#why this conversation is happening outside my door instead of by where we keep the mail i cannot say

[lost-in-fandoms]

Logan and Max have a talk. Sort of. (I have never written Logan before, so I don't know if this even makes sense. Almost nothing happens, but there could be a second part in the future, who knows (not me)).

Logan wishes he was better at telling Alex no. He doesn't want to be at this party, for a race he barely even took part of, his car giving up on lap 15. He doesn't want to be standing here, near the wall, as he watches the other drivers drink and dance, ignoring him completely. He doesn't want the drink Alex placed in his hand before disappearing, without even telling him what was in it. He wants to go to bed. He wants to call his mom.

One hour, that's how much time he has promised himself. He'll stay one hour, long enough to say he was there, not long enough to make him want to get completely smashed and sob into some girl's chest (that had been one time, but it had been a low point he does never want to repeat), and then he'll go back to the hotel. He doesn't remember the time difference well enough to know if he'll be able to talk to his mom before going to sleep, barely remembers in which country they're in.

He's contemplating his glass again, trying to decipher what kind of alcoholic concoction is in there and to ignore the thumping bass, when a pair of sneakers and blue jeans appear in his line of vision.

He looks up and finds himself face to face with three-soon-to-be-four times world Champion Max Verstappen. He doesn't think he's ever been in a one to one conversation with Max before, so he can't think about a single reason why he should be standing in front of him, looking straight at him. Unless he's here to kick him out? Would Max kick him out of the party for being too pathetic?

Now he's being self-pitying, he needs to stop. No drinking and sobbing incidents tonight.

"You okay, mate?" Max asks, voice barely loud enough over the music, eyes intense. The glass in Logan's hand feels slippery, he's afraid he'll drop it.

"Yeah, fine!" he replies, cringing at his own basic response, even if he doesn't know what else he could have said. It's not like Max is asking because he really cares, and it's not like he could give him the truthful answer either.

Instead of moving on and going back to the party like Logan is expecting after the somewhat failed social interaction, Max keeps looking at him, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowed, before he steps closer and plucks the glass from Logan's hand, placing it on a nearby table.

"Follow me," he orders. He doesn't wait before turning around and walking away. For some reason, Logan doesn't even question it, just unsticks himself from his wall and follows him to the bar, where Max orders a beer and another g&t, and then up a flight of stairs, onto a balcony.

"Are we allowed to be here?" Logan asks, looking at the very obvious DO NOT OPEN sign hanging on the balcony door Max is already pushing open.

Max just shrugs, going outside and sitting down on a lawn chair, placing the drinks on the low table in front of him. Of course, Logan reminds himself, he's Max Verstappen, who's going to tell him no? He probably could buy this whole place out himself if he wanted to.

Logan sits down next to him.

"Here," Max says, passing him the beer. Again, Logan doesn't question it before taking a sip. Much better than Alex's weird drink.

For a long moment, they just sit in silence. They can still hear the music from downstairs, but it's different out here, with the sounds of the city and the fresh air. Logan almost forgets about being confused and upset, about wanting to go home. Home home. Then Max speaks again.

"We can talk about why you are sad, or we can sit here until I finish my drink. Both are okay."

Logan doesn't understand. Why is Max, of all people, wanting to talk to him about his shitty season? And why would he want to just sit there with him? Does he look that pathetic?

He tries to feel upset, tries to look for the spark of indignation, but he comes up empty. He can just stare at Max's profile as the other takes a sip of his drink, eyes fixed on the skyline, throat working.

Max doesn't ask again. He must accept that Logan's answer is silence, doesn't even seem put off by it, but Logan's brain can't stop buzzing, questions bouncing around so fast he can barely keep up with them.

They stay quiet. Max finishes his drink. Logan keeps watching him as he stretches slightly, before he stands up and turns to face him.

"If you want to come talk to me, I know how it feels, to be hungry" he says slowly, measured, like he's been thinking about this for the whole time. "But if you want advice right now..."

It takes a second for Logan to realize Max is waiting for a sign, and he rushes to nod. Max's lip curls up slightly, his eyes crinkling, before he turns serious again.

"At some point, you will of course have to decide if you want to lay down and wait for the team to take pity, or if you want to bite and make them work with you."

Logan blinks. Max blinks back.

When it's clear that Logan isn't going to say anything, Max nods, turns around, seems to rethink and turns back, his eyes impossibly bright.

"I can show you how to take what you want, whatever you want." Suddenly, it feels like they're not just talking about racing anymore. Logan's neck feels hot. Max licks his lips, something dangerous in his expression that is usually reserved for the track, for when things aren't as he'd like. Logan has seen it before, but never turned towards him. He's stuck on his chair, feeling like prey despite Max telling him he could, and should, take.

He waits for the blow, he knows it's coming, but is still completely unprepared for the way Max smiles when he speaks.

"I will even call you a good boy, if you do it right."

The sound Logan lets out is undignified enough it will have to go in the lowest points list right next to the drinking&crying episode, but Max laughs, not unkindly, squeezing Logan's shoulder.

"You have my number, and you know where I'll be next week. Drink your beer."

Logan has the bottle pressed against his lips even before Max has made it across the balcony, going back to the party.

[iguessitsjustme]

My neighbor is speaking to the police right outside my door. Bruh what’s going on???

[itsonlydana]

"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

[urfavbooblover]

I was wondering if you could bless us with something that’s Markus from Detroit? My life has flipped upside down the past few weeks and could use the pick me up 🖤

Hey thank you for your request! I’m so sorry that i published this so late, i’ve been on a break and only saw this now! I hope you’re doing better though and that you’ll still be happy about this imagine, even though it’s quite short :))

Paint shop || Markus x gender neutral reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

(remind me if I missed any)

- Detroit become human masterlist link -

Y/N’s pov:

“Damnit”, i cursed quietly to myself, standing in front of my shelf, my hands holding the tubes of my acrylic paint. They’re all empty, just as i was about to finally get back to finish my halfway done painting. How could i forget about this? I didn’t think twice, instead i immediately got dressed and ready to go buy some new ones.

As soon as i stepped outside, i was hit by the nice weather. I took in a deep breath of some fresh air before glancing down at my watch. I had enough time to take the lounger route, going for a nice walk, i thought to myself and made my way to the paint shop.

I arrived after a few minutes, opening the door to the shop. “Good afternoon!”, i greeted, seeing my favorite worker was here today. “Oh hey, Y/N!”, she replied, a big smile on her face. My eyes moved away from her for a moment, landing on an unfamiliar man. I never saw him around, or else i’m sure he would’ve already caught my eye.

“So, what are you searching for today?”, the cashier asked, snapping me back to reality. “Uh i just need some new paints, they’re empty once again,” i let out a small laugh, reminding myself i was here not even two weeks ago, to get some acrylics already. On top of that do i visit this shop at least twice a week.

“Oh i’m sure you know where to find them.”, she pointed out the fact that i know where everything was. “Of course!”, i smiled back at her, looking at the unknown man once again. He had a package in his hands and i wondered if he was interested in the same hobby as i am.

I made my way past him, making quick eye contact before standing in front of the shelf. Just a few seconds later, i picked out everything i needed, returning to the cashier. “Found everything?”, she kindly asked, expecting no other reply than yes from me.

We had a small chat and i eventually paid, existing the shop afterwards. My attention was fixed on my phone, causing me to bump into someone and dropping all my stuff. How usual.

“Fuck! I’m sorry.”, i said, looking up at the person who of course happened to be the guy i just saw in the shop already. “No it’s okay, i was standing here, blocking your way.”, he apologized, making me shake my head in disagreement. “I understand but i was literally all caught up on my phone. It’s my fault.”, i explained, eventually going down to pick up my stuff.

The man kneeled to the floor, helping me throughout it. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”, i softly smiled at him. “Nothing to thank for miss. At least your phone is whole.”, he said, telling me his name right after. “My names Markus by the way.”

“You’re right. I’m Y/N.”, i introduced myself back, the grin never leaving my face. I’m shocked how easy i can hold a conversation with him, i’m not so good with strangers i must say. “Oh, that’s a nice name, Y/N.”

That’s the first time i’ve heard this i thought as i could feel the heat forming in my cheeks. It’s coming from this attractive man on top of that. “Why thank you Markus. I really appreciate it.”, i spoke up, looking into his green eyes, that shined very beautiful in the sunlight.

“You’re welcome miss/sir.”, “It won’t be a problem to ask for your number no? I gotta get going and i’d love to catch up with you sometime again.”, he continued, tilting his head slightly to the side, keeping the eye contact.

My lips parted at this, my eyes falling on his hand that was already holding his phone towards me. “Oh that’s surely no problem! I’ll definitely find some time to meet ya.”, i responded, typing in my number as a new contact.

“Great! I’ll see you around, Y/N.”, i watched his face brightening up, before he turned around to leave. “See ya, Markus!”

I watched him a few more seconds and was just about to get to the path home, throwing a last glance into the paint shop. There she was standing. The cashier almost laughed at me, giving me a look to let me know she just witnessed the whole situation. I just playfully rolled my eyes at my friend, walking back home.

____________________________________________

Later at night, i laid in my bed as i was focused on the laptop in front of me. I heard a buzzing sound next to me and couldn’t help but immediately check from who the text was.

‘Hey Y/N, i don’t know if you’re still awake, but how does next Saturday sound?’

My lips turned up, happy that Markus hasn’t forgotten about me already.

[romione-trope-fest]

Shell Cottage

Title: Shell Cottage

Author: adenei

Trope: Only One Bed

Summary: What if Shell Cottage wasn’t Bill and Fleur’s home/safehouse during the war…because there was no Voldemort? What if the Weasley kids used it for something else entirely? A something that was bestowed upon each Weasley kid before they entered their seventh year. And what if Ron used that something to his advantage, finally giving him a shot at getting together with Hermione?

WC: 7,738 (in 3 parts. part 1 here)

TW: alcohol use, frivolity, bed sharing.

**********

Part 1

  It’s an unusually warm summer day in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Ron welcomes the sun shining down on his face as he ventures outside. Summer’s always been his favorite season. When he was younger it was because his siblings would all be home from Hogwarts, so he had lots of options for playmates. And when he’d started school, it meant a nice long break from never-ending assignments and exams throughout the year.

  This summer is different, though. It’s officially his last as a student, which means it could be the final time he’ll have minimal responsibilities before he’s expected to pursue a career—and it’s coming to an end far too quickly. In two short weeks, he’ll be entering his seventh and final year of Hogwarts, and then this time next year? Well, who knows exactly what his future holds.

  Ron walks out to the garden, summoned by his brothers for a pick-up game of Quidditch, but no one’s there yet. It’s a rare afternoon when everyone stopped by to visit and hang out, much to Mrs. Weasley’s delight. They rarely spent time together aside from Sunday dinner, so the impromptu visit sent their mum into a tizzy. 

  They made some excuse about wanting to help Ron and Ginny train for tryouts in a few weeks, but Ron thinks they all secretly miss flying. Nevertheless, it still struck him as peculiar when he couldn’t see anyone around. Especially considering Fred and George already had their brooms when Bill asked him to come play. He figured they’d be flying around warming up already.

  Weird.

  Nevertheless, Ron keeps his pace toward the broomshed. Even if it’s all some stupid prank, he figures he can still charm some Quaffles and get a little solo practice in at the very least. It doesn’t matter that he’s held the Gryffindor Keeper position for two years now, he still wants to earn it.

  Not that Harry would give it to anyone else, unless they totally outperformed him. But every season, every match, he’s gained more confidence and honed his skills. It’s not like he plans on going pro or anything, but still, he wants to maintain his position on the team.

  Finally reaching the broomshed, he opens the door to retrieve his Cleansweep, but is met instead with a pair of arms pulling him into the small space.

  “What the—”

  “It’s about time, Ronniekins,” Fred chides.

  George shuts the door behind him and casts some sort of silencing charm on it. “Yeah, can’t say this is where I’d prefer to spend my afternoon waiting for you.”

  “So why are you in here and not outside?” Ron asks, completely bewildered. “I thought we were going to play Quidditch?”

  “We are, but we have to talk to you first.” Impatience lingers in Fred’s tone before Bill clears his throat.

  “It’s a…private matter.”

  “Oh, fucking hell, not the sex talk again,” Ron groans.

  George grins. “We can if you—”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” Fred shrugs. “I happen to think we did a stellar job with our brotherly duty.”

  George nudges Bill. “Even provided Percy’s diagrams and everything.”

  Bill sniggers. “Did you really? Well, as much as I’d love to continue that conversation, we probably don’t have much time before Ginny comes outside and catches us in here.” Ron folds his arms as he waits for his oldest brother to continue.  “So, you’re about to start your seventh year in a couple weeks—”

  “Really? I had no idea.” Ron can’t help the quip, but he hates when people state the obvious.

  “Easy now, Ronniekins. As much as we love a good tradition, we don’t have to share this with you if you want to be all testy,” Fred warns.

  “Anyway.” Bill regains everyone’s attention. “As Fred so eloquently stated, we have a bit of a tradition that I started and has since been passed down to everyone.”

  “Even Percy,” George interjects.

  “Though I don’t think he threw much of a rager,” Fred shakes his head in disappointment.

  Bill chuckles. “No. I’m pretty sure he used the weekend for himself and Penelope and—”

  “No!” gasps Fred.

  A shit-eating grin plasters George’s face. “Did they—is that when he—no wonder he was such a bloody tosser all year!”

  “Acting even more pretentious than usual,” Fred continues.

  “All because he got—

  “Alright, alright. Percy’ll kill me if he finds out I told you so keep that to yourselves, yeah?”

  “Oh, come on, Bill. You’d crush him in a duel. He’s got nothing on you,” Fred ignores the point.

  Ron doesn’t realize until after the exchange that his eyes have widened at the information, and while he may have been annoyed before, he’s much more interested in what Bill has to say now.

  “So, are you going to tell me or…”

  Instead of answering right away, Bill digs into his pocket before brandishing a key.

  “What’s that to?” Ron presses again, and all three of his brothers grin widely.

  “Shell Cottage.”

  Shell Cottage. Where’s he heard that name before? He has to delve deep into his mind for any sort of recollection, and then it suddenly hits him.

