between hushes shushes to the gold. Uncertain of where you were going or what you were looking for exactly and completely oblivious to the Dwarves creeping in to peek at you stirring the dragon at the familiar musky scent he knew so well.

Mid sink into the gold you froze wide eyed feeling the heat of a golden eye on you at the fall of a golden suit of armor behind Bilbo and at the awkward turn of your head shouts came from the Dwarves seeing Smaug awaken and inhale for a giant wall of flames to erupt from him. Only, into a cloud of bubbles you exploded silencing the Dwarves who now saw a single bubble float out from Smaug’s open jaws in his own moment of shock. Followed by another and another before his jaws began to close and all at once in his clawed poke at your pile of clothes and boots his body erupted into a sea of bubbles.

Chuckling in awe the Company and floored Elf King slunk into the room filling the ledge only to hear Bilbo on his path to your pile of clothes his hand patted, “Miss Pear?” His eyes trailing upwards in search for you only to hear your body less voice, “I’m fine Bilbo.”

Bilbo let out a disbelieving chuckle, “How did you manage to do that?”

“Well, it’s sort of a survival reflex. My magic’s been really erratic since I landed here.”

Thorin, “That skill would have been useful with the Trolls,”

“Technically you never let me see the Trolls just shoved me telling me to run.”

Dwalin, “Alright, so we get the effect of this, masterfully done now can you change back and help us in searching?”

“I would, but Bilbo’s holding my clothes.”

A ripple of oh’s came with a joint turn in opposite directions allowing you some semblance of privacy to shift back and bend lifting your panties first stealing glances at the men around you ensuring you only saw their backs. Bra followed with socks and pants wiggled into next.

Thranduil asked, “What do you mean by erratic?”

“Well I’m thirsty and just walls of rain come crashing down on me. I get hungry and am chased by a giant boar. I was lonely and I get chased by another boar into this lot.”

Lifting your tank top you pulled it on, adding your long sleeved shirt after then lifting your left boot you pulled on and propped up to tie it again and grabbed the last. When that was tied you sighed saying, “Alright. All covered again.”

It seemed like hours you had fanned out to search through the hoard and sunken to the waist you pushed on the top layer only to sink more bringing the weightless Elf King to loop his arms under yours to tug you free. Hovering above the gold your head tilted back at the echo of a distant horn that made you ask at the Dwarves scrambling back to the ledge, “I take it that’s not a good horn then?”

Shifting you to a near bridal style hold he carried you to the steps he set you down upon, “That is an orc horn.”

“Ah, lovely…” His brow arched up at your turn to trot after the others up to the overlook now revealing the raging storm outside. “Look,” you reached back poking the confused Elf King in the stomach, “More rain.” Under a dome of air you stepped out only to have the Elf King grab and tug you to the ground to peer up at the spear sized black arrow now sailing into the mountain to crash and skid across the floor far below you.

“Please tell me you saw that.” Thranduil stated underneath you unwilling to let you go yet while Balin and Gloin used their swords to reflect the night shielded orc army below only visible in random flashes of lightning.

To which you answered, “What, the giant spear that almost killed me? Not till you tackled me. It’s so dark out, and wet.” You added lifting your arm from a puddle.

Balin cleared his throat, “Pardon me, however, Lass, did you happen to turn the army to fish?”

“Salmon, that’s what flashed in my head, my first day here I couldn’t catch one and it was raining like this.”

Easing you up Thranduil joined the others in creeping higher to inspect the glimpse of the seemingly endless lines of fish now being swarmed by birds and stray cats and dogs from Dale. Thorin turned to look you over and said, “Again, many thanks, dear friend.”

You waved a hand, “What’s an army of fish among friends.” Quirking up a grin onto their faces and down the Princes hurried to gather up a blanket worth of fish to cook up for dinner unknowing of the misting charm you had left in the gold to cleanse it in their absence. Another armful of stones in Bilbo’s arms and pockets finally brought the search to an end when an exasperated slump into Thorin’s chest ended with a curious pat of Thorin’s hand onto the lump in the Hobbit’s pocket revealed in their hug.

Cheers had erupted and somewhere the food and their singing had you asleep awkwardly across your chosen chair only to stun Thranduil at your sudden drop onto his lap at the next horn sounding. In his hold you calmed from your wide eyed panting and accepted his help to a room while Thorin went to greet the Men of Laketown who ended up requesting to take some of the fish in the partially flooded field still holding onto their lives in the shallow water. Sunrise however came with a whole new surprise of its own as you found yourself bound to the Elf King by a red string unwilling to free either of you no matter what you or the others did.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from The King of Eingard

Feryn bolts into the office, yelling, “Cygnus, the army is home!” and dashes out again. Cygnus abandons the report he’d been reading and runs after her. After the immediate footsteps of his guards, he hears everyone in the offices rise from their chairs to follow. Everyone is eager to glimpse the returning procession.

He pushes through crowds of clamoring citizens to the front of his palace, where he sees a seemingly endless line of horses and carts. At the front is Jes on her proud chestnut horse, in full army regalia and waving to everyone she sees. Other ruby wrist tattoos wave beside her, but Amina is not among them.

Harlan races out in front of him, and when Cygnus shifts, he sees them. Esther on a brown horse next to a woman waving to the crowd on a white horse. It takes him a moment to realize it’s Ruby, because this woman has short hair, shorter than his. Grace, they’ll really look like siblings now. Her muscles are bigger, too. Everyone’s are.

Cygnus feels like he could fly, or bloody sing, or shake hands with grace herself. He can’t be pressed to even remember what a rumor is, let alone worry about one. Grace at least granted one of his wishes, since the women are home safe with grins the size of Orenda on their faces. Even Esther is smiling, he can see, even from a distance, wide enough to show teeth.

(cut because this is a long one)

Amina and Evan are on the horses in front of Ruby and Esther. Amina is waving her sword to the people, and it catches the sun, drawing every eye to the shine. Evan looks like she’d love to stand up on her horse and wave, but she contents herself with standing half up out of the stirrups.

Ruby sees him- at least, he thinks she does- and her grin widens. She nudges Esther and points his way. Her mouth is moving, but the noise of the crowd is near deafening, and she’s far away, so he can’t understand a thing. If he’d thought the noise for Harlan’s return was loud…

Cygnus unfreezes his feet and runs, which seems to be the cue for the rest of the citizens to bolt for their returning loved ones. He clasps hands quickly with Jes as she dismounts, and with a few words promises to pay her and the regiment all the attention in the world later, but she understands. Furthermore, she pushes him towards his true destination, screaming, “Go!” over the noise.

Cygnus pushes his way through the crowd, which parts the moment they realize who he is. Harlan reaches Esther’s horse just before Cygnus does, and Cygnus watches, laughing, the undignified look of shock spread across Esther’s face as she dismounts and Harlan catches her. The ire quickly melts into content, and she pulls him into a rough hug. She grunts something in his ear and rubs his back.

Cygnus is so distracted by them he doesn’t notice Ruby dismounting and sliding into his own arms. She smells like travel and horse and fresh air, and he doesn’t think anything can banish the light in her eyes, bright and happy. He wonders if this is how he looked to Harlan upon his return from the beach. Like nothing could ever touch him.

Her hands are even more calloused than before, and the haircut is choppy and imperfect, but she’s his perfect country girl. She kisses his cheek and laughs, “I missed you,” into his ear.

“So did I,” he says, finding his voice. “So much.” She pulls back to look at him, and her grin is infectious. He smiles. “You cut your hair.”

She laughs again. “I did. Do you like it?” She swishes her head, still hanging onto him. She’s warm, and the sun is scorching them both, but he can’t bring himself to mind in the slightest.

He does like Ruby’s haircut. It makes her look older, and paired with that smile, he thinks this is the best she’s ever looked. “I do.”

“I got this, too!” Ruby tugs free of him to rummage in the saddlebag of her horse, and pulls out a tightly wadded piece of fabric. She unwraps it and shows him. It’s a bag.

“There was a merchant family living near Oar’s Rest that offered to look after the city while we were gone. They’re technically the first inhabitants. They’ll keep it from getting vandalized, and stuff.” She shrugs. “They have a son who’s got sword training. Anyway, the mother was talented with weaving, and made me this as a thank for you for my…deeds.” She grins awkwardly. Cygnus swears she forgets sometimes who she is. She calls it who she was. “Isn’t it lovely?” She feigns checking for eavesdroppers before muttering, “I have a feeling it’s going to become Esther’s, though. It’s the perfect plant carrying size.”

Cygnus laughs. It’s a large bag, sturdy grey-green with thick straps and pink and purple threads woven halfway down. Ruby beams at it like it’s her child.

“How was the limmet game?” he asks.

She laughs. “That’s what you want to know about?”

More laughter drifts from the left. He turns his head to see Amina holding Evan bridal style, spinning her around in circles. Evan’s long hair flows in the wind, and she screams in laughter.

And then Amina notices him. She sets Evan down, the same expression on her face as she wears before going into battle. Determined and utterly pleased.

“Out of the way, woman.” He’s torn away from Ruby and wrapped in Amina’s arms faster than he can blink. Squeezed would be a more accurate word.

“Welcome home,” he says into her shoulder.

She lets him go and looks him over. “You would’ve done well to be working out there with us,” she says with a wink. “You’re all skin and bones, like always.”

Cygnus grins. He’s missed her tough humor.

“You’re wearing the cloak!” She makes a face. “In this heat?”

“I’ll wear your gift whenever I damn well please.” He can’t keep the smile off his face. “How was your summer?”

She makes a noncommittal expression. “Fun, if you like back breaking work in the sun. I don’t know what we would’ve done without magic. Thank grace you waited this long to build a city, hm?”

“Any problems?”

She shrugs. “A few. Some surviving locals didn’t want their territory built on, and they tried everything from taking our things to destroying our work to pretending to be ghosts to make us go away.”

Cygnus raises an eyebrow.

Amina continues, “I’d rather not ruin the good mood right now, so I’ll tell you the rest later, but just know it’s all resolved. There are many who are happy we’re building there and are eager to move in.”

Cygnus nods, relieved.

Evan hits him like a storm, forcing him to pick her up. She laughs as he spins her around. She’s tan, he realizes. It looks good on her. Now that he’s looking, Ruby is tan, too. It looks even better on her, solidifying the country girl look. She looks like she was born in a cornfield and would happily die in one.

Amina looks faintly red where she isn’t the same stark white. He chuckles, imagining her whole body inevitably burnt red. He’d bet his life she doesn’t tan well. Otherwise his commander looks perfectly put together as always, just a little ruffled and dusty from travel.

Not only is Evan tan, but she has a new tattoo on her wrist: a familiar ruby.

“I missed you!” Evan says as he sets her down. “We’ve got so much to tell you.”

“I look forward to hearing it all,” he says, linking arms with her. “You got a new tattoo, I see.”

“I got three,” Evan says with a devilish grin, turning around and lifting up the back of her shirt to show him the one on the small of her back, a little unicorn. The third is on her bicep, a bow pulled taut that largens when she flexes her muscle.

He shakes his head and smiles, wondering how her parents will react to that. Hell, how Harlan will react to that.

Ruby slaps him on the back one final time and wanders to the other side of the horses, searching for Harlan, who comes around with Esther. Cygnus lets go of Evan to pull Esther into a hug, but she beats him to it. She thumps him hard on the back with a grin. The summer must’ve changed something in her. He glances at Ruby, who shrugs and says, “We all got very close over the summer,” before taking Harlan into her arms. Esther rolls her eyes.

Ruby with short hair. Evan with three new tattoos. Esther grinning and hugging him. What has this summer become?

Arm-in-arm with Evan and Ruby, Cygnus begins walking them towards the palace. Evan is chattering about her excitement to be back home, suggesting that they take a plunge into the sea before it grows too cold to do so. Cygnus brings up the terrible foot traffic on the docks, not to mention the boats coming and going, and how would they get out? “Magic,” Evan replies, and Cygnus knows he won’t win this battle. It’s a battle he’s happy to lose. Harlan has a mildly terrified look on his face which Cygnus mocks. They’ll get him in the ocean yet.

Harlan and Esther and Amina lead the horses. They’ll be some of the last ones to the doors.

Jes must’ve been given the job of organizing everything, since Amina is lingering with them, though Cygnus can see her itching to go help. He notices Tobias waiting beside his mother in front of the palace, and watches Jes fall over herself to make introductions when she notices them. Cygnus grins, fully intending to stand back and watch that chaos ensue when their little party reaches home.

“We may have oodles of things to tell you,” Ruby says, not yet aware of the people ahead, “but I’m sure you do, too. What have you been up to while we’ve been gone?”

taglist: @sondials @a-place-of-babble @babblingadventures @erinbeatty @mischiefiswritten

lmk to be added/removed

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Writing Commission - Boku no Hero Academia - Villain!Mic and Erasermic

Author’s Comments: A drabble for @hello-casualbouquetcycle who won the drawing I had in regards to my Event Commissions from last month! Keep in mind that this plays off my Heartless AU, which you can find by clicking here: https://ibelieveinahappilyeverafter.tumblr.com/post/183016772830/this-is-totally-an-au-but-consider-mic-as-a-real

Given Prompt: Do you remember how for Heartless, someone send the headcanon that Mic wasn't ready for his boyfriend bringing his over 20 ex-hero-trainees children with him when he moves in with him? That always seemed like such a hilarious chaotic scene to me so, if maybe you could write something about it I would be really, really happy! :D

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academy 

Relationship: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Class 1-A, Shinsou Hitoshi

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 1,192

Transaction Amount: 500 word Giveway Drabble Won From Commission Event

Summary: Shouta’s world has fallen apart and now, with heroes deeming him a traitor, the only one left on his side is the villain Present Mic - and all of Class 1-A.

                                    It’s Enough (But For How Long)

                                                        ★★★

The bright, cheerful laughter and chattering that bounced around the room with all possible tension underneath it hidden away was the only thing that kept Aizawa Shouta clinging to his last shreds of sanity, he decided. He had a feeling that if even a single student in class 1-A looked as lost and defeated as he felt, then there would be no more holding himself together. 

“Yo, yo, hey, don’t climb up there that way!” Present Mic - Hizashi - shouted up at Tokoyami before gently tugging him off the crates he had been climbing on before pushing him towards a metal ladder. “Here, go up that way and then you can watch from the shadows above us all ya want.” 

Tokoyami looked to mumble some form of thanks before doing as told, Hizashi immediately rushing over to try and tug Midoriya and Bakugou out of another fight. It looked like Kirishima and Tenya were trying to help, Todoroki looking ready to freeze Bakugou for a few hours. Shouta was tempted to encourage him.

It was almost sweet, though, how Hizashi was trying to both get in the kids’ good graces and keep the peace at the same time, but the villain had his work cut out for him considering every last one of them was a hero hopeful - at least, they had been before Shouta and his inability to stay logical had ruined all of their chances. 

Shouta had had months to turn Hizashi - Present Mic - over to the police and get rid of one of the most dangerous villains off the street. With him in custody the Nomu creatures would either vanish altogether or they would have been able to discover a way to beat them, but, no. Instead Shouta had gone and been illogical and decided that Present Mic (Hizashi) couldn’t be ‘that bad.’ He had been a fool. He had been a fool and yet… 

Gaze on the twenty students that now filled the abandoned warehouse halfway turned into a home, Shouta watched as not one of them seemed regretful over what had been done. Fuck, not even Shouta had been able to bring himself to regret what he had done. 

U.A. had been attacked by dozens of Nomu and Hizashi had shown up and begged Shouta to believe him that he wasn’t the one behind the attack, and Shouta, with Hizashi pinned and easily defeatable, had released him because, well… Hizashi didn’t hurt children. He had never hurt children. Shouta had released him because he believed him and he lov… He had let Hizashi go and the teachers - the heroes - had seen. 

The pros had seen and were ready to deem him a traitor, Hizashi looked panicked and like he didn’t know whether to run or turn himself over because he was as much a fool as Shouta, and the kids - his kids… they had been behind Shouta. Class 1-A, the eternal troublemakers, had run out to help him and saw what he had done. They knew Present Mic and they knew more than Shouta had ever given them credit for. They deserved better than him as a teacher, that was for damn sure. 

“You’re being self-deprecating, aren’t you.” Hitoshi’s voice, low and quiet and flat like Shouta’s own, startled him out of his thoughts before he grunted as the kid ‘sat’ on the floor next to him by falling on top of him. “If you try to run out and turn yourself in we’ll just drag you back.” 

“Last I checked that was supposed to be my job,” Shouta said dryly, shifting to slouch down and half-smiling as Hitoshi shifted to where his back was pressed against Shouta’s side, head tilted back and resting on his shoulder in order to look up at him. “Shouldn’t you be playing with the others?”

Hitoshi didn’t quite manage to fully smother his laugh, Shouta relaxing at the sound as he looked back to where his other kids were still running, laughing, and causing trouble for Hizashi, who was currently trying to get Uraraka to stop floating people up into the air to get away from Bakugou’s latest explosion. “I’m not technically a part of this class yet. I have my sanity, still.”

“Your transfer paperwork said otherwise. As for your sanity, give it some time,” Shouta remarked, looking back down to Hitoshi and raising an eyebrow. “Are you here to get me to stop blaming myself, then?”

Hitoshi stared at him blankly before blinking slowly, lips twisting into a smirk, “I’d be wasting my breath, Sensei.” What a cheeky brat. “But… I dunno. Just thought I’d remind you that, if you really need to blame anyone, this is my fault-”

Shouta made a half-irritated noise as he looked down at Hitoshi, trying to figure out if he could get away with hugging the kid and just not letting go. Instead he settled for ruffling Hitoshi’s hair and getting a whine out of him. “What have we talked about when it comes to blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault?”

“Hey, hey, I was the one who went over to Yamada’s side first, remember,” Hitoshi ‘argued,’ squirming at Shouta’s attack but doing nothing to move away from him. “You couldn’t choose so we all chose for you. It’s… It’s not hard to see that you love him, Sensei.” 

Before Shouta could answer they were distracted by Hizashi’s voice, getting louder, “Hey, listeners, let’s not start a quirk war up in here! This building isn’t that soundproofed, yet!” Ah, Hizashi looked panicked even as he was being followed by a few of the kids as if they were ducklings. Honestly. “I was not ready to be a dad to twenty of you kids at once, yo!”

“Pick a favorite, then! Which kid do you want to adopt!” It was hard to tell where the voice had come from, but Shouta had a firm feeling it was from Sero. 

Half-expecting Hizashi to look dramatically desolate at the thought of ‘picking favorites,’ Shouta instead watched as Hizashi pointed over at them, answering with a firm, “Shinsou. That one is mine, definitely.” 

There was a little noise from Hitoshi under his breath, Shouta content to let the kid pretend to be upset even as he looked delighted at the attention. The other kids went into a riot, though, Hizashi quieting them with a sharp whistle before continuing, “And those two.” Ah… he was pointing at Ashido and Kaminari. Of course. “You two look like you cause trouble daily.” 

“You bet we do!” Right. There were going to be a lot of headaches in his future, Shouta decided, relaxing back against the wall and letting Hitoshi curl back up against him. 

The sound of his kids laughing and looking happy, even after they had turned their backs on the world of heroes and painted target signs on each and everyone of one of them, kept Shouta from falling back into his thoughts. 

Even if it were to all end in flames once they were found, his kids were happy and Hizashi was looking over at him with soft, warm smiles. That was enough for him.

[yesloverboy]

Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 6

SUMMARY: After a full day of trying to win your affections back, you finally agree to let Tommy take you on a date. With Tommy planning the whole thing, you can’t help but feel a little nervous. Can Tommy actually convince you he’s in love, or is it all just for show? 

word count: 6,556

[Warnings: swearing, body image, little bit of angst, a lot of cavity-inducing fluff, language, drug and alcohol mention/usage.]

NOTE: It’s finally here! As an apology for such a long wait, this chapter is extra long and should have plenty of first date fluff to get you by until Part 7. If y’all have any ideas for shenanigans that reader and the boys can get into, please share them with me! I have a tentative plan for the next portion (which you all can probably guess hehehe), but some inspo would be great appreciated. Love you crazy kids!  

P.S. feedback is greatly appreciated, so please let me know what you think!

tags: @kwyloz, @scarecrowmax, @lavendersoundbarrier, @stevenandsam, @totallynotkaibiased, @rogertaylur, @fatheadtheroger, @secretly-a-groupie, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @abbysdogcollar, @dirtysixxers, @black-tights-black-heart, @valentines-in-london, @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @hxllywood-whxre, @ccidk, @sharon6713, @myshakespeareandarling, @moon-beame, @carmineharry, @2dead2function, @lauravic, @amusicalprostituttee, @lululovesgwtw

permanent tags: @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @kingbouji3, @lululovesgwtw

 When tomorrow finally rolls around, you have a difficult time taming the butterflies fluttering around inside your stomach. Tommy will be coming to pick you up any minute now, and you still had no idea what to wear or what to expect.

 In all honesty, you can’t remember the last time you went on a proper date. Dates were all about impressing people and getting them to like you, but everything about yours and Tommy’s budding relationship seemed to be working backwards.

 Rushing around the apartment, you leave a trail of abandoned garments and makeup in your wake. No part of you is willing to admit how much you actually like Tommy, but your frantic movements tell a different story. Even though you have a way of making Tommy nervous, too, nothing seems to compare to the way he makes you squirm with excitement and self-doubt. You have to do something to even the playing field.

 Digging through the bottom drawer of your dresser, you come across an obnoxious, leopard print bikini that you bought on dare back home. It’s definitely more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, but something tells you it would do just the trick. You bite your lip and scan the room nervously, suddenly afraid the walls might have eyes. Seeing Tommy’s jacket lingering in a heap on the floor, an idea suddenly pops into your head.  

 Against your comfortability, you decide to go for the tiny bikini, knowing full well that Tommy is going to be tripping all over himself when he sees you. Feeling adventurous, you decide to wear it with just a pair of cut-off shorts and slip Tommy’s baggy, leather jacket over your shoulders. For good luck, you apply a layer of bright red lipstick. The taste reminds you of the night Tommy kissed you at your dining table. Perfect.

 Sure, it might be hot in L.A.– but you are determined to look even hotter.

 You’re completely engrossed in teasing your hair when Tommy knocks at the door. Before you can even put down the comb and invite him in, he’s already halfway across the threshold. You roll your eyes, wondering how in the hell he got so comfortable barging in.

 Oh, right– because you let him.  

 “Hey, Y/N! Ready to get out of here?”

 Running your hands through your hair, you step out of your room to meet Tommy. He turns his head at the sound of your footsteps, jaw nearly falling off the hinges when he catches sight of you. You wait for him to say something but he just stares, blue eyes wide and unblinking.

 “Yeah, uh, let me just grab my sunglasses,” you say awkwardly, pushing past him to retrieve them from the dining table. As you move, you can practically feel Tommy’s stunned gaze boring into your back. A wry smile tugs at your lips.

 You turn to look at him, “What’s the matter, drummer boy? Do I have something on my face?”

 A blush immediately colors his cheeks as he averts his eyes in embarrassment, trying to focus on anything in the room that isn’t you. “No! I, uh, you just– you just look really good is all.”

 “I know,” you wink, nudging your shoulder against his arm playfully, “and you’re definitely not getting this jacket back.”

 “Wouldn’t dream of asking,” he grins.

 Instinctively, you go to grab your truck keys off their hook by the door, figuring it would just be easier if you drove. Tommy catches your wrist before you can reach them and shakes his head.

 “Nah, baby, that won’t be necessary,” Tommy digs in the pocket of his denim shorts and pulls out a set of car keys, dangling them in front of your face triumphantly. “Mick’s working on some songs with Nikki today so he lent me his car.”

 “Mick lent you his car?”

 Tommy just shrugs, “Why is it so hard to believe? He’s my friend...uh, I think.”

 You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, and jump up to ruffle the drummer’s hair playfully. He tries to push you away and fails, instead grabbing you by the waist to drag you over the threshold and out of the door.

 “Hand ‘em over, Lee. I’m still driving,” you laugh, not wanting to let him off the hook that easily.

 Tommy looks at you defiantly, “Race you for them.”

 Without any hesitation, you shove past Tommy and head straight for the car. The two of you bound down the stairs, giggling breathlessly in a race to see who can get there first. Tommy wins, of course. His long limbs allow him to go at least twice as fast as you’re able– but you don’t mind. The only thing that matters is that he doesn’t just let you win. You don’t want him to. Not now, and not ever.

 When you finally catch up to Tommy, you find yourself too dizzy and giddy with laughter to even pretend to be upset that he’d beaten you.

 “Ready to hit the bricks, baby girl?” Tommy grins, ducking into the driver’s side of Mick’s beat up car.

 “I’m ready when you are, drummer boy,” you say. Unlike your truck, you’re thankful to find that Mick’s car has working air conditioning. However, that doesn’t stop you old habit of fastening your seatbelt and cranking down the passenger side window, inevitably letting in the warm summer air.

 The California sunshine bathes your legs in rays of golden heat, drawing you attention back to the fact that Tommy still hasn’t told you where he’s taking you. While your bathing suit and the summer sun should be a dead giveaway– you decide not to spoil all the fun.

 “So Tommy,” you smile, poking his arm gently as he pulls out of the drive, “where exactly is this mystery date, hmmm?”

 “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to the beach dude!” Tommy accelerates out of the parking lot and onto the open road, tires screaming into a cloud of dust behind the car. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that Mick will recognize the tire marks streaking the pavement later. You snicker as Tommy tries to conceal the cringe on his face.

 “Oooh,” you taunt, “someone’s going to be in trouble.”

 “Am not,” Tommy says defensively. He slides his sunglasses down over his eyes, allowing his mop of wavy hair to fall in his face once again. A single, chain earring catches the light in the midst of Tommy’s hair, the cross charm at the end glittering and sparkling as it moves in the breeze.

 “Are, too.”

 As you and Tommy cruise through the streets of Los Angeles, you can’t help but become mesmerized by him once again. He grips the steering wheel with a single hand, the muscles of his long arms rippling beneath his tanned skin. Everything about Tommy radiates warmth, and the longer you exist in his natural glow, the more you feel like you feel like you’re dreaming.

 Eventually the silence is too much for Tommy’s hyperactive brain and he turns on the radio, eyes briefly meeting yours over the top of his sunglasses.

 “What are you looking at, pretty girl?” he smirks.

 You blush at the pet name, suddenly feeling as though you never want to hear another voice call you pretty again if it isn’t his. More than anything, you want to come back with something clever. Something that won’t let Tommy know that he’s becoming a weak point for you.

 “You,” you reply, the single word falling from your lips before you can stop yourself. 

 So much for subtlety.

 A broad smile breaks across Tommy’s face, and for a moment it seems that he might be blushing even more than you are. With his free hand, he reaches into your lap and weaves his fingers through yours. His thumb rubs small circles over your own, making the physical connection between the two of you feel as if it were meant to happen all along. Although Tommy’s hands are calloused from years of playing the drums, his touch is soft and gentle.

 “Just you wait,” Tommy says smugly, eyes fixed on the palm-lined streets in front of him, “I’ll make you mine before you know it.”

...

 When you and Tommy finally arrive at the beach, you’re surprised to find that he has pretty much planned everything down to the last detail. Nestled in the back of Mick’s trunk is a beach blanket, towels, a cooler, and a large umbrella. Try as you may to help Tommy unload the car, he only allows you to carry the beach towels– and even that had been a fight. 

 The two of you eventually stake out a spot off the beaten path, far away from the droves of obnoxious tourists and screaming children. As you get to work laying out the towel and staking the umbrella, you can’t help but become a little distracted by how beautiful of a day it is. The sky is bluer than you’ve ever seen it, and the crash of the waves in the distance is something you’ve been longing to hear since you planned your move to California.

 As soon as you’re content with yours and Tommy’s set up, you shed your shorts and leather jacket, allowing them to fall in a heap on the corner of the blanket. You hum and stretch as your skin soaks in the glorious rays of sunshine, reveling in the salty air around you. The sound of Tommy shuffling over with the cooler breaks your relaxed trance and you turn to look at him.

 Tommy’s staring at you again, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’re confused at first, but soon recall your choice to wear the tiniest bikini you own. For the first time since you met Tommy, you don’t blush. You’ve got him right where you want him.

 “Beautiful,” he sighs, appearing as though even the slightest breeze would knock him to the ground. He has the same dreamy expression on his face now as he did the night he first uttered the word to you. Then, he had been pumped full of alcohol and soaked in blood– but now, he seems more sincere than ever.  

 “The weather?” you ask, feigning innocence, “It is beautiful isn’t it?”

 “Uh–yeah. Yeah! The weather, it is, um, beautiful,” Tommy stammers, “the weather, the day–all of it. Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

 “Thank you,” you interrupt, giving him another small peck on the cheek. If you aren’t careful, pretty soon giving Tommy little kisses here and there will become a force of habit.

 Fuck it, you think, why the hell shouldn’t it?

 Leaving the drummer speechless, you pull your sunglasses down over your eyes and recline lazily on the blanket. Eventually, Tommy snaps out of his trance and begins noisily digging around through the cooler again.

 “What’s in there?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

 Tommy reaches in and pulls out a beer. Holding it by the bottle’s neck he points it in your direction, gesturing for you to take it. “Beer! Oh and some snacks, too.”

 You accept Tommy’s offering and take a look inside the cooler for yourself. Among the ice and beer bottles, a pastel pink tupperware container sticks out to you. Of all the things you had seen in the Crüe apartment, a cutesy set of tupperware surely wasn’t on the list.

“ And this?” You look over at Tommy for an answer, but he’s busy prying off the beer bottle cap with his teeth.  

 The cap tears off the bottle with a loud pop as Tommy casually spits its remains onto the sand by your feet. “Oh that?” Tommy replies, smiling sheepishly, “actually my mom made that.”

 “Your mom?” you ask, feeling your heart melt ever so slightly, “When did you see your mom?”

 “Yesterday,” Tommy smiles sweetly, his eyes drifting off in the direction of the ocean waves lapping at the shore. “The moment I thought you might give me another chance after–well, you know–I had to ask her how to fix it.”

 Even though thinking back on that night still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you can feel your heart swell at the thought that Tommy would ask his family about how to make it all better. Maybe you are important to him after all.

 “Does your family live around here?”

 “Kinda. They live out in the ‘burbs, which can feel like forever away,” Tommy replies, “Remember when I called you? I was actually waiting for my ride back to the city.”

 Deciding not to pry anymore, you pick up the container and try to see if you can get a read on what might be in it. “You still haven’t answered my question, drummer boy,” you smile, “What’s inside?”

 Tommy gently pulls it from your grasp and pops open the lid. Inside are two triangle shaped pastries, both of which are golden brown and glistening with a layer of honey.

 “It’s baklava,” Tommy grins, “My mom’s from Greece so she thinks that food can fix everything.”

 “You’ll have to thank her for me,” you say, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed by the kind gesture of a woman you hadn’t even met. Tommy’s constant displays of affection and generosity didn’t seem to be as much of a mystery now.

 Tommy tips his beer back and takes a swig. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m sure you’ll get to tell her yourself.”

 As the summer sun starts to slowly dip into the horizon, you and Tommy decide to pack up the car and take a walk along the beach. A comfortable silence sits between the two of you as you walk, your hands almost close enough to touch. After a day of sunbathing and chatting, it’s nice to just exist among each other. The more time you spend around Tommy, the more you find yourself feeling completely at home when he’s around.

 While Tommy has a lot of energy for partying and playing music, he also uses that energy to listen to you talk about the things you love. He’s the only person you’ve ever met that actually listens to what you’re saying, rather than just waiting for their turn to talk. It’s almost as if he wants to study everything about you and commit it to memory. Even now, with conversation being replaced by the lapping of the waves, you could feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you shift forward through the sand.

 As the beach becomes bathed in a dreamy purple and orange glow, the pier that you and Tommy have been meandering towards starts to glitter with artificial light. The closer you get, sounds of laughter and carousel music can be heard over the shriek of the gulls circling overhead. A ferris wheel spins lazily against the sky, and your stomach flutters at the thought of being up so high. It’s not the fear of heights that makes you uneasy, it’s the fear of falling.

 “What’s going on over there?” you ask, turning to Tommy with childlike wonder sparkling in your eyes.

 “That’s the pier, dude! It’s got all kinds of games and rides– wanna go?” Tommy flashes you a boyish grin, and holds out his hand.