  “Aunt Muriel’s summer home? But how do you—”

  “Dad used to check the place regularly when Muriel wasn’t staying there. But she stopped using it as her summer home years ago—just before my seventh year to be exact—and I’ve been in charge of making sure the place is alright ever since. ”

  “Okay…so, what? Did you borrow the place for a weekend?”

  Bill’s face falls slightly at Ron’s question and the twins stifle a groan. “Wow, Ron, way to ruin it.” George scolds.

  “I wasn’t trying to!” he defends. “It’s just—it was obvious…” 

  Bill doesn’t seem phased, though, as he continues. “Well, yeah. And since then, I’ve passed the key on to Charlie, Percy, and the twins a couple weeks before their seventh year starts at Hogwarts too. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Brilliant!” Ron reaches his hand out to take the key, but then hesitates. His eyes narrow slightly as he peers between his brothers. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” Bill reassures. “You can have the place for the weekend. Just make sure it’s cleaned up before you leave. And I don’t care who you invite as long as you’ve got a good alibi.”

  “Right. Yeah.” Ron takes the key when Bill thrusts it toward him. 

  The wheels begin to turn, formulating a plan in his mind. Obviously, he wants to invite his dorm-mates. They could hang out on the beach and he knows Seamus would be able to hook them up with Firewhiskey. It could be the ultimate guys weekend. Kind of like the ones they used to have when they were younger before Seamus started chasing girls and he and Harry got wrapped up with Quidditch.

  But then he thinks about how Percy supposedly took advantage of the space and—well, if he’s being honest with himself, he’d love to find a way to hang out with Hermione one-on-one. Maybe it would be the kick in the pants he needs to finally take the plunge and ask her out.

  Who says you can’t do both?

  Both…now there’s an idea. But before he can ruminate on it anymore, Fred interrupts his thoughts. 

  “Great, now if we’re all set here, let’s get out of this steambox.” He pushes past Ron to open the door.

  George follows. “I’ll go find Gin so she doesn’t try to hex our bollocks off for leaving her out.”

  Dammit. Ginny.

  She’s going to be so pissed if he leaves her out, but as is the tradition, Ron isn’t sure he should tell her. Besides, is it so wrong to have a weekend for just him and his friends without her? Harry’ll understand too, right?

  Eh, whatever. He’ll figure it out later. For now, he’ll enjoy an afternoon of Quidditch just like the old times, and later, when Harry comes for dinner, he’ll figure out exactly what his weekend with the key to Shell Cottage will hold.

[rahleeyah]

What's your take on why SVU has been referring so much to Johnny D and William Lewis this season? Two different characters naming them outright in different episodes, and also all the trial parallels with the Lewis trial. Do you think they're building to something specific in the finale this week for Benson?

I would like to think that they are; in the dgraz era they have been much more intentional about their choices and much better about follow through and it feels like there has to be a Point, even if we don't know what it is yet. I do think there is also a possibility that given the short season and extremely short period for writing and filming that perhaps they do not have the time to get to the Point this season, and are instead laying groundwork for something to happen next season (if they're allowed the room to actually act on it). It is never outside the realm of possibility that they end the season on a cliffhanger, and if I was them at this moment in time I would, just to have something to keep people talking about the show over the summer. Now what that something might actually be, I have no idea, it's not like they've given us anything to go on in the trailer.

But if I may put on my clown shoes for a moment and make a bonkers suggestion:

Can you imagine if the SVU finale ends with Liv at Elliot's door saying "there's something I need to talk to you about?"

Now I do think that's unlikely just timing wise - are svu and oc happening concurrently? So would Elliot even be home? There's no way, I think, that they pick up that conversation in oc bc oc has a lot of plot to wrap up in their finale and can't be devoting time to svu drama and the transition from an svu that ends with eo together to an oc that doesn't acknowledge it would be weird.

But it is I think not impossible that Liv comes to a decision on that - talking to Elliot, in general or about Lewis specifically - in the svu episode. A phone call would do it.

IDK yeah I think they are going somewhere I just don't know where and I don't know how much of it we're gonna see on Thursday and how much will have to keep for later.

[blue-aconite]

permanent || b.c.s

Summary: “Do you like it?” He’s wrapping his arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head as they stare down the path.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1038

Pairings: Beau Simpson x f!reader

Authors Note: I don’t know what happened, but Cyclone wanted to say hi. Thank you my loves @ereardon​ @yanna-banana​ and @writercole​ for beta’ing and Cole for the title as well!

- Leave your weekend open. Got time off. We’re going away.

She stared at the text, salad forgotten. Going away for the weekend was a big deal. She turned to Danielle, showing her the phone. 

“What do you think?” She chewed on her bottom lip, her unoccupied hand tapping the table. 

“I think you should stop second guessing this and just go. Take a leap. You’ve had a fun couple of weeks, right? He’s handsome, kind and I know you don’t want to hear this, but you never shut up about him.” Danielle wiggled her eyebrows, making her laugh. 

Danielle was right. Even though they had only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, she was hooked. He was everything she looked for in a partner, something she didn’t think she would find again after Adam. 

But then she met Beau. She had been distracted during her run one morning, slamming straight into him, falling flat on her ass and spilling his coffee all over his front. Instead of the scolding she had expected, he had helped her up from the ground and apologised for not getting out of her way. In turn, she had apologised for the spilled coffee. They made small talk and she was pleasantly surprised when she left the encounter with his number and a promise of dinner. 

Things had gone smoothly since. He worked long hours but she didn’t mind. He still made time for her and while they hadn’t put any labels on their situation, she felt like it was heading somewhere serious. 

Especially now, after receiving his text.

“Oh my god, stop thinking so much. Just go. Spend the weekend with your sexy admiral and have lots of steamy sex. You need it.”

She rubbed her forehead at Danielle’s words, but couldn’t hide a smile. A weekend away with Beau sounded lovely. She picked up her phone, opening their conversation. 

- Sounds wonderful. What should I pack?

“Hi darling. You look lovely.” Beau grabbed her bag and opened the door for her at the same time, ever the gentleman. 

“Beau, I'm wearing sweatpants.” she chuckled, squeezing his bicep in thanks as he helped her into the car. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, putting his arm behind her seat to reverse out of the driveway. “And you look lovely. I did say dress comfortably for the ride.” 

“So where are we going? Your packing list didn’t exactly make it easier to figure out.” She twisted in her seat, hand settling comfortably on his thigh, feeling the muscles jump under her touch. 

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out, kitten. Be patient.” He laced their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “It’s a bit of a drive, why don’t you rest. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

She keeps their hands intertwined as she rests against the cool window, Beau’s hand warm in her own.

The resort is beautiful, just shy of a two-hour drive from San Diego. Beau refuses to let her carry the bags, and still manages to hold her hand while they check in and head to their bungalow. 

There’s a small path leading down to the beach and the deck outside the housing is surrounded by palm trees and colourful flowers. The inside is decorated with a cosy bohemian vibe and she admires the large bathroom with the tub, and rows with scented bath salts and other products. 

There’s a dip in the floor and sliding doors leading onto a small deck and a pool overlooking the ocean, lounge chairs situated on the side. 

Beau is busy putting away their bags, so she wanders out on the deck in the front, enjoying the quiet. 

“Do you like it?” He’s wrapping his arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head as they stare down the path. 

She smiles, turning in his arms. “I love it. Thank you for bringing me here.” She leans up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, enjoying the way his hands tighten on her hips. 

“Only the best for my girl. You deserve a weekend away, I know work has been tough.”

Work has been tough lately but she gets stuck on the first part of what Beau says. His girl. They hadn’t talked about things and this trip certainly is a step into the future. Stuck in her own head, she doesn’t notice the worried expression on Beau’s face. 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me, beautiful." He's guiding them to sit down on the outdoor seating, keeping their hands intertwined as he kneels in front of her. She musters up a smile, reaching out to smooth a hand over his furrowed brow. 

“Nothing is wrong. I’m just thinking about us. I know we haven’t really talked about stuff and—” 

Beau cuts her off, hands cupping her face.“I want more. I want to wake up next to you, fall asleep with you by my side. I want to be the one you call when you’re having a bad day. I know it’s still early but I’m old enough to know that this feeling is permanent. I know what I want. And that’s you.”

If she wasn’t sure about her feelings before, she is now. Never has a man affected her like Beau Simpson. Never has she felt this way before. He’s the one. His words only confirm what her heart already knows. 

She smiles, leaning into his touch. “I’m in love with you. I want that too.” She can’t say it in the way he does but her words are enough for him. 

“I’m in love with you too. If my speech didn’t convey that,” he laughs, pressing their foreheads together. 

Beau kisses her then, softly, his hands leaving her face in favour of pulling her closer by her waist. She can’t help but smile into the kiss, almost laughing. 

“I would really like to check out the beach. But I think a quality test of the bed is first in order.” Beau laughs with her, hoisting her into his arms and marching through the door.

“Yes dear, I think you’re right.”

Taglist: @writercole @wildbornsiren @antiquitea @imjess-themess​ @therebeccaw​ @hederasgarden​ @fuckyeahhangman​ @princessmisery666​ @a-reader-and-a-writer @princessphilly​ @anniesocsandgeneralstore​ @yanna-banana​ @angstybluejay​ @shaded-echoes​ @green-socks​ @call-sign-jinx @ereardon @bobfloydsbabe @seresinhangmanjake​ @luminousnotmatter @top-hhun @ayorooster @crescentwolf @indynerdgirl @gigisimsonmars @kkrenae  @khaylin27​ @hollandorks​ @somenamewithepineapple​ @thedroneranger​ @call-sign-jinx​ @xoxabs88xox let me know if you want to be added/removed

[muddyorbsblr]

the new sorcerer supreme pt2

Read Part 1 here See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @rmoonstoner

Summary: Loki explains how he survived and you explain why you were looking for the Sorcerer Supreme

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: mentions of Thanos; derogatory use of the word 'Whore'; talks of grieving; mention of The Snap

Your shields dropped the moment Loki's voice reverberated through the small room, the rune on your arm disappearing and indicating to you that the loan of powers had reached its conclusion. He stepped out of the shadows, the air leaving your lungs once his face came into view, his eyes so visibly filled with longing, shining with unshed tears. 

"Brother?" you heard Thor croak from the door. It was only then that you realized you'd been walking further into the room for several steps, now standing a mere few feet away from the god you'd  thought was gone for the last eight years. "How--?" 

"It takes more than a strong grip to end me, Brother," he said with a somber smile. "Though I must admit it took longer than expected to heal from my injuries on that ship. I first needed to get my body to a place where once I'd healed it, I would be able to breathe, considering that the vessel we were on exploded and I was no better than space debris--"

"Hold on," you spoke up, holding your hand up in the air like a child in class.

This caused Loki to let out a rough chuckle, sounding as if he didn't even know how to utter the sound anymore, holding your hand in his and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. "Yes, darling?" 

The seamlessness with which he performed that gesture almost felt like a balm to your shattered heart, giving you a touch of comfort despite the knowledge that there were still most definitely threats coming your way to try destroying you for participating in the slaughter of Thanos three years ago. Almost as if what ever would happen, it no longer mattered. He was here. He was alive.

"I--You said 'get your body somewhere'. You're talking as if you--Holy shit." You watched with slacked jaw as another image of Loki departed from his body, visible to the naked eye but…translucent. You could quite literally see through him. You dropped his hand in alarm, turning to Thor. "Doesn't Strange do something like this?" The blond Asgardian could only look with wide eyes as he nodded his confirmation.

"This is how I survived," Loki explained. "I was able to depart my physical form and heal it, but it took time. Longer than I hoped it would." 

"Seven years," you thought aloud, thinking about your conversation with Stephen and Wong before you set out for New Asgard. "Stephen said that he was Sorcerer Supreme until last year, and then he felt his augmented powers waning, and he knew that someone else held the title. That he sensed that energy here now, in New Asgard." You looked into the eyes of the translucent Loki. "Your energy," you prompted, seeing if he would confirm your suspicions.

The projection of the raven-haired god nodded at you. "Mine. I spent years healing my body to get myself to a state where my soul could reunite with my body without running the risk of having the two consolidate with one another incorrectly."

You thought back to outside the room. The peculiar presence that was communicating with you before the door opened. "Was that you? Outside?" You pointed toward the living room area as you asked him. 

The projection of him smiled at you, nodding again. "Couldn't help myself, darling. I'd been spending the last year honing my newfound powers, making sure that I would be strong enough to keep you safe from any threats that might find their way to you. And instead you found your way to me. I had to hold you, even if it was just in this form."

"Well maybe you could come back to your body and you can hold me for real, Mischief," you choked out, your heart stuck in your throat once again as you watched the projection reunite with his body. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as he closed the distance between you, finally wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You felt your feet leave the ground as he swayed you slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've missed you, my love," he whispered in your ear. 

When you caught sight of the tear-stricken god behind him, you whispered back, "I've missed you, too. More than you know. And I know that you're not one for showing affection toward your family but maybe this time you'll make an exception? Because I'm pretty sure your brother missed you almost as much as I did." 

He set you down on your feet, tucking his fingers under  your chin before placing a soft kiss on your lips that made your heart feel like a few more pieces had set themselves back into place. "I'll be with you again in a few moments, darling." He walked toward his brother and the tears began to roll down your face as you watched them pull each other into a brotherly hug, the formerly desolate blond visibly refusing to let Loki go. "I've missed you, too, Brother." 

"I will leave you and Lady Y/N to discuss her matters," the god of thunder said, sniffling. "Perhaps once that is concluded we can all catch up in the evening?" 

You could practically hear Loki smiling as he said, "I would like that, Brother. We will see you in the evening." 

"I will see you both in the evening. Brother." Thor relinquished his brother from his hold and shifted his gaze to address you. "Sister." 

"Thor," you answered, nodding his way as he walked out of the house. 

Once the front door closed, Loki turned to look at you with an amused look on his face. "Sister?" 

You reached into your shirt and pulled out the chain around your neck, holding an emerald engagement ring, knowing it would explain why Thor had just called you what he did. 

"He swore to keep his mouth shut," he commented, shaking his head, the smile remaining on his face. 

"Well to be fair, he did for a while," you retorted. "Honestly I think he did it as a last ditch attempt to convince me to help." 

He made his way over to you, taking your hands in his as he led you to the couch in the living room, guiding you as you settled yourselves across the seat, your back nestled snugly against his chest, his chin lightly resting atop your head. "What have I missed, darling?" 

"We can start with Wakanda," you began. "I didn't see when Thor arrived at the battle, I was outnumbered taking on a fleet of Thanos' foot soldiers. I didn't see him until he was already in the thick of the battle, and I just assumed that…you were with him. That I just hadn't seen you yet, and that you hadn't found me, either." Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you recalled what happened afterward. "I watched my friends turn into dust," you choked out.

You let out a slow exhale as he held you tighter, wrapping an arm around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm so sorry, my darling. Seeing that must have been terrifying--"

"The only thing running through my mind at the time was that…I had to find you," you spoke through your tears. "I thought you were there, somewhere in the battlefield. I called out your name but nobody answered, and I thought--"

"That I'd turned to dust as well," he finished, sounding as if the air had left his lungs, too.

"And then I found Thor. Turns out it was much worse than you turning to dust." The tears rolled down your cheeks in hot streaks of anguish as you struggled to continue. "He told me what happened on the ship. And I didn't talk to anyone for days. Until we had the opportunity to kill Thanos, and instead of taking the bus along with the rest of the team, I found myself taking a shortcut so I could torture the bastard myself." 

He froze behind you. "Y/N, my love, what do you mean?" 

"It was a really lousy way to find out I could wield Thor's weapons," you said with a scoff. "I accidentally summoned Stormbreaker. And the Bifrost. Next thing I knew I was in the son of a bitch's garden, and I went at him with every ounce of fury I had. I wanted him know my pain when he ripped you from me. There was nothing in this world at that moment that could have brought me more peace than watching the light leave his eyes." The feel of him pressing more kisses to the back of your head helped to ground you to the present moment, keeping you from getting caught in the current of your tragic memories. "Of course, I wasn't strong enough to deliver the final blow. That was all Thor." 

"He killed the mad brute? My brother?" The pride was audible in Loki's tone, letting out a deep chuckle as you nodded your confirmation. 

"After that neither of us spoke to anyone, even to each other, for years." You shifted in his arms to look up at his face. "Did you know he got fat?" His chuckled reaction brought you out of your darker mood. "Shocked me too when he knocked on my door after five years, adding himself to the list of friends who tried to get me to help them reversing Thanos' snap." 

"You refused them?" You could hear how taken aback he was at your words, the confusion made even more evident by the furrowing his brows. Understandable. These people were your friends; he was around at a time when you would have done just about anything for these people, so it wouldn't make sense to him why you would refuse to aid them in something so monumental.

"I didn't see the point," you answered him plainly. "If I helped them, and we were successful, everyone who got dusted would come back. What good would that do for me?" 

Tears welled up in his eyes at your words. "Oh, my darling mortal…" He leaned in to press his lips to yours in a soft kiss. "I'm sorry that my absence from your life had hardened you so. If I'd known--"

"Don't do that," you cut him off, placing your hand on the side of his face. "Don't blame yourself for how I mourned. This wasn't your fault." He placed his hand over yours, keeping it in place as he pressed his lips to your palm. "Anyway, after multiple attempts from the team, Thor showed up, banging on my door, looking like he'd seen better days. Told me that if I wasn't going to help our team bring our friends back, then I could at least have the chance to kill the murderer of the man who would have been my fiancé. Had he actually made it back to Midgard." 

As the tears began to fall down your cheeks once more, Loki wrapped his arms around you again, holding you as if you would fade away if he didn't. Or as if he would. 

You stayed like that for a while, calming yourselves, mostly you trying to adjust to your new reality, that your love was here. By some kindness of the cosmos or the fates or whoever it was, he'd returned to you. When you felt you weren't about to burst into tears anymore, you spoke again. "He gave me the ring, told me that before Asgard burst into a billion pieces because you two decided to invoke Ragnarok to stop your certifiable sister, you found time to take this from your mother's dresser. That you intended to propose when you got back. Then he told me to do with that information what I please. So I chose to wear the ring." 

He ran his finger across the chain around your neck, a somber smile coloring his features. "This is not the end of the story, is it, darling?" 

You chuckled darkly at his question. "We haven't even gotten to the part that brought me here, but we're close." You shifted your position so you could rest your head on his shoulder, allowing him to hold you even closer to him. "I'll skip the fight with past Thanos and his army, except for two details. First, I teamed up with Wanda and we were able to bring that bitch to his knees," you told him with the most lighthearted chuckle you could manage. 

"I wish I could have seen it, my love." You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. "And the second?" 

"His followers…they call me something. And that's how I know that…I'm in trouble." 

He cupped your face, coaxing you to look up into his eyes which were rife with panic and concern. "Y/N…my darling…What brought you here?" There was a waver to his voice, as if he was afraid of what the answer might be. Of how much trouble you were talking.

"Loki, I didn't come to New Asgard because I was looking for you," you explained. You took a breath, trying to find words that would make sense…because at the moment they didn't even make sense to you anymore. "I came here looking for the Sorcerer Supreme. At the end of the battle with Thanos three years ago, a woman named Carol Danvers gave me a device; she told me it could spray out a signal to every known receiver in the galaxy. That same day I sent out a signal. Come back to me." 

"Y/N," he breathed, a broken sob escaping him. "My darling. That was you?" You simply nodded, not trusting yourself to form words as the relief flooded you that the message had at least reached him. "I hadn't fully healed yet. I saw it in passing from receivers that had passed me by, thought I was going mad and my mind had merely conjured up images, an oasis. To help me retain my sanity, to remind me what I was striving to come home to." He touched his forehead to yours. "Never did I even consider the possibility that perhaps you were trying to guide me home." 

"I was," you said in a rush. "I couldn't believe you were gone. I kept telling myself you were out there, trying to find a way back, so I sent that as a way to point you in the right direction--" 

He cut off your words by capturing your lips with his in a desperate kiss, as if he could no longer keep his composure. Which was just fine with you, for you couldn't, either. You tucked your legs under you, leveraging yourself to shift your position so that you were fully facing him now, sitting on your knees in between his legs. "Oh, my precious little mortal," he mumbled against your lips, wrapping his hands around the backs of your thighs. "I thought I'd made it clear long ago. You never kneel to me." You let out a squeak as he lifted you and shifted your positions so that you were straddling his lap instead, the sound quickly morphing into a strangled whimper as he pulled you flush against his body. "Much better," he rasped as he started to place kisses along the column of your neck. "Now. Now I am truly home." 

You allowed yourself to get lost in his attentions, nearly convincing yourself that now you two were reunited, the threat was no longer significant. That the only thing that mattered was that once again your body knew what it felt to have his lips on your skin, his hands freely roaming your body as he pulled you closer still. When his hands found their way under your shirt, fingers feeling along your ribcage and abdomen and tracing a familiar path over you with a touch you hadn't known for the better part of the last decade, you let out a sharp cry, finally feeling that sense of home as well as you were at the mercy of his touch.

"For so long I thought I would never have this again," he breathed against your skin as he pushed up the fabric of your shirt, placing several kisses onto your stomach. "But we need to resolve the matter which brought you here to begin with." He placed one final kiss on your skin before bringing his gaze back up to meet yours. "This device…"

"It received a response today," you finished for him. "I thought it was you, I was--hoping it was you. But then…" you trailed off, reaching into your pocket to take it out and show it to him. Pure murderous intent colored his features as he read the message written. 

"Who?" he asked through gritted teeth. 

"Thanos' soldiers. His children. When I fought them three years ago, that's what they hissed at me before they died. The more talkative ones called me the 'Whore of Jotunheim's King'." His jaw clenched at the words. "The signal may have only been meant for you, Loki. But I was stupid. I gave them a way to find me and now they're coming." 

"No," he growled. He tucked the device into his tunic and eased you off his lap, placing a soft kiss on your lips as he stood up off the couch. "I'll be back in a few minutes, darling." 

"Wait what? Loki--!" You couldn't even finish your sentence before he disappeared in a flash of green, leaving you in the house alone. You decided to wait a few minutes before panicking, since he did tell you that he would be back by then, taking the time instead to return to the study, inspecting what little touches of life have been added to the space. 

It was mostly filled with books. Tomes that looked similar to the ones that Strange and Wong carried around with them sometimes, the ones that were shelved in the sanctums. Then there were the journals lining another shelf, no doubt housing Loki's spells that he'd learned over the centuries, along with the recipes for various potions, some of which had aided you in healing from various injuries. 

The only semblance of a personal touch, of sentiment, came in the form of a picture frame sitting on a small table next to the arm chair in the corner, facing the seat rather than displayed for the visitors of the room. When you took a seat to view the frame, tears blurred your vision once again as you saw that it housed a picture of you and Loki. One of those that came up first from a quick Google search, of you two simply standing next to one another at one of Stark's galas, so it was nothing quite like the more intimate photos housed in your phone. The ones you hadn't looked at in years because missing him hurt you too much to be able to barely function.

What got the tears falling, however, was the carving on the frame. It was clear that he'd done it himself, most likely with one of his daggers, making your heart ache even more. Hjem, the carving said. Home. 

The sound of his voice calling out for you snapped you out of your trance, bring you to your feet and back into the living room in a few short moments. The air left your lungs when you caught sight of him, chest heaving, hair disheveled, and blood splattered on his face. 

"It's not mine, dear heart. Do not worry. And those children of Thanos will no longer be an issue to you. I've taken care of it."

"You mean you—"

"Killed them, yes." He walked towards you, framing your face delicately with his hands, tucking your hair behind your ear. "You're safe, darling." 

"Thank you," you breathed out, relief flooding your system as you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace. "Any chance these shiny new powers could put an end to the signal I sent out?" you asked with a chuckle. 

"I can try," he mumbled, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "But if any more come I will take care of it, too." You felt his lips against your temple as he said, "I will keep you safe, my darling Y/N, I swear to you." He pulled away to look into your eyes, tucking his fingers under your chin. "Forever." 

"Forever," you breathed, repeating the sentiment as he lifted you into his arms, the shadows around the house melting away to reveal the space in all its glory, finally beginning to resemble a home. "What—?"

"I'd been preparing the house for the day I was finally strong enough, powerful enough, that I knew I could protect you against what ever threat may come your way. Then I would have found you, and if you still wanted to be with me—"

"I do," you cut him off. "I love you, Loki. Only you." He flashed you a brilliant grin as he walked you both toward the staircase, placing several kisses on the apple of your cheek, smiling against your skin as he did so. "I want to be with you," you breathed out, contentment washing over you as he took a moment to press you against the wall, capturing your lips in a languid kiss. 

"In that case, welcome home, my love." You felt your heart fluttering in your chest as he pulled back, his eyes roaming over your form rife with lascivious intent. "Now, my darling mortal, I shall be ridding myself of the remnants of that--scuffle. Against the imbeciles who dared threaten my beloved." He traced a line of kisses from the base of your throat to your ear before whispering, "Would you care to join me?" 

You were barely able to utter your Yes before he resumed his course up the stairs, off to the shower. 

A/N: The first of the requests is officially finished! Only 30+ more to go bahahahaha Again I'm super thankful to everyone who sent in a request and I hope that y'all will like what I make of them. We all know by now I'm incapable of making short stories ("drabbles" become an entire story universe lol), so this will take some time, but I promise you that each and every single one of those requests have already been planned out and will be written as fast as my brain can manage.

Everything taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @creationsbyme @coldnique

[icecreamonstrawberrypie]

Art Thief (Gyutaro x Artist F! Reader One-Shot) (Modern AU)

"Again! Not again!" You cried staring at the art wall in the art room. You had just come back from the restroom and Mr. Uzui had granted you special permission to use his key to come into the room. You had made sure to lock the door, but your art had disappeared once again from the wall.

“What’s going on here? I hear ya’ wailing from all the way down the hall,” the raspy voice of the infamous school delinquent known as the “Debt Collector” rang through the room. You turn your head to see the one and only Gyutaro Shabana.

“Oh, sorry,” you gloomily looked back down. Normally, people were intimidated by him, but you had grown to enjoy working with him. Not only was he incredibly bright, but you thought he was rather funny especially when paired with his little sister Ume.

Admittedly, Gyutaro had developed a bit of a crush on you. He totally wasn’t stalking you during after school club hours as of lately. If it were anyone else, except his sister, he would’ve loved seeing them disappointed, but right now it was bothering him that you were upset.

His blue eyes scanned the art wall. The theme seemed to be aquatic life and he noticed your missing art. “Ah, I see, someone stole your art again.”

“It happens every year!” you shoot up and ball your hands into a fist. “I told Mr. Uzui about it and he gave me a key and everything and somehow it still keeps getting stolen!

Gyutaro nodded while looking back at the other side of the room, where a wall used to stand but was blown up and is now exposed to the outside and a tall tree. “Yeah, I wonder why.”

“What’s worse is that it’s all traditional drawings for this contest! It’s not like I can backup my art on the computer. UGH! This is the third fucking drawing that got stolen. I’m on my last backup. Tomorrow is the last day before votes are finalized. I gotta get home and finish it… UGH I BETTER HAVE ENOUGH OF THAT FINISHING VARNISH!” You roared as you snatched your backpack from the floor and stormed out of the room, too chalk full of emotions to remember you were talking to Gyutaro. Luckily, he didn’t seem to take offense though. Instead, he stood there in pensive thought.

“Gyu,” Ume whined as she rubbed her eye with one hand as she held on tightly to Gyutaro's chest with her other arm,”why are we going so early? And why don’t you have your backpack?”

"I've got a job to take care of," he groaned as he revved his motorcycle, "trust me, I hate being up so early too. Just go nap in the library or something if you have to"

"Who's the job for anyways?"

Gyutaro hesitated to answer, "Er, (y/n)."

"Ooooooo, you're such a good boyfriend for your girlfriend, huh?” Ume teased.

“Shut up! She’s not my-”

“SHE DOESN’T KNOW THAT YET,” Ume cackled and shook her brother, suddenly gaining enough energy to shake the motorcycle.

“UME STOP THAT!”

As soon as Gyutaro had arrived, he climbed up the tree to Tengen’s classroom and invited himself in. There was a cabinet that Tengen rarely opened in the back of the room. It was tall enough for Gyutaro to fit inside and conveniently had holes where he could peek through. He stuffed himself in there.

Not long after, you came in early with the key and art in hand. You had drawn an adorable (favorite marine animal). Gyutaro couldn’t help but stare in awe as you stuck it up on the wall and watched as you left and locked the door.