 When you look at Tommy, it’s as if time stops and the only thing in motion is the both of you. Nothing else matters when you take a dip into his ocean eyes, and you find yourself wondering:

 Is this love?

 The thought tears through all the layers of caution tape you had been stringing up in your mind. After all of the weird things Tommy had brought crashing into your life, you were supposed to be guarding your heart– but all you find yourself wanting to do is hand it over to the boy in front of you. Even if it bleeds.

 Taking Tommy’s hand, you allow a goofy smile to take over your face. While a single date doesn’t mean that you and Tommy will be together forever, for just a minute you want to let yourself believe that it’s possible. All you ever wanted in life was to be in control, and somehow Tommy makes you forget that tomorrow is even something worth worrying about. Tommy brings out the carefree side of you, and you wouldn’t mind if she came out to play more often. Before you know it, you’re smiling like you won the lottery.

 With a newfound energy, you and Tommy race from the dusky shoreline and up towards the pier. Much like your race to the car early that afternoon, you and Tommy are enveloped in a breathless fit of giggles as soon as you reach the top. Passersby gawk as Tommy picks you up and spins you around, the carnival lights melting into the emerging stars above.

 Tommy sets you back down on your feet, careful to keep his hands hovering over your waist to steady your balance. “Where to first, sweet thing?”

 After a view short spurts of vertigo, you’re able to take a look around. With all the flashing lights and colorful displays, it’s hard for you to focus on just one thing at a time. Across the way, you catch sight of an old-fashioned shooting gallery complete with red targets and bee-bee gun rifles. All along the booth’s back wall and upper perimeter are clusters of teddy bears in an assortment of shapes and sizes. You eyes widen as they land on a fluffy pink teddy, its head lolling to the side to reveal a glossy pair of black, buttoned eyes.

 “Come on, drummer,” you giggle, tugging on his hand, “this way!”

 Tommy complies, allowing you to pull him along with the love-stricken smile never leaving his face. At the counter, he fishes two quarters out of his pocket and tosses them at the timid preteen manning the station. The kid plucks a rifle off of the back wall and instinctively gives it to Tommy, who is more than eager to take it.

 “So which one am I shooting for?” Tommy asks, carelessly swiveling the rifle around the booth and gesturing at the bears hanging overhead. The young carnival worker all but ducks for cover as the gun points in his direction, his braces shining through the nervous grimace on his face.

 You reach across the counter to place your hand on the rifle’s barrel, gently nudging its nose towards the ground. Tommy, finally realizing the implications of his actions mutters a soft, “sorry dude” in the kid’s general direction.

 “Who said I wanted you to shoot for me?” you challenge, hand still firmly resting on the end of the bee bee gun.

 “Oh come on,” Tommy whines, “I’ve always wanted to shoot one of these but my parents would never let me.”

 “Gee, I can’t imagine why,” you chuckle. Tommy is barely out of his teens, and you have no doubt in your mind that his reckless nature is still very much an extension of his adolescence.

 “Please, Y/N?” Tommy’s begging is all too familiar, his pout mirroring all the times he hung defeated in your doorframe over the past few weeks.

 You roll your eyes, unable to conceal your soft spot for Tommy’s adorable pout. As you tilt your head upwards, the plush, pink teddy bear catches your attention once again. An idea flickers into your head and you turn to Tommy with a broad smile.

 “Fine,” you relent, “but I bet you can’t get that one.”

 Tommy looks up at the pink bear suspended above your head, his eyes bright with competitive spirit. Judging by the size and quality of the bear compared to the ones around it, there is no doubt in either of your minds that it’s a top prize.

 “Oh yeah? And what do I get if I do, huh?” Tommy takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he towers above you. An unignorable electric current runs between the two of you, and for a moment all you can think about is how much you’re itching to close the space.

 “Depends on what you want,” you shrug, trying the ignore the way your heart is frantically pounding against your ribcage. You know that letting Tommy ask for whatever he wants is a gamble, but you’re a good enough shot to hope that it wouldn’t matter.

 Tommy grins confidently, “Another date, duh.”  Your heart softens like candy in the sun, and the sincerity in Tommy’s eyes is just as sweet. From what you knew of the guys back home, any of them would have used your bet as an opportunity to be gross. Yet here Tommy is, simply asking to just have more of your time.  

 I was in love with you from the moment I saw you.

 Tommy’s words replay in your head like a cassette tape burning from the inside out. You ignore the pesky memories of Tommy shotgunning smoke into a groupie’s mouth in favor of the first time you caught sight of him, smoking and waving on the balcony.

 “Unbelievable,” you find yourself chuckling under your breath, knowing full well it won’t be the last time. “You sure that’s what you wanna shoot for, pretty boy?”

 Tommy nearly lets the rifle slip through his grip as the pet name graces his ears, face turning red hot. “F-fine,” he stammers, trying to regain control of the situation, “I guess I’ll take the bear, too.”

 You feign a gasp of astonishment, hand flying up to clutch your breastbone. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 Tommy winks, “There’s two things I don’t turn down, baby. Bets and dares.”

 “Whatever,” you smirk, “but I keep the bear and you take me on the ferris wheel.”

 “Ladies first,” Tommy replies, stepping aside so that you have a full view of the gallery. Tommy tosses two more quarters at the kid, who eagerly scrambles to shove a second rifle into your hands. You take it confidently, its weight reminding you of all those summer days back home where there was nothing to do but shoot cans off of the back porch.

 Filled with determination, you take a step back and situate the rifle’s stock in the divet of your shoulder. Closing one eye, you align the sight with one of the bright red targets ahead, your finger curling around the trigger in anticipation. All it takes is three bullseyes to win, and you already know Tommy has signed himself up for a losing bet.

 With one last look at Tommy, you pull the trigger and fire three shots. Each bee bee connects with the center of the targets in quick succession, and land with a hollow thud to the floor.

 Tommy and the boy behind the counter stare at you, mouths completely unhinged with disbelief.

 “You can still take the shot if you want,” you comment as you set the rifle down on the counter, “but I believe the bear is mine.”

 Tommy should be sinking with defeat, but instead he swells with pride and adoration. His rifle hits the counter noisily as he gestures for the kid to go and retrieve the pink bear. The timid boy hands it over, most likely thankful to be free of your antics for the night.

 Tommy holds the bear out to you and pulls one of its arms forward, making it look as though the bear wants to go in for a firm handshake.

 “Joint custody?” Tommy asks behind the fuzzy wall of pink fur.

 You take the teddy bear’s arm in your hand and give it a good shake, all the while laughing at the outrageousness of it all.

 “For being such a good sport? You bet,” you smile, “Now how about that ferris wheel?”

...

 The two of you never make it to the ferris wheel, but you don’t mind. There is way too much to do and see, and Tommy can’t help but be pulled toward anything with flashing lights– which just so happens to be everything. First, Tommy drags you through the haunted funhouse, the two of you giggling and screeching with the giant, pink teddy bear sandwiched in the middle. Next is an impromptu skee-ball tournament that ends with Tommy nearly knocking himself out with stray ball, but winning regardless.

 As a reward, you show Tommy the secret, feminine art of batting your eyelashes to get favors and free stuff. Tommy observes in amazement as, after minutes of flirting with the guy behind the counter, you return with two fluffy clouds of blue cotton candy on striped, paper cones.

 “You’re amazing,” he gapes, and you do what you can to hide your red face behind the orb of spun sugar. Tommy notices your bashfulness, but elects not to tease you about it. He just plucks at his cotton candy and stares off into space with a smirk that just won’t quit.

 After a brief sugar high and a few rounds of Galaga and Ms. Pac Man at the arcade, a massive yawn involuntarily swallows your face.  

 “You ready to hit the road, sleepyhead?”

 You nod in response, allowing your body to lean comfortably against the side of Tommy’s. He seems surprised by your sudden display of casual affection, but happily slings an arm around your shoulders anyway.

 Trekking back to Mick’s car, you remain glued to Tommy. Despite being firmly wrapped in his jacket, the breeze is cool against your bare legs as it drifts off the ocean, making you shiver. He smiles into your hair, teddy bear dangling from his free hand. You hate to admit it, but even if you were victorious in the bet earlier– Tommy is still winning.

 You finally reach the car, thankful to finally sit down and rest your legs. Pulling your knees up, you rest your feet on the dash and giggle as leftover sand sprinkles the floorboards. Mick is sure to kill Tommy later.

 “What’s got you all giddy?” Tommy asks, his body twisted towards you as he backs out of the beach parking lot.

 You sigh, loving the way that the orange street lights caress the shadow beneath Tommy’s sloping cheekbone. His skin a toasty bronze color from a full day in the sun, but the shine in his baby blue eyes makes you feel like it never set.

 “Just–thank you, Tommy.”

 He flashes a smile, eyes darting in your direction. “For what?”

 “Everything.”

 Tommy turns his head, looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky. You’re just about to tell him to cut it out, when you attention is caught by the flash of headlights shining through the windshield.

 “Fuck, Tommy! Watch the road!”

 Swerving abruptly to the right, Tommy barely dodges the vehicle hurtling forward in the opposite lane. Regaining control of the car, Tommy clutches the wheel with white knuckles. The both of you are panting, unable to believe that you aren’t just splatters against the pavement. After a few more moments of anxiety and relief coursing through your veins, you lock eyes with Tommy for a brief moment again, this time erupting into a fit of hysterical laughter.

 Tommy swipes tears of mirth away from his eyes with a free hand while you sputter out a few more giggles, clutching your aching stomach.

 “Dude we almost fucking died,” you wheeze, still grinning so hard it felt like your face might split.

 “But we didn’t,” Tommy argues playfully, “Although, if we wreck Mick’s car, the accident better kill me. I don’t even want to know what he’d do to me if I lived.”

 “Oh please, even if you did die Mick would just use his alien powers to bring you back and kill you again.”

 You kick your feet back up on the dashboard and recline in the passenger’s seat, finally feeling that it’s safe to relax. All the while Tommy shivers at the thought of Mick finding ways to torture him for all eternity.

 “What happened to you back there, anyway?” you ask, recalling the way that Tommy seemed to become completely entranced by you just moments before unconsciously drifting into oncoming traffic.

 Tommy shrugs, suddenly looking bashful under the moonlight as it flits in and out of view. “I froze up,” he says honestly, sounding as though he doesn’t fully understand it himself.

 “What can I say?” he continues, eyes never leaving the road, “it’s what you do to me.”

 Your heart jumps in your chest at Tommy’s admission and you suddenly feel as though you’re staring up at the ferris wheel again, bringing you to a painful realization:

You’re falling in love.

...

 When you and Tommy finally get back to the apartment building, he insists on walking you up to your door like a “true gentleman”. You try to argue against it– saying that it’s only a short walk up– but he’s persistent as always.

 With feet firmly planted on the welcome mat, you stare up at Tommy, fighting the urge to kiss him right then and there. You know he most definitely wouldn’t object, but this was technically yours and Tommy’s first date. You never kiss on the first date, even if you had kissed him only days ago.

 Just as you turn to unlock the door, Tommy catches your arm gently. “Can I see you again?”

 “I’ll allow it,” you smirk, secretly hoping he comes back to invade your space sooner rather than later. It is Tommy, after all, you know he won’t be able to stay away for long.  

 You duck into your musty old apartment, feeling much more content than the last time you left Tommy out in the darkness on your doorstep. After splashing some water on your face and giving your teeth a good scrub, you settle into bed. Your skin is still warm from soaking in the sunshine, and you end up falling asleep before your head even gets the chance to hit the pillow.

 Your peaceful slumber doesn’t last for long, though. A few hours in, you start to stir, the sound of something pecking at your window intruding your muddied dreams and shaking you awake.

 What the fuck?

 The tapping continues, and as you become more conscious you realize it sounds like something hitting your window. Just as you’re about to get up and investigate, a rock comes soaring through the glass, shattering the window into a thousand jagged pieces. You bolt upright, your groggy mind unsure of how to process the the lone rock sitting at the edge of your bed in a pile of sparkling glass.

 “Goddamnit,” a familiar voice hisses from outside.

 Throwing the covers haphazardly off your body, you stumble over to the window, tiptoeing in an effort to avoid all the glass littering the floor. Sticking your head out of the busted window, you see Tommy standing outside next to Mick’s car. His hands are knotted through his hair with panic and it suddenly dawns on you that he’s the culprit.

 “Tommy?” you ask stupidly, “Did you just bust my fucking window?”

 “Uh, would you be mad if I said yes?” he calls up to you, cringing with embarrassment.

 “I can tell you that I’ll be furious if you lie to me, how does that sound?”

 You don’t have to be near him to know he’s swallowing the knot in his throat. After such a successful date, you actually thought you and Tommy might reach a point of steady normalcy– and now this.

 Flaring with anger at his lack of explanation, you pluck the rock up off the floor and launch it in his general direction. Thankfully, you miss, but the action is enough to effectively get his attention.

 “Whatever,” you spit, eye practically twitching with agitation, “I’m going to bed and you are fixing this tomorrow.”

 As soon as you duck your head back inside, Tommy calls to you from the ground. “Wait! Don’t go yet– I can explain!”

 Reluctantly, you face him again with one eyebrow raised in doubt. “Okay, this oughta be good.”

 “I just–” he starts, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “I just wanted to see you again, okay? I read this book–Romeo and Julia, or whatever–and the guy threw rocks at his girl’s window to get her attention, so I thought it might be cool to do for you…”

 Tommy is kicking pebbles across the dirt, unable to meet your stare for fear of what you might say. Little does he know that there’s a fire burning in your chest, but it’s the farthest thing from anger.

 “You’re insane!” you shout, undoubtedly waking the whole neighborhood, “and I’m not your girl.” You try to make your voice sound firm, but Tommy can see the smile threatening to tear your face wide open.

Tommy takes a step forward, regaining some of his confidence. “Not insane, just romantic,” he fidgets with a rock in his hand as he stares up at you, eyes glimmering with hope.

“Oh is that what we’re calling now?” you know that any normal person would have either gone back to bed or called the cops by now, but you can’t seem to pull yourself away from Tommy’s adoring smile. “You know they die at the end right? Romeo and Juliet?”

 “Will you please just let me inside so we can talk about it?”

 You huff and rub the sleep from your eyes, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

 “How could I sleep when you’re all I think about?” Tommy’s hands clutch at his chest as he speaks, pouring his heart out like a true Romeo. “I’m going out of my mind, Y/N. You make me wanna howl at the fucking moon!”

 You have to hold you face in your hands to keep the dorky grin from taking over your face. Tommy’s right– he is out of his mind.

 “Okay fine! I believe you!” you laugh, unsure if the situation is actually amusing or if the lack of sleep is taking over. “Now stop being a clown and get inside.”

 “For real?”

 You roll your eyes, “Who else is going to clean up all this glass?”

 Unsurprisingly, Tommy bounds up the stairs anyway. At this point, you could probably tell Tommy the whole building is on fire and he would still be just as eager to come up and see you. It’s as endearing as it is frustrating, but there’s something about the whole situation that’s just so Tommy.

 You barely have time to move away from the window before you hear Tommy pounding excitedly on the door. Side-stepping around the pool of broken glass in the center of your floor, you pad across the hall and over to the front door.

 When you open up, Tommy pushes in past you, giving you no time to be embarrassed about the fact that your only pajamas are a large t-shirt and a pair of frilly underwear. Deep down, you know you must look like a mess with your dark circles and hair tangled together with sand and surf, but you’re too sleepy to care.

 “Wanna see the damage?” you ask, nodding your head in the general direction of your bedroom.

 Tommy waltzes into your room, but is quickly halted by the sound of broken glass crunching against the soles of his Chuck Taylor’s. Tommy looks up at you, baring his teeth apologetically.

 “Fuck, dude. I’m so sorry.”

 Silently, you grab the broom and dustpan from the kitchen and toss them towards Tommy. To your relief he catches both with unsteady hands and a triumphant smile.

 “Then prove it,” you say, flopping onto your bed. The old springs squeak and bounce beneath your weight, making it feel as though the ocean waves are shoving against you once again. “I will be getting my security deposit back. Over Romeo and Juliet’s dead bodies.”

 Tommy can’t help but laugh as he sweeps all the shards littered about your room into a heap. You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time that hour, appalled that he would be so amused by your sour mood.