You had wondered where Gyutaro was throughout the day. You were going to apologize for being so overwhelmed with emotion that you ditched him in the middle of your conversation. Clearly, his sister was walking around the halls and you had seen his motorbike outside. Maybe he ditched? You thought, but shrugged it off. You just hoped that your art would still be on the wall the next time you were in the room.

Meanwhile, Gyutaro was fuming inside of the cabinet. He absolutely hated being stuck in the same room as Mr. Uzui all day. Good art, flashy style, and perfect body. The way girls were clearly smitten with him, giggling at his stupid jokes. It didn’t help that he had 3 wives. No fair! How come he gets to spend time with (y/n)? Gyutaro held back his snarls as he clawed at his skin. As soon as he caught whoever was stealing your art, he was gonna bolt out of here.

Eventually, lunch time came. Gyutaro’s stomach was RUMBLING. He was surprised no one had heard him yet. Alas, he was alone in the room. The door was locked and it was the perfect time for a thief to come in. Gyutaro fought back his hunger and focused on the mission at hand.

After what seemed like forever though, he heard the sound of footsteps enter the room. Like a security dog, Gyutaro was quick to look through the peephole. He couldn’t see who it was at first, until eventually he saw a guy with long pinkish-purple gradient hair. Gyutaro’s eyes widened as he realized who it was. Quietly, the guy approached your drawing, hand ready to pluck it off the wall.

Gyutaro kicked open the cabinet door and lunged at the guy. “HANDS OFF THE (favorite marine animal), GYOKKO!” Gyokko shrieked as he tried to dodge, but it was no use. Gyutaro slammed him to the floor.

“Hey, buddy, let me go,” Gyokko growled as he tried to kick Gyutaro off.

“You’re the one stealing (y/n)’s art, eh, dipshit?” Gyutaro spat.

“JUST LET ME GO!”

Suddenly, the sound of keys unlocking the door alerted the two. Gyokko made one final attempt at escape by using his body weight to flip Gyutaro over, but to his surprise, Gyutaro had him pinned down so instead he just wiggled like a worm. Then, the door opened.

“You two, get up, now,” Tengen demanded as he entered the room, following behind him. Gyutaro got off of Gyokko and Gyokko did as well. Gyutaro turned around and made eye contact with you. He immediately blushed and looked away as he saw a sparkle of relief in your eyes. “Explain the meaning of this.”

“Well, I bumped into (y/n) the other day and she was upset because her art kept getting stolen so I hid in your cabinet all morning waiting for this dumbass to show up. That’s pretty much it.”

“What do you have to say for yourself, Gyokko?” Tengen turned his head to him.

Defeated, Gyokko hung his head down.

“Well, technically you’d still be in trouble for ditching, Gyutaro,” Tengen shook his head before he chuckled, “but that’s a pretty flashy way to show your admiration for someone. A fan like that doesn’t deserve detention in my book, so I’ll keep it between us and treat you to some lunch along with (y/n).” He then turned back to Gyokko. “As for you,” he said with an annoyance in his tone, “don’t think you’re gonna have a chance in this art competition. You’re coming with me." With that, Tengen escorted Gyokko out, leaving Gyutaro alone with you.

“Thank you so much, Gyutaro,” you beamed as you embraced him in a hug. His body tensed up from the physical contact and his palms began to sweat. No one besides his sister had ever dared to hug him like this, and he freaking loved it. Despite not asking for payment, this was more than enough for him.

“Yeah, sure,” he hesitantly patted your head.

As you melted into Gyutaro, in the back of your mind you were thinking of a way to give this guy a special reward.

_________

Inspired by the fact the someone keeps stealing my assignments in class ┻⁠┻⁠︵⁠ヽ⁠(⁠`⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠︵⁠┻⁠┻ I swear idk why some of my classmates hate me.

[shuxiii]

Everyday pt. 13

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt14, pt15

a/n meowmoewmeomwoemwoe its still 7 am and part 12 died so soon and too late and now I'm part 13 so sorry for their lost, credits '' every day'' by David levithan

Day 6016

Yn,

I think I remember everything. Where are you today? Instead of writing a long email, I want to talk.

H

I am roughly two hours away from her when I read this email, in the body of a boy named Park sunghoon. He’s a hardcore design geek, and his room is an orchard of Apple products. I access him enough to know that when he really, really likes a girl, he creates a font and names it after her.

I write back to Hanni and tell her where I am. She writes back immediately—she must be waiting by her computer—and asks me if I can meet her after school. We arrange to meet at the Clover Bookstore.

Sunghoon is a charmer. He also, from what I can tell, has crushes on three different girls at the same time. I spend the day trying not to commit him any closer to any of them. He will have to figure out for himself which font he prefers.

I am a half hour early to the bookstore, but I’m too nervous to read anything but the faces of the people around me.

She walks in the door, also early. I don’t need to stand or wave. She looks around the room, sees me and the way I’m looking at her, and knows.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I say back.

“It feels like the morning after,” she tells me.

“I know,” I say.

She’s gotten us coffee, and we sit there at the table with the cups sheltered in our hands.

I see some of the things I noticed yesterday—the birthmark, the scattering of pimples on her forehead. But they don’t matter to me nearly as much as the complete picture.

She doesn’t seem freaked out. She doesn’t seem angry. If anything, she seems at peace with what’s happened. When the shock wears off, you always hope there’s understanding underneath. And with Hanni, it seems as if the understanding has already surfaced. Any vestige of doubt has been swept away.

“I woke up and I knew something was different,” she tells me. “Even before I saw your letter. It wasn’t the usual disorientation. But I didn’t feel like I’d missed a day. It was like I woke up and something had been … added. Then I saw your letter and started reading, and immediately I knew it was true. It had actually happened. I stopped when you told me to stop, and tried to remember everything about yesterday. It was all there. Not the things I’d usually forget, like waking up or brushing my teeth. But climbing that mountain. Having lunch with Minji. Dinner with my parents. Even writing the letter itself—I had a memory of that. It shouldn’t make sense—why would I write a letter to myself for the next morning? But in my mind, it makes sense.”

“Do you feel me there? In your memories.”

She shakes her head. “Not in the way you’d think. I don’t feel you in control of things, or in my body, or anything. I feel like you were with me. Like, I can feel your presence there, but it’s outside of me.”

She stops. Starts again. “It’s insane that we’re having this conversation.”

But I want to know more.

“I wanted you to remember everything,” I tell her. “And it sounds like your mind went along with that. Or maybe it wanted you to remember everything, too.”

“I don’t know. I’m just glad I do.”

We talk more about the day, more about how strange this is. Finally, she says, “Thank you for not messing up my life. And for keeping my clothes on. Unless, of course, you didn’t want me to remember that you sneaked a peek.”

“No peeks were sneaked.”

“I believe you. Amazingly, I believe you about everything.”

I can tell there’s something else she wants to say.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s just—do you feel you know me more now? Because the weird thing is … I feel I know you more. Because of what you did, and what you didn’t do. Isn’t that strange? I would have thought that you would’ve found out more about me … but I’m not sure that’s true.”

“I got to meet your parents,” I say.

“And what was your impression?”

“I think they both care about you, in their own way.”

She laughs. “Well said.”

“Well, it was nice to meet them.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that when you really meet them. ‘Mom and Dad, this is Yn. You think you’re meeting them for the first time, but actually, you’ve met them before, when they were in my body.’ ”

“I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

Of course, we both know it won’t go over at all. There’s no way for me to meet her parents. Not as myself.

I don’t say it, and neither does she. I don’t even know if she’s thinking it in the pause that ensues. But I am.

“It can never happen again, right?” she eventually asks. “You’re never the same person twice.”

“Correct. It will never happen again.”

“No offense, but I’m relieved I don’t have to go to sleep wondering if I’m going to wake up with you in control. Once, I guess I can deal with. But don’t make a habit of it.”

“I promise—I want to make a habit of being with you, but not that way.”

And there it is: I had to go and bring up the issue of where we go from here. We got through the past, are enjoying the present, but now I push it and we stumble on the future.

“You’ve seen my life,” she says. “Tell me a way you think this can work.”

“We’ll find a way,” I tell her.

“That’s not an answer. It’s a hope.”

“Hope’s gotten us this far. Not answers.”

She gives me a hint of a grin. “Good point.” She takes a sip of coffee, and I can tell another question’s coming. “I know this is weird, but … I keep wondering. Are you really not a boy or a girl? I mean, when you were in my body, did you feel more … at home than you would in the body of a boy?”

It’s interesting to me that this is the thing she’s hung up on.

“I’m just me,” I tell her. “I always feel at home and I never feel at home. That’s just the way it is.”

“And when you’re kissing someone?”

“Same thing.”

“And during sex?”

“Is Sunghoon blushing?” I ask. “Right now, is he blushing?”

“Yeah,” Hanni says.

“Good. Because I know I am.”

“You’ve never had—?”

“It wouldn’t be fair of me to—”

“Never!”

“I am so glad you find this funny.”

“Sorry.”

“There was this one girl.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Yesterday. When I was in your body. Don’t you remember? I think you might have gotten her pregnant.”

“That’s not funny!” she says. But she’s laughing.

“I only have eyes for you,” I say.

Just six words, and the conversation turns serious again. I can feel it like a shift in the air, like when a cloud moves over the sun. The laughter stops, and we sit there in the moment after it’s faded away.

“Yn—” she starts. But I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Minji or impossibilities or any of the other reasons why we can’t be together.

“Not now,” I say. “Let’s stay on the nice note.”

“Okay,” she says. “I can do that.”

She asks me about more of the things I noticed when I was in her body, and I tell her about the birthmark, about different people I noticed in her classes, about her parents’ concern. I share the Yeeun memory, but don’t tell her my observations about Minji, because she already knows those things, whether or not she admits them to me or herself. And I don’t mention the slight wrinkles around her eyes or her pimples, because I know they would bother her, even when they add something real to her beauty.

Both of us have to be home for dinner, but the only way I’m willing to let her leave is to extract a promise that we’ll share time together soon. Tomorrow. Or if not tomorrow, the next day.

“How can I say no?” she says. “I’m dying to see who you’ll be next.”

I know it’s a joke, but I have to tell her, “I’ll always be Yn.”

She stands up and kisses me on the forehead.

“I know,” she says. “That’s why I want to see you.”

We leave on a nice note.

Day 6017

I have gone two days without thinking about Haruto, but it’s clear that Haruto hasn’t gone two days without thinking about me.

7:30 p.m., MONDAY

I still want proof.

8:14 p.m., MONDAY

Why aren’t you talking to me?

11:43 p.m., MONDAY

You did this to me. I deserve an explanation.

6:13 a.m., TUESDAY

I can’t sleep anymore. I wonder if you’re going to come back. I wonder what you’ll do to me. Are you mad?

2:30 p.m., TUESDAY

You have to be the devil. Only the devil would leave me like this.

2:12 a.m., WEDNESDAY

Do you have any idea what it’s like for me now?

The burden I feel is the burden of responsibility, which is a tricky one to deal with. It makes me slower, heavier. But at the same time, it prevents me from floating away into meaninglessness.

It is six in the morning; Vanessa Martinez has gotten up early. After reading Haruto’s emails, I think about what Hanni said, what Hanni feared. Haruto deserves no less of a response from me.

It will never happen again. That is an absolute. I can’t explain much more than that, but this much I know: It only happens once. Then you move on.

He writes me back two minutes later.

Who are you? How am I supposed to believe you?

I know that any response I give runs the risk of being posted on Reverend Poole’s website within seconds. I don’t want to give him my real name. But I feel if I give him a name, it will make it less likely he sees me as the devil, and more likely he will see me for what I am: just a person like him.

My name is Akira. You need to believe me because I am the only person who truly understands what happened to you.

Not surprisingly, he replies with:

Prove it.

I tell him:

You went to a party. You didn’t drink. You chatted with a girl there. Eventually she asked you if you wanted to go dance in the basement. You did. And for about an hour, you danced. You lost track of time. You lost track of yourself. And it was one of the most fantastic moments of your life. I don’t know if you remember it, but there will probably come a time when you are dancing like that again, and it will feel familiar, you will know you’ve done it before. That will be the day you forgot. That’s how you’ll get that part of it back.

This isn’t enough.

But why was I there?

I try to keep it simple.

You were there to talk to the girl. For just that one day, you wanted to talk to that girl.

He asks:

What is her name?

I can’t get her involved. I can’t explain the whole story. So I choose to evade.

That’s not important. The important thing is that for a short time, it was worth it. You were having so much fun that you lost track of time. That’s why you were at the side of the road. You didn’t drink. You didn’t crash. You just ran out of time.

I’m sure it was scary. I’m positive it’s hard to comprehend. But it will never happen again.

Answerless questions can destroy you. Move on.

It’s the truth, but it’s not enough.

That would be easy for you, right? If I moved on.

Every chance I give him, every truth I tell him, lightens the burden of my responsibility that much more. I sympathize with his confusion, but I feel nothing toward his hostility.

Haruto, what you do or don’t do is no concern of mine. I’m just trying to help. You’re a good guy. I am not your enemy. I never have been. Our paths just happened to cross. Now they’ve diverged.

I’m going to go now.

I close the window, then open a new one to see if Hanni will appear in it. I realize I haven’t yet determined how far away I am from her, and am disheartened to find she’s nearly four hours away. I break the news to her in an email, and an hour later she says that it was going to be hard to meet up today, anyway. So we aim for tomorrow.

In the meantime, there’s Vanessa Martinez to contend with. She runs at least two miles every morning, and I am already late for the routine. She has to make do with a single mile, and I can almost hear her chiding me for it. At breakfast, though, nobody else says anything—Vanessa’s parents and sister seem genuinely afraid of her.

This is my first tipoff to something I will see evidenced again and again throughout the day: Vanessa Martinez is not a kind person.

It’s there when she meets up with her friends at the start of school. They, too, are afraid of her. They’re not dressed identically, but it’s clear they’ve all dressed within the same sartorial guidelines, dictated by you-know-who.

She has a poison personality, and I feel that even I am susceptible to it. Every time there’s something mean to be said, everyone looks to her for a comment. Even the teachers. And I find myself stuck in those silences, with words on the venomous tip of my tongue. I see all the girls who aren’t dressed within the guidelines, and see how easy it would be to tear them all apart.