 After accumulating nearly all of your broken window’s remains into the dustpan, Tommy leaves to go dump it out in the kitchen trash. When Tommy left the room he had a dustpan full of glass and a smile on his face, but, as he returns, all you can see are empty hands and a furrowed brow.

 You sit up immediately, patting the space next to you so Tommy will sit down. He complies and takes a seat next to you, the mattress dipping downward at the sudden change in weight.

 “What’s the matter?” you ask, wondering what could have possibly caused his mood to fall so quickly. There’s a chance that the day’s exhaustion finally got the better of him, but you’d seen him with more energy in worse places.

 “It’s stupid,” he mumbles.

 “Oh come on, Tommy,” you rest a hand on his arm supportively, the warmth of his skin feeling hot enough to burn your fingertips. “You said you wanted to talk, right?”

 “Right,” his voice comes out as barely a whisper, “Can I ask you something?”

 “Anything.”

 Tommy twists to the side to face you, peering up at you from his dejected posture with misty eyes. “Why don’t you wanna be my girl?”

 The question falls from his lips and pierces through you like a spear to the heart. You suck in a sharp breath and knot your fingers together in your lap, not quite knowing what to say. It’s not that you don’t want to be Tommy’s– you just don’t know if you’re ready for it yet. Nothing in your life has ever felt more right, and yet every alarm of self-doubt in your body is shrieking that you’re to end up with a broken heart.

 It’s fear that’s holding you back. Not the fear of love, but the fear of falling.

 “Tommy, it’s not that I don’t want to,” you sigh, wanting so badly not to fuck things up, “I just wanna take things slow is all. Get to know the real you...be friends– you know?”

 You heart is beating in your throat as you wait for Tommy’s response, the draft from your busted window chasing goosebumps up your back from the base of your spine. Much to your chagrin, Tommy stays stock still and says nothing.

 Unable to endure the silence any longer, you spring to your feet. “I’m going to go make us some tea, okay? Be right back,” you babble, doing your best to pick up the pieces of yours and Tommy’s day and make it whole again.

 You make it about two feet away from the bed before a firm hand clutches your wrist, jerking you around. The sudden movement causes a small yelp to escape from your throat as your feet stumble clumsily forward. You fall immediately onto Tommy’s standing figure, your chest pressing firmly against his. Mind reeling, you look up at Tommy for an explanation, astonished to find that his face is only inches from your own.

 “We’re not just friends and you know it,” he growls, his breath hot against your gaping mouth. The sensation causes the space between your thighs to twitch involuntarily, setting every nerve ending in your body aflame with desire.  

 The last thing you hear is the sound of your own pulse rushing through your ears before Tommy’s lips crash against yours.

Masterlist

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 16 (Final)

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

Rose stared down at him, mouth hanging open as she tried to process the scene in front of her.  This man, this wonderful, kind man she was in love with, was asking her to marry him.

She tried to say yes!, tried to make her mouth move, but nothing came out as reality all but came and smacked her in the face.

He wasn’t a man – he was a King.  A king, with a country, one that was far from London and the only life she’d ever had.  Far from her Mum, her friends, her business. I’d have to give up Matchmaking.  Could she leave that?  Could she be so selfish as to abandon her mother?

She was all Jackie had in the world, really, the only family left.  Sure they had cousin Mo, and a small smattering of aunts and uncles, but it had been just the two of them almost Rose’s entire life.

Her mouth moved, no sound coming out, and the King’s happy expression was slowly fading to worry the longer she stayed silent.  She wanted him, that was not in question, but could she make the sacrifices necessary?

And would his family, his people even accept her?  It certainly seemed like the Princess did, given she’d fetched Rose from the station, but did that mean she really wanted her?  Or was she just so desperate not to become queen that at this point anyone would do?

Tearing her eyes away from the King, she sought out the Princess and their aunt – and felt her heart stop.

Four women stood together, all smiling and waiting expectantly.  Sarah Jane, in an elegant plum color, stood next to her niece, the Princess in emerald.  On the other end was Mel, looking no different than when Rose had last seen her, in a lovely shade of mint that went perfectly with her hair.

But the fourth member, the one whose presence brought tears to Rose’s eyes, was none other than Jackie Tyler.

Mum?

Rose blinked rapidly, trying to clear away her tears, but her mother remained there, dressed in a delicate shade of pink and beaming more than the rest of them.  She caught Rose’s eye and nodded, waving her hand in the universal come on! gesture, and Rose sniffled, fighting back a laugh.

Lowering her gaze back to the King, her doubts and fears melted away.

“Yes,” she whispered, and his face lit like the sun.  “Yes,” she repeated, stronger this time, a smile growing across her face as she let out a happy giggle.  “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

“Oh thank God,” he whispered, surging up and wrapping his arms around her in a hug, cradling her tightly to him.  “You were starting to scare me.”

“Sorry,” Rose replied in kind, tightening her own grip on him.  “I was scaring myself for a second.”

They swayed in place, giggling together, for a long moment before-

“Give her the ring already!” the Princess shouted, and they broke apart, laughing.

“Right, the ring,” the King took only a small step back but it still felt like too far, Rose following him like a magnet and making him smile.  “Hand, please.”

Rose presented it, pleased that despite the nerves and anticipation swirling through her, it stayed steady as he gently slid the ring on over her knuckles to settle at the base.

“Perfect fit,” he murmured, raising it to his mouth and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, making her giggle once again from happiness.

“Yes, we are.”

Resting her hand against his chest the King held her gaze, wrapping his other arm around her waist and drawing her close.  “May I kiss you?”

“Only if you promise to never stop,” she murmured, meeting him halfway.

It was a bit awkward, knowing their first proper kiss was happening in front of over a hundred people and their families to boot, but Rose was too damn happy to care.  Little more than a gentle press of lips, she still ranked it as one of the best of her life, given they were too busy laughing to do it properly.

The King spun away from her then, keeping hold of her hand and showing her to their audience.  “May I present your future Queen,” he announced, as if any doubts might exist, but the room burst into applause and cheers nevertheless.

Rose thought the smile might permanently freeze on her face, and was perfectly happy with the thought.

“May I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

He gestured for the band to start playing, and they started to waltz, though he held her quite a bit closer than was technically proper for the style.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, raining kisses to the side of her head closest to his lips, apparently unable to stop kissing her now that he was allowed to.

“Me too.”

They stopped in the middle of the floor, heedless of the other dancers swirling around them, and kissed again.

Just because they could.

-

Eventually the heavy weight of their loved ones’ gaze forced them off the dancefloor, the King should I still call him ‘the King’?  That sounds silly, doesn’t it?  Ian?  Ugh, that feels weird leading her to the table where their families were sitting, Sarah Jane and the Princess and her family next to Jackie and Mel.

“Hi, sweetheart!” her mother enthused, reaching for her, and Rose reluctantly stepped out of the King’s arms and right into her mother’s, as they held each other tight.

“Hi!  What on Earth are you doing here?!”

Jackie jerked her head in Sarah Jane and the Princess’s direction.  “They invited me!  Mel’s idea of course.”

Rose’s spine stiffened, and she shifted to glare at her assistant.  “You knew my Mum was here and let me leave?!”

“I didn’t know she was already here!” Mel protested.  “I had suggested that since Saturday was your birthday that it might be nice to bring her out, but I thought she was coming Friday morning!”

Which meant that the Princess had decided to bring Jackie in early, and Rose turned a narrowed gaze on the woman.  “When exactly did this-” she gestured to herself and the King, “become the plan?”

The Princess and her aunt exchanged looks, pretending to think.  “Um… around… the third?” the redhead said sweetly, and Rose’s jaw dropped.

“That was our second day here!”

The two women shrugged in unison, fighting smiles.  “When we saw how quickly, how easily you got under his skin, we opened ourselves to the possibility,” Sarah Jane said innocently.  “We knew for sure though at the fundraiser – that it was mutual, I mean. You couldn’t take your eyes off each other.”

Rose huffed, crossing her arms and feeling played.  “And you, missy, when exactly did you run me through the software as a potential match?”

Mel burst into laughter.  “Soon as I had numbers to run.  I just thought it’d be funny, didn’t realize you’d be so compatible.”

The King sighed beside her, wrapping an arm around Rose’s waist and pulling her into his side, where she went willingly, uncrossing her arms in favor of holding him.  “So you just let us spend the last two weeks miserable instead of just telling us?”

“Telling you what?” his sister retorted.  “You knew how you felt perfectly well, you were just too much of a coward to do anything about it.  Then you refused to just ask her.  Don’t blame this on us!”

“Ask me?  Ask me what?” Rose asked, brow furrowed, before catching sight of her ring.  “I mean, something beyond the obvious?”

The Princess and Sarah Jane both gave him a pointed look, making him groan and ruffle his hair.

“I may have been under the impression you were engaged,” he grumped, staring down at the floor.  “I overheard you on Thursday, talking about planning a wedding.”

She burst into laughter, heart easing.  “No!  I was going to help my oldest friend plan his wedding – though I suppose I can’t now.”  For a moment, she let herself mourn the life in London she would never return to, but only a moment – her future in Gallifrey was far too bright to be sorry for long.  “That’s alright!  I can always Skype in, if I’ve got the time.”

“He was devastated,” Sarah Jane said knowingly, smirking at her nephew.  “Wouldn’t stop sulking.”

Rose smiled up at the King, squeezing his side.  “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.  “Not your fault,” he muttered, “that’s what I get for eavesdropping and jumping to assumptions.  I just… resigned myself.  I didn’t think I had any right to try to tempt you away from him.”

“I would’ve gone willingly,” she promised, “even if we had still been together.  I was in too deep with you.”

They kissed again, the table in front of them drawing out their awwww.

“Take a walk with me?” he whispered against her lips, and Rose nodded.

“I’d go anywhere with you.”

-

The ballroom hosting the engagement party was at the back of the castle, with doors that could open out onto the patio in nicer weather.  Despite being late April it was still a touch too cool, but they were able to slip out through one of the doors, and suddenly, they were alone.

“Hello,” Rose laughed, as they laced their arms and meandered down the patio until they were past the ballroom.

“Hello.”

Once out of sight of his- of their guests and wasn’t that a thrill, to think they shared something- of course, now they shared an entire future – he tugged her to a stop, bringing her into his arms and nuzzling her nose with his.

“You’re warm,” Rose- his fiancée, and wasn’t that a trip? murmured, nestling closer, and he belatedly realized she was outside on a cold night in a strapless gown.

“Hold on.”  Reluctantly stepping back he eased his jacket off, mindful of the medals and ribbons decorating it as he draped it around her shoulders.  “Better?”

She hummed, burying her nose in the collar, and though he couldn’t see her mouth, knew she was smiling up at him.  “Thanks.”

He tugged her back to him, cupping her chin and gently angling her head up for a kiss, one she gladly surged onto her toes to lean into, daring to let his tongue trace her plump lips, loving the little gasp she gave and darting inside.

But Rose, his love, was hardly a passive participant, and it was almost obscene, how much pleasure he was drawing from a simple meeting of mouths and tongues, how easy it was to lose himself in the taste of her, holding her tighter against him.

Eventually they pulled away, and he was gratified to see her panting as heavily as he was, eyes heavy with desire.

“That was nice,” she whispered, giving him a teasing smile, tongue peeking out between her teeth.

“If you like, we can spend the rest of our lives doing that,” he rasped, brushing a flyaway hair from her face mostly for the excuse to touch her.

Rose hummed, tapping her chin in mock thought.  “Pretty sure I’ve already agreed to that.”

“I may need some convincing that this is real.”  He sampled her lips again, unable to get over how right it all felt.  “Seems legit.”

A shadow fell over her face, mood shifting to a more serious tone, and Ian sighed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Are you sure?” she asked timidly, toying with a button on his dress shirt.  “Not… not personally, I don’t think, but… me.  As queen.  D’you think I can do this?”

Ian laughed, tugging her closer still.  “Of course.  As does everyone else, or they wouldn’t have worked so hard to stop us from making a terrible mistake.  We’ll teach you what you need to know.  It’ll be fine.  It might be hard sometimes, but we’ll get through.  Together.”

“Together.”  Rose fisted his tie, drawing his mouth down to hers for a long moment.  “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”  Her brow was still furrowed though, and he nuzzled her nose again.  “What is it?  You can say anything.  There’s no question too dumb.”

She blinked up from beneath her lashes, looking impossibly young and innocent, and for just a moment he had doubts about dragging her into the chaos of monarchy, but forcefully pushed those feelings aside.

“What do I call you?”

Of all the things he’d been preparing himself for, that wasn’t one.  “What?”

“What do I call you?” she repeated, staring at the knot of his tie.  “The King?  Your Majesty?”

“My name’s Ian,” he said blankly, wrinkling his nose at the thought.  “You would use those when speaking about me, but when addressing me, Ian is fine.  Though, for you, I think I’d be rather happy to answer to ‘Husband’.”

Rose let out a deep breath, shaking her head slightly before meeting his eye with a determined glint, her smile back.  “Okay.  We’ll figure it out.  For tonight, let’s just celebrate!”

“Oh?” he teased, swaying her slightly to the distant strains of the band, unable to get over how beautiful she looked in the moonlight.  “Are we celebrating?”

“Yep!”  She popped the ‘p’, making him smile.  “Cause guess what?  We never have to go on any sort of blind date ever again.”

Ian burst into laughter, shaking his head.

“Now

that

is something worth celebrating!”

---

The End

...

For Now

---

Hello!  Thank you for joining me on this lovely journey.  I started writing it in late March, and it’s hard to believe that this particular story is over.  @stupidsatsuma and I have poured many hours into this story, writing it, editing it, and just plotting!  I’m very grateful to all of you who have read it.

But how can this be then end?! you cry.  There’s so much more to the story!

Well, you’ll be pleased to know that we agree!  While it’s still in the early stages, and a ways away, there will be (at least!) one full-length sequel.  I won’t go into details at the moment, but I have reasonably-firm plans for the next story, and tentative ones for the third.

If you’re interested in seeing those when they’re ready to be shared, I recommend subscribing to the Queen of Hearts series on AO3 - once it’s ready, it will be posted both here and there.

Thank you!

[jungnoir]

are you accepting requests? if you are, please write fluff for jaemin or jisung from nct!! idc what but i noticed they don’t have anything and i love them uwu thanks

friends to lovers!jaemin and jisung

a/n: I’m not accepting requests but… I’m also bored and stuck on everything else so here’s this tiny thing

⎡JAEMIN⎦

the annoying spicy best friend and boy next door until senior year

you guys lived right next to each other so of course you always hung out!! despite going to the same school and spending the whole day together already, you spend even more time with each other when you get home

you’d beg your parents to allow you both to play in the front yard and kick balls around or play hide and seek in jaemin’s huge backyard until dinner time and even sometimes past that

as you both got older, you’d get to hang out later, so you’d both chill in jaemin’s hammock in the late evening because you both were small enough to fit and tell each other funny or scary stories while the bugs left bites littered over your arms and legs (not that you really cared until you went home and couldn’t stop scratching)

you never thought of jaemin in a different way, though everyone else thought you did

play fights were commonplace between you two so whenever you’d get particularly rough with each other ur friends would be like “lol there go the lovebirds

and it was gross

it was…

gross

?

it was gross up until high school when your hormones kicked in and hey. jaemin is kinda gross. you still remember when he used to plant boogers on your locker handle or tackle you in sweaty arms if he lost to you in a game of kiddy basketball

but now jaemin doesn’t look like scrawny, stinky little jaemin anymore

no, now he can pick you up off the ground with two arms around your waist and laugh in your ear about how you should be more aware of your surroundings

now when he ruffles your hair he follows up with gently patting down the stray hairs, both hands smoothing down from the crown of your hair to the tops of your ears to the curve of your neck

now when he gives you those dark, mischievous eyes and asks “can I stay over tonight?” you can’t say you don’t shiver

you remember a time when you both were so young and so close that your parents would give you baths together for pete’s sake

and now you can’t even stand in your bedroom, ten feet away from each other, and look each other in the eye

he sits on your bed, slouched and flipping through channels on your tv

but when he sees you enter in just a pair of shorts and a giant shirt (his, though it’s been years since he’d last seen it)… he doesn’t quite remember what he was so focused on doing a few seconds ago

“…did you find a movie?” you ask softly, padding over to the other side of your bed as he immediately sits up and draws his long limbs to his sides

“oh! uh… no dice. maybe we should just rewatch something you have here?”

you shrug, point to the popcorn he’s got on your nightstand, and allow yourself a silent heave of air when he’s not looking your way anymore

he retrieves a movie you two have watched so many times before that you can recite the words together and not miss a beat

so it. it feels different tonight. somehow

there’s just a bowl of popcorn separating your hands from finding the other’s and this odd tension in the air that was birthed the minute you walked into your room after telling jaemin you were just gonna “change into something movie night-worthy”

you two don’t end up throwing yourselves over each other like usual, being deliberately annoying and clingy just to make the other person laugh

the movie is about halfway through when jaemin suddenly moves the popcorn to the floor and rolls onto his side, resting his head on his fist as he stares at you

“what?” you ask, v aware of the warmth he’s giving off now that there’s no barrier between you

“nothing”

“it’s gotta be something if you’re just staring at me for no reason” you drag your knees up to your chest to somehow make yourself smaller under his gaze, even to bury your cheeks between your knees so that you could make sure he didn’t see the little twitch in your lip, the want to laugh nervously or spout out some ridiculousness to get him to stop looking at you building up in your tummy

“can’t I just look at you for no reason?” he scoots a little closer, maybe attempting to look funny to you as he says this but,,, he’s doing a really bad job of it

because he doesn’t look funny. if anything, he looks kind of… what is the word?

you bite your lip, “sorry, gotta pay to look”

“what’s your preferred currency, honey?”

oh my GOD shut up jaemin

you push at his chest, trying to ignore how your hand annoyingly remembers the mold of it even after you’d touched him

“silence” you joke, watching as he licks his lips and sits up so that he’s level with you

he reaches forward and cups your chin, glancing between your eyes and your lips

he isn’t even subtle about it

your mouth parts unconsciously, a sudden understanding to this tension you’ve both been feeling hitting you hard

jaemin resists the urge to run his thumb over your bottom lip when it gets released from you teeth, if only to spend this next moment looking at your face

and he’s not even surprised that you can feel it too

“you’ll have to be specific, there’s all kinds of silence”

you don’t know what this is

no, scratch that, you know exactly what it is, but you don’t know if you want to admit it to yourself yet

maybe you could get away with that for now

neither of you would hold it against the other if you just. tried it out once, right?

and so you lean in that much closer, breaths mingling unavoidably now

“getting specific enough for you?”

of course not

⎡JISUNG⎦

idk why i’m so obsessed with this visual of gamer!jisung but hear me out

gamer!jisung, best friends with your best friends aka the other dreamies, but probably the only one you can never get close to

besides the fact he’s a certified bully to the boys, you’re the only one that he isn’t… silly with

like he’ll have renjun in a headlock and then make eye contact with you and the mood immediately dies

you’ve asked each of the boys what the problem might be

are u scary? are u not his type of person to hang around? was he still put off by that time you body slammed mark into a wall?

ok you didn’t actually body slam him but he swears he felt his feet leave the ground for a moment

not your fault he has the weight of a singular macaroni noodle

jisung always talks to you respectfully and if he can, talks to you through the others

it wasn’t… fun… having jisung treat you this way

he was always your favorite not that you have favorites *ahem* forgive me, donghyuck *ahem* so it was v :///// u know

you really wanted him to be able to treat you like he treated the other boys!! because you’d gladly treat him the way you treat the others if only you had the CHANCE

or at least you’d like to know why he didn’t so you could have some kind of closure

jisung happens to run a gaming club at school, and with permission, the “club” (which mainly consisted of all of you) would stay behind after classes and play together in one of the abandoned classrooms

you always had to play against the others bc jisung never wanted to give anyone (you) the floor to challenge him

so one day, you just decide that you’ll sit in and observe jisung play against donghyuck in overwatch

and donghyuck is obliterating jisung

you’ve never seen donghyuck this good, getting excited enough to run over to donghyuck’s side and cheer him on

you place your hand on donghyuck’s shoulder

and jisung looks away from the screen for just one second to see it

right then, donghyuck destroys jisung with a victorious yell

of course, you’re both caught up in the excitement of the moment so the first person he hugs is you

and this is pretty normal for you guys; between wrestling around and being affectionate, it was never weird to receive a hug from anyone except jisung

then you hear a controller clatter to the floor and by the time you’ve peeled away from donghyuck at the loud sound, you see jisung storming out of the classroom

the other boys looked shocked, some even looking between each other, unsure what to do

you notice chenle about to offer to go after him when you stop him, “i’ll go calm him down… he’s probably just upset about the match, you know how he gets”

chenle nods for you to go, gnawing lightly on his bottom lip

you find jisung sitting on the stairs outside the school exit, his head resting in his hands as the evening grows later

the sun nearly blinds you as you move to sit next to him, mulling over what to say

after all, you two weren’t that close in the first place. surely you were the last person he wanted to see right now

without looking up, jisung begins grumbling, “I know, okay? you don’t have to lecture me about it”

you blink

you weren’t planning to lecture him at all!

“I know that it’s stupid to get upset but the game was getting to me and-”

you’re about to cut him off, tell him it’s okay, that it’s just a game and some people get upset about those things but that you all knew it wasn’t that deep

“-you know how much I’m crushing on (y/n)… when I saw them cheering for hyuck, I just lost all focus. it’s pathetic. I wish I could just man up and tell them instead of avoiding them all the time”

oh

jisung… didn’t know it was you

he sounds so distraught too, like he was upset he let himself get angry, upset he let you see him show emotion

you place a hand on jisung’s shoulder and instantly he tenses. you think it’s because he wasn’t expecting a touch but it’s because he knows this hand doesn’t belong to the others

so it had to be…

“it’s not pathetic. if anything is pathetic, it’s that it’s taken donghyuck this long to finally win against you in a game, and even then, you were distracted so it technically doesn’t count”

jisung raises his head and his eyes look rimmed red, frustrated

but his expression is gentle when he sees the caring look on your face

“…hyuck would kill you if he heard that” he mumbles, looking down at his hands

you just giggle and bump his shoulder with yours, “ah, I know. but he also knows you’re my favorite so…”

jisung looks back up at you in shock. “f-favorite?”

you hum, moving your hand from his shoulder to the one furthest from you, wrapping an arm around him so that he has to lean into you. he’s never been so close but it’s. nice. your shampoo smells. nice 

“you don’t think it’s weird? what I said?” jisung looks a little mortified when he remembers that he’d just confessed to you, albeit unknowingly, and you were acting like everything was ok

you look back over to him and shake your head, “not at all… I hope this means you’ll stop avoiding me, though”

jisung doesn’t know how to feel at first; he had always assumed that telling you about his crush would either result in you returning his feelings or cutting off all contact with him

but instead, you don’t do either. you just watch the sunset with him, holding onto him

he also sees that you’re just as wonderful as he thought you’d be. you haven’t told him that you return his feelings but he doesn’t feel terrible at all. if anything, he feels ten times lighter after realizing he never had to hide from you in the first place

he checks to see that you’ll let him before wrapping his arm around your waist and offering you a sheepish smile, “sounds good to me”

besides, he may think you don’t return his feelings, but it’s just a matter of time until he realizes the truth about that too

[ohmytheon]

The Definition of a Hero (FMA x BNHA, 2)

Notes: I have the next two chapters already written, so I decided to go ahead and post this one. This chapter focuses mainly on Ed, Al, and Winry and their quirks (and the consequences of using them) with a side of Roy and Riza where we learn that Roy doesn’t have the pure history that all heroes have. I kind of worry that this isn’t my strongest writing, but I had fun with it. Also, I’m aware that anyone can take the entrance exam at U.A., but I forgot before I started my rewatch and didn’t feel like rewriting the scene. Let’s just say I’m going to start being creative once the characters start meeting anyways.

The Definition of a Hero diligent: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties

His mother’s quirk was a healing touch. She could bring something dying back to life, though she wasn’t as strong as the brave face that she put on. With a simple brush of her fingers, a dying flower could come back to life, glowing like it was its first blossom, or a piece of rotten fruit could get the shine back it and become just as ripe as it had been upon first falling from the tree.

However, when Ed had brought her a dying bird that had been mangled by a dog, all she could do was hold it in her cupped hands and feel the life slip out of it. Al had cried, not able to understand how her quirk could have failed her, but she had explained that all quirks had their limits. Some were stronger than others. All were unique. Still, quirks could only do so much. Maybe if it hadn’t been so injured, she could’ve saved the bird or if they had found it earlier, but her limit had been reached and the bird had died.

Ed had only been four, but he had promised that day that he would push his quirk to its limit every day until that limit got a little further with each try.

His own quirk manifested when he was five. One second he was been holding a spoon, trying to eat his soup, and the next it twisted into the shape of a squiggly line. It startled him and he dropped it into the soup, but he wasn’t scared. His mom was delighted and tested him to see what else he could do. She handed him certain objects until figuring out that he could only change the metal ones.

“Just like your father!” his mother exclaimed with a big smile, clapping her hands together.

Ed scowled as only a child could. “I don’t want his stupid quirk.”

“Oh, Edward,” his mother said gently, crouching down in front of him, “I think it’s sweet that you can share this with him.”

“I can’t share anything with him. He’s gone.” Ed folded his arms across his chest. “I want your quirk.”

His mother frowned sadly and touched his face gently. She had such soft, delicate hands that made him feel loved and safe. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Then she smiled, drawing warmth into their little space. “Besides, it’s not really his quirk. It’s yours. You have the power to use it however you want. You can do anything with it.”

Ed thought for a moment. From what he remembered of his dad before the man left, his quirk had been really strong. He could do a lot with it, probably even more than Ed knew or had seen. It was a quirk that could benefit a hero. It was a quirk that could save life too, like as his mom’s did, just in a different way. Before people got hurt.

“Anything?” Ed asked.

She nodded her head. “Anything.”

“Become a pro hero?”

His mom laughed and ruffled his hair. “The absolute best. Maybe even better than All Might one day.”

“Oh no,” Ed said very seriously, shaking his head. “No one can beat All Might. He’s number one!”

Standing up a little, his mom leaned over to kiss the top of his head and he let her. He was getting bigger now and he needed to be strong for his little brother. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be too old for kid stuff. For now though, he let his mom do what she wanted. “You can do anything that you put your mind to, Ed, and I’ll always be right behind to support you and Alphonse.”

Ed beamed at that and looked down at the metal bowl in his hands. He concentrated super hard on it until the bowl flattened into a disc and reflected his face like a mirror.

*

It was a terrible irony that, when his mother became ill, she could not save herself with her quirk. It was out of reach, past her limit, beyond her strengths.

And Ed pushed himself even harder, forcing his quirk further each time in an attempt to do just as she’d told him he could. He could do anything. He would do anything. He’d be the number one hero. He’d save people’s lives and protect them and make his brother happy. He’d do it all.

*

All Ed had been trying to do was practice with his quirk. He did it every day. By the time he could apply to a hero school, he’d be a pro at using his quirk. There would barely be any need for him to take strength classes to improve his skills. He was certain of it.

He and Al worked together every day. It helped that their quirks complemented each other. Al could turn his skin into armor, but not only that. It was like he became an actual suit of armor, his body taller and wider and much stronger as well. Ed’s ability to manipulate metal had caused a few issues before, but he made sure to put Al back into place before he transformed back into his human form.

Any metal that he brushed with his fingertips twisted at his will. It was an incredible power, one that he got used to over time to the point that it became second nature to him. Small metals were nothing. He could manipulate those in his sleep. Metals his size were a little more difficult, but he’d learned to manage them over time. What he wanted to work on was something larger, something way out of his comfort zone. The old sheet metal barn behind their house that had been long abandoned would work nicely.

“I don’t know, brother,” Al said nervously behind him. “You could really strain your quirk and hurt yourself.”

“No way,” Ed replied. “If it’s past my quirk limit, then nothing will happen.”

Al frowned. “But what if you start and then can’t control it?”

“Then I just stop.” Ed turned to face his brother, who still didn’t look convinced. They were standing outside of the barn now. It was getting close to dusk and he wanted to try this. He’d been itching to try it all week, but had been too busy with school. Now it was the weekend and he had all the time in the world. “It’ll be fine. Dont worry.”

“Can’t you at least stand outside instead of inside?” Al asked. “It sounds safer.”

Ed shook his head and opened the door. “It’ll be easier to control my quirk from the inside, trust me.”

And Al did, but he still didn’t look like he liked the idea. At the last minute, he followed Ed inside. He did want to see what it looked like and besides, if something did go wrong, he could use his quirk and transform into armor so that he could shield Ed from any of the fallout. Ed might’ve been his big brother that he admired a lot, but they protected each other. That was how it had worked since their mom passed away.

When, of course, things did go wrong -- when Ed’s quirk failed him halfway -- when the metal he was trying to bend his will got bent out of shape and he lost control -- when everything bad that could happen did happen -- Al screamed for his brother. Ed was still trying to use his quirk to stop the metal from screaming and shattering around them, but his quirk had reached its limit and would no longer listen. Eventually, the fight went out of him completely and he collapsed.

Al changed into his armored form, unable to feel as metal fell on top of his shoulders and back. By the time he was able to reach Ed, large pieces of rubble had fallen on top of him. Al knew that it was just as bad as it looked -- that the damage was worse than either of them could have imagined -- but he shielded Ed from any further damage. Once the barn was done fighting, barely anything left of it, Al pushed out of the metal debris and slowly began to excavate his brother.

It was a miracle that his brother was breathing, but then Al saw the state of Ed’s body and knew. They weren’t out of the water just yet. There was too much blood and two of his limbs hung in an unnatural way that might’ve made him throw up if he wasn’t armor. Nothing was going to be the same. He picked up his brother’s broken body and ran to the nearest house. The Rockbells were a good sort. He and Ed were close friends with their girl, Winry, and it was only by chance that her grandma was the small town’s doctor.

Al couldn’t manage tears in his armored form, but the second that he changed back into his skin, he felt them burn his eyes.

The pain hit him a second later, so powerful that he buckled to his knees and then fell flat on his face. His entire body ached with the kind of pain that came from a severe beating, something he’d never felt before. It was like at least five bones in his body had been broken. He rolled onto his back, wrapping his arms around his ribs, and groaned loudly. His whole being felt like one large bruise.

Winry was on him the moment she stepped back into the room where they’d taken Ed. “Al! What’s wrong?”

“I…” Al sucked in a gasp of air. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. “The barn… It collapsed on us.”

“But you were in your armored form, right?” Winry asked. “You can’t get hurt then.”

“N-no, I didn’t think so--” The pain made him feel dizzy. He’d never felt like this before. Every time he’d been in his armored form, nothing had been able to hurt him. Granted, they hadn’t tested it more than hitting him with a metal rod or something like that, nothing on par with a metal building collapsing on top of him.

A quirk limit. He had found his own tonight. His eyes drifted to the door the moment he heard Ed’s screams of pain. They both had. But at what cost?

*

“Your sidekick?” Riza frowned. Her eyes were closed as she leaned against the wall of a plushly decorated room. The office was growing larger every day. She didn’t doubt that it would rival Endeavor’s in the future, which she thought was half the point. “Don’t you have plenty of those already?”

“Okay, okay, not a sidekick -- a partner.”

When Riza opened her eyes, she stared back into the face of one Roy Mustang. He was sitting at his desk, leaning in his chair and feet propped up with his hands behind his head, looking extraordinarily casual. He wasn’t even wearing his pro hero costume, sticking with a pair of black slacks and a white button up shirt. There was a cheeky grin on his face, but despite his flippant appearance, she knew that he was being dead serious.

“A partner. Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely positive.” His hands fell from his head and he pulled his feet off his desk. “I trust no one more.” The grin fell from his face; the serious glint in his eyes did not. “You of all people know what I’m capable of. I would feel much more at ease knowing you’ve got my back.”

The words struck a chord inside of her heart. She did know what he was capable of -- more than anything -- but she also thought she knew who he was too, maybe better than he did. He might have come off as arrogant and even careless, but behind the bravado was a man who still desperately wanted to be a hero even when he was one in the eyes of the public already. He wanted to do good; he wanted to save people. He wanted to make up for all the wrongs he’d done. She didn’t know if he could do that, at least not in his mind.