Is that a backpack that Lauren has on? I guess she’s acting like she’s in third grade until her chest fills in. And, oh my God, why is Felicity wearing those socks? Are those kittens? I thought only convicted child molesters were allowed to wear those. And Kendall’s top? I don’t think there’s anything sadder than an unsexy girl trying to dress sexy. We should have a fund-raiser for her, it’s so sad. Like, tornado victims would look at her and say, “No, really, we don’t need the money—give it to that unfortunate girl.”

I don’t want these thoughts anywhere near my mind. The weird thing is that when I withhold them, when I don’t let Vanessa say them out loud, I don’t sense relief from any of the people around me. I sense disappointment. They’re bored. And their boredom is the thing that the meanness feeds on.

Vanessa’s boyfriend, a jock named Jeff, thinks it’s her time of the month. Her best friend and number one acolyte, Cynthia, asks her if someone died. They know something’s off, but will never guess the real reason. They certainly won’t think she’s been taken over by the devil. If anything, they’re suspicious that the devil’s taken a day off.

I know it would be foolish of me to try to change her. I could run off this afternoon and sign her up to volunteer in a soup kitchen, but I’m sure when she arrived there tomorrow, she’d only make fun of the homeless people’s clothes, and the quality of the soup. The best I could probably do would be to get Vanessa into a compromising position that someone could blackmail her about. (Did you all see the video of Vanessa Martinez walking through the hallway in her thong underwear, singing songs from Sesame Street? And then she ran into the girls’ room and flushed her own head in a toilet?) But that would be stooping to her level, and I’m sure that using her own poison against her would cause at least a little of it to fall back inside me as well.

So I don’t try to change her. I simply halt her ire for a single day.

It’s exhausting, trying to make a bad person act good. You can see why it’s so much easier for them to be bad.

I want to tell Hanni all about it. Because when something happens, she’s the person I want to tell. The most basic indicator of love.

I have to resort to email, and email is not enough. I am starting to get tired of relying on words. They are full of meaning, yes, but they lack sensation. Writing to her is not the same as seeing her face as she listens. Hearing back from her is not the same as hearing her voice. I have always been grateful for technology, but now it feels as if there’s a little hitch of separation woven into any digital interaction. I want to be there, and this scares me. All my usual disconnected comforts are being taken away, now that I see the greater comfort of presence.

Haruto also emails me, as I knew he would.

You can’t leave now. I have more questions.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that’s the wrong way to think about the world. There will always be more questions. Every answer leads to more questions.

The only way to survive is to let some of them go.

Day 6018

The next day I am a boy named George, and I am only forty-five minutes away from Hanni. She emails me and says she’ll be able to leave school at lunch.

I, however, am going to have a harder time, because today I am homeschooled.

George’s mother and father are stay-at-home parents, and George and his two brothers stay at home with them each and every day. The room that in most homes would be called the rec room is instead called “the schoolhouse” by George’s family. The parents have even set up three desks for them, which seem to have been left over from a one-room schoolhouse at the turn of the last century.

There is no sleeping late here. We’re all woken at seven, and there’s a protocol about who showers when. I manage to sneak a few minutes at the computer to read Hanni’s message and send her one of my own, saying we’ll have to see how the day plays out. Then, at eight, we’re promptly at our desks, and while our father works at the other end of the house, our mother teaches us.

By accessing, I learn that George has never been in a classroom besides this one, because of a fight his parents had with his older brother’s kindergarten teacher about her methods. I can’t imagine what kindergarten methods would be shocking enough to pull a whole family out of school forever, but there’s no way to access information about this event—George has no idea. He’s only dealt with the repercussions.

I have been homeschooled before, by parents who were engaged and engaging, who made sure their kids had room to explore and grow. This is not the case here. George’s mother is made of stern, unyielding material, and she also happens to be the slowest speaker I’ve ever heard.

“Boys … we’re going to talk … about … the events … leading up … to … the Civil … War.”

The brothers are all resigned to this. They stare forward at all times, a pantomime of paying perfect attention.

“The president … of the … South … was … a man … named … Jefferson … Davis.”

I refuse to be held hostage like this—not when Hanni will soon be waiting for me. So after an hour, I decide to take a page from Nathan’s playbook.

I start asking questions.

What was the name of Jefferson Davis’s wife?

Which states were in the Union?

How many people actually died at Gettysburg?

Did Lincoln write the Gettysburg Address all by himself?

And about three dozen more.

My brothers look at me like I’m on cocaine, and my mother gets flustered with each question, since she has to look up each answer.

“Jefferson Davis … was married … twice. His first wife … Sarah … was the daughter of … President … Zachary Taylor. But Sarah … died … of malaria … three months after … they … were … married. He remarried …”

This goes on for another hour. Then I ask her if I can go to the library, to get some books on the subject.

She tells me yes, and offers to drop me off herself.

It’s the middle of a school day, so I’m the only kid in the library. The librarian knows me, though, and knows where I’m coming from. She is nice to me but abrupt with my mother, leading me to believe that the kindergarten teacher isn’t the only person in town who my mother thinks is not doing her job right.

I find a computer and email my location to Hanni. Then I take a copy of Feed off the shelves and try to remember where I left off reading, a number of bodies ago. I sit at a carrel by a window and keep being drawn to the traffic, even though I know it’s still a couple of hours until Hanni will show up.

I shed my borrowed life for an hour and put on the borrowed life of the book I’m reading. Hanni finds me like that, in the selfless reading space that the mind loans out. I don’t even notice her standing there at first.

“Ahem,” she says. “I figured you were the only kid in the building, so it had to be you.”

It’s too easy—I can’t resist.

“Excuse me?” I say somewhat abruptly.

“It’s you, right?”

I make George look as confused as possible. “Do I know you?”

Now she starts to doubt herself. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just, uh, am supposed to meet somebody.”

“What do they look like?”

“I don’t, um, know. It’s, like, an online thing.”

I grunt. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I can’t. There’s this really amazing girl I’m supposed to meet.”

She looks at me hard. “You jerk.”

“Sorry, it was just—”

“You jerky … jerk.”

She’s seriously pissed; I’ve seriously messed up.

I stand up from my carrel.

“Hanni, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do that. It’s not fair.” She is actually backing away from me.

“I will never do it again. I promise.”

“I can’t believe you just did that. Look me in the eyes and say it again. That you promise.”

I look her in the eyes. “I promise.”

It’s enough, but not really. “I believe you,” she says. “But you’re still a jerk until you prove otherwise.”

We wait until the librarian is distracted, then sneak out the door. I’m worried there’s some law about reporting homeschooled kids when they go AWOL. I know George’s mother is coming back in two hours, so we don’t have much time.

We head to a Chinese restaurant in town. If they think we should be in school, they keep it to themselves. Hanni tells me about her uneventful morning—Yunjin and Kazuha got into another fight, but then made up by second period—and I tell her about being in Vanessa’s body.

“I know so many girls like that,” Hanni says when I’m done. “The dangerous ones are the ones who are actually good at it.”

“I suspect she’s very good at it.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to meet her.”

But you didn’t get to see me, I think. I keep it to myself.

We press our knees together under the table. My hands find hers and we hold them there. We talk as if none of this is happening, as if we can’t feel life pulse through all the spots where we’re touching.

“I’m sorry for calling you a jerk,” she says. “I just—this is hard enough as it is. And I was so sure I was right.”

“I was a jerk. I’m taking for granted how normal this all feels.”

“Minji sometimes does that. Pretends I didn’t tell her something I just told her. Or makes up this whole story, then laughs when I fall for it. I hate that.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not like she was the first one. I guess there’s something about me that people love to fool. And I’d probably do it—fool people—if it ever occurred to me.”

I take all of the chopsticks out of their holder and put them on the table.

“What are you doing?” Hanni asks.

I use the chopsticks to outline the biggest heart possible. Then I use the Sweet’N Low packets to fill it in. I borrow some from two other tables when I run out.

When I’m done, I point to the heart on the table.

“This,” I say, “is only about one ninety-millionth of how I feel about you.”

She laughs.

“I’ll try not to take it personally,” she says.

“Take what personally?” I say. “You should take it very personally.”

“The fact that you used artificial sweetener?”

I take a Sweet’N Low packet and fling it at her.

“Not everything is a symbol!” I shout.

She picks up a chopstick and brandishes it as a sword. I pick up another chopstick in order to duel.

We are doing this when the food arrives. I’m distracted and she gets a good shot in at my chest.

“I die!” I proclaim.

“Who has the moo shu chicken?” the waiter asks.

The waiter continues to indulge us as we laugh and talk our way through lunch. He’s a real pro, the kind of waiter who refills your water glass when it’s half empty, without you noticing he’s doing it.

He delivers us our fortune cookies at the end of the meal. Hanni breaks hers neatly in half, checks out the slip of paper, and frowns.

“This isn’t a fortune,” she says, showing it to me.

YOU HAVE A NICE SMILE.

“No. You will have a nice smile—that would be a fortune,” I tell her.

“I’m going to send it back.”

I raise an eyebrow … or at least try to. I’m sure I look like I’m having a stroke.

“Do you often send back fortune cookies?”

“No. This is the first time. I mean, this is a Chinese restaurant—”

“Malpractice.”

“Exactly.”

Hanni flags the waiter down, explains the predicament, and gets a nod. When he returns to our table, he has a half dozen more fortune cookies for her.

“I only need one,” she tells him. “Wait one second.”

The waiter and I are both paying close attention as Hanni cracks open her second fortune cookie. This time, it gets a nice smile.

She shows it to both of us.

ADVENTURE IS AROUND THE CORNER.

“Well done, sir,” I tell the waiter.

Hanni prods me to open mine. I do, and find it’s the exact same fortune as hers.

I don’t send it back.

We return to the library with about a half hour to spare. The librarian catches us walking back in, but doesn’t say a word.

“So,” Hanni asks me, “what should I read next?”

I show her Feed. I tell her all about The Book Thief. I drag her to find Destroy All Cars and First Day on Earth. I explain to her that these have been my companions all these years, the constants from day to day, the stories I can always return to even if mine is always changing.

“What about you?” I ask her. “What do you think I should read next?”

She takes my hand and leads me to the children’s section. She looks around for a second, then heads over to a display at the front. I see a certain green book sitting there and panic.

“No! Not that one!” I say.

But she isn’t reaching for the green book. She’s reaching for Harold and the Purple Crayon.

“What could you possibly have against Harold and the Purple Crayon?” she asks.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were heading for The Giving Tree.”

Hanni looks at me like I’m an insane duck. “I absolutely HATE The Giving Tree.”

I am so relieved. “Thank goodness. That would’ve been the end of us, had that been your favorite book.”

“Here—take my arms! Take my legs!”

“Take my head! Take my shoulders!”

“Because that’s what love’s about!”

“That kid is, like, the jerk of the century,” I say, relieved that Hanni will know what I mean.

“The biggest jerk in the history of all literature,” Hanni ventures. Then she puts down Harold and moves closer to me.

“Love means never having to lose your limbs,” I tell her, moving in for a kiss.

“Exactly,” she murmurs, her lips soon on mine.

It’s an innocent kiss. We’re not about to start making out in the beanbag chairs offered by the children’s room. But that doesn’t stop the ice-water effect when George’s mother calls out his name, shocked and angry.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands. I assume she’s talking to me, but when she gets to us, she pummels right into Hanni. “I don’t know who your parents are, but I did not raise my son to hang out with whores.”

“Mom!” I shout. “Leave her alone.”

“Get in the car, George. Right this minute.”

I know I’m only making it worse for George, but I don’t care. I am not leaving Hanni alone with her.

“Just calm down,” I tell George’s mother, my voice squeaking a little as I do. Then I turn to Hanni and tell her I will talk to her later.

“You most certainly will not!” George’s mother proclaims. I take some satisfaction in the fact that I’m only under her supervision for another eight hours or so.

Hanni gives me a kiss goodbye and whispers that she’s going to figure out a way to run away for the weekend. George’s mother actually grabs him by the ear and pulls him outside.

I laugh, and that only makes things worse.

It’s like Cinderella in reverse. I’ve danced with the prince, and now I’m back home, cleaning the toilets. That is my punishment—every toilet, every tub, every garbage pail. This would be bad enough, but every few minutes, George’s mother stops in to give me a lecture about “the sins of the flesh.” I hope that George doesn’t internalize her scare tactics. I want to argue with her, tell her that “sins of the flesh” is just a control mechanism—if you demonize a person’s pleasure, then you can control his or her life. I can’t say how many times this tool has been wielded against me, in a variety of forms. But I see no sin in a kiss. I only see sin in the condemnation.

I don’t say any of this to George’s mother. If she were my full-time mother, I would. If I were the one who would shoulder the aftermath, I would. But I can’t do that to George. I’ve messed up his life already. Hopefully for the better, but maybe for the worse.

Emailing Hanni is out of the question. It will just have to wait until tomorrow.

After all the toil is done, after George’s father has weighed in with a speech of his own, seemingly dictated by his wife, I head to bed early, take advantage of having the silence of a room all to myself. If my time as Hanni is any proof, I can construct the memories that I will leave George with. So as I lie there in his bed, I conjure an alternate truth. He will remember heading to the library, and he will remember meeting a girl. She will be a stranger to town, dropped off at the library while her mother visited an old colleague. She asked him what he was reading, and a conversation began. They went for Chinese food together and had a good time. He was really into her. She was really into him. They went back to the library, had the same conversation about The Giving Tree, and moved in to kiss. That’s when his mother arrived. That’s what his mother disrupted. Something unexpected, but also something wonderful.

The girl disappeared. They never told each other their names. He has no idea where she lives. It was all there for a moment, and then the moment unraveled.

I am leaving him with longing. Which may be a cruel thing to do, but I’m hoping he will use his longing to get out of this small, small house.

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: I'm Not Lost, This Fate Was Mine to Choose

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist | Story Intro

Warnings: Mention of jail/police, mention of firearms, mention of death, angst

Historically (for a while), the term 'guns' meant artillery and not 'small' firearms like muskets etc. but I used 'guns' in here bc 'small arms' sounds very stilted in dialogue to a modern ear ok byyyeee

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Word count: 1872 || Approx reading time: 8 mins

I'm Not Lost, This Fate Was Mine to Choose

Teaser: “I still can’t believe this is happening.” It’s foolish to speak when the rest of the world is still so quiet; my voice carries through the morning air. Worry twists my gut so ferociously, though, I have to say something to take my mind off it. If I don’t, I might burst.

Bree

Dawn comes too soon, creeping up on us with stealthy, nimble footsteps. One moment, I am curled near the hearth, James Wardrew’s coat thrown over me like a blanket; the next, I’m shambling across the floor and blinking sleep from my eyes, blearily following the smell of just-brewed tea, nursing a deepening sense of horror as I remember exactly why we’re up so early and where we’re going.

And then we’re shivering in the early morning air, skulking through town the long way, two groups approaching the meeting point from different angles—me and Spider together, James and Geoff dragging Hatchett through the woods.

“I still can’t believe this is happening.” It’s foolish to speak when the rest of the world is still so quiet; my voice carries through the morning air. Worry twists my gut so ferociously, though, I have to say something to take my mind off it. If I don’t, I might burst.

I glance up at Spider, waiting for her to shush or glare me into silence, but she simply nods and, after a moment, speaks too. “I hate this.”

Although she and James have found an odd, tenuous peace between the two of them, they’re still tense. Uncomfortable, sharp with each other. I don’t know either of them very well, but I can tell it hurts both of them to be so at odds. She’s been stiff and quiet since the moment it came out that she was there when Will was flogged, which seems to be the source of their conflict, as far as I can tell. Stiff, quiet, and guilty.

You shouldn’t feel so bad. The words have been on the tip of my tongue so many times. Aren’t secrets sometimes for the best? Don’t we all keep them sometimes to avoid hurting others more than necessary?

More than that, though, it’s fucking rich of James Wardrew to be guilting her so heartily about hiding things, because he’s been doing the exact same thing to everyone else.

You got my message, then.

It was impossible to tell from what I overheard what was contained in the message James sent to Hatchett, but I gleaned enough from their muttered conversation: James promised something in an effort to negotiate Will’s release.

A message—a note. The signature was what gave Hatchett the information to start puzzling together Will’s name and identity—all because of me, when I told him, like a goddamn idiot, that if he had the name of one brother, he could find the name of the other.

All Will had to do was say a single word—his surname—that matched a name in Hatchett’s notes, and the game was over.

Despite being on Spider’s case about being secretive, James is keeping it hidden that he sent that letter at all.

I wanted to say something—to him, to Spider, to Geoff.

I’m a coward, though.

Instead, when James stepped outside once he was done talking to Hatchett, and I scrambled away from the door to look as if I were just approaching—and hadn’t had my ear pressed against the wood mere moments before—I said, “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone.”

Good god, the look he gave me. He didn’t even seem to remember that You were throwing yourself at him like the slut you are was what Hatchett said to send me soaring across the room to slap him across his horrid face.

“Well…that’s good, I suppose?” he said, scratching behind his ear, appearing to gather his patience from a well that was running dry.

I cringe now at the memory. Anything else would have been better than saying that.

Most of all, however, I wish I’d been brave enough to tell him, You don’t get to be mad at her when you’re keeping an even bigger secret from everyone else.

But I held my tongue—once a coward, forever a coward. Hiding from confrontation. Hiding from the truth.

Awaiting a sign that it’s time to move, Spider and I sit in shadow. Tall, luxurious manors loom over us, the lavish structures brimming with silence and, for me, memories of a childhood in a place not much different.

So far, there have been no constables patrolling this area, but no doubt they’re around somewhere.

“I wish…” Her voice trails off, and when she glances at me, I can see what she’s thinking: Perhaps you’re not the right person to talk to about this.

I pull my “borrowed” shawl closer around me—Spider found one somewhere, and though I’ve no idea where it came from, I can guess it wasn’t originally hers—hoping the hurt doesn’t show on my face. I’ve ended up in yet another place where I don’t belong, where I’m not truly wanted. “Wish he wouldn’t go face them himself?”

She nods, her mouth pressed into a grim line. “He’s being a fucking idiot. Reckless. Acting like…”

My throat aches. I know how to finish this sentence for her. “Like Will.”

She agrees, drawing in a long, angry breath.

“They might see his face,” I say. “Or catch him. Arrest him, too.”

“I told him that.”

“They could kill him.”

“I told him that.”

I gulp at the next thought that slips out, one we’ve been dancing around for the last day but have been powerless to do anything about. “What if they have…guns?”

In the prison, where every altercation was at close range, the constables favoured their batons. Now, in the dread-soaked minutes before a meeting that’s as likely to turn into a bloodbath as not, I think of the cracks that broke through the darkness the night I escaped, the salty tang of gunpowder in the air. The machines of death that they could wield today if they wanted. If they really wanted to make sure none of us escaped with our lives.

“It’s likely.”

I shudder. “He doesn’t care?”

Spider takes a long moment to respond. When she does, her voice cracks. “He cares.”

He cares about saving his brother.

But for god’s sake, he can’t die. Seeing him—that was the only thing Will wanted, the only thing he truly cared about. I know that now. If James doesn’t make it out today…

Flicking a dead beetle that’s somehow stuck to her shoe into the dirt, Spider says, “He just keeps saying there’s no one else.”

Somewhere down the street, voices swell. Constables? The early morning bickering of a family? Servants in these enormous, wealthy households making plans for the day, risen so early to perform the jobs for which they are paid mere pennies?

“No one else, what?”

A cold breeze ruffles her dark curls, rustles the layers of her skirt. “No one else who can be the one to meet the constables and make the trade.”

When did they even have this conversation? The hunting cabin is so small, surely I’d have heard it, unless I was asleep. Doesn’t the inner circle ever rest? “That’s bullshit.”

Her mouth twitches. “Mmm hmm. But I think, mostly, he wants to be the one Will sees when the trade goes down.” She falters. Quietens. “And he doesn’t want to risk anyone else getting grabbed or killed.”

He was playing the hero again, you know.

“They’re exactly the same,” I say.

With a sad smile, as if she can tell who I mean even though I didn’t clarify, she says, “I suppose, in some ways, they are.”

I glance away from her, turning my head so I can brush a finger against my eyes. Too many times I’ve burst into tears in front of her and James and Geoff, these last few days. I won’t do it again now.

There’s no one else. The words go around and around my head: persistent, irritating, unyielding. No one else.

If James goes in for the trade, assuming they don’t just shoot him right away, he risks destroying everything he’s worked so hard for—destroying all the good IA has done, possibly forever.

What, again, of his mysterious message? What was in it? What if, when James gets there, the constabulary tries to hold him to whatever he said?

And if he gets arrested or shot or beaten to death…

There’s no one else.

But of course there is. Someone whose face the constables already know.

Someone who has nothing to lose, who has had nothing to lose for a very long time.

When the sun is creeping up the horizon, painting a swath of light across the sky, there’s noise and movement in the distance. Wheels. A terse command or two. And then footsteps—that of heavy, iron-studded boots.

They’re here.

Before James or anyone else can step out from the woods, I slip from my hiding place and walk directly into Junior Constable Michaelson’s line of sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Spider’s voice fades as I hurry away from her. I pretend not to notice; I don’t need to hear anything else. This is a terrible idea, I know.

But if it keeps James out of the line of fire long enough to set Will free…

Michaelson stares at me for a long moment, his face purpling. “This must be some ridiculous joke.”

“No.” I want to say something smart, something rude and irreverent, something Will would say. My mind has gone blank.

This man—he cut open my skin and watched me bleed.

He held a knife to my throat.

He whipped me until my back was covered in welts and bruises.

Michaelson’s lip curls, the expression far too Hatchett-like for my comfort. “Well. This is how it goes, then. The little viper returns. Came back for more, did you?”

“Where’s Will?” I do not trust myself to keep conversation with this man. All it took the other day for me to lose control and slap Baden Hatchett across his wicked face was a single word.

I cannot afford to lose my wits today.

“Where’s the constable?”

“You’ll see him soon enough.” I feel naked under his glare, just as I did the first time I stood in his leering gaze. Such a short time ago, and yet it feels like a lifetime.

I am not the same girl as I was that day.

“You’ll see him,” I repeat. There is no need to fear this man, I tell myself. He will not touch me until Hatchett is safe—and Hatchett won’t walk free until Will is out of their clutches. “Not yet. Not until you give back Will.”

I do not need to be afraid, because I have nothing left outside of this moment, this aching body, these clothes I wear that are not even mine. Hatchett knows it, he told me so, and I, too, know he’s right. No family and no friends beyond this family I am now trying so desperately to protect. No one who will miss my wretched, worthless, insignificant life.

If I die today, I’m leaving behind nothing except the deeds I did while living.

So I must make sure those deeds are the right ones, until the end. I must make sure—if I die today—my last act is saving IA. Saving James.

Saving Will.

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Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

[Banner ID: A narrow horizontal, rectangular banner featuring a barred archway. The bars and the stone walls evoke the feeling of a dungeon or prison. There are burning candles on either side of the archway. The title of the story, The Prince of Thieves, appears in white text in the centre of the image. The author's username, abbreviated to LPS from littleperilstories, appears in the bottom right corner in partially transparent text. End ID.]

[imaginefan]

Slave To Emotions *Part 3*

Klaus Mikaelson!Father X Son!Reader

Word Count: 1061

Requested: @emaz-0225

Request: Hey can you do a part 3 to Slave to Emotions where Hayley and Elijah get Katherine to work with them to get Y/N back and Hayley ends up getting a vision from the twin let's say her name was Viktoria ands she has a message for Klaus " Love Sirius he is good brother he will protect hope you just got to let him in and tell him the truth you have always loved him you just didn't know you could be a dad. " grandma Esther is bringing me back to life so I will be able to help protect Hope hug my mom and Auntie Beks for me please and thank you Hayley."

*Part 2*

Sirius then has a conversation with Kol about stuff and Sirius pulls out a bracelet that Viktoria gave him it has a protection spell on that they created that Bonnie could never break.

Mikael pulls Sirius aside and then reveals a secret that he helped Katherine deliver Sirius and Viktoria and help her escape and he also told Niklaus about the existence

Klaus gets the message and then storms off to his painting room and looks at his paintings of babies and screams

Katherine wasn’t expecting visitors in fact since her daughter had died she hadn’t seen anyone, she still got messages from you to let her know that you were okay but nothing past that. That was why when she looked at Elijah and Hayley standing outside of her house she was more than a little confused. “What are you doing here? Better yet, how did you find me?” She asked. “There was a witch willing to help us.” Elijah answered “can we come in?” “Depends what you're here for.” Katherine answered, Hayley was the next to speak sharing the same mothering instinct that she did she knew what Katherine was feeling and thinking. “We just want to help your son, you're probably the only person that he’ll listen to.” Hayley explained and Katherine narrowed her eyes at her before opening the door a little wider and allowing them in. “What happened to (Y/N)?” She asked, closing the door. “He announced his presence to Klaus, you know what he is like and your son seems to be just like him.” Elijah explained “if we don’t deescalate the situation we both know that your son will pay with his life.” “So what do you need me for?” She asked. “Like I said, you are likely the only person that he will listen to.” Hayley explained. “Why do you want to help him?” Katherine asked. “He’s my nephew, Klaus may not take responsibility for his family but I will not let them suffer.” Elijah explained. “And you?” Kathrine asked, turning to Hayley. “My daughter deserves to know her brother as he was not the way that Klaus has made him.” Hayley answered. “Your daughter?” Katherine asked. “He has another sister? Does he know?” “He knows.” Hayley answered “he warned us that she was in danger, that’s why we think that we might be able to save him before he dies, something that he’ll regret.” “Fine I’ll help you but only to help him.” Katherine agreed.

Later that evening Hayley was laying down to go to sleep, she fell asleep quite easily but the voice that she heard in her head she didn’t recognise “Hayley.” It called. “Hello?” She asked as she opened her eyes sitting up, she wasn’t in the guest bedroom that Katherine had given her, instead she was standing in what looked like someone’s old childhood room one side looking like it belonged to girl while the other looked like it belonged to a boy, before she could move from where she was two children run in, the little boy keeping the little girl close behind him. “He’s always been good at protecting those he loved, that’s why he’s so angry that I was killed.” Hayley turned away from the children and towards the voice, there was a girl that looked like a grown up version of the one that had run past her, she realized that must have been you and your little sister. “(Y/S/N)?” Hayley asked. “I need you to pass a message to my father.” She pleaded. “I will try.” Hayley promised. “Love (Y/N) he is a good brother he will protect Hope the same way that he protected me. You just need to let him in and tell him the truth. I know you have always loved him, you just didn't know you could be a dad.” (Y/S/N) explained. “Grandma Esther is bringing me back to help protect Hope but until I’m able to make it back to you all please give my mum and aunty Bekah a hug please.” “Of course.” Hayley answered as she smiled “don’t worry I’ll help you brother and we’ll get the family back together and you can both meet your sister properly.” “Thank you.” (Y/S/N) smiled as Hayley felt herself waking up.

You had been there when Kol was brought back and he noticed that you were different then the last time that he had seen you and he wasn’t surprised after having seen your sister in the afterlife and finding out that your father had another child that clearly loved more than he loved you. “What are you doing out here?” Kol asked. “Trying to figure out what the best approach is.” You explained and he frowned. “What are you talking about?” Kol asked. “Well this will keep me safe but the rest of you are still at her mercy.” You explained as you pulled out a bracelet. “(Y/S/N) made this,it has a protection spell on it that no one has been able to break, not even that meddling witch Bonnie.” “(Y/N)!” Mikael called you over to him and you frowned before standing up and dusting yourself off. “Be careful with him.” Kol warned and you nodded before walking over. “There is something that I need to tell you before we fight your father, he will use it to try and weaken our forces.” Mikeal explained. “I was the one that delivered you and told Klaus of your existence.” “Is that supposed to change something?” You asked. “You are stronger than he ever was and once he’s dead the world will be better off.” Mikael said as he walked away from you.

It took the better half of the day to travel back to New Orleans, Katherine had decided to stay at a hotel instead of with the rest of the family so Hayley had passed on the message that (Y/S/N) had given her along with the hug but now as they stood outside the compound, she started to get nervous. “You’ll be okay, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Elijah promised. They both walked back into the compound where Klaus was waiting for them. “How did your plan go?” He asked. “Well did your plan go the way that you hoped?” He asked, Hayley nodded. “She came to help, she’s staying at a hotel,” Hayley answered. “There is a message.” Hayley relayed the message but didn’t get an answer from Klaus instead he turned and stormed out of the room closing himself away in his studio everyone could hear his scream as he looked at one of his older paintings of two babies ones that had always thought of as you and your sister, one that reminded him of the failure that he continued to be.

*Part 4*

Requests and general question!

[meretriciouslyloquacious]

Horse Opera*

aka Turn but make it Wild West (with bonus genderqueer!Robert Townsend)

This is just a wee scribble, which is why it's going here and not on AO3 (because I can't be arsed with the necessary trappings). Hope y'all enjoy anyway!

*The can't be arsed with trappings extends to coming up with a title, so now you get a free German fun fact with your Sunday snippet: Pferdeoper (literally: horse opera) is a humorous slang term for a western. The more you know!

~~~ Wild West shenanigans below the cut ~~~

“Should we really be frequenting saloons right now?”

Ben hissed the words like the people on their tail might actually hear them. It was kind of cute.

“We do this one.”

Caleb made sure Darling was hitched securely to the post outside Rivington’s and went to make his way up the porch steps, Ben scrambling after him. Stepping through the double doors into the dim, smoke-infused room, he caught sight of Townsend looking up from behind the bar at their entrance. With his best roguish grin, Caleb doffed his hat and swept into a theatrical bow. If eyebrows could kill, the sardonic one he got in response would’ve dropped him at twenty paces.

His grin widened.

“C’mon," he motioned to Ben and dropped into a chair at the nearest available table. Ben followed suit, glancing around warily. Caleb stretched out contentedly, soaking in the low hum of conversation. He'd know if there was anything to worry about; Townsend ran a tight ship.

Townsend had by then come out from behind the bar and was approaching them with a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my most unregenerate scapegrace.”

Ben, halfway to rising out of his seat and removing his hat, faltered in both. Perhaps realising the absurdity of what he was doing, he hovered awkwardly for a moment, then decided to compromise and drop his hat onto the table and himself back into his chair. Feeling lenient toward him on account of just how far out of his depth the poor bastard was, Caleb magnanimously abstained from commenting.

“Always knew I was your favourite,” he said instead winningly to Townsend, who glanced up from pouring the liquor.

“I don’t believe that’s what I said.”

She recorked the bottle and, sliding the glasses toward them, nodded at Ben.

“Who’s the punk?”

Caleb nearly inhaled the whiskey he’d raised to his lips. Never did learn to keep his guard up around her.

“Excuse me?” Ben bristled.

His shoulder only seemed to tense up further under the soothing hand Caleb put on it, so Caleb turned his grip into a gentle introductory shake.

“This here is my good friend Benjamin Tallmadge. And despite his boyish charm, he ain’t that young.” Ignoring both the indignation from beside him and the scepticism from in front, he went on. “Ben, allow me to introduce Mrs. Sally Townsend, the proprietress of this fine establishment.”

“Ma’am.”

Ben’s tone was so polite it could've been an insult.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Townsend drawled.

“Where’s Robert?”

Caleb was pure innocence as Townsend levelled her gaze back at him.

“You just missed him.”

“Your husband?”

It was remarkable the range of intent Ben could fit into two words. Product of all that pedigree, probably.

“My better half,” Townsend replied, drier than a Mormon wedding.

“Now, now. That’s a little harsh,” Caleb said. “I happen to like this half just fine.”

“You would.” Instead of dignifying Caleb’s lecherous wink with a response, Townsend changed the topic. “I hear there was some trouble up in Seven Oaks.” She put her hand on her hip. “The two of you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Jesus, word does travel fast around here,” Caleb exclaimed, genuinely impressed.

Townsend, on the other hand, looked anything but.

“I should have known. I suppose your turning up here is not a coincidence.”

Resting his chin in his hand, Caleb made sheep’s eyes at her.

“You know me so well.”

Townsend rolled her eyes and gestured toward the back room.

“Come on, then.”

[oceanlue]

AURON CHRISTMAS SPECIAL PLSSS

-☔️

(Marry Christmas everyone and I hope you all have a happy new year)

Auron x reader

3rd pov

It was a nice cold winter day not too cold and not too hot but just the right temperature for people to be out with their loved ones as today was, December 24th Christmas Eve a day to Rejoice with everyone around you keeping them warm and safe until the next day work Christmas will be upon us.

And no other person more like Auron wanted to surprise his significant other.

Ever since the week of Christmas started he's been planning all this time just to make something special for her/him.

And this time he hopes that no interruptions would go under way unlike last time that happened but tonight isn't about interruptions since his "irritation" was gone he's been more of a joyous mood and wanting to be in his significant others arms on this Christmas Eve night.

Auron's pov

Finally everything is done and put away today has been tiring but not all tiring I still have some energy for tonight as the plans that I have planned must go perfectly. For a while I've been thinking maybe I should try to do something for rookie since they have been working harder than anybody else and they've been more tired so maybe maybe nice for once can change the pace a little bit.

As I put everything away I went to my car and got ready for a little outing even though they would like to call it a date I don't really mind at all anymore.

After I got dressed and a different kind of suit not my usual suit that I always wear at work A different kind of suit and I did my hair a little different and I kept on wondering myself.......why am I so nervous about this!!!!!.

It's just a little Christmas Eve out it's not a date........is it. Well whatever it is I just hope that they find it relaxing.

"Let's get on with it"

Y/n pov

Well this is unexpected, even though I've been working myself down to the bone I didn't expect auron to take me on a date on Christmas eve even though he continues to call them not dates, I beg to differ.

Still it is charming for him to wanting to go out and just relax instead of worrying about work or whatever he does on his free time.

I heard a honk outside and as I got my coat I locked my door turned around and saw the most amazing sight I have ever seen in my life. Aaron's standing right across my driveway looking so gorgeous in a different kind of suit not his usual one but it's more different.

"well don't you look lovely this evening different suit or you just trying to impress me"

"Nice try Rook, if I wanted to impress you I would have gone all out but tonight is different, and dare I say ...nice."

" Oh, and here I thought you already did go all out but I understand, different people have different taste."

Auron gose around the car and holds my hand to give it a kiss.

"My dear tonight is different cuz instead of going to dinner out were going somewhere different to eat."

" oh well pray to tell"

"Tonight will be going to my place for dinner"

It was a nice comfortable ride going there not awkward or sickening silent just very comfortable little conversations here and there but it was nice.

As we made it to his place we started heading up in the elevator as as we have made little conversations about what's about to have him teasing me again, (Jesus with this man) and I just can't really get enough of him.

3rd pov

Auron and Y/N walked into his place. Y/n saw a place at the table of two with candles, wine, flowers.......it was beautiful. As the night went on and conversations were shared while eating and having sips of wine they were done with dinner and retired to the couch where they just held one another in each other's arms.

"Tonight was beautiful auron"

"I'm glad you like it my dear and I hope you will continue to be with me on every outing we have together"

As I looked into each other's eyes with so much passion and love that I leaned and close and gave a passionate kiss.

As the passionate kiss got more heated things turned a little hot as Aaron was only left in his pants and rookie in her dress.

"Now this isn't fair rook I can't be the only one that gets undressed, why don't we see what your hiding~"

Has he took off the dress he was amazed to see red lingerie and he was more turned on than he is right now

"Oh my rook, looks like you really got me to be more ravenous tonight~"

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

Headcannons

After the whole dinner date here on ravish to you until the morning he ravished you so well that you couldn't walk the next day on Christmas

But he was willing to carry you all the way to the couch for a Christmas morning and to watch the sunrise from the couch of the window view with some hot chocolate

It was a beautiful Christmas morning that everything was beautiful and perfect

Little teases from Aaron here and there

But you would never have it differently for you love him and he loves you and that would never change between you two no matter who he has to hurt

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

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night

Peace out

💙💙💙

🎁🌲🎅🎄🤶

[oddree13]

Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want - Chapter 4

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Prior Chapter) (Next Chapter)

(Read on AO3)

Around 1PM Steve gets the call from Robin that operation Suzie Q is a go. Breathing out a sigh of relief Steve hangs up to get back to his ironing - he’s got two suits to press now. 

When Steve pulls up to the Henderson home, he fully expects to lay on the horn to get Dustin to come out but is surprised to find his friend already on the front steps. He wonders if Claudia Henderson sent him outside so Dustin wouldn’t see her charging the family camcorder, but doesn’t question it. Instead, he leans over to open the car door for Dustin, who is under the impression Steve is there to distract him from prom. 

Once Dustin is in the car, pulls out of the driveway to head to Robin’s and is about to tell Dustin as much when he’s cut off. 

“I’m sorry,” Dustin blurts out.

“Sorry? What for?” Steve can’t genuinely think of what Henderson has to apologize for. Of all his kids he's the second most well-behaved next to Byers so he's really not sure where this apology is coming from. Unless, once again, Henderson has put a demonic puppy hiding in his bedroom.  

"I'm sorry for being a dick. I know, I know language, but hear me out.” Steve nods for him to continue, hoping if he lets Henderson’s rant he won’t notice the route they’re driving. “A few weeks ago I pissed you off. I-I said that stuff about you and Eddie hiding your relationship from your parents and now you're here taking me out to distract me as if nothing happened. And I just needed to say sorry!”

Of all the possibilities, that had not been what Steve was expecting, but it was way better than another demodog. Steve can handle this. Steve cannot handle another creature of the Upside-Down.

“Well thank you for the apology Henderson that's very big of you. But it's not like you said anything untrue. It is true. It just sucks.” The admission doesn’t seem to quell Dustin’s apology though, rather it seems to give him permission to ask why. 

“But that’s it! You've never explained to any of us, to me, why you and Eddie hide. He’s an alpha, you’re an omega, it’s kind of the fit your parents are looking for! For all the talks you both give us about being yourselves, it’s messed up that you aren’t taking your own advice.”

Steve sighs because it's not exactly a conversation he's been wanting to have with any of his kids let alone Dustin. But now it's May and  Henderson is going off to college. When did he grow up so fast? It feels like yesterday he was walking down train tracks with the kid and now he’s lecturing Steve about his relationship. But then again, that was the point of all this, wasn't it? To see them all grow up. 

"Do you remember the first day at the lake the summer after Vecna happened?" Steve sees Dustin and nods and continues. “Right well that day Eddie and I made a promise - to be single and watch your kids grow up.” Steve chances a look over to Dustin and sees him looking both touched and confused. “We really didn't keep that first part as you know, but that's the day I learned Eddie and I were on the same page when it came to this pack. We realized that the only thing that was going to keep us sane in the aftermath of everything was making sure you six got out of Hawkins. Part of that plan included not letting my parents know Eddie and I were together because they’re traditional.”

“What do you mean traditional?” Dustin asks, confused and Steve’s grateful that Dustin’s living in a world where the ideas of his parents are becoming archaic.

“I'm not going to get into the details, but let’s just go with my parents are of a belief that all alpha/omega pairings should be male-female, and having an omega son threw them for a loop. So Eddie being a guy, in addition to being Eddie...well it makes things complicated.”

There is silence in the car as Dustin processes what he’s just heard. Steve’s certain all the kids would be a little stunned to know that the two older men had put in such an effort to stick around and weren’t just being townies by default, but rather an active choice.

“But we’re all leaving? I mean Erica is still in high school, but the rest of us are out of here? So what now?” 

Steve can’t help but laugh. “Now? Maybe I'll take your advice and tell my parents to fuck off.”

Dustin laughs along with Steve, the image of Mr. and Mrs. Harrington being actually told to fuck off amusing them more than it should. It's only once Dustin settles down that he realizes where the car is headed.

“Why are we going to Robin's house?” he wonders. 

“Right about that. We got you a bit of an early graduation present and I didn't want to wait to give it to you. Figured it would take your mind off of today.”

For the next few minutes, Steve humors all of Dustin's guesses until he's parked in Robin's driveway. This time he gets to lay on the horn to signal their arrival before getting out of the car. 

Steve lets Dustin walk to the front door while he takes a seat on the hood of his car and watches as the door opens to reveal Dustin’s graduation gift. 

***

The next few hours are a swirl of emotions and far too much picture-taking. Steve drives Dustin and Suzie to the Wheeler house where everyone assembles for group photos, and the shock of seeing the last-minute pair show up sends the pack into a flurry of questions, shouts, and tears. Steve knows he’s done well when Hopper claps him on the shoulder in his stoic approving dad way. 

Leaning against the back of the sofa in the Wheeler living room Steve watches as all the kids line up for photos - group, couple, girls only, boys only. He watches Lucas put on Max’s corsage, and looks on a Will introduces his new boyfriend to the parents who’ve yet to meet him. He smiles as Hop and El take sweet father-daughter photos and cracks up when Claudia Henderson starts to drive Dustin a little mad with all the poses she’s asking for. 

Glancing at his watch he knows he should head out to get to the school gym to meet up with Robin, Nancy, and the other chaperones. He stands to confirm once again with Joyce and Karen about the afterparty plans - he agreed to host the kids at his place so they was some semblance of supervision. It’s once he starts walking to the door that he hears someone run up behind him. He turns and sees Max looking bashful, and Steve begins to worry. Max Mayfield never second-guesses herself. 

“Where are you going?” she starts, and Steve points to his car out the window, explaining that he wants to pull out of the driveway before their limo arrives and blocks him in. “Well you can’t leave yet,” she orders, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

“And why is that?” he asks, looking behind her to see the kids watching the exchange. 

Max mumbles something and Steve doesn’t quite hear it. “You’re going to have to repeat that Max, I’m old, a fact you like to remind me of.”

“You haven’t taken a photo with me, I mean us. You haven’t taken a photo with any of us...and that's sort of dumb,” she mutters. 

Steve’s eyes go from Max’s pinched face to the gaggle of teenagers peeking out from behind the living room wall and his chest hurts. A part of him didn’t want to intrude because he knows that for all their teasing he isn’t actually their mom. He’s just Steve the babysitter. But seeing his six kids look at him with expectant eyes, Steve doesn’t know what he was thinking. 

“Your right, I am dumb,” he agrees and lets Max tug him back to the living room for another round of photos. 

***

Steve walks into the Hawkins gymnasium and winces at the cheesy theme chosen for the evening - A Night In Paris. Not that his own prom’s theme was any better (Under the Sea) but something about the garish faux Eiffel Tower has him cringing. He checks in with Principal Murphy who is still skeptical about Steve’s chaperone sign-up but is soon released to go find Robin and Nancy at the drink table. 

“The dingus made it!” Robin calls out, and Steve just nods as he takes an offered glass of punch. 

“That I did. The kids' photos ran a little over, but everyone is all set. And might I say that you both look great tonight,” he compliments, earning a faux curtsy from Robin, who’s in a high-waisted suit, her sleeves rolled and cuffed. Nancy in contrast is wearing a silver strapless asymmetrical dress that will cause too many teens to come up for drinks tonight. 

“I’m surprised you two are using Nancy’s free weekend in town to babysit, not that I don’t appreciate the company,” Steve remarks as he watches the teenagers start to filter in. “I thought you two went to your class’ prom?”

“We did, but just with friends,” Nancy explains, leaning against her girlfriend. “So we figured why not have a proper do-over, without the threat of the supernatural looming over us.” “Yeah, besides, we don’t exactly get the chance to hang out together all that often. Speaking of which, where is Eddie?” Robin says looking around. 

Steve doesn’t meet their eyes, opting to sip his punch instead. “Sleeping probably, but he’ll be at my house later. He drove back and forth from Chicago this morning so he’s tired. Besides, can you picture him in a suit dancing to Madonna?” he laughs wryly, recalling his boyfriend’s words while trying to ignore his disappointment.

“Well we can have fun,” Nancy chimes in, her clap breaking Steve’s mope. “I only saw Dustin and Suzie get ready so I don’t even know what my little brother looks like all dressed up,” she starts, and Robin soon chimes in with her tales of carting Max and El to the mall to look for dresses. 

*

The upside of repeating his senior year three times is that Eddie knows all the ways in and out of Hawkins High. In the past, he used this knowledge to skip class or find a good spot to make a deal. This is why if you told Eddie he’d be using this knowledge in his 20s to break into his old high school’s gymnasium he would have laughed. 

The side door to the old coach's lounge is still busted, and Eddie slips in quietly. Through the padded walls, Eddie can hear the din of the music blaring in the gymnasium and throws his head back in frustrated recognition - "Like a Prayer" by Madonna is playing, something Eddie reluctantly knows thanks to Steve’s undying love for female pop icons. He figured with just an hour left in the night he might have escaped some of the worst chart toppers but it seems he was wrong. Walking closer to the exit, Eddie catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and pauses. His hair was tied back and away from his face, showing off his lined eyes and pierced ears. He tugs on his suit jacket, a patched and pinned number he’d put together for a Lost Boys costume last Halloween, and paired it with his least frayed pair of pants. With a rapid polish to his boots, Eddie walked out the door before he chickened out. Steve probably deserved a guy in a tux instead of whatever Eddie could pull out of his closet, but Henderson insisted it didn’t matter what he wore as long as he showed up. His youngest friend had called him once Steve was out of the Wheeler house to scold him for not going to prom, and he hates to admit he was right.

“The road goes ever on and on, Munson, so starts walking,” he tells himself with a final look and heads into the gym. 

The change in volume is almost deafening when Eddie opens the door and finds that his exit is right next to the speakers. Keeping to the wall he scans the room and first spots Buckley and Wheeler dancing behind the drinks table, clearly trying to both enjoy themselves despite being surrounded by teenagers. His eyes pan further around the room and eventually, his eyes find Steve. The man is bobbing his head at the fringes of the crowd as he keeps a dutiful eye on the crowd. Ever the prep, despite Eddie’s best efforts, Steve is rocking the Don Johnson look, teal blazer and all. 

Doing his best not to draw attention to himself Eddie weaves through the crowd until he’s right beside Steve. “You look good tonight big boy, haven’t seen you this cleaned up in a bit,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear. His boyfriend whirls around, eyes wide in disbelief, and for a moment Eddie is worried he’s going to cry. Henderson was right - all he needed to do was show up. 

“Eddie!” Steve cries out, gripping his shoulders, “what are you doing here? I thought you were going to just meet us at my place. Did something happen?”

“Can’t a guy want to see his boyfriend?” Eddie shrugs. “Besides I got news.”

“News?”

“Was gonna wait until the after-party but nows a good as time as any,” he starts, taking in a deep breath. “I got the job babe - we’re both getting out of this hell hole. So go ahead and call that apartment back in the morning.”

Eddie watches as Steve just stares at him as he processes the news. All their planning and hard work are finally paying off - the other shoe didn’t drop, instead, it was cast so far out they’d never see it again. He’s about to ask whether or not Steve heard him when his boyfriend pulls him into a kiss. Not a peck on the cheek or a chaste brush of the lips, but a full-on kiss in view of everyone at prom. A whistle from the crowd is what makes Eddie pull back, and while he’s catching his breath, Steve is beaming. 

“So does that mean we can-”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods.

“And we can start-”

“Yep,” he grins, knowing exactly what Steve wants. His boyfriend has been waiting for the day he can toss a molotov into the life planned out for him and set it ablaze. Eddie is happy to hand him the lighter. 

Over the music, Eddie tells Steve about his conversation with Sweat Records, the fog of disbelief now cleared so he can actually remember the conversation he had on the payphone. “And it’s not just managing the shop Steve, they want me to book acts to play there too,” he rambles, telling Steve all the plans he has for the store until he feels a tap on his back and sees the disgruntled face of Principal Murphy. 

“Mr. Munson, I do recall gym was your most skipped class, which is why I’m shocked to see you in here. This is a private event for students and chaperones so I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she begins, when Steve pulls out a ticket from his pocket. 

“Sorry Mrs. Murphy, Eddie here was my plus one but he wasn’t feeling well so I didn’t sign him in,” he begins and before the woman can continue her scolding Steve slides the ticket into her outstretched hand and drags Eddie to the dancefloor. 

He loops his arms behind Steve’s head and he figures it won’t kill him to indulge his omega in a song or two. After all, neither of them went to prom. As they sway Eddie can hear Steve murmuring the words under his breath, and can’t help but nuzzle his neck a bit. Soon enough he’s going to hear all of Steve’s shitty music choices fill their apartment, the apartment that is going to smell like them and never again like the neutralizing soap Steve has to use between his parents’ visits and the nights Eddie spends in his bed. Soon enough it won’t matter what the Harrington’s say because Steve is going to be his, and he’ll be Steve’s. He’s got a ring and everything, despite Steve’s insistence that all he needs is a bite. 

Eddie smiles into the crook of Steve’s neck, nipping it before he glances up to see Principal Murphy frowning at them. Without hesitation, Eddie turns the hands gripping Steve’s shoulder upward to flick off his former principal with both his middle fingers.

[shibaraki]

THERES ONLY YOU ┊ MIYA OSAMU

tags: FEM reader, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, verbal harassment and cat calling

wc: 2k

“I have a business to run, so sorry if my life doesn’t revolve around ya” He growls, frown deepening as you laugh in response.

“I am not asking that much of you, ‘Samu, and I never have!” You raise your voice to match his, though yours is shaken. “I’m asking that you spend time with me, your fiancé, once a week. One night a week! You have been ‘too busy’ for the past month and a half!”

“I have food to prep for the morning, I have employees I need to train up, I have-“

“That’s exactly why you hired more staff in the first place!” You cry. “You don’t need to be here all the time Osamu. I understand that this restaurant is your baby, and believe me I am so proud of your success. But you have other workers here now that can relieve you of all that responsibility-“

“Do you have any idea how selfish ya sound?” He fumes, cutting you off. Frustrated by his stubborn refusal to listen you groan and put your head in your hands, gripping at the roots of your hair. This had been happening for a few weeks now - you never brought it up because you wanted to be considerate of his work. You didn't want to add more stress to his plate. But you couldn't help but think all it did was make him think his behaviour was fine.

Both your voices were bouncing off the walls of the kitchen for a while now, somehow the dull metal counters and dimmed lights made the argument feel all the more suffocating. Just an hour ago you had been waiting at home for him to get back, dressed and patient, glancing at the clock every five minutes. But he never arrived. So like a tense thread that finally snapped, you grabbed your coat and marched to Onigiri Miya where you knew you would find your soon to be husband.

Low and behold, he had been in his office still in his work clothes. He had completely forgotten your plans, something you always forgave but this was the fifth time in a row and you were so tired. And hurt.

Hurt because even after you confronted him, he made this a problem about you and not the relationship. Why is it you should give him all the understanding and patience while receiving none of those qualities from him?

There is no point in trying to hide the fact that you’re crying, now. It feels hopeless, perhaps you should’ve saved the conversation for a different time. But you’d been telling yourself that for months.

“We can’t keep being like this, Osamu,” you choke. “What will it be like when we’re married? If we have children?”

Throwing his hands up in defeat he sighs, turning to walk back to his office. He doesn't seem to have an adequate answer to your question, instead slamming the door shut and effectively ending the argument.

God.

You knew how much all of this meant to him. You'd supported him wholeheartedly from the start in getting his restaurant running. You had spent the last month battling your own feelings of guilt over how upset it made you that he was absent. And now this.

There was no reason for you to be standing here any longer, and it was clear that the conversation was over for Osamu too. You clutch your hand to your chest and scurry out the restaurant exit, a few tears slipping down your cheeks.

The cold air bites at your skin while you speed walk away from the restaurant with your arms shielding your chest from the wind. The night is clear, cloudless and the street is much brighter thanks to the glow of the moon. Remaining vigilant you continue to flicker your eyes, observing the streets ahead and occasionally looking over your shoulder.

Quickly crossing an intersection you see a group of men gathered together outside a bar socialising with each other. You curse under your breath and tuck your chin into your coat, praying that they don't notice you but you know the sound of your heels will catch their attention.

"Hello there, beautiful!" You hear a menacing voice call from their direction, words a little slurred. You pretend you haven't heard them and continue walking on the edge of the pavement, keeping yourself away from alley entrances.

"Oi!"

It's a different voice, angry and closer than before. You can make out the sound of multiple other men chatting amongst themselves behind you, their footsteps falling in unison.

"It's rude to ignore people, you know! Why don't you stop and we can start again, fresh slate hm?"

Your nails dig painfully into the palm of your hand, fighting back the urge to tremble. To your immense relief there is a 24 hour petrol station and store at the end of the road which is lit up with big neon signs, all you have to do is make it there.

"Listen here you ignorant little bitch-"

A hand lands on your shoulder, yanking you back violently. Fighting the urge to freeze you throw your arm out, elbow colliding with the mans face. He yelps and stumbles backwards, his nose begins bleeding profusely.

Heart hammering against your chest you turn and run, mind blank in panic. A heel gets stuck in the crack of the pavement and you lose your footing momentarily, choosing to kick them off before sprinting to the store with laboured breathing.

The cashier startles when you crash through the automatic doors, wide eyed and pale with fright, trying to catch your breath. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

Opening your mouth to respond you find yourself flinching at the realisation that they have chased you and are now approaching the station, a few of them yelling insults into the night air.

The cashier bites his lip and seems to understand. Beckoning you behind the counter, he ushers you in to the back room. "You sit in here until it's safe. Do you have anyone you can contact?"

You thrust your hand into your pocket and clasp your fingers around your phone, shivering still while your heart palpitates. "Y-yes," you reply hoarsely. The employee smiles tightly and nods, eyes apologetic as he steps back out to the front of the shop.

Staring down at your screen teary eyed, a picture you'd taken of 'Samu laughing stares right back at you. Would he even look at your texts after that argument? You might be better off messaging someone else tonight. But you don't want someone else, you need him. You need him to take you in his arms and hold you together before you crumble.

You:

Baby I know we’re fighting but can you please come and get me? A group of men are following me. {Location sent}

To your surprise, as quickly as the message is delivered the status is changed to 'read'. Placing your phone in your lap you lean back into the staff chair, giving yourself the chance to take in your surroundings. The room is pretty small, just two cushioned chairs a sink and a fridge. As you begin to warm up you can feel the soles of your feet stinging, remembering that you had abandoned your shoes. Upon inspection you find they're covered in dirt and cuts.

Not much time passes before you start hearing shouting through the walls and you curl into yourself. The staff door inches open slightly and the same employee pokes his head through. You hold your breath.

"Ma'am, do you know a man named Osamu?"

Relief floods through you, your body going lax and almost slipping off the chair. Nodding frantically the worker turns and widens the door, stepping aside.

Osamu is behind him, his face contorted in anger and worry. As soon as his eyes fall on you they widen and the frown falls away as he rushes over to you and pulls you against his chest. He wraps you in his arms tightly and presses a kiss to your hair.

"Are ya ok? Did they hurt ya baby?" He stammers, rubbing a large warm hand up and down the back of your coat. You shake your head against his chest.

"It's alright sweetheart," he murmurs shakily, tucking his head into your neck and cradling the back of yours. "M'here now. So sorry I let ya walk out, I'm so fucking mad at maself. Ya could've been seriously hurt-"

You hush him and slip your hands around his waist, grasping the material of his shirt in your fists. "Not your fault, 'Samu. I shouldn't have attempted to go home alone. Just didn't wan'a fight anymore, thought you wanted me to leave-"

"Never," he breathes. "Sweetheart, no matter how much we might fight sometimes, I never want you to leave. Yer my future, yer everythin' to me. I'm so sorry I've been doing a shitty job a' showing it".

Lifting your head to see him, you now notice his red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. You cup his jaw gently and wipe the damp away from his skin with your thumb before guiding him into a slow, tender kiss. His hand falls to the back of your neck and lightly squeezes, grounding you.

Still aware of where you both stand and who might be outside, you pull away reluctantly and notice he has something tucked in his arm. It's your shoes.

He notices your questioning look and grimaces. "Found em' after I locked up and was making my way home. Scared the hell outta me, I thought you'd been snatched up, but ya texted me shortly after that".

You reach out to take them so you can slip them back on but he holds them above your head. "Ah ah, aint no way am letting ya walk home in heels with yer feet all messed up like that. M'gonna carry ya".

You have no room to argue as he sweeps you up into a bridal carry, laughing when you yelp and loop your arms around his neck for support. You hit him lightly upside the head, "idiot".

He bumps your foreheads together playfully, "Not a very nice thing ta' say to yer future husband, soon I'll be carrying ya like this across the threshold as my wife" he teases, grin softening into a small affectionate smile.

"Lets get ya home, love".