“You’re not that boy anymore, you know,” Riza told him, not moving from her spot against the wall. A part of her wanted to walk over to him, step around the desk and grab his hands. She wanted to touch his face, look him square in the eyes, and make him believe her. She didn’t lie very often and she certainly wouldn’t to him. They had seen too much of each other as it was to do that.

But she didn’t move and neither did he.

“I’ll always be that boy,” Roy told her in a simple, accepting tone. “I will always have to live with what I did. All I can do is hope that the work I do now will outweigh it in the end.”

“You were sixteen, Roy. You can’t hold that over yourself forever; I don’t.”

A shadow fell over his face, one of insecurity and guilt, two things that he very rarely showed anyone. She thought that she might be one of five surviving people that had seen that look on his face. He looked down at his hands. It had been years since that night, but she could still see that same look on his face back then, only it had been more intense. “I will always have to worry if they were right about me.”

“I don’t worry about that,” Riza said. “You’re a hero, plain and simple. You save lives and protect people.”

A small smile crossed his face, not the kind that he showed the camera or the public, but the one that he reserved for her alone. “With you by my side, I won’t have to either.” She returned the smile, unable to stop herself. He always managed to bring such warmth out of her, despite everything. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to though. I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. But…will you follow me?”

“You have to ask?” Riza gave him a look and he let out a chuckle. “I expect equal compensation if we’re partners.”

“But I’m more famous than you,” Roy pointed out, as if he hadn’t been drowning just seconds ago. That was the thing about him. He was so excellent at hiding behind a quick grin and smart quips. Some people had wondered if he didn’t have some sort of charm quirk, but it had never worked on her entirely.

“Equal compensation.”

Roy sighed and fell back in his chair, swiveling around in a circle. “You drive a hard bargain, Hawk’s Eye.” He leaned forward suddenly, a very intent look in his eyes and a growing smirk on her face that caused her to narrow her eyes. She did not like that look at all. “Now, about that costume of yours…”

“I’m not changing it,” Riza told him flatly.

“But you’re completely covered up!” Roy complained, though she knew he was joking. For the most part. “And it’s not tight at all. You’re hiding some of your best attributes.”

Riza rolled her eyes. “My entire quirk depends on being armed. Running around in some tight, skimpy outfit is not going to cut it.” She turned around to open the door and then stopped to look back at him. “And the uniform that you sketched out for me while we were at UA was terrible.”

He shrugged his shoulders, looking terribly pleased with himself. It had been absurd. That skirt had to have been illegal. She’d hit him so hard with a perfectly aimed book to the chest that he'd fallen backwards over Aizawa’s desk, the other student doing nothing to stop her.

“Just so you know, you’re breaking the hearts of men everywhere!” Roy called after her with a laugh.

“Gladly!” Riza responded. Nonetheless, as she walked down the hallway, she couldn’t help but feel lighter despite all the weapons on her person. She was still working at another agency until the paperwork was drawn and she wasn’t about to shirk her job now. She had a patrol to do. Hopefully things would be quiet as they had been. If not, well, she never missed her shot.

*

The whole point of building up his quirk so much was to go to UA and now there was a chance that he couldn’t go. After everything that he had done, after all that he’d gone through, after all that he’d sacrificed, and he couldn’t even be for sure that he’d accepted. He had fought and pushed and kicked some serious ass (mostly his own while training his quirk) and now he was stuck waiting.

“You’ll be accepted,” Winry told him. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ed grumbled, sinking further down in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. “You’ve already been accepted.”

Winry did her best to look apologetic, but it was hard to do so when her excitement was bleeding through. She had applied for the support course, which was a hell of a lot easier to get accepted into than the hero course. He would not settle for anything less and if was put in lower than the A class he would probably freak out. He was happy for her -- he really was -- but he didn’t know what he’d do if Winry or Al got in and he didn’t. Probably try to break in and attend the classes anyways.

“You’re going to get in,” Winry insisted. “Your quirk is incredible and you’re so skilled with it!”

Normally, Ed was never insecure about his quirk. After his initial dislike of it because he had inherited it from his father, his mom had taught him to embrace it and make it his own. He had more than done that, especially after his mom passed away. He was powerful and could take anyone on in a fight. Instead of just lounging around and only focusing on his quirk, he had trained his body as well. Some people didn’t realize that a strong body meant a strong quirk.

When it came to UA though, he found himself floundering where he’d never done it before. What if he wasn’t good enough? The school was the top hero school in the world. You could get accepted into taking the exam and then get kicked out the next day for not passing it. No one knew what the exam was either because former students never talked about it. Winry was in already. He hadn’t even gotten through the door yet.

“What if…?” Ed did not like to go down this route. He actively avoided it as much as he could. The metal leg and arm prosthetics that he wore would not let him though. He had come out of the accident alive by no small means, but he’d lost those limbs in the process.

It was only thanks to Winry and her grandmother that he was able to walk around. Winry was able to create robotics that could be controlled by the mind. He could run and kick a ball and punch and hold hands just like any other kid, but the heavier weight of each prosthetic was a constant reminder of what he’d done. He had been so foolish, so arrogant, so stupid to believe that he was greater than his quirk. Every person had a limit. He’d forgot one of his mother’s first lessons and it had cost him dearly. If not for Winry’s quirk, his dream of becoming a hero would’ve been dashed away forever.

“People make mistakes all the time,” Winry told him quietly as she picked up the small robotic dog that was trying to jump onto the couch with them. She’d created it years ago, but whenever she wanted comfort, it would always come running to her, just as surely as he would if she called him. “Especially with their quirks.”

“I could’ve killed Al,” Ed said. “That’s not very hero-like.”

“But you didn’t.”

“And what if they-- I mean, what if I’m--” Ed held out his metal hand, clenching it and unclenching it. He could still remember the first time the arm had been attached to him. It had been so incredibly painful, as if a bright light was being turned on in his mind, and suddenly it was just there, like it had always been a part of him. She had done that. He didn’t think it made him any lesser, but his opinion wasn’t as important as the professors at UA.

A fierce look crossed Winry’s face. “If they think for a second that your arm and leg are going to hold you back, then they’re seriously wrong and missing out on something!” She harrumphed and sat up straight. “Plus, that is some of my best work. They’d be stupid to pass on you. Just kick that entrance exam’s butt when you get there!”

Ed couldn’t help but laugh, despite feeling like there was a hole in the pit of his stomach. She wasn’t wrong though. It was some of her best work. It had saved his life; it had saved everything that there was about him. Because of her, he could become a hero -- he would become a hero -- and in his eyes, she already was a hero.

[lxveille]

when the music’s right

hoshi x reader

word count: ~ 3300 a/n: uh, warnings for alcohol use and shameless PDA and for the fact I haven’t written fic in ages so... ? Here it is: 

Hoshi goes out with Jeonghan and Jun and develops an instant crush on a girl that can bring the dancefloor to life on a Thursday night.

Hoshi will swear in the morning that the DJ must have seen you too and turned up the music as soon as he did. In his defense, you were hard to miss.

They were out at a bar that had its lights low and an area clearly intended as a dancefloor. Evidently, it was still too early for anyone to be making good use of it. Jeonghan has already muttered something about how it was typical they’d go to a dead bar on one of the few times they actually get to go out properly overseas. Dead wasn’t a fair word to use. There were plenty of people there. They were all just content with standing along the walls or gathering around tables with their drinks.  

Then a song changes. After the first note, there’s a loud yelp from the other side of the bar that draws Soonyoung’s attention first. Suddenly there you are, on your feet and moving your shoulders to the beat. You’re facing the table you’d gotten up from so quickly, arms extended out to the girls still seated there as you try to coax them to dance. They’re shaking their heads, pointing at their drinks or just waving their hands at you. His immediate impression is that this is far from the first time you’ve acted this way.

You skip back a few steps further away from your crowd of friends, hips shifting to the rhythm as you settle into the new patch of empty floor. You throw your arms out towards the girls, furl fingers into your palms and pleadingly pull your hands up to your chest, swaying all the while. It’s enough to convince three of your crowd; they drag the stubborn two when they get up.

Six is hardly a bustling dancefloor. You don’t mind. Hoshi can tell from the grin he spots on your face as you spin around. It’s a fleeting moment and it’s the first time he gets to see you face-on, but he’s certain no person could fake the joy on your expression. He suspects you might prefer the floor like this. The way you use the space is fluid and nearly constant as you weave and bounce within your group of friends. In a full club, there’s hardly room for more than a shuffle or small jumps up and down. Here you can have much room as you need.

There’s nothing particularly difficult or impressive about your moves. But your energy seems to radiate out in the space around you, infecting your friends with grins and the impulse to mirror your playful gestures and simple footwork. Your sense of rhythm helps. He wonders if this is your favorite song because every beat and synth that pumps through the speakers seems to be reflected in the way you dance. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t fully invested.

For a moment all Hoshi can think of is how he wishes one of Seventeen’s songs would play next just so he could see what groove you’d find in it. Would the same beats that stuck out to him when he was choreographing strike you instinctively? Would you dance to it all?

Before he can get too down about that last thought, you’re pulling him back to the moment. In a tight-knit circle with the first two girls who joined you, there are six index fingers pointing insistently downwards. The three of you are bending knees and spines next, lowering yourselves towards the floor with mixed levels of ease. One of you -- it’s hard to tell which -- loses balance briefly. You save each other with arms quick around each other's waists. Without untangling, you get yourself back on two feet just to start bopping as one unit, shouting lyrics into the flashing lights overhead.

You’re facing him again. Your eyes are closed and your head tilted up just slightly towards the ceiling as you sing along. Your hair is abandoning any styling it’d ever had as you let it flow wildly in the air as you jump up and down.

The friend to your left breaks the chain and you open eyes. For a split second, Soonyoung makes eye contact with you. It’s far from steady, as you refuse to stop moving, but it catches him off guard nonetheless. He’s been caught; a small panic creeps up his neck and says you must know he’s been staring this whole time.

He tears his gaze away even though he already hates the thought of missing out on a single thing you’ll do. It turns out to be a mistake. Maybe you didn’t know he’d been watching you since you first got up, but Jun certainly had. Though at least he’d been polite enough to wait for Hoshi to stop before beginning to give him shit for it.

The song changes. Jeonghan rescues Soonyoung from the teasing with the suggestion of another drink. The short walk over to the bar is more difficult now than it was upon their arrival. Nothing fills up a floor like a group of pretty girls deciding it is, in fact, the right time to dance. Not that Hoshi had done a very good job of noticing anyone else who’d shuffled their way off the wall after you.

   Hoshi does his very best not to keep an eye out for you as they stand around waiting for the bartender to get around to them. It’s going pretty well until you’re right across from him, at the other end of the bar. You’re bouncing on your feet where you stand, leaning into your friend’s side as she waves down someone to take her order. He averts his eyes. First down to the polished wood of the bar reflecting each flash of strobes and every roving colored spotlight. Then it’s over to Jeonghan, asking whether he’s having fun for the sole purpose of trying to think of anything but the way all those fluttering lights would highlight your features and catch on the lovey frizz beginning to form on your ruffled hair.

   Jeonghan spoils the plan by answering instead with, “She’s looking at you.”

   Soonyoung wants to scold him that it’s not a funny joke. He doesn’t want to fall for it. But he glances your way despite this. Of course he does. And Hoshi’s heart thumps into double time when he finds your gaze unmistakably fixed on him.  As if you were trying to throw him off balance, you went ahead and smiled just before you’re handed a shot glass of something dark and amber.

Just as soon as he’d had your undivided attention it was gone. You were clinking glasses with your friend, tilting your head back as the liquor slipped effortlessly between your lips, and grasping her hand to lead her back out onto the floor as soon as your glasses were empty.

   Five songs go by before he spots you again. Three of which are top forty hits Hoshi can at least half sing the choruses of. They’d abandoned their table at last, even though dancing was only harder to do while trying not to spill drinks all over yourself. Still, it feels better to be on his feet. Jun seems happy to let go of his earlier teasing in favor of finally getting the chance to get his own pulse up. The songs they don’t recognize at least have good enough sounds to them that it doesn’t kill the vibe. It’s almost odd to dance without a thought for precision or synchronization with his friends. They spend so much time perfecting something so similar to this, but differences make this feel practically like a different art form altogether.

   Something akin to nostalgia washes over Soonyoung. He grins as he sets down his empty glass on the nearest tabletop. He turns back to Jeonghan and Jun, hands in the air for no purpose but the joy of it.

   You’ve nearly left his mind completely when a few shifting bodies on the dancefloor make way for him to spot a familiar outfit and head of hair rocking back and forth to the blaring music. He recognizes the girls dancing with you from earlier as added confirmation. Hoshi feels the bassline rumble through his whole body, soles of his feets and up through his chest when he comes to a momentary pause.

   Jun knocks lightly, intentionally, into his side and prompts him back into motion. Hoshi brushes shoulders with him in return, laughing over nothing at all.

He doesn’t see one of your friends grasping your shoulder, speaking something close into your ear and pointing in his direction. He doesn’t notice the first two times you look back over his shoulder at him.

The third time Hoshi does spot your obvious glance. This time, thank god, he manages not to be brought to a standstill by you. The upward pull of your lips grows, and he swears he sees a fluttering of your fingers that resembles a wave.

He smiles back before he can overthink it.

The next time he dared to look your way, you no longer have your back to him. You catch his gaze once again and make a small, coaxing gesture, not unlike the very first one he’d seen you using to get your friends out of their seats. You nod your head to the persistent drumbeat as you twirl yourself back around to your companions.

Hoshi doesn’t recognize the song that’s playing at all when you decide to turn around once more and dance your way towards him. But the beat is unrelenting and the singer sounds like she’s never been happier than with glistening electric keys and high-energy handclaps backing her. For at least tonight, it’s Hoshi’s favorite song ever.

Instinct makes him meet you halfway, perhaps just so he wouldn’t risk anyone else getting in the middle of your path to him. You dance facing each other, together only in the sense that you’re within arm's’ length of one another and making consistent, unbroken eye contact now. It’s lighthearted and uninhibited and unconcerned with whether anyone was looking on or what they might be thinking. You’re mouthing the lyrics at him and some silly little voice in the back of Soonyoung’s head hopes this is a love song.

He grins dumbly as you shimmy your shoulders, your hands gliding back and forth, palms up, in the space between your two bodies. It’s an invitation that Hoshi can’t resist accepting as the song swells into its chorus. His thumbs slip between your thumbs and forefingers, his fingers curling around to the back of your hands.

There’s no longer any denying that you’re dancing together, some amorphous mix of any kind partnered dance that Hoshi can think of. The electric song hardy suits a single one he can think of, better suited to the sort of solo grooving you’d been up to until now, but he’s too delighted to be concerned about that. It’s all much more playful than any kind of club dancing Soonyoung had witnessed before. He was glad for it; he wouldn’t have had the courage to grind with you even if that had been your approach.

He lets one of your hands loose and lifts the other to guide you into a twirl. Over all the noise of the bar, he hears your laughter as you follow his lead and spin under the arch of his arm. When you’re facing him again, you settle your freed hand onto his shoulder. The posture gives him permission to place his own hand on your waist, brushing against the bottom of your ribcage as he guides you just a few centimeters closer to him.

This is what dancing was created for, he thinks to himself as the two of you settle into a groove in your new position. You remain that way throughout the second verse, arms and hands intertwined in something that looks more professional than any other dancing happening in the venue. The instrumental starts leading into the chorus once again and he feels you bounce a bit in his hold like you’re about to burst with the excitement of getting back to the climax of the song.

So Hoshi lets you go and laughs himself as you erupt with even more energy, hands reaching out to nothing above you and your voice lifts to sing along properly. He mimics you, jumping in time with the bass and wishing he knew the words so he could shout them along with you.

The bridge goes by too quickly, the chorus back too soon and Hoshi lets a small bit of dread creep in that the end of the song will break whatever spell had fallen over the two of you. You’ll slip away and he’ll never even know your name.

No way, no way, no way, his thoughts chant. Even if a disappearance is inevitable, he has to know at least that much. He needs your name as a memento. Just that much would be enough. He could let you go in peace, without a single regret for all the time he wasted just watching when he could have been right here along with you, just so long as he had real, true way to call back the memory of this in the future.

As the song starts to vamp out, he leans into you and tries to ask as clearly as he can, “What’s your name?” You speak it loudly and he doesn’t catch it, frowning as the music begins to change. You lean in closer to say it again, more directly it into his ear this time. He pulls back so he can look at your face as he tries it out himself. You repeat it once again for confirmation. “I’m Soonyoung,” he introduces himself.

“Soonya-- ?” You don’t manage to catch it all as the music thumps on all around you.

“Hoshi,” he offers an alternative, hoping it might be easier to make out even with all the noise. You echo his stage name back to him and he nods, giving you a thumbs up.

“I like dancing with you, Hoshi,” you shout through the noise, smiling brightly and making his heart hiccup.  He can only nod enthusiastically in agreement and take your hand back into his, hoping you’ll agree it means you shouldn’t stop.

He loses track of how many songs tick by with you all around him and in his arms, never seeming to lose a step. But halfway through one of them you turn to him and ask, “do you want water?” It’s accompanied by a clarifying gesture, you miming taking a sip from a glass with one hand. He nods and follows you over to the bar, letting you deal with asking for two cups.

With your water carefully raised up above the bouncing shoulders of those still dancing, you lead with through the crowd out to a back terrasse he hadn’t even known the bar had. There’s a speaker in one corner, still playing the same songs as inside, but it’s quieter and more hospitable out here without as many sweaty bodies to raise the temperature.

You sit down on an empty wicker loveseat and he arranges himself beside you. There are sheens of sweat on both your bodies that are quickly evaporating in the cooler air as you both take some time to sip water and let your heartbeats settle as much as they will while still being beside one another.

There must still be adrenaline in his blood because he doesn’t feel nervous at all as the conversation begins.  He gets to clarify his name, and he likes the way your lips curl around its vowels. You start asking each other questions.  How old are you? Where are you from? What brings you to the city. He answers that with an ambiguous, “for work.” He doesn’t want to risk spoiling the mood by saying he’s danced in front of thousands after how simple and flawless his time with you had been.

“How long are you here?” you wonder, looking away from him for a moment as you set your water aside.

“Ah, not really long. We leave in a couple days,” he manages, tone turning apologetic for either the fact of it or his own difficulty finding the words.

“That’s too bad,” you tell him, giving him a smile he has trouble deciphering. There’s something bittersweet and almost embarrassed in its tilt, and Soonyoung can’t fathom why you’d suddenly strike him as almost shy.

“It’s bad?” he prompts for clarification.

“I was gonna give you my number.” You tap an index finger into the palm of your other hand as if dialing on a phone.

“Oh.” Hoshi’s fingers twitch to reach into his pocket and take out his phone. He pauses, refraining from doing just that as he looks down at his lap. Both of you are sitting angled towards each other, and there’s the tiniest space keeps your knees from touching. He looks back up at your expectant face. “I’ll come back.” Technically, he doesn’t know this for sure. He’d like to, though, for plenty of reasons. He’s eager to add you to the list.

You laugh softly, and he hears it clearly for the first time. It’s nice, soothing even though in this context he’s fairly certain it’s a sign you don’t quite believe him. “Can I be too honest?” You don’t afford him enough time to answer before you quickly carry on, “I’d still really like to kiss you tonight.”

It’s almost all a blur except for the word kiss. Soonyoung’s grip tightens just a fraction around the plastic cup in his hand as he shifts himself even more directly towards you, his knee pressing into yours. He can’t help himself but murmur a quiet compliment -- “you’re so pretty”-- as he lets himself cave to your request.

   He surprises himself with how quickly he changes from a light, barely there brushing of lips to something deeper and more desperate. He pulls away for the opportunity to set his water down by your cup, and then he’s back on you, this time with his hands coming up to cup your face. You shiver slightly from the cold condensation still on his fingertips as they graze your jawline. You follow his lead, arms slipping around his neck.

You tilt into each other, finding a rhythm with this intimacy just as quickly as with dancing. Hoshi wants to clamber on top of you right there and pull you as close as possible, but he hasn’t forgotten your surroundings. He satiates himself instead by letting one hand drag slowly down your side and groaning into the kiss.

A new beat comes in overhead and you break off from him. You look up at the speaker, your breath heavy and hot against his skin as he keeps close, fixated on your features. “I have to dance to this,” you tell him sweetly as your eyes lock with his once more.

He laughs and nudges his forehead against yours. “Let’s go.”

You lace your fingers with his and rush back inside with him. Neither of you knows where to find anyone you actually here with, but that thought is barely a blip on the radar. Soonyoung is all too content to be back on the floor with you. Your bodies are closer now than before; he doesn’t think of propriety as lets his hands find your hips to guide them into matching the movements of his own. You croon lyrics happily into his neck as the vocals come in on the track.

He’d be happy to spend all night in a cycle like this with you. Dancing until hearts are racing and taking cool down breaks to kiss until your lungs are desperate for air.

Soonyoung hopes if he kisses you just right, you’ll give him your number even if you’re convinced you’ll never see each other again. But he’ll worry about that later. At least until this song fades out, he’ll just soak in the elation of dancing here with you.

[illnesssecretsanta]

Christmas Eve with the usual suspects

A gift for @lickstynine from @builder051 (I don’t know why these aren’t coming in as active links…)

Merry Christmas, James! 

I know there’s always so much below the surface with your characters, so I sincerely hope I did them a little bit of justice.  I went with the younger timeframe, where Min still has the bakery and he and Kazu are in the dating phase.  I may have invented some logistical things just to make the story work, but I really hope I didn’t screw up anything in the canon.  

Much love from Laur.

 Warnings for emeto, a little bit of injury, bad language, and drunkenness.

___

Minato reaches up to dust powdered sugar off his nose with his wrist, then adjusts the piping bag in his hands.  He finishes drawing the scalloped ruffle on the gingerbread girl’s dress and adds her to the line of neatly decorated cookies drying on the counter in front of him.  It’s not a strictly necessary task, since it’s nearing midnight on Christmas Eve and the usual holiday crowd of customers eager for sweet treats has already come and gone.  But that doesn’t stop it from being a tasty task.

Min lets a dollop of icing drip from the bag’s nozzle, then licks up the sweetness.  Since is batch will never see the light of the bakery’s display case, he can afford to be a little less careful about contamination.  There are only a few cookies left on the pan, and when Min finishes them, he plans to take a few with a glass of milk and look in on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir that’s sounding from the television in the back room.

Despite his parents’ keen invitation, Min had decided firmly not to attend mass tonight.  But his lackluster feelings toward faith don’t keep the vocal harmonies floating up from the hymns from being comforting.  Especially on a Christmas Eve spent alone. 

Min completes a series of intricate lines and diamonds on a round cookie and tops it with crystalline sugar, creating the likeness of a delicate snowflake.  He’s beginning to draw the outline around the final gingerbread man’s body when a loud rattling outside the back door almost makes him jump out of his skin.  Min squeezes the piping bag harder than he means to, and a large glob of icing spurts out, ruining the fine line he was working on.

The door rattles again, then squeaks open.  “Hey, what’s going on in here…?” Kazuhiro’s drunken slur calls out.

“Oh, hey,” Min replies, clutching the pastry bag to his chest.  “You about scared me to death.  Don’t you have a key?”

“Huh?”  Kazu drops the bent paper clip he’d used to pick the lock and clumsily bends to retrieve it.  “If I do…can’t find it…”  He straightens up, but he has to use the edge of the counter to keep from falling over.  His face is red.

“That’s ok.  You still found me,” Min says.  “What’ve you been up to?  Besides the usual.”

“You know.  Vodka.  Smacking people around.”  He gingerly shakes his hand as if testing the range of motion of his wrist.  He winces when the joint bends.

“I said besides the usual,” Min clarifies.  He squints at Kazu.  “You ok?”

“Yeah.  I guess.”  But as the ruddiness of headrush dissipates, pasty pallor takes over his countenance. 

“Alright,” Min concedes, not quite convinced.  “You want some cookies?  I was just gonna watch a little TV before bed.”  The television station has switched from carols to coverage of the pope’s mass. 

“Still baking these things?” Kazu asks, tripping across the room to get a look at Min’s latest creations.  He gives a snort of laughter and points at the unfinished gingerbread man under the pastry bag’s hovering point.  “Looks like that one jizzed himself…”

He’s right.  The splotch of white icing between his legs is less than becoming.  “Alright, that one’s yours, then,” Min says.  “What do you want with it?  Milk?  Tea?  Beer?”

“Ugh, nothing,” Kazu replies.  “Not hungry.  And I hate desserts anyway.”

“Yeah, but you usually at least take a polite nibble.”

Kazu glares at him.

“Ok, you’re never polite, but case in point.  Something’s wrong.  What’s feeling off?”  Min abandons the pastry bag and wipes his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband before reaching out for Kazu’s arm.

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” Kazu growls, but the effect’s ruined with a hiccup over the end of the last word.

“This isn’t normal drunk you,” Min insists.  He gets his tiny hand around Kazu’s larger, warmer one in a gesture he hopes is comforting.

“Ow,” Kazu complains, bowing his head so his shaggy hair obscures his face. 

“See?  I’m right.”  He releases Kazu’s wrist, but doesn’t let up his questions.  “Is your hand messed up?”

“I guess,” Kazu grumbles.  He lets out a sigh.  “Everything fucking hurts.”

“Did you get kicked in the ribs again?” Min asks tentatively, grimacing at the memory of one of Kazu’s previous and painful injuries. 

“Naw, didn’t really get a hand on me…” Kazu slurs.

“What’s wrong, then?”  Min’s mind lingers on the heat coming off Kazu’s skin.  “Think you’re running a fever?”

“If you keep asking stupid questions, you’d better get me a drink…” It’s not a denial.  Kazu shifts so he can lean heavily against the counter and massage between his eyebrows.  “But fair warning, I’ll probably puke…”

Min chooses not to mention the cloud of powdered sugar that’s sure to be settling all over his back.  Despite his towering frame, Kazu looks pathetic standing there wasted and sick and hurt and confused, all on fucking Christmas Eve.

“Come sit down, ok?”  Min pulls Kazu by the elbows and guides him into the next room.  He pushes the taller man down onto the couch, then turns down the volume on the TV before taking a seat at Kazu’s side.

“Alright,” Min says, slipping his fingers under the sharp ridge of Kazu’s jaw.  “You’re running hot, that’s for sure.  Why’d you go running around if you’re not feeling good?”

Kazu shrugs and leans back into the couch’s marshmallowy cushions.  “Wasn’t that bad…”

“As in, now it is bad?” Min asks.  He shakes his head and gives Kazu’s shoulder a loving squeeze.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Kazu says. 

“Hold tight.  I’m gonna grab some stuff.”  Min jumps to his feet and heads back to the kitchen first.  He puts the kettle on to boil and lays out mugs and tea bags, then scuttles into the bathroom for the thermometer, ibuprofen, and his first-aid kit, which he’d purchased solely for Kazu’s benefit.

Kazu has his head tipped back when Min returns, giving him the look of an old stodgy man asleep in front of the television.  Min nearly laughs at the image, but when Kazu stirs and looks at him through glassy eyes, all emotion returns to loving pity.  Min sits and gets to work.

Sticking the thermometer between Kazu’s lips before doing anything else seems like a solid plan since it’ll keep the dark-haired boy from making comments while Min sees to patching him up.  It holds up for the first thirty seconds, and Min is able to start wrapping a length of stretchy ace bandage around Kazu’s wrist.  But he hadn’t factored nausea into the equation, and it’s a total surprise when Kazu starts retching around the slim glass rod in his mouth.

“Oh, geez,” Min mutters, not sure what to do with the trailing wad of bandages that are only halfway in place.  “Ok, come on.” 

Clear alcohol and spit pours down Kazu’s chin and onto the front of his shirt.  The thermometer hits the floor somewhere on the way to the bathroom, but it’s nowhere near a pressing concern.  Min gently grips Kazu’s injured hand and steers him down in front of the toilet. 

“You’ll probably feel better with all that out of your system,” Min soothes as Kazu retches hard. 

The dark-haired boy scoffs, and Min reconsiders his words, now thinking of the discomfort of forcibly drying out overnight.  “Or maybe not,” he mutters.  “I got painkillers, though.”

Kazu sniffs and heaves again.  Flecks of bile splash up onto the toilet seat, and Min softly runs his small fingers down his back.  He can feel Kazu trembling under his touch. 

“It’s ok,” Min says when Kazu finally comes up coughing. 

Kazu lifts his injured hand, looking to have the intention of wiping his mouth on the pristine beige bandages.

“No,” Min murmurs, pulling on the end of the ace wrap still clutched in his own fist as if it’s a leash.  “This one’s mine.  Use your other hand.  Or better yet, use some toilet paper.”

Kazu paws drunkenly at the roll until several feet of tissue drop to the floor, then clumsily grabs it up and swipes it across his face.

“Ok, good,” Min says.  “You think you’re done?”  He reaches up and flushes the toilet regardless.

Kazu just grunts and shrugs.

“For now at least?”

Finally a tentative nod.

“Alright.”  Anything Min’s planning to do next is blown from his brain with the intrusive whistling of the teakettle.  Kazu winces at the sound.

“Hold on!”  Min scrambles up to shut off the stove and silence the thing.  He pours the boiling water over the tea bags in the waiting mugs, then hurries back to Kazu.

The tall man is standing slightly hunched over the sink, inexpertly using his non-dominant hand to fill a paper cup with water from the tap.  He swishes out his mouth, the sets down the cup.  He’s trembling so hard he knocks the waxy paper into the basin.

“Hey, just leave it,” Min says.  He takes up Kazu’s injured hand in both of his and uses small deft fingers to re-wrap the loosening bandages.  He finishes the task and tucks in the free end, then presses softly over Kazu’s knuckles with his thumbs.

“There,” Min whispers.  He relinquishes his grip and wraps both arms around Kazu’s waist instead.  “You’re gonna be ok.”

“Yeah,” Kazu breathes.  His warm cheek comes down on the top of Min’s head.  “I guess.  Feel like shit, though.”  His voice is thoroughly shot.

“Aw, honey,” Min coos.  “Come back to the couch.  I’ve got tea.  And meds.”

Kazu’s worryingly unsteady on his feet as Min walks him to his previous seat in front of the TV.  He realizes he never got a read on Kazu’s temperature, but the imprecise label of ‘one heck of a fever’ seems good enough. 

Once Kazu’s settled, Min brings the tea to the coffee table.  He carries a dessert plate covered in cookies on top of one of the mugs.  He knows Kazu won’t want any, and it seems almost cruel to eat in front of him given his current state, but there’s something about them that just seem to make the situation a little better.  Injecting a smidgeon of normalcy into what’s turning out to be a downer of a Christmas Eve.

“Here you go.”  Min holds out a mug to Kazu, and the dark-haired boy takes it, cradling the steaming cup between his hand and his bandaged paw.   He pulls a wan smile as Min sits beside him and draws his small feet up onto the sofa.

“Ruining your fucking Christmas, aren’t I?” Kazu mumbles into the rim of his mug.

“Of course you aren’t,” Min replies, shooting him down.  He dunks the edge of the snowflake cookie into his tea and takes a bite.  “I want you to feel better.  But I like things like this.”  Min presses his shoulder against Kazu’s arm.  “If your stomach’s back to normal tomorrow, I’ve still got your very special gingerbread man…”

Kazu coughs out a laugh.  “The sex machine one?”

Min nods.  Gives a sideways smile.  “If that’s how you want to think of it.”

“Yup.”  Kazu rasps.  They stay quiet for a moment, watching the coverage of the pope’s mass dissolve into a neon glowing commercial.  Then Kazu says, “This is shit TV.  But, all the rest of this is kind of nice.”

Min lets his face unfold into a grin.  He rises up on his knees to press a kiss to Kazu’s fever-warmed cheek.  “Merry Christmas, honey.”

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Kazu replies.

[agentkatie]

Hesitation

My contribution to @cullenappreciationweek day 6! This is set in my Dragon Age/Mass Effect crossover The Two Commanders a.k.a. Shepard winds up in Thedas and spends 80% of her time trying to make Cullen blush.

Cullen receives a troubling letter in the middle of the night, and there’s only one person who can possibly help him.

2007 words, Cullen x f!Shepard, rated M for Shep’s inability to go a single scene without making a sex joke.

Skyhold was dark, save for the candlelight which danced in its Commander’s tower, and Cullen had lost track of the time at some point after midnight; it was now either very early or very late, the grounds eerily quiet, the merriment from the Herald’s Rest having long since subsided and his troops tucked up in their beds. The witching hour, he might have called it, if such phrases weren’t so frowned upon by the Chantry. Shepard had left him alone a while before, under the illusion that they’d waded through all his evening reports; in truth, he’d kept a pile of work to one side, to complete on his own once she’d gone. There was no reason for her to waste the entire evening with him; he could manage on his own, had always managed on his own, and would prefer not to burden her more than he already had.

Still, his heart had ached a little when she’d smiled her goodnight at him, and he’d wished she would stay just a moment longer.

And so he’d continued working, poring over reports even as the candles on his desk flickered their last, until he came across a letter which made his stomach twist. It was no more than a folded scrap of paper, addressed simply to the Inquisition in a shaky hand, wedged between weapon inventories and so inconsequential in appearance that he almost overlooked it; as it was, the desperate plea from the trapped Chantry sister and injured soldiers  - his soldiers - was perhaps the most urgent document he’d received that day. He scowled at the note, mind whirring through possible plans, frustration flaring at the fact that, had he read it an hour or so earlier, there might have been another way to handle it. But now, late at night, the letter already unanswered for far too long, there was only one option he could possibly see - and it wasn’t an option, not really, because diverting his troops from their pursuit of Red Templars would risk more lives than it would save.

He pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood on stone far too loud for the hour, his footsteps echoing across the battlements as he trod the path to the Inquisitor’s quarters; even at such an unsocial hour it was for Trevelyan to decide who would be saved, and who would be left to die. But as he reached the Throne Room he found his feet, quite of their own volition, walking the lesser-trod path to Shepard’s room, barely even realising what he was doing until a distinct groan answered his knock on her door.

“Who’sit?” Shepard called out, voice muffled and thick with sleep.

“Cullen.”

There was another groan, and some incoherent grumbling as she shuffled about her room, and then a thud of her tripping followed by a very clear and colourful curse. He was just contemplating what revenge she might take for waking her up when she finally opened the door, and all memory of why he was there in the first place completely vanished from his mind.

Until that moment, Cullen had thought there was nothing left in Shepard’s appearance that could surprise him; she was such a relentless presence in his life that everything about her just felt so familiar. He’d seen her furious, invincible, with blood-spattered cheeks and impossible armour; he’d seen her scarred, yet defiant, in a gown that had taken his breath away. He’d seen her laugh more times than he could count, and cry just the once, and - to his great shame - he’d even seen her in his mind’s eye one lonely night, bare and brazen and his in ways she could never be in reality. But as she stood in front of him now - her ever-braided hair for once loose, cascading over her shoulders in messy crimson waves, an oversized shirt all that stood between her and immodesty - she looked strangely small, and vulnerable, and… human.

She also looked beautiful, of course. But it wouldn’t do to dwell on that.

Mercifully, she was still too disorientated from her slumber to notice his gawking; she merely rubbed her bleary eyes, looking up at him with confusion. “What’s the matter?”

He cleared his throat, trying his best to focus on her face rather than on the way her hair shimmered in the moonlight. “I - ah - I need your help.”

“Is there an attack?” she asked, foggy eyes sharpening as she cast around for her daggers, but he quickly shook his head.

“There’s no danger, but— I received a letter from some of our men. I need your advice.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, perceptive as ever despite still being half-asleep. “Rutherford, you told me you were finished for the evening.”

“This only just arrived.”

“No it didn’t.”

He considered arguing with her, but it was pointless; she’d already seen straight through him, and their ritualistic squabbling would just waste valuable time. “No, it didn’t,” he admitted, and she sighed but extended her hand nonetheless; he gave her the letter, and she quickly scanned its contents, looking up at him with a frown once she was done.

“What’s the problem? Just send out some of your troops to help.”

“They will not arrive in time,” he told her. “I have a group of men in the Frostbacks already. I can divert them, but…”

“But?”

“They’re on the trail of several Red Templars who have been trafficking civilians.”

“Ah.” She closed her eyes, leaning on the doorframe with her temple resting against the wood, and she was quiet for such a long moment that he was half-convinced she’d fallen asleep on her feet. “More people will die if you redirect them,” she murmured eventually.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked, cracking one eye open to peer up at him, and in truth he wasn’t entirely sure. There was no hidden answer here, he knew that, no subtle plan or masterstroke of ingenuity he was missing. Perhaps he just needed her reassurance, to hear from her lips that she’d do the same; to know that the faith she placed in him - had always placed in him, almost since the start - would not be diminished in the face of his cruel pragmatism. Or perhaps he just wanted to see her, in the middle of the night, because there was no-one else he could - or wanted to - turn to about this.

“You always seem to think of something I don’t,” he told her, instead of all of that.

“Flatterer,” she replied with a teasing smile, straightening once more and absentmindedly ruffling her hair as she reread the letter, and he fought a ridiculous urge to brush his fingers through the knots she’d created. “Any of Leliana’s scouts in the region?”

“No.”

“What about the dwarves? Isn’t the entrance to Orzammar near there? Or, wait - didn’t we just send the Chargers out on a mission?”

“Orzammar is much farther north, and the Chargers are already halfway back to Adamant.”

“I guess there’s no chance of the Avvar listening to a cease and desist letter,” she muttered, scowling at the missive for a moment longer before groaning in frustration and handing it back to him. “I’m sorry, Cullen,” she said, her voice so much softer on his given name than when she ribbed him and called him Rutherford. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it? The ruthless calculus of war.”

He’d never heard the phrase before, but she said it as though she was quoting someone, albeit with a hint of scorn in her voice. “Is that from a book?”

She shook her head. “Just something a friend used to say,” she replied, a hint of sadness crossing her features for only a second before her face turned hard once more. “Don’t bring it to Trevelyan,” she told him, quiet but firm, and it took a moment for him to register what she’d said.

“Shepard,” he scolded. “I know how much you enjoy undermining authority, but—”

“I’m not trying to undermine him,” she bristled, louder now, irritation shaking away the remainder of her sleepiness. “I’m trying to help him; you saw him at Adamant after he left Stroud behind. And now you’re asking him to choose again, even though we both know there’s no real choice here. Just pretend you never got this.”

“He isn’t a child; he can handle it.”

“I know he can, but that doesn’t mean he has to.”

He considered her suggestion for a moment longer than he should have, her compassion for their leader further softening his heart to her. But the Inquisitor was stronger than she realised, and would not thank them for coddling him; besides, the thought of hiding away his soldiers’ final plea made him feel like he was conspiring against them, abandoning them, and they deserved one final chance from a man far better than him.

“No,” he murmured. “If nothing else, people should know of the sacrifice our men will have made.”

“Then don’t let him see your hesitation,” was her final advice, though the wry twist of her lips told him she still didn’t agree. “Do you… want to come in?” she offered, somewhat awkwardly, brows drawing together as if she was already regretting the words. “Take your mind off it for a while?”

“How, exactly?”

Shepard shrugged. “I’ve got a bottle of Antivan whiskey and the latest copy of Swords and Shields. We can play a drinking time. Drink every time the sex is anatomically impossible.” He blushed, because of course he did, rubbing the back of his neck as she grinned malevolently and closed in like a predator on his display of weakness. “Drink every time something is ‘throbbing’. Or ‘burning’. Or whenever there’s a euphemism for—”

“Please stop,” he groaned, though he couldn’t help but smile too. “Andraste preserve me; you are incorrigible.”

“You love it really.”

He dropped his eyes to the ground, willing those words to pass him by, because that was something he was valiantly fighting against. He could be attracted to Shepard; he could indulge in a fleeting crush on a woman he’d once stupidly - unforgivably - treated with contempt. He could acknowledge the fact that, some days, the friendship she offered him was the only thing that kept him fighting. But he couldn’t allow himself to be in love with her. Being in love with her would be absolutely intolerable.

“I need to take this to the Inquisitor,” he muttered, still not meeting her eye as he began to turn from her. “I apologise for waking you.”

“Hey,” she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm, and he met her gaze once more; her brown eyes were almost black in the darkness, but the concern in them was unmistakable. “Make sure you get some sleep, alright?”

“I’m fine,” was his reflexive response, and she rolled her eyes, making a disapproving sound in the back of her throat as she did. “Truly,” he attempted to reassure her, but she merely arched an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest.

“Rutherford, I order you to—”

“You cannot order me to do anything,” he retorted, just as forcefully, stubbornly resisting the smile that itched at the corners of his mouth.

“Fine, but just you wait until I stage my coup. Then I’ll get to order you about all I want, and I’ll get your office, and your coat.”

A huff of laughter escaped from his traitorous lips, and she smirked at her small victory. “Goodnight, Shepard,” he bade her, despite the fact that, once again, parting from her was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Get some sleep, Rutherford,” she repeated as he left her, her door creaking shut as he eased inside the Throne Room once more.

After a hushed meeting full of worried looks and frayed nerves, the letter was left unanswered on the War Table, and try though he did to obey Shepard’s command sleep eluded him for the rest of the night.

[blankdblank]

Halfway

Once upon a time not so long ago

Mirrors. Useless to some. Mainly a way to check for food in your teeth or something ridiculous smeared across your face though for each full moon it became something all together different for you. A doorway. Well, several doorways. One after another in this Manor on the hill. Alone with none but servants and nannies while your father was away, at least until she came. They were merely glimpses into a different life, a life you were too afraid to enter until she decided to move in bringing her two brat sons with her. They wanted it all and her boys were what your father was craving to bond with leaving you to her whims, or malice depending on how much she’d drank. Up you went into the Silver Room. Up where your freedom was, for days she would lock you there and a timid press to the glass of the mirror had your life melding with a certain blonde’s.

Tommy used to work on the docks, union's been on strike

He's down on his luck, it's tough, so tough

Gina works the diner all day working for her man

She brings home her pay, for love, for love

From childhood to adulthood you watched him grow and marry and become a father in the looming set of losses coming his way. From a cottage to a palace the mirror was carried and treasured by all who knew its purpose and link to you. Tonight was no different, clad in a merlot colored fake fur ruffled monstrosity of a dress with a wrap to match you were paraded out behind the boys in maroon suites matching your father’s while she wore a slimming silk number in a similar shade to yours. Tonight was the big night, the one they had been pressing on you, the night to make something of yourself and this family in the growing onset of debt leading you to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

She says, we've got to hold on to what we've got

It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not

We've got each other and that's a lot for love

We'll give it a shot

Masked or not they made certain you would stick out, so out you went. A faked excuse to get a drink freed you to slip a few steps from the main garden ballroom past a light garland wrapped tree towards the glass gazebo where you smirked seeing the mirror snuck inside between flowered vines. A hop inside and you slunk out of sight and pressed back against those vines closing your eyes in the final moments of the moon rising into the sky. The cold mirror against your fingers fading to chilled night air making you smirk, a muffled murmur of your name fading in your step back through the mirror between the vines pouring over your arms onto your chest. Onto the dusty marble floor you stepped adjusting your massive skirt around you peering out at the flickers of people passing by between the vines. Lowering your gaze you looked around and crouched grabbing a large stone you turned and slammed into the mirror at the sound of her voice drawing nearer.

Woah, we're half way there

Woah, livin' on a prayer

Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

Woah, livin' on a prayer

*

Tommy's got his six-string in hock

Now he's holding in what he used to make it talk

So tough, it's tough

Gina dreams of running away

When she cries in the night, Tommy whispers

Baby, it's okay, someday

Centuries since abandoning their southern wing at the losses of the War of Wrath the Silvan and Teleri of Amon Lanc shifted to the more populated portions of their keep. You had changed things, a stolen week had left Sauron defeated in your doing what Elrond couldn’t. A hard kick to the groin and Isildur left little struggle to the task of disposing of the ring, of course you were now banned from Gondor for life, but the idiot and his people were alive and sent quite lavish gifts when you were told to have returned. It wasn’t your choice to leave last time, an Elf Lord wishing for the then Prince to wed his daughter shoved you through the mirror in the last flickers of its light and since made it impossible for you to return somehow.

We've got to hold on to what we've got

It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not

We've got each other and that's a lot for love

We'll give it a shot

The Prince, now King, whom you watched marry and become a father and now widow had never let go of the hope you would return. Changes were made and yet each full moon he was well known to spend the nights here, in this dusty hall waiting on you, right where he found the mirror hidden and bolted down. He would have moved it, right to his apartment, yet the process of removal was revealed to destroy the very portal connecting the pair of you. Again he sat and watched the glimpses of you he could catch, yet the sight of vines coating the mirror had broken his hope of your return. You had covered the mirror, moved it somewhere by itself. You had given up and forgotten him.

Woah, we're half way there

Woah, livin' on a prayer

Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

Woah, livin' on a prayer

Livin' on a prayer

With tears in his eyes he got up and slowly turned to leave the room making his way begrudgingly to the Feast of Starlight soon to begin. He made it three halls over when the sound of mirrored glass hitting the floor made him sharply turn and sprint back to the moonlit hall. The clatter of a stone halted him in the doorway and wide eyed he stared at the purple fuzzy wrap falling from your shoulders you caught in your turn revealing the figure hugging corseted sleeveless top to the tight dress flaring out around the knees. Even masked he could see just who you were, white golden hair tucked up in a bedazzled bun coated with fake flowers matching your silver mask making your purple eyes shine even brighter. The bright red coating of your lips drew his eyes next in the split of your entrancing smile luring the exhaling King closer.

“Dew Drop. Sorry about the mirror.” Moving closer to him you gripped your dress adjusting the skirt to ease walking in your steps he mirrored drawing closer to you. “I just can’t go back.”

Shaking his head his hands rose to land on your arms making him draw in a shaky breath, “And I would never allow you back again, even if you had not broken it. You are home.” His eyes sank over you and your puzzling dress.

“I didn’t pick it,” his eyes snapped back to yours, “The dress.” You looked him over, “Did I interrupt a party?”

Again he shook his head lifting a hand to cup your cheek, “The Feast of Starlight is tonight. There is time to change, should you wish it.”

You nodded, “Yes, then maybe I can ask for help in turning this dress into a blanket or something.”

Your giggle drew a relieved chuckle from the King and he stepped back, “Of course. I will show you back to our apartment to change.”

Quietly he did so and you caught the excited gasps and whispers of the Elves and Elleths spreading word of your return. Straight to the King’s apartment you were led and inside he guided you to the Pearl colored doors marking the Queen’s private chambers he opened, “This is yours. All of your belongings from Lindon are here, among others. With a suitable number of gowns to choose from.” When you tossed the wrap onto the bench in the closet he urged the glow in the crystal lanterns brighter in his eyes fell over your back to the zipper you were trying to reach. “Allow me.” Smoothly he found and eased the zipper lower and offered a hand to help you step out of your gown.

Steadily he looked over your body inches from him in nothing but your panties and when you reached up to remove the mask his eyes locked on yours, “I tried, to get back,”

“The Lord responsible for stealing and blocking your mirror has been executed decades past now. There is no threat to you, My Love. I have ensured it.” Dropping the mask your hand rose to cup his cheek and the distance was lost, his lips hungrily molded to yours and his arms circled your back pulling you right up against his chest.

A knock on the door to his apartment sounded and a messenger called out in the main hall seeing the Pearl doors open, “My King?”

Gently his nose stroked yours in his velvety call in return, “One moment.” Opening his eyes he found yours still closed easing another warm kiss ending in a tentative pull back in which your hands remained latched on to him. “Let us choose your gown,” he whispered and smiled leading you to the one he had made for tonight, “This one?”

You nodded and he smiled wider removing it from the hanger to help you into it. A sleeveless white gown hugging you to the layered flare out in folds from the hips down shifting from white to red in a far more manageable skirt for walking and dancing. The buttons up the back were secured and a final touch of your shimmering crown was added with another kiss and he took your hand to guide you out again.

Into the hall you strolled and grinned at the messenger, who bowed his head to you both when he snapped out of his moment of shock, “Lord Celeborn has arrived and Lord Elrond and his family are awaiting their formal greeting in the Throne Room.”

Thranduil nodded his head, “Yes, I shall grab my son and we will be along shortly.” He bowed his head again and turned to leave watching you turn to join the King in the walk to the giggle filled nursery across from your apartment. He glanced at you before giving the door a gentle push stating, “Little Leaf, there is someone I wish for you to meet.”

Another gasp sounded and he called out, “Naneth!” Spreading the smile across your face in his rush over to hug you.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac