#and then there's the modern au where he should totally have a service dog

[confused-stars]

cloudfam au has a handful of tragic aspects, but i think the worst of them all is Tenko not being able to have a dog because hero work is too busy

#cloudfam au #i'm gonna give him a dog in another one of my aus to make up for it #he wants one in the streamer au #and then there's nanny service where i can totally see the kids all begging kurogiri for a pet until he gives in #and then there's the modern au where he should totally have a service dog

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Epilogue

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit​.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: A family can be a mom, a dad, their baby, mom and dad's boyfriend who is also the baby's honorary uncle, a cat, and a total of five dogs. 

***

“You know, you and your brothers had been baptized long before you were six months old.”

The speakers are not on, but Ernesto is still able to hear every word Imelda’s mother is uttering due to the disease that seems to affect many people the age of fifty - the certainty you absolutely need to yell into the phone for your words to be heard on the other side.

Imelda would very much appreciate not hearing them, if the way she drops the side of her head against the passenger side window with a thunk is anything to go by. “I am aware, mamá,” she almost groans. “But we’re doing it now, no? We’re on the way there, by the way, that’s what I called to let you kno--”

“And I am glad, but I cannot see any reason why you had to wait this long.”

Imelda’s head thunks back against the window just as Ernesto changes lanes to get past a car whose owner seems to be missing the foot that’s supposed to go on the speed pedal. Somewhere in the back, Héctor groans quietly. 

“I had work to do, Héctor had work to do, and if we wanted to have the ceremony in Santa Cecilia we needed time to organize,” Imelda is gritting out. “I don’t see why we should have rushed things, considering that Coco is not at risk of imminent death. Nor has she had enough time to commit significant sins on the mortal plane.”

“Of course she has not, but you know it is important for babies to be baptized--”

“And besides, the Pope decided limbo is no longer canonical some ten years ago.”

“He also said it is no reason to delay--”

“Ah, we’re getting into a tunnel. Signal is bad. See you later,” Imelda snaps, and ends the call before dropping against the backrest with the expression of a luchadora who barely made it through the end of the match. “Remind me why cancelling the entire baptism out of spite is not a good idea?”

“Ceci worked really hard on the ropón and Coco looks beautiful in it,” Héctor speaks up.

“I already paid for the entire damn thing,” Ernesto supplies helpfully.

A chuckle. “Ay, we’re stuck, then,” Imelda says, and turns back to Ernesto. “... Sorry. What were you saying before the call again?”

“The concert next month. The latest piece Héctor wrote is a duet and we could use a woman’s voice. You should come with us, it will only be a couple of nights and you’d only need to be on stage for that song. Armando is already sold to the idea.”

It seems a very reasonable proposal to Ernesto, but Imelda frowns, pulling the car’s window down just enough to get some wind on her face. “I know he is, but I am not completely sold to the idea of leaving Coco in my brothers’ care for any amount of time.”

“It can’t be that ba--”

“You were not there when they came up with the self-rocking crib,” Héctor interjects from the back.

“The self-rocking crib?”

“Yes. Thankfully they tested it on Pepita first. She was not very happy about being ejected against the wall, but you know what they say about cats landing on their feet.”

“Ah.” Ernesto briefly debates whether he should tell them about the surprise the twins are planning. Not that he knows what the surprise actually is, they just briefly mentioned they were going back to Santa Cecilia a few days earlier than them to prepare… something. 

Ah, it will be fine. Probably. 

“Well, maybe we could find someone else to look after Coco,” he finally says instead. “Or keep an eye on them while they look after Coco. ”

Imelda hums. “I guess Ceci may be able to.”

“... Anyone else?”

“Don’t be like that, she’s her godmother.”

“Not yet she isn’t, you have time until tomorrow to change your min--”

“Your co-godparent,” Héctor pipes in. “Meaning that if anything happens to me and Imelda, you two will be morally obliged to step in and help her out. Together.”

“Uuugh. You both had better live long and healthy lives.”

A chuckle. “We’ll do our best,” Imelda promises, and for a time the car is quiet. Not for a long time, with Héctor speaking up again soon enough. 

“Are we there yet?”

Ernesto sighs. And there he hoped he would stop asking. “No.”

“My leg is all pins and needles.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if you sat like a normal human.”

“But Coco needed me to hug the baby seat, she wouldn’t settle otherwise.”

“Well, she’s asleep now. You can let go.”

Sprawled across the back seat in order to keep his arms wrapped around the sleeping child on the baby seat, his left leg folded awkwardly beneath him, Héctor shoots a very offended look which Ernesto glimpses through the rear view mirror.

“No,” he declares with all the defiance of a father refusing to hand over his baby to King Herod himself to be slaughtered in the Massacre of the Innocents. Ernesto shrugs.

“Suit yourself,” he says, and keeps driving. A boring task right now, the road straight and mercifully empty. They should be in Santa Cecilia within a couple of hours, he estimates, give or take a few--

“Are we there yet?”

“Por Dios, I was prepared for the baby to be insufferable throughout the trip, but you’re worse,” Ernesto groans. On the passenger seat, Imelda rubs her temple. 

“We could stop a few minutes, so Héctor can stretch his legs - don’t protest, you know you need it. I wouldn’t mind a break either,” she adds, and glances over at Ernesto. “Do you want me to drive the rest of the way? You’ve been at the wheel the entire time.”

“I can drive the rest of the way,” Héctor volunteers.

“Absolutely not,” Ernesto and Imelda say as one.

“Oh come on, if this is still about that thing with the level crossing in Colima, it was weeks ago and--”

“Coco is in the car,” Imelda reminds him, and Héctor promptly shuts up. When Ernesto pulls into a service station and stops the car in the small parking lot, he slowly disentangles himself from the baby seat. As Coco does not, in fact, bolt awake screaming in horrible pain the second he lets go, he finally gets off the car and takes a few steps. 

Or rather, hops awkwardly on one foot while trying to regain sensation in his left leg. Imelda watches him hop towards the toilet with a chuckle, and turns to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm. “I’ll be getting coffee for both me and Héctor. Knowing you, I assume you’d prefer a beer.”

“I’m supposed to be driving--”

“Look at you, being all resonsible with a baby on board. But no, you’re not. I’ll take over from here,” she cuts him off, and Ernesto smiles. 

“I’ll take two beers, then. One for me and one for the señorita in the back.”

Imelda laughs, and smacks his chest before she picks up her purse. “I’ll be right back. If the señorita in the back awakens and demands a drink, you know where the bottle and the thermos with her milk are.”

“I may have forgotten, Héctor only showed me sixteen times,” Ernesto calls after her, leaning against the side of the car. He arches his back to stretch, groans at the satisfying pop somewhere in his spine, and pulls out his phone. Sofía has sent him a photo showing the couch in Héctor and Imelda’s living room, currently occupied by four napping chihuahuas, an unimpressed-looking cat, and an upside-down Xolo dog.

Pet sitting them here is a lot better, she wrote. At least it’s not my shit they chew up. No shoes among the fatalities, though, so no need to castrate the big one. Tell Imelda that.

Ay, how unfortunate that Dante is getting the snip either way, Ernesto thinks, much like Diablo and Lobo did. He could have Clara and Zita spayed, true enough, but the procedure is more invasive and he’d rather spare them the ordeal if it can all be fixed, literally, by fixing Dante. They’ll book the appointment as soon as they get back, and then he and Héctor will have a drink in male solidarity. Soon, possibly before either Clara or Zita can--

“Bababababa!”

Ah, so the señorita is awake. Ernesto puts away the phone and sticks his head back into the car. “You called?” he asks, and Coco grins up at him with half a tooth, absolutely delighted. She reaches up with a squeal, and Ernesto grins back.

“You want me to pick you up? Is that it?”

“Aaaababah!”

“Is that a yes? I’ll take it as a yes.” Getting Coco out of her baby seat gets another delighted squeal out of her, chubby hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He bounces her a bit and she gives a joyous laugh. “Ah, look at you. Don’t tell your papá I said it, but sometimes I get what he means when he--”

“BLEAGH!”

“Gah!” 

Getting half-digested milk and apple puree all over his shirt is not what Ernesto expected to happen, but in retrospect he probably should have. To his credit he doesn’t give in to his first instinct, which is to drop the baby to tend to his shirt, so he will get to live another day. He just stands there, staring down at his ruined shirt, holding Coco at arms’ length. 

Unaware - or maybe perfectly aware - of the mess she has made, Coco burps and laughs, legs dangling in what almost looks like a little dance. Ernesto sighs, and stares at her in the eye. “I take that back,” he informs her. Coco giggles. 

“... I suspect I know what that look means. I will not be the one to change your diaper.”

“Paaa.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll leave it to your--”

“She’s awake! She didn’t cry, did she? Coco! Papá is here!”

“Paaaaaaaa!”

Héctor takes Coco from Ernesto’s hands with a wide smile, not even noticing the condition his shirt is in, and twirls around with her in his arms, making her laugh harder. Ernesto would warn him not to spin too much, but it seems she’d already emptied her stomach, the little demon. In the end he just scoffs, gives her an offended look she absolutely ignores, and grabs a clean shirt from his luggage in the back of the car before he heads for the toilets to try and somewhat salvage the one he’s wearing. Maybe if he washes off the worst of it now, his mother will know how to fix the rest. He’s halfway to the toilets when Imelda calls out. 

"Here's your beer, it's not as cold as you like it but-- ah. I see Coco got you."

Ernesto turns to meet her gaze, his expression solemn. “I am afraid your mother was right.”

“... Qué?”

“You’re too late. Your daughter has now definitely sinned on this mortal plane,” he declares. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt?”

Imelda raises an eyebrow. “Ah, more than you should have. It doesn’t fit you that well. You should just arrive at your parents’ place shirtless. They’re used to seeing you shirtless by now,” she adds, and laughs at Ernesto’s indignant sputtering as he informs her that was low. 

But then she kisses him and promises she will keep his beer in the ice box fridge until he’s back, and he can find it in himself to forgive the affront after all.

***

“... And this my mamá, see? Emilia. She is your other abuela, can you say abuela?”

“Abbwaba!”

“Heh. Close enough, querida. Close enough” 

Sitting cross-legged before his parents’ grave, with Coco nestled comfortably in his arms, Héctor kisses his daughter’s head before turning back to the gravestone with a small smile. Ricardo and Emilia Rivera are smiling back from it, a few years younger than they were when they died. 

Finding that photo was a struggle, because the gas leak that destroyed his home spared none of the family albums. Ernesto nearly tore down his own home, but in the end he was able to dig up a bunch of photographs from one of their very last Nativity plays - and among them was one photo of Héctor, looking a little embarrassed in his angel wings and fake halo, with his parents beaming at either side of him. 

The original is now proudly displayed in the living room in Mexico City; Imelda’s parents have a copy, which Héctor always finds on their ofrenda when he and Imelda come to spend Día de los Muertos with them. Two cut-outs from a third copy are now gracing their gravestone.

I should make more copies. Just in case.

In his arms Coco squeals, and holds out a chubby hand towards the smiling faces of her grandparents. Héctor’s somewhat dampened smile brightens again. 

“Mamá, papá, meet Coco. She’s very happy to meet you.” He bounces the child a little in his arms. “She crawls everywhere and puts everything in her mouth, just like you said I did. And she's got my eyes! Yours, mamá. Not the nose, thank God - no offense, papá, but… come on.” He laughs a little. “Ay, I shouldn’t complain. I mostly grew into it, like you said I would. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see that you were right. I’m sorry you don’t get to be here today.”

Héctor pauses a moment, and kisses Coco’s head one more time before he speaks again. “... I wish you were here to give me advice, but I’ll do my best to be as good a parent as you were. I, uh. Well, my family is not really traditional now, I guess. I don’t know if you’d approve. I don’t know if you’d understand. I’m both relieved and sad I may never get to know, and then sad I’m relieved at all because-- either way, I wish you were here.” 

He pauses, and swallows. Oblivious to the painful lump in her father’s throat, Coco has managed to grab a flower and is trying to put it in her mouth. He takes it out of her hand gently, placing it back before the grave. “But I wanted to tell you, I believe I am doing the right thing. And I am very happy. We are all very happy, and doing our best, and that… that is the most important thing, I think.”

Their smiling faces stare back, forever unchanging. He never got to see their bodies - he was told it was for the best - and now he is glad of that. This is how he wants to remember them: whole, and alive, and always smiling. They would smile today seeing their granddaughter, he’s sure. He likes to think that somewhere, they still are. 

Coco sure is smiling plenty for someone with only half a tooth, still babbling and trying to reach out for the faces on the gravestone. Héctor holds her a bit closer, and her hands press on the glass over the photos like she’s trying to grab those smiles for herself. 

“Abbwaba,” she chirps, and laughs like someone just told a really great joke. 

Must be papá. Mamá’s jokes were terrible, Héctor thinks, and when Coco turns to look at him again, laughing, he laughs just as hard.

***

“Oh, you look so handsome!”

That is something Ernesto usually appreciates hearing - he appreciates it very much, truth be told - but it does lose some of its appeal when the person saying it is your mother as she circles you to make sure your jacket looks absolutely spotless.

“Uh, yes. So, are we ready to--”

“Isn’t he handsome, Estéban?”

Estéban de la Cruz, who clearly needs help getting ready far more than Ernesto ever did - anything vaguely more elegant than an undershirt seems to make him ill at ease - glances over and gives him a shrug that probably translates to ‘I have to listen to this every day, now it’s your turn’. 

“Looking good,” is all he says, causing Ernesto to blink. This kind of thing, his father looking at him and talking to him like a normal specimen of homo sapiens, is something he has yet to get entirely used to. He remembers times when he saw his father sitting on the couch while staring at the wall in an alcohol-induced stupor, and being both relieved and frustrated by it. A part of him rejoiced at the chance to just pass by unnoticed and spare himself one of his moods, while the other wanted to grab him by the shirt and shake him, knowing full well it would amount to suicide.

I am here, damn you. I’m right here. Look at me.

“So handsome,” Adela repeats for the eleventh time, snapping him from his reminiscence. “You know, you should find someone.”

As his father looks suddenly very busy fiddling with the buttons of his jacket, Ernesto holds back a groan. “Mamá, can we not--”

“You know Mirela’s son? He’s a nice boy too, and word is that he also may be--”

Oh no. No no no no no, this is not happening.

“Ay, look at the time, I really need to go! See you in church!” Ernesto yells, and sprints to the door, almost forgetting to pick up the sack of coins on his way out.

***

“That’s a very generous bolo.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Ceci would never let me hear the end of it if I gave anything less.”

“Ah, don't be modest. You wanted to be a good godfather and bring plenty of good fortune to your goddaugh--"

“No, it was definitely Ceci."

"Ah." As children swarm around them to pick up the frankly astounding amount of coins Ernesto has scattered around, Héctor laughs and puts an arm around his shoulders. “Ay, don’t worry, mi amigo. I have a song in mind that will more than make up for your losses.”

Ernesto, newly-minted godfather, snorts. “It had better,” he says, elbowing him in the ribs, but his lips are already curling in a smile. Héctor lets out a yelp that’s mostly for show, and looks over to where Imelda is standing, clad in a beautiful dress Ceci insists on tailoring just for her along with Coco’s pure white ropón.

“No, no purple, for God’s sake,” he remembers Ceci muttering as she took Imelda’s measures. “This is your child’s christening, not Lent!”

Imelda does favor purple over most colors, but she looks stunning in the blue dress as she speaks to guests, Coco squirming and giggling in her arms as Óscar and Felipe make faces at her. She gets to make some noise now, after being on her best behavior through… most of the ceremony, a few drum-shattering shrieks aside. Héctor finds himself smiling dreamily. 

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” he sighs, and Ernesto raises an eyebrow. 

“Imelda, or Coco?”

“Both.”

“Heh. Yes,” Ernesto concedes. For a few more moments they just look on, side by side. For just a split second Héctor allows himself to wish circumstances would allow him to grab Ernesto’s hand, but he knows better than that; they will not go out of their way to hide, but they have got to be practical. If there is anyone present at the moment they may try to come clean to first, it’s probably-- ah, speaking of them…

“Ernesto?”

“Mmh?”

“The twins are planning something during the reception, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are. It may or may not involve explosive material.”

“Por Dios, tell me you talked them out of it!”

“Why would I? I like fireworks.”

To the boys’ credit, the display is pretty spectacular. The only casualty is a perfectly replaceable tablecloth, and Coco’s sheer delight as she claps at the lights, nestled in her grandmother’s arms, is well worth the loss. 

It also causes enough of a distraction for the three of them to slip their arms under the table and hold onto each other’s hands for a few moments, squeezing tight.

***

“Home, sweet home!”

Héctor’s dramatic declaration would be more accurate as ‘bed sweet bed’, really. When they made it back to their apartment it felt anything but sweet, with a baby cranky from the long trip and five dogs, plus a cat, either very offended by their absence or bouncing off the walls,  frantic for their attention after a grand total of two hours on their own after Sofía left. 

It took about an hour to put down their things, feed the pets, feed the baby, take the dogs out and put Coco in her crib. Then, and only then, can the three of them collapse on the bed and breathe in a sigh of relief. 

“We survived,” Ernesto mutters into the pillow. 

“Seems like it,” Héctor groans. “Now we can sleep.”

And then, of course, Coco starts crying. It takes Imelda approximately half a minute to pick her up, decide she’s not going to be able to keep standing on her own two feet long enough to soothe her, and return to their bed with her. She lays down with her and Coco settles quickly, nestled securely in her arms. She never moves around when asleep and Pepita is keeping watch as always, so it’s safe enough, Imelda reasons with a yawn. She only realizes she forgot to close the door when Pepita jumps in, curling up next to Coco. She groans. 

“For the love of God, close the door before--”

“BOOF!”

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

“Agh-- Dante, no, wait--” Héctor trails off with a yelp when Dante jumps up on the bed, landing across his legs and just barely missing his crotch with a clumsy paw. Out of the corner of her eye, Imelda notices Ernesto reaching down. 

No dogs on the bed, she wants to say, but Dante is already up and she is tired enough to admit defeat, at least this once. She sighs and shushes Coco while she falls back asleep, trying to ignore Ernesto’s little monsters as they snuffle around to find a spot to snooze. Once they finally settle, Imelda closes her eyes and tries to sleep. And tries. And tries. 

On the pillow, Pepita is purring away. The dogs are mostly silent, except for the occasional twitch and half-snore. Coco is suckling on her thumb as she sleeps, Héctor is breathing with his mouth open as usual, and Ernesto is snoring softly behind her. She could blame any of those things for the lack of sleep, but she knows that’s not it. 

Finally, quiet and careful to stir no one, Imelda half-sits and looks across the bed she used to share with Héctor and no one else, and that used to feel so large. 

It’s quite crowded now, with the three of them and Coco resting on it, Héctors’ limbs splayed in all directions and Ernesto a solid presence behind her, their pets filling up all remaining space. Not a single gap left.

It is perfect. It is whole. 

It is home.

Imelda nods silently, and leans back down. She tucks a lock of hair behind Coco’s ear, kisses her forehead, and closes her eyes with a sated smile.

***

Aaaand it's over, yet another fic that got out of hand and ended up at least three times longer than planned! Hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(Also, letting a baby sleep in the Big Bed with mom, dad, their boyfriend who is also a honorary uncle, their cat and their five dogs is really cute in fiction, but can go very wrong in reality if someone turns in their sleep. Don't do that.)

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Modern AU - Get the Mayor a Damn Dog

What started as me trying to explain to some friends why I’m giving Mayor Damien in a Modern AU a dog ran off and had a life of its own.

For context, Modern Damien (as I write it) is part of a failed ‘second cycle’ of the WKM events. When the barrier broke after the ‘Damien’ short, pieces of the characters trapped within were sent out to be ‘reborn’ in a modern world. This means that while Damien exists because Dark is made from pieces of the twins, William doesn’t since Wilford is him. But since there were enough differences, Damien (and Celine, don’t worry!) gets the peaceful life he deserved all along.

This, coincidently, is the first time Wilford has met Damien (in some time, he thinks). What better way to do so than by deciding Damien should get a dog?

Word Count: 2,259 (hence the read-more)

-

If there was one thing to know about the city’s mayor, it was that he wanted a dog.

(And a family, but one thing at a time.)

It came up in several interviews, and various photoshoots included him posing with dogs. Some well-meaning patrons tried to gift him a dog - in other words, drop a dog at his door without any warning - but Damien was fortunate enough to have interceded before anything actually happened. For Damien, this would be a massive decision, and he wanted the choice in when and how it happened. In fact, it was why he didn’t have a dog to this point. With how busy the City Hall was, he couldn’t justify having a dog cooped up in an apartment all day. It might be spacious, it’d be heartless, and why have a dog for the bragging rights? What about the pet’s own life?

It made the days lonely and quiet sometimes, but Damien knew it was for the best. At least it started a running gag of friends giving him dog themed items for birthdays and other occasions that were dotted around his home. One such afternoon had him dusting some items, only for a porcelain dog figure to be dislodged and fall to the ground.

“Whoa there! Don’t wanna lose this pretty thin’, eh?” Damien could only watch with a bewildered expression as a man with a pink moustache who wasn’t there before caught the figurine and neatly returned it to its place. “Looks as expensive as everythin’ else here. Musta cost a pretty penny!”

“Uh, I - hold on a moment. Where did you even come from?” Damien knew the front door was locked. The balcony would be an option for only the fool who would want to climb seven stories. The intruder mimicked Damien’s action of blankly looking around like he was also looking for an answer.

“Yer totally Mark’s friend, right?” 

“Answer my question. How did you get in here?” Damien put the duster down, glaring at the stranger. When nothing happened, he gave a slow sigh. “I don’t know. ‘Mark’ is a common name. I know a few people with that name. Can you give better clarification?” 

“Good answer! He’s a little shorter than you?” No reaction. The stranger pursed his lips, making his moustache wiggle in thought. “He makes videos fer th’ internet?” That, luckily, helped Damien put the pieces together.

“I’ve been friends with him for years, nearly since we were kids. So now can you please tell me who you are, how you got in here, and what any of this has to do with Mark?” 

“Wilford Warfstache, reporter extraordinaire at yer service!” Wilford gave a dramatic, swooping bow. “I actually went ta yer office, but ya weren’t there. Th’ security fella that found me informed that it’s actually Sunday an’ no one works in th’ buildin’ that day. So then I came here, an’ here ya are! Well done fer not working!” He finished with a dramatic ‘ta-dah’ pose, complete with jazz hands. But when Damien didn’t clap, Wilford’s pose deflated (complete with sound effects that came out of nowhere). “C’mon, Dames, I didn’t even get lost. That’s a good thing fer me.” Damien pressed two fingers against his temple as he tried to follow what was going on.

“I’m going to let most of that slide, but why did you call me ‘Dames’?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“For one, it’s a nickname that only my oldest friends use.”

“Aren’t we?” Damien opened his mouth to refute the bizarre question, only to notice the genuine confusion on the other’s face. One moment, Wilford acted like they were strangers, and the next gathered they were old friends in his mind? It was a rather worrying state of affairs, but it was better to not correct him just yet.

“So, Mr Warfstache, what brings you here?” Damien clasped his hands behind his back, steeling himself for some terrible news. He had heard rumours of Mark being linked with some malicious, shadowy entity. Was this related to that? What rabbit-hole had he been pulled into? Wilford appeared lost at the question, looking around until -

“Oh yeah! It’s ‘cause yer cooped up in here all th’ time. Ya need ta get out more, talk ta people, see more things! But most of all, ya need some sorta company, an’ - wait!” Damien had turned and stormed off to find his phone. “C’mon, Dames, y’ve been like this fer years! It’s not gonna kill ya ta live a little fer once.”

“And what do you know about that? You don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Damien held the phone up as a warning. “I will call the police if you keep this up.”

“Poppycock. I’m tryin’ ta help. What part of that aren’t ya seein’? Yer a man who’s obsessed with puttin’ himself last. Anythin’ that can pull yer attention from work for a split second is somethin’ ya don’t get involved with! How long are ya gonna keep not livin’ fer?”

“What I do is none of your damn business! I know the importance of my work!”

“An’ what other man in yer position would throw his life away? Any other Mayor would have a romantic partner or family who’d be there no matter what. They’d juggle everythin’ because that’s what people do! Yer not ‘sposed to be some machine who works an’ does nothin’ else!”

“But that is what I want to do! I promised to give this city my all. I’m not backing down on this.” Wilford’s hand twitched, like he was about to grab something, but he forced himself to stop. Instead, he took a heavy, slow breath. The moustache was peppered with short, black strands of hair.

“An’ neither am I. I’m not lettin’ ya throw yer life away again because yer a fuckin’ moron. No. We’re goin’. Now. Get yer fuckin’ coat.” 

“Are you listening to yourself right now? You break into my home through whatever illogical technique, complain about how I choose to live my life, and now you’re trying to bring me somewhere? You’d be mad to think I’d go anywhere with you!” Damien took a nervous step back as Wilford gave a resigned laugh.

“Mad, ya say? Wouldn’t be th’ first ta say that, an’ ya won’t be th’ last.” His head lowered at the confession. A few seconds passed before he returned his gaze to Damien with a sigh. Unlike before, it was a more sober look. “I’m not seein’ ya waste away ta be nothin’ again. All I ask is that ya come with me ta look at dogs. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Ya always said ya wanted one an’ never got one ‘cause of work. But folks love dogs! Bet we could find a little one that’ll be great in an office an’ a small apartment. Like… Like one of these!” Wilford hurried to the couch to snatch up a cushion and excitedly point to one of the printed dogs. Whatever black was in the moustache had disappeared when he turned to Damien.

“You… Do realise that’s a Great Dane, yes? The complete opposite of what you just said.” 

“An’ that’s why I didn’t pick a dog! Yer th’ expert outta th’ two of us! C’mon!”

--

Despite the tense first meeting, Damien found Wilford to be a surprisingly pleasant companion. Eccentric, yet bubbly. He had a colourful view on the world, and it wasn’t long before Damien could see why Wilford was confused on knowing Damien. They got along like a house on fire, or like friends who were simply catching up after years apart. Wilford told him about his reporting job in a TV studio, various other quirky friends he had (though photographs were needed to remind Wilford of names), and the connection between himself and Mark.

Time seemed to pass both too quickly and slowly by the time the pair arrived at the local pound. Damien had tried to talk Wilford out of this idea, but the other was indeed too stubborn to change his mind. The staff welcomed the pair in and allowed them to see the dogs that were looking for forever homes. Damien had to remind Wilford twice that a small dog was what he wanted.

(“But Dames! Look at her pudgy face!”

“Wilford, she’d need a garden as big as my entire apartment to run around in.”)

They eventually split up so Damien could walk around and see if there were any suitable candidates to bring home without running commentary from Wilford. So many dogs were lively and friendly, but far too energetic for an apartment life or would be better suited to homes with children. Despite coming to the realisation that this was the wasted trip he knew it would be, he let himself have the chance to enjoy meeting some dogs. He was reading the information on some spaniel puppies when he felt eyes on him. Damien lifted his gaze to the corridor to find he was alone. As he turned to determine where the feeling of being watched came from, he found a dog in the den directly behind him staring attentively in his direction like it was on guard. It was a corgi, and Damien guessed it was a tricolour: predominantly black with sharply defined tan markings around his shoulders, eyes and muzzle. Unlike most corgis Damien saw on Crufts, the fur was longer and fluffier.

“What’s got you on high alert, buddy?” Damien lifted the information clipboard to skim for a warning on a vicious temperament. To his relief, it was the opposite. The corgi was approximately two years old, had high stamina but was mainly calm and observant. True to the notes, the dog approached the perspex door, sitting in front of it as he watched Damien. “Or are you making sure I don’t cause trouble… Soldier? An unusual name.”

“He’s a stray,” one of the volunteers explained as they closed the storage door with the back of their foot, arms laden with a large sack of dog food. “He was found at the local army base after trying to herd some of the soldiers that were training, which is where we got the name from. It’s strange… He’s a purebred, yet there’s no chip, no alert of a missing dog anywhere in the state or in neighbouring states… Nothing. Anyone that wanted to adopt him couldn’t get him to come anywhere near them. Aside from any of us who bring him food, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Soldier get this close to anyone.”

“That is… Rather unusual for such a social breed,” Damien hummed in agreement. “I read up on them before when first checking what breeds might suit an apartment life, yet... I wouldn’t have expected to find one here.”

“It might be fate, Mister Mayor. It’s happened a few times here before. Why don’t you say hello?” Without waiting for an answer, the volunteer skirted around Damien. There was a little struggle with the weight of the sack, but they successfully opened the upper half of the door. For a moment, he considered refusing the offer, but decided otherwise. A hand was cautiously lowered to pet the dog on the top of the head. Instead, Soldier pulled back so he could sniff the hand like he had the final say in whether the interaction was allowed. Once satisfied, he bumped the top of his head against Damien’s hand.

“Oh my God. That’s the first time he’s let anyone pet him without a bribe of food,” whispered the intern. “This is like a Disney movie. You need to take him home with you. I don’t think you’re gonna find a better suited dog. Soldier is always watching and paying attention to what goes on. We have a kit that’d help you care for him, if that’s a worry. But you spend time with him and make the choice for yourself. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The volunteer hurried off with the sack in their arms, leaving Damien alone. Once the coast was clear, Damien sighed and knelt down.

“This is all quite a rush, isn’t it? We’ve barely met and now I’m being told to bring you home. I’m sure you don’t want to be stuck with a boring man like me. I work in one room nearly all day, and I don’t have a garden. I’m sure you understand that I’m not the home you deserve.” Soldier cocked his head to the left as Damien spoke, responding with a low bark. “I’m not entirely sure whether that’s in agreement or disagreement, I’m afraid. I don’t speak dog. And I doubt you can speak human either.” To Damien’s surprise, Soldier gave another bark, before rising up and crossing his space to pick up a chewed-up teddy bear. Upon his return, he placed his front paws on the perspex to offer the bear to Damien.

“Is this for me? She’s a pretty little lady, isn’t she? Even if her dress is a little tattered.” Taking the toy, Damien once again attempted to pat Soldier’s head with the other hand. This time, Soldier accepted, allowing Damien to properly pet him.

This was how Wilford and the shelter volunteer found them several minutes. The volunteer was mid-brag about how they knew it was a match made in heaven, and Wilford was quick to agree.

“He’s a handsome little fella, huh? Ya look fairly smitten, Dames.” Wilford slapped Damien’s shoulder with a grin.

“I think I might look into the adoption process… But if I do, I’m changing his name. ‘Soldier’ doesn’t suit him. He deserves a name that’s more intelligent. I’m thinking… Barnum. It rather suits such a bright-eyed fellow, don’t you think?”

#writersofmark #mayor damien #Wilford Warfstache #(I mean I'm not expecting anyone to actually read this) #(it's a long-winded headcanon story but I'm sure someone will enjoy my attempt to write a dog xD) #Blue Soul (Damien) #Rose Petals (Wilford) #(read-more is for tidiness! :D )

[booksarelife-stuff]

The Story of Us- Chapter 2

Jily (James Potter/ Lily Evans), minor wolfstar

Word Count: 

Modern Muggle AU. When Lily Evans meets the man across the hall due to a fire alarm, she has no idea that a new chapter of her life has begun. Featuring a librarian Lily and sports journalist James.

Masterlist     Read on AO3  Chapter 3

Chapter 2- and the sparks fly...

Lily had found her love of libraries in secondary school. She remembers one day, specifically that started it all. 

Petunia, Lily’s tight-lipped older sister, had gotten all her friends to make fun of her in front of everyone. Lily didn’t remember what it was that day that the gaggle of girls had decided to torment Lily on. It could have been just a simple “freak” thrown her way in the hallway. 

What Lily does remember though, is finding solace in the library. She remembers running in there, looking for a private place to cry. She had sat in the back, near the reference section that was barely touched since the age of the internet. She started doing her homework there and more importantly started realizing that escaping into books was easier when she was surrounded by them. 

The library Lily now called home was an old building, untouched by the modern buildings surrounding it. It was made of stone and when you walked in, you were greeted by the musky scent of old books. 

This library had also brought more than a safe place in her adult life, but friends as well. Remus Lupin was the overseer of the adult non-fiction and reference section. Lily was convinced that man was Google. She could ask him anything about anything he’d probably have an answer. Then there was the children’s librarian from downstairs, Marlene McKinnon. Marlene was vibrant and offered great critiques of all the new teen show adaptations of young adult novels. 

Lily had finally found a home for herself. 

Lily was sitting at the circulation desk, waiting for patrons. Remus was running a workshop for homeless members of the community to get jobs and they had had a nice turn out. Lily had spent all night packing lunches for them and was yawning every five seconds. 

She was tired and she didn’t notice the man who stepped up to the desk. 

“Hey Lily,” a deep voice said. Lily’s throat filled with bile. 

She looked up to see Severus Snape, a barista from across the street at the Starbucks. Also, her sort-of-ex. 

Lily looked up and gave her customer service a smile. 

“Hello Severus,” she said. “Did you find everything you needed?” 

“Yes, I did,” he drawled. 

“Great,” she said. She reached out for his book and library card. She tried not to make a face at the book he was checking out, something about government conspiracies, and scanned his card. Lily should have been surprised that he was even here at all, especially since Lily had to deal with a lot of talks that revolved around the internet making libraries useless from him. But he showed up, like clockwork. 

“You have a late fee,” she said. “It’s only a pound.” 

Lily checked out his book while he pulled out his wallet. She marked the fee as paid as he slid the pound over the desk. Lily handed him his card and book back. 

“Due in two weeks. Have a great day,” she said, smiling. 

“I was wondering if we could talk for a second,” he asked. Lily looked up into his deep brown eyes. She really didn’t want to, but she couldn’t think of an excuse, as there weren't any other patrons. 

“About what, Severus?” she asked. 

“Have you changed your mind yet?” he asked. 

Lily mentally counted down from five in her head, trying to bite back the anger that flared inside of her. That was the thing with Severus. To him, he never did anything wrong and it was Lily that was holding the relationship back.

“No, afraid not,” she said, her tone coming out sharp. Severus’s nostrils flared a bit. 

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. 

“Is it?” she quipped. 

His eyes flashed but the door swung open, stopping whatever he was about to say. Lily’s flickered to the new patron but did a double-take. 

Standing there was James, Lily’s neighbor. He was wearing a white button up with a red tie and black slacks. The sleeves were rolled up, showing his arms again and the tie hung loosely from his neck. He had a black messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. 

He gave Lily a small and a wave. He stood behind Severus, waiting in line. Severus looked pissed off as Lily’s eyes turned back to him. 

“Is that all you need, sir?” Lily asked. 

“Yes,” Severus spat. He grabbed his book and turned sharply. He walked out of the door. 

Lily smiled widely as James stepped up to the counter. 

“Hey neighbor,” James said, running a hand through his already messy hair. 

“Hey. What brings you to the library?” she asked.

“I heard that books contain knowledge and I need a specific kind,” he said. “And a library card.”

“Let’s get you a card first,” she said. 

She learned James’s full name was James Fleamont Potter. She tried not to make a face at his middle name but James responded with a quick “yeah I know.” She learned his birthday was March 27 and that she was older than him by a few months. 

She handed him his card and a little flyer that had instructions about their app that would let him browse their online collection and place holds on books they had on the shelves. 

“So, what specific knowledge would you be needing today?” she asked. 

“Ah well, remember the professional bowling team I mentioned?” 

“The Cannons?”

“That would be it,” he said. “I need books on bowling. I know most of the rules of football and rugby, but I seem to be lacking some expertise on the intricacies of bowling.”

Lily laughed and started typing in their system. 

“And you couldn’t Google that?” 

James did a dramatic gasp that made Lily look up at him. 

“Did a librarian just say I should Google something? That’s a sort of sacrilege,” James said, his hazel eyes wide with fake horror. 

Lily laughed and turned back to her computer screen. She told him the number of the Dewey he could use to find books on bowling and he blinked at her. 

“Let me guess,” she said. “Unfamiliar with the system?”

“Yeah. And this library,” he said. 

Lily motioned for him to follow her. If Remus was available, he’d be able to go directly to the space on the shelf that contained books about bowling. It took Lily a minute to find them. She left James to browse and went back to the desk to find Marlene sitting at Lily’s portion of the desk.

“Hey Lil,” she said, stopping her spinning in her chair. 

“Hey Marls,” she said. 

“I’m on break,” she said, tossing her thick blonde hair over her shoulder. “I also have a story.”

“Do tell,” Lily said, taking her seat at the computer. 

“A girl came in with her mother looking for a book,” she began, her blues eyes turning animated. “And I would have guess she was looking for the latest John Green or something, but this girl walks up to the desk and asks point-blank ‘Do you have Gone Girl?’”

Marlene took a dramatic inhale while Lily started smiling. 

“She had to be no older than thirteen! And she wanted ‘Gone Girl!’” she exclaimed. 

“Please tell me you didn’t let her check out ‘Gone Girl’?” Lily asked. 

“Well, we aren’t in the business of judging are we?” Marlene said. “Our physical copy is checked out but I showed her how she could read it through our app.”

Lily laughed. 

“Isn’t that book the one where the wife fakes her death?” James asked. Lily spun around to see James leaning against the counter, two books sitting in front of him. 

“It is,” Marlene answered. She got up and stood next to Lily at the circulation desk. “Have you read it?”

Lily rolled her eyes as she scanned James’s card. Marlene would flirt with anything that moved, even though she had a lovely girlfriend waiting at home for her. 

“I haven’t but my brother made me watch the movie,” James replied. “I really enjoyed it.”

Marlene hummed as Lily checked out the books to James. He had gotten two books, one about the theory of bowling, which Lily didn’t think was a thing, and one of different techniques and rules. 

“Here you are,” Lily said, sliding the books back. “Please take a bookmark or two!”

“Yes please,” Marlene said. “Please don’t dog ear the pages.”

“Will do,” James said, picking up a colorful bookmark. “See you around, Lily.”

He gave her a small before turning away and walking out the door. Once he was gone, Marlene lightly hit Lily’s arm. 

“He was totally flirting with you!”

“He was not,” Lily said, though she hadn’t really thought about it to determine if he was or not. 

“‘See you around, Lily,’” Marlene quoted, her eyebrows high on her forehead. 

“He’s my neighbor.”

Marlene widened her eyes even more. 

“Since when did you get a hot neighbor? What about the old man?”

“James moved in a few weeks ago,” Lily replied. “He was the guy who brought his cat out during the fire alarm.”

Marlene started laughing. Lily had mentioned him when she saw Remus and Marlene the next day, but just focused on the cat. She didn’t tell them about their conversation. 

“Well,” Marlene said. “I need to go back. But we aren’t dropping this James conversation.”

“There really isn’t much to be said,” Lily said as Marlene started towards the stairs. She turned before she headed down giving Lily a look. 

“Then there needs to be,” she said. “He is ten steps up from Severus and I think you need to jump on that quickly.”

~~~

Lily waved at the security officer at the desk as she passed. Moody was scary looking fellow, but once Lily brought him sweets, he softened up to her. He always guarded her packages. 

She quickly got her mail and got in the elevator with a nice old woman from the third floor. The ride was silent and once Lily made it to her apartment she collapsed on her couch, throwing her bag on the floor and the mail on her coffee table. The afternoon had gotten busy for her, as the after work crowd had come in around five. Not that she was going to complain that so many people were still using the library. 

She debated ordering take-out, not feeling up to cooking but she couldn’t decide on what sounded best. She sat up and picked up her mail. It was mostly junk but she found a handwritten letter. She looked quickly at the name and realized it wasn’t hers, but was addressed to James from a Euphemia Potter. 

Lily sighed and slipped her flats back on. She didn’t know if James was home yet, but she figured she’d at least try before she forgot. She left her door open as she made her strides to his apartment door and knocked three times. 

“One sec!” she heard James call. She waited as she heard the thump of his footsteps get closer to the door. 

He opened it, smiling. He had already changed out of his work clothes and was wearing a shirt that was old and faded and his sweatpants. 

“Lily,” he said. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Lily held out the piece of mail, returning his smile.

“This was in my box,” she said. He looked down at the letter as he took it from her, his glasses low on his nose. 

“Oh bugger,” he said. “Sorry about that. My mum seems to have put the wrong number. I’ll call and let her know she doesn’t do it again.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said. “I figured you would want a handwritten letter sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. Mum’s a bit old fashioned,” James said, smiling. He leaned against the doorframe, his hazel eyes looking directly at Lily.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Lily said, turning away. 

“Wait!” James said, causing Lily to turn back. “I was just about to start Outlander.”

“Wait, really?” she asked. She couldn’t believe that he was going to sit down and watch the show because she mentioned it to him. 

“Yeah,’ James said, running a hand through his hair. “I was just about to order some curry, too. Wanna join?”

Lily blinked and James' face quickly fell. He started babbling. 

“Not like a date or anything!” he started. “You’re just the first person I’ve really talked to since moving here and I think you’d be a, a great friend—”

“I’d love to, James,” she said, talking over his babbling. James smiled brightly. 

She told him the best curry place that delivered in town and her order. She wanted to change into something more comfortable before they started so she ran back to her apartment. 

Normally, Lily would be reserved about these kind of things, but James didn’t seem to be a threat. He had been nice enough and Marlene had always said she needed to put herself out there more. If that included eating curry while watching Outlander, she was more than happy to oblige. 

She put on some leggings and an oversized jumper. She quickly put her hair up. She grabbed her phone and keys. She was almost out the door when she remembered a tub of ice cream she had in the freezer. She ran back and grabbed it, hoping James was a fan of brownie batter. 

When she knocked, James let her in. 

“Oh, ice cream?” he asked. 

“Yep. Like brownie batter?” she asked. His eyes lit up. 

“Yes! My favorite,” he said. “Besides mint chocolate chip.”

Lily made a face. 

“Mint chocolate chip taste like bad tooth paste,” she said. 

James let out an offended noise as he took the ice cream from her and walked towards the fridge. 

“It does not!”

Lily smiled and looked around James' apartment. He had a decent sized television and a large gray sectional that looked soft. Buttercream was napping on the top of the couch, his tail flicking back and forth. 

It wasn’t really decorated, Lily noted. He had a few pictures up but the walls were bare. Lily noticed some books on his entertainment center and went and looked at them. They were mostly about sports, rules and techniques, and whatnot. Lily also noticed the books he checked out earlier on his coffee table, one of them with a bookmark already in it. 

“So,” James began entering the living room. “How much do you think I’m going to like the show?”

Lily hummed for a second. 

“I think you’ll either get really into it or you’ll be indifferent,” she said. “I don’t know you well enough to give a better judgement. I don’t think you’ll hate it though.”

“Fair enough,” he said, petting Buttercream. “I looked it up and it sounds quite interesting.”

“Are you a big fan of period pieces?” Lily asked. James glanced up at her with a smile. 

“Don’t tell my brother this,” he started. “If you ever meet him. But yes, I am.”

Lily smiled. 

“What’s your favorite?” she asked. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“My mum made me watch Pride and Prejudice so many times, I can recite the movie line by line,” he said. 

Lily felt unbridled glee. That was her favorite movie, hands down. She knew it wasn’t accurate to the book but the tension between the characters in the movie drew Lily in more than anything. 

“The 2005 movie?” she asked, her excitement showing. 

“Yep. We did watch the BBC version quite a few times though,” James said. “I love Colin Firth, but there’s just something about the movie.”

They talked excitedly about the movie, comparing the two adaptations when their food arrived. Once they had settled on the couch, take-out containers and plastic forks in hand, James went to Netflix and started Outlander. 

#jily #james potter #james potter/lily evans #lily evans #harry potter #marauders era #minor wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #jily fic #jily fanfic #Harry Potter fanfic #James x Lily

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 12- Modern

Here comes a joker! I really did like the idea of a crime au, but I just couldn’t come up with anything. So here’s something I’ve been wanting to make for a while, kinda inspired by an ask I got from Rex way back when. I just liked the idea of Axl being Bedman’s adopted dad, I thought it was neat!

Also apologies in advance for me using my name headcanons again, it’s just so difficult to work with a character whose name is ‘Bedman.’ Seriously, does he have a less bizarre name in canon? Who the fuck would name their kids ‘Delilah’ and ‘Bedman?’ Guess we know who the favorite was...

“I don’t like you.”

Axl wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he first signed up for the local foster program. Well, he sorta did. Ideally, he’d expected to be tasked with taking care of a child, with whatever bizarreness it would entail. He knew he wasn’t exactly what a lot of people would consider ‘prime material’ for a foster parent- he was an unmarried twentysomething with no clear direction on where he wanted to go with his life, but he was financially stable, passed all the agency’s legal checks and drug screenings, and attended every mandatory pre-service class alongside a small crew of other aspiring parents. Despite his best efforts, he always got the impression that the agency took issue with him being there. Still, Axl did everything he was told, waited patiently, and chatted with his assigned caseworker until they had found a match for him to try out.

Matthew had come with a ratty purple backpack, a seemingly-permanent scowl, and a laundry list of behavior problems tacked onto his case file. Axl wasn’t his first foster parent, he’d already gone through nearly a dozen, all of which had sent him back. The reasons varied, from destroyed appliances to constant verbal fighting. And he made it clear right from the get-go that he despised his new foster home just as much from the first words he uttered.

“I don’t like you. Send me back.”

It seemed nobody really knew where the origin of his ire was. Being pushed back and forth through the foster system again and again for years seemed like a perfectly good reason to be cross, at least in Axl’s opinion, but the way the orphanage and his agent had spoken about it made it sound like Matthew was born with a scowl on his face and just didn’t know how to take it off. They seemed surprised by the concept that he was even being placed in another foster home. The repeated failures and inability to get along with anyone seemed to indicate that he was doomed to take the slow path, waiting a few more years until he turned 18 and aged out of the system on his own.

In spite of their initial rough meeting, Axl did his best to welcome him warmly. He’d set up and painted a room ahead of time for his new family member to live in, acquired all the legal documents he needed for everything from school enrollment to medical files, and stored up a plethora of dad jokes that he could use as he needed. Matthew was unimpressed with all of them.

“I hate this place. When are you sending me back?”

For all the snarky comments and indifference he could manage, Axl didn’t budge. He was patient. He would keep trying.

Though he only knew so much about him from his case file (Matthew despised small talk, and Axl didn’t drag him into it), he’d done his best to support the interests he saw. He bought the science books he noticed the boy staring at in the shop windows, and trying to pick out new cartridges for the game system he barely let out of his sight. He seemed like the intellectual type, reading college-level books on social sciences and linguistics, and he preferred strategy games over any other kind. Axl wasn’t much of a bookworm himself, maybe that’s what made it so difficult for them to connect. But even if he couldn’t match him on an intellectual level, maybe he could still do so on a more personal one.

So he stayed patient.

“Why are you being so stubborn…?”

Axl could tell he was at least getting somewhere. They didn’t exactly have casual time together, not really, but he wasn’t immediately shooed away. Matthew could play his games, or read a book, and Axl could sit on the other side of the room. Every time, he inched closer and closer, until the only option left was for them to sit on the same couch.

“Heya, Mattie, mind if I sit down for a sec?"

It had been a quiet evening, not especially remarkable in any way. Just another day of work and school for the both of them, and free time afterward to unwind.

His son glanced up at him, but only for the briefest of moments. “You have more than one chair.”

“Yeah, but I just wanted to sit with you today. Is that okay?”

“...Fine. But don’t touch me.”

Axl sat himself down on the other side of the sofa. “So...how was school?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

The sheer speed of his response threw him off-guard. “Well, okay. Um, did I already tell you that I like the neat thing you’ve got going on with your hair?” He pointed towards the boy’s messily-dyed purple locks.

“Eight times. Nine now.”

“You do it yourself?”

“In my last house’s bathtub.”

“Must’ve been a right mess! But it looks like it turned out good?”

“It was. My foster mom was mad about the mess I made. So she wound up screaming at me over it. And I screamed back. And before I knew it, she sent me back. It’s on my case file, I thought you said you read it.”

Axl felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Well, open mouth, insert foot. He had read it, multiple times, but all it had listed was ‘confrontational issues and repeated arguments.’ He’d wondered exactly what that had meant, but actually figuring it out made him feel the exact opposite of satisfied.

“...Oh. Sounds like a right bitch.”

“She was. Can you stop asking questions now? I’m bored of them.”

He complied, though the ensuing silence only made everything feel more uncomfortable. He just didn’t get why some people screamed at their kids, mistakes just happened sometimes. Children were still learning how things worked, it seemed natural sometimes it would end in a mess.

“Hey.”

“I don’t wanna talk.”

“And I’m not gonna make you.” Axl stayed where he was. “Is it okay if I talk, though? You don’t have to say anything back.”

No response. But he didn’t get up and leave, like he had done in the past, so Axl took it as a cue to keep going. “I know you’re probably not gonna like me right away. And that’s ok. I’m still a total stranger, and you’re just expected to trust me to look after you. And I’ve seen all your paperwork, but that doesn’t mean I know anything about you as a person. We’re still strangers, the two of us.”

He paused. Matthew looked unfazed. “So I get it. I really do. I’m…” Axl tried to think of what he wanted to say. “I...

I’m not sending you back.”

Still no response. But Axl noticed the way his hands locked, and the little startled double-blink that came with it.

“If we’ve got issues, we can work ‘em out. I know you’ve been through a lot, so it’s ok if you have a rough time at first. And I’m not gonna throw you out as soon as you have a hard time. I totally get it. You’re not a bloody dog, I’m not gonna pretend like I can tame you with treats until you do whatever I tell you. There’s just some stuff we aren’t ever going to see eye-to-eye on. But no matter what, you’re my kid now, and you’re not going anywhere unless that’s what you really want.”

Slowly, uncertainly, he watched Matthew close his game and let it rest in his lap. He didn’t look up. “I want to be a good parent. I know I’m new at this, too, so I might fuck up a couple of times. I just want you to know that I’m ready to be your dad, and that means loving you no matter what.”

After another quiet, uncomfortable moment, a small voice piped up. “I’m not good at jokes, but yours aren’t funny.”

“It’s not a joke.” Axl replied. “I mean it.”

“It’s not funny!” It sounded more forceful the second time. His voice grew brittle. “You should send me back. Why won’t you send me back?”

“Why would I do that? You’re all set up in your room, and moving is a pain.” Axl tried to throw in a little friendly chuckle, but it didn't hide the unease in his voice. "Why would you think I would want to get rid of you?"

“I- I’m not-” His tone finally snapped, and his shoulders began to tremble. “I’m no good.”

He found himself hesitating for a moment, but Axl scooted closer, wrapping arms around his shoulders and giving his son a tight squeeze. “Nobody’s perfect. And I wouldn’t want you to be, anyway. I just want you to be you. Whatever that means.”

The two of them simply sat there for a while. This certainly hadn’t been in any of the advice books he’d read, but this was something Axl didn’t mind doing on his own. He just hoped he had expressed what he needed to.

He didn’t even think of letting go until he felt squirming against him. Matthew immediately picked up his game again and flipped it open. No acknowledgement at all. But...no, that was fine. He said he would accept him no matter what he was. If he didn’t like to talk about his feelings, then he didn’t need to force it.

“...help me with this turn.”

“Huh?” Curious, Axl shuffled closer to get a better look at his screen. “Wait, is this the one I got you?”

The boy nodded. “The mechanics are simplistic and the strategy elements are child’s play, but...I’ve had a lot of fun with it.” He tapped at something on his screen. “Alright. So right now my troops are stationed outside the dragon king’s fortress. How should they be organized when we open our assault?”

Well, he wasn’t much of a strategist, but he had no trouble giving it a go, anyway. “Uhh, definitely want to have some long-range stuff, right? So you can hit from a distance. Got anything for that?”

Another nod. “There’s a whole subclass for that, let me show you. There’s archers, a trebuchet, long-distance casters, and demolitionists. Each of them have a different set of stats and energy cost.”

“Why don’t you explain them to me a little more?”

“Sure. Archers have the best cost-to-efficiency ratio, but their projectiles are still on the weaker side. But if you take the trebuchet…”

It was a starting step, he realized, only a small one. But it was still something.

#AU-gust #writing #guilty gear #Axl Low #Bedman

[emospritelet]

Back in Business - Chapter 1

My RCIJ fic for @winterswanderlust, which I split into three because it got out of hand XD.  Prompt: sunflowers, out of business, AU.  The total fic has UST, a little angst, some smut and a side of Ruby Slippers

Rating: whole fic E, this chapter T

Word count: whole fic 20,067, this chapter 5,985

Also on AO3

As a child, Belle French had once read a Ted Hughes poem called November, which began with the line “the month of the drowned dog”. The poem had filled her with an unfamiliar and unwelcome sense of foreboding, and now that she was in the northern hemisphere, in the dark and cold of winter, she was reminded of it. She missed Melbourne, with its hot sun and long stretches of sand and the way the evening air was filled with the shouts of children playing on the beach and the scent of flowers. Her father’s decision to pack up and leave, moving halfway around the world to a town in Maine, of all places, had been hard to accept. She found November in Storybrooke to be dark and ominous, filled with leaden skies and heavy rain, the wind bitingly cold and on the cusp of snow. The two-bed home they had rented failed to keep out the wind entirely, and Belle had lain awake the first night, listening to it whistle and moan, an unquiet soul in the strange house that was already too quiet, too bleak. Her father had changed since her mother had died, grown bitter and withdrawn, and while she could understand wanting to run from everything that reminded him of his old life with the woman he loved, it didn’t fix the pain. It didn’t fix anything.

The town of Storybrooke was considered small, by American standards, but large enough that she was still finding her way around after almost a week of exploring. She thought that she was starting to make friends, though. Ruby, one of the waitresses at Granny’s Diner, was sweet, with a ready smile and kind nature, and Belle had only had to order takeout coffees twice before she was invited to the regular Friday girls’ night at the local bar.  Ruby had also offered her a job waiting tables, working shifts with her and another girl called Ashley, but Belle had politely declined. She had a job in the flower shop that her father had rented as a fallback, but had her sights set elsewhere.

Her career plans required a visit to the Town Hall to make some enquiries with whoever was responsible for municipal services, and Belle hurried along the street, clutching her too-thin coat around herself and glancing anxiously up at the iron-grey sky that was threatening rain. She ducked inside the Town Hall with relief, and, having explained what she was enquiring about, was asked to wait for the relevant clerk. Dorothy Gale was a pretty, no-nonsense young woman with an air of efficiency, dark brown hair braided into two side-plaits. She eyed Belle with growing approval as she explained what it was that she wanted.

“I’d have to run it past the Mayor,” said Ms Gale. “Perhaps before the next Council meeting. There are certainly funds in the budget to cover the post, and God knows it would be good to get that resource going for the kids in this town. We just haven’t had a suitable candidate raise the issue. The place has been closed for as long as I can remember.”

“Well, I can show you my qualifications,” said Belle anxiously. “I had a job working part-time in the Melbourne library since I graduated last year, and—”

Ms Gale raised a hand, cutting her off.

“I don’t doubt you’re qualified,” she said. “But save it for the Mayor. If she wants to raise it at the meeting, of course. I don’t want to make any promises; there have been a lot of calls on town funding this past year.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty,” said Belle. “But I’m sure you’ll agree that the children of this town deserve a dedicated library facility with all that would entail. Reading classes, story time, opportunities for after-school study sessions…”

Ms Gale was smiling.

“Like I said, save it for the Mayor,” she said. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“Okay.”

Belle sat back, feeling pleased. Ms Gale finished what she was writing, and looked up with a quirk of one eyebrow.

“You’ll need to convince Mr Gold, though,” she said.

Belle’s eyebrows drew down.

“Mr Gold?” she said, in puzzlement. “Isn’t that - I think that’s our landlord.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it,” said Ms Gale, straightening up and flicking her braids back over her shoulders. “He owns almost all the property in town. Including the library. The post would be funded by the town, but he would need to agree to the library being reopened. Which he’s so far failed to do.”

“What?” Belle blinked, surprised. “He doesn’t want the town to have a library?”

Ms Gale shrugged.

“I can think of six people off the top of my head who’ve asked him to rent the place to them,” she said. “Not for a library, admittedly, but someone wanted to turn it into a bookstore. Another person wanted to open up one of those books-and-coffee places. He turned them all down.”

“Oh.” Belle fidgeted, tugging at the hem of her skirt. “Do you know why?”

She shook her head, braids swinging.

“Maybe their business plans were bad, although you’d think any rent he could get for the place would be better than none.”

“So you think I’m wasting my time?” asked Belle, somewhat crestfallen, and Ms Gale shrugged again.

“Just saying don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “Even if he says yes, it could need some work doing before it would be suitable for use as a public building again. I imagine you’d need his agreement to cover that before the Mayor would even consider offering you the post.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “Oh. Well, in that case, I’d better go try to convince him. Where can I find him?”

Ms Gale gestured with her pen.

“Back down to Main Street, go past Granny’s and the bakery. He owns the pawnshop on the corner. Can’t miss it.”

“Right.” Belle pushed back her chair. “Well, thank you. You’ve been a big help.”

“A moment.” Ms Gale set down her pen, folding her arms on the desk. “I should warn you. Gold’s not known for his generosity. Everything comes with a price with him. He likes to stick to the letter of any agreement he makes, and he and the Mayor are not on the best of terms.”

“Oh.” Belle felt a sliver of unease work its way beneath her skin. “Oh, well I - I guess I’ll have to do my best!”

“Good luck,” said Ms Gale. “If he agrees, come back and let me know.”

Belle walked back out onto the street, rain from the seemingly ever-present clouds just starting to spit. It grew heavier as she walked back towards Main Street, and she shivered a little, tugging her coat around herself and wishing that she had thought to buy an umbrella. She suspected that the few winter clothes she had purchased in advance of travelling to Maine would be both ineffective and insufficient, and she resolved to get a proper winter coat and some sturdier boots. Just as soon as she could be sure of earning her living as a librarian.

At just after four-thirty in the afternoon, it was already growing dark, the thick clouds adding to the sense of approaching night. Rain was drumming against the sidewalk by the time she scurried past Granny’s, and she shot the diner a furtive glance, its cheerful, warm light tempting her to duck inside and wait out the downpour. After a week in this town, however, she was well aware that the rain was probably only just getting started, and from the directions Ms Gale had given her, Mr Gold’s shop was not far. She pushed her chin down into her collar, hunching her shoulders, and quickened her pace, feeling a wave of relief go through her as she spotted the lit sign hanging outside her destination. Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer.

The shop was faced with sea-green clapboard, and she grasped at the rain-spattered door handle, pushing open the door. A bell above tinkled merrily as she ducked inside, and she quickly shut the door behind her to keep out the rain. She shook the water from her palm, instinctively wiping it against her coat as she looked around. The shop was quiet and seemingly empty, its floor laid with shining dark wood. It smelt of beeswax and very faintly of the musty scent of old books. A counter was in front of her, with an ancient cash register placed to one side of it. Paintings in a myriad of sizes were hung on the wall behind in ornate gold-painted frames: landscapes and bowls of fruit and people in clothes that were two centuries old or more. Clocks ticked in a low, comforting rhythm, and lamps with shades of coloured glass and painted silk sat in sconces on the walls, sending out a yellowish light that gave the place an air of something out of its time, pulled from the nineteenth century into modern day America, a tiny capsule of the past frozen in the present. The shelves of the shop held a myriad of objects: porcelain figurines and glittering glass vases, ancient toys in scuffed cardboard boxes, old books and silver plate. Glass counters stood in front of the shelves, shining warm light onto the treasures within, tea sets and trinkets, necklaces and netsuke, jade and jewellery.

“May I help you?”

Belle jumped, her head turning towards the back of the shop. A man had appeared, standing in front of a thick, patterned curtain, his hands folded over a gold-handled cane with a dark, gleaming shaft. He was short and slight, dressed in a slim-fitting dark suit that had to have been made for him. It was a three piece, the waistcoat over a silk shirt the colour of rich claret, the tie a lustrous black. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a long nose, framed by soft sweeps of brown hair just starting to turn silver at the temples. Dark eyes ran over her before snapping back up to meet hers, and she was suddenly very aware that her hair was plastered to her head and rainwater was dripping from her coat in a steady stream to pool on the floor around her.

“Are you Mr Gold?” she asked, and his mouth lifted at one corner.

“Well, it is my shop.”

His voice was low, a growling whisper, thickened with the burr of a Scottish accent, and Belle could feel herself blush, her heart starting to thump as his eyes gleamed at her.

“Of - of course,” she stammered. “Sorry, I just—”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he interrupted, and took a step forward, the cane tapping against the floor. “I suspect you’re Mr French’s daughter, yes?”

“I - yes.” Belle licked a droplet of rainwater from her lip. “How did you guess?”

“The accent is something of a giveaway,” he said, with a tiny grin. “How may I help you?”

“I, uh—”  Belle shook water from her hands, droplets spattering on the floor. “I understand I need to talk to you about reopening the library building.”

One of his eyebrows flicked, the merest indication of surprise.

“That place hasn’t been open in years,” he said, and his voice was suddenly, strangely flat. Emotionless.

“Yeah, so I heard,” said Belle. “Do you know why?”

“Because I chose not to open it,” he said simply.

“That’s - kind of a circular answer,” she said, and his mouth thinned, fingers opening and closing on the cane, irritation plain in the set of his jaw.

“My reasons are my own, Miss French.”

“Oh, of course!” she said hastily. “It’s your property, and - and I don’t mean to pry, it’s just - well, I just moved here, and I saw it, and I couldn’t help thinking that the town needed a library, and - and I’m looking for a job, so it just seemed a perfect fit, that’s all.”

Mr Gold eyed her in silence for a moment.

“Well, I do own the building,” he said eventually. “You’re a librarian?”

“I am.”

She drew herself up, feeling a swell of pride as she always did when she spoke of her profession. Mr Gold looked her over again, his gaze calculating, and she wondered what it was that he saw beyond her wet hair and unsuitable clothing.

“You’d need to get the Mayor to agree to pay the rent and to hire you,” he said then. “I have no say in how she chooses to allocate town funds.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “But - but I need you to agree to open it up for business first, right?”

Mr Gold continued to watch her, his fingers drumming slowly on the cane handle.

“I never intended to open the place again,” he said quietly, and she gave him her best smile.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to convince you.”

Mr Gold sucked in his cheeks a little, as though he was thinking it over. A rumble of thunder outside made her jump, and he smiled slightly.

“You seem to have run afoul of the oncoming storm, Miss French,” he said. “Would you like to come through to the back room to dry off? I could make us a drink, if you like.”

He turned on his heels, shining shoes swivelling, the light catching his hair as he pushed the curtain to one side and disappeared. For a moment Belle hesitated, left in the dimly-lit shop with its ticking clocks and the rhythmic drip of water from the sleeves of her coat. She raised her chin, stepping forward to follow him, the woven curtain a little rough against her fingertips as she pushed it aside.

The back room of Mr Gold’s shop was more haphazard than the shop itself. Shelves held a jumble of items, some still in thick cardboard boxes. Heavy ledgers sat in a row on one of the lower shelves, and there were benches with lamps and magnifying glasses and delicate tools that she presumed were for repairing things. Mr Gold was standing in front of a carved mahogany cupboard, and glanced over his shoulder.

“I could make you tea,” he said. “Or given the hour and the fact that you’re drenched, perhaps you’d prefer something stronger?”

“Something stronger sounds good,” she said fervently.

He nodded, reaching into the cupboard and retrieving a bottle of whisky before setting it on the bench and reaching for two cut crystal glasses. Belle watched as he hooked the cane on one arm and opened up the whisky, pouring a measure into each glass. He turned to her and held one out, that tiny smile still twisting his mouth.

“I hope this is satisfactory,” he said.

She nodded, taking it. Not her usual drink, but she’d deal. He took a sip of his own drink, cradling the glass in one hand and looking her over as he took the cane and got it under himself once more. She wondered how he had hurt himself, and whether it was permanent. With a cane as sleek and ornate as that, she suspected that he had been injured for many years. She raised her glass and inhaled the fumes, the sharp burn of whisky in her nostrils, an aftertaste of peat and warm honey. One sip, and fire coursed its way down her throat, smooth after the initial burn, its flames licking over her from within. She shivered, and Mr Gold set down his glass.

“Where are my manners?” he said, almost to himself. “You must be freezing. Let me take your coat.”

He walked over to her, and Belle put her glass on the bench, shrugging off her coat. The rain had soaked through the shoulders, and she cursed her own stupidity at not buying something thicker and more suitable for the Maine weather. Mr Gold’s hands were at her shoulders, drawing the coat down her arms.

“You’re soaked through,” he whispered. “You’ll catch your death. Here.”

Losing the coat made her realise how cold she was, her blouse sticking to her skin where the rain had gotten through, and Mr Gold hung her coat over the back of an old chair, striding swiftly to one of the shelves and retrieving a thick bundle of folded fabric. He shook it out, revealing a patterned woollen shawl in dark green and gold. Belle took it from him gratefully, wrapping it around herself and perching on one of the wooden stools beside the bench. Warmth immediately began to seep into her, and she picked up her glass again, sipping at her whisky.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded, taking a drink.

“Now,” he said quietly. “You wanted to talk to me about the library. Convince me to open it.” He gestured to her, fingers splaying outwards. “The floor is yours.”

Belle leaned forwards.

“Well, I’m fully qualified,” she said eagerly. “I was working at a library in Melbourne before we moved over here, although it was only part-time, and I have a ton of ideas that I’d like to try out with the local kids. Book clubs, after-school sessions, that kind of thing.”

“And you wish me to reopen a building that’s been closed for decades in order to facilitate this?”

“I - well, I - I hoped,” she said. “I saw that it was closed, and I - I wondered.”

“Another building wouldn’t suit your purpose, then?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I didn’t see any other places that were vacant, and given that it has a big sign outside saying ‘Library’, I figured I’d go with that one.”

Mr Gold took another drink, watching her over the rim of his glass, an intense, searching look, and she put her head to the side.

“Are you saying you have another suitable building I could use instead?”

“No,” he said abruptly. “Commercial real estate in Storybrooke is somewhat limited.”

“All the more reason to make use of what you have, then.”

His lips twitched, as though he were amused.

“So now we come down to my true interest in this matter,” he said, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”

“What could be more rewarding than knowing you’re helping to provide a valuable public resource?” she said, with wide-eyed innocence, and he grinned.

“Please. Be serious.”

“Well, if you want to be mercenary about it,” she said dryly. “I guess you’d get some rent out of it, too.”

“I don’t need the money.”

“Then you’re not losing anything by it, either.”

Mr Gold took another drink, watching her with the light of interest in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking. He put down his glass.

“I daresay it’ll need a good clean,” he said.

“Oh, I can do that,” she said hastily. “I mean, as long as there are no major maintenance issues, of course.  If it’s just cleaning…”

“I also imagine that the selection of books in there is less than stellar,” he added. “It certainly hasn’t been added to since the library closed. You might want to ask the Mayor for extra funds.”

“Right.” Belle felt less sure that that request would be successful, but his response made her brighten. “Does that mean you’ll agree to open the building again?”

He gave her a twisted little smile, the fingers of one hand opening out in a fan. He had long fingers, she noticed, with smooth, neatly-trimmed nails.

“Well, it’s just sitting there gathering dust and costing me money,” he said dryly. “If you can make it work, all the better for me. Perhaps it’s time.”

“Right,” she said again, and took another drink, her mind working. He seemed to sense it, and tilted his head.

“Is there something else that you want to ask?”

“I was told that everything comes with a price with you,” she said.

Mr Gold sucked in a breath, tutting softly as he shook his head.

"It appears the townsfolk have been telling dark tales of my rapacity," he said, sounding amused. "What concerns you, Miss French?"

“Well - I guess I’m wondering what your price for this is.”

“That would be the rent that I’ll receive from the municipal funds, as you mentioned,” he said mildly, and raised an eyebrow. “Is there a different price that you’d prefer to pay?”

His eyes were glinting at her, gold flecks of reflected light shining on dark irises, and she licked her lips.

“N-no.”

Mr Gold showed his teeth, a gleam of gold on his lower jaw where one had been replaced.

“Excellent,” he said. “In that case, I suggest you make your case to the Mayor. You may tell her that the proposal has my full support.”

“Thank you.”

She took another drink, and there was a moment of silence. He was watching her, eyes dark and unblinking. The thunder rumbled again, and there was a flash of lightning outside the window. Mr Gold gestured towards the front of the shop.

“I’d offer to show you around the library,” he said. “But perhaps we ought to wait until the rain has died down a little.”

“Does that ever happen?” she asked wryly, and he grinned.

“North-eastern seaboard not to your taste, Miss French?”

“Back home it’d probably be in the seventies, and I’d be seeking out the air-con,” she said, and his grin widened.

“So what brings you to Maine, then?”

“Change of scene, I guess,” she sighed. “My mother died. Dad couldn’t bear to stay in our old place after that, and I - I didn’t feel that I could let him be by himself in a strange country while he was grieving, so…”

She shrugged, taking another drink, and he continued to watch her.

“Moving to the other side of the world is a little drastic,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You ever lose someone you loved?”

He didn’t answer that, but his eyes glittered, and eventually he glanced away.

“So, your father is a florist,” he said. “I hope his business venture is successful. This world could always use a little more beauty in it.”

“I’ll be helping him set up,” she said. “I’m hoping he’ll be able to take someone else on to help out, though. If the Mayor lets me run the library, that is.”

He took a sip of whisky, amber liquid shining in the glass, and she watched as the tip of his tongue swept a stray droplet from his lower lip. It gave her a familiar sensation in the depths of her abdomen, a tightening that she recognised as arousal. The thought made her cheeks heat, and she buried her nose in her glass to hide her blush. When she raised her eyes, though, Mr Gold was smiling a tiny secretive smile, as though he could read her thoughts, and was amused by them.

“I understand that it’s just you and your father living out at the house he rented from me,” he said. “Did no one else travel with you?”

“It’s just us,” she confirmed. “I’m sure if Dad were ever to decide to take in a lodger, he’d have to get you to okay it, right?”

“Is that likely?”

“Not as long as the shop prospers, no.”

“And how likely is that?”

Belle gave him a flat look.

“You ask a lot of questions,” she said, and he grinned again.

“Well, I’m a curious person. Goes with the territory.”

“Landlord?”

“Pawnbroker,” he clarified. “I lend money. Knowing people’s business is an unfortunate but necessary side-effect of that.”

Belle sighed, but nodded in acknowledgement.

“Dad knows the trade well,” she said. “His shop in Melbourne was always profitable. I guess it depends on how well that knowledge transfers to a town in Maine.”

Mr Gold sat back a little.

“And how are you finding our little town?” he asked. “Met anyone interesting?”

“Oh, yes,” she said dryly, and his smile widened as she failed to elaborate.

“Have you inherited your father’s passion for flowers?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Well, I like them, and I have a reasonable grasp of the business itself, but I don’t think I have his flair,” she said. “I’m fine with the simpler arrangements, but if it’s something like designing table centrepieces for weddings or something - he’s so much better! I won’t be taking on the family business, that’s for sure.”

“Do you have a favourite flower?”

“Sunflowers,” she said immediately. “They always cheer me up. My mother used to bring bunches back to the house with her, and there were always some in the old cream jug she kept on the table.”

She bit her lip, looking down at the whisky swirling in her glass. Memories flooded into her head, the scent of flowers and herbs in their kitchen, the chirp of insects outside and the hiss of the sprinkler watering the flowerbeds. The sound of her mother singing off-key as she sliced oranges for juicing. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she closed them firmly. She had had enough of crying.

“Miss French.”

Mr Gold’s words were soft, gentle, but she started, eyes flicking open. He was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry if my question caused you pain,” he said quietly, but she shook her head.

“No, it’s just - memories, that’s all. Happy memories, which - which now makes them sad memories, I guess.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, I can understand that.”

She took another drink, almost choking on the whisky, and dashed away a couple of tears. He sipped at his own drink, dark eyes watching her closely, and she turned her glass between her fingertips.

“Do - do you have family?” she asked hesitantly.

“No,” he said abruptly, and set down his own glass before glancing away. “It sounds as though the rain has eased a little. We could try to make a break for it, if you like.”

Curiosity was needling her at his taciturn response, but the thought of a library to explore was an immediate distraction. She drained her glass, licking her lips and beaming at him, and Mr Gold pushed to his feet, gesturing towards the curtain with his free hand. Belle walked through to the shop, noting that the rain was still falling, but seemed lighter.

“Perhaps it was just a shower,” she ventured.

“Perhaps.” He reached behind the counter and retrieved a black umbrella. “I think we’ll take this, though. And the car.”

Mr Gold’s car was an old Cadillac, its black paint and chrome grill shining in the rain, and he held the umbrella over Belle until she was inside before going around to the driver’s side and furling the umbrella. The interior smelled of leather, and she tugged the belt around herself as he got into the seat next to her. She watched the light from the streetlamps shining on the soft sweeps of his hair, and catching the odd silvery fleck of stubble on his cheek. He glanced across at her, eyes dark in the low light, and it made her shiver pleasantly.

“This won’t take long,” he said.

The library wasn’t far from the shop, but Belle was glad to be out of the rain, which, while lighter than it had been, was still falling rapidly. Mr Gold parked up outside the library, and Belle unbuckled her belt. He was staring up at the sky and frowning.

“I thought the storm might be passing us by,” he mused. “But it looks as though another wave will be on us soon. Perhaps we should do this another time.”

“We can make it quick,” said Belle, eager to see the library, now he had agreed to let her reopen it. Mr Gold sucked his teeth.

“I suppose it could be giving us some respite,” he allowed, and got out of the car, walking around to open the door for her.

They had barely made it to the library steps before the rain grew heavier, spraying the umbrella he was holding over their heads and bouncing on the road, silvery droplets jumping upwards with the force of it. Mr Gold unlocked and opened the door, and she ducked inside hurriedly, shoes clicking on the wooden floor. The library had blinds at the windows, and Belle jumped as rain lashed against the glass.

“A very brief respite, it seems,” said Mr Gold, stepping up beside her.

Belle tugged the shawl tighter around herself, the storm outside making her shiver, and looked around. The library was in darkness, racks of shelving looming in the shadows, and she took a step forward, trying to see in the gloom. Mr Gold walked to the left, flicking some switches, and the lights burst into life, sending out a comforting luminescence to make the shadows shrink back. Belle glanced around, noting the numbers of stacks and the old-fashioned circulation desk in polished wood, coated in dust. The floor was dusty too, but she noticed footprints in it, a trail of crisscrossing marks that led from the door to a point in the centre, and no further. She walked to the circulation desk and looked it over, pulling out the drawers to find old library cards, dog-eared and faded. There were ink pads and date stamps, and out of curiosity she picked one up. October 23, 1998.

“Has this place really been closed for twenty years?” she asked, holding up the stamp, and Mr Gold shrugged.

“As I said, I imagine you’ll need to restock.”

“Yeah,” she said absently. If the books were decades old, they may not even be holding together.

He had taken a few steps forward, into the centre of the room where the footprints petered out, and was gazing at the wall opposite, a plain expanse of painted white. Belle put down the stamp, skirting the side of the circulation desk and heading for the stacks of books. She ran a finger along the spines, eyes flicking over the titles as she moved further into the stacks. The books were properly ordered, but dusty, and she pulled one from the shelf, a thick, board-backed book of fairytales. Opening it up was a treat, beautiful illustrations in amongst the pages of text, and it looked to be in good shape. She would definitely need to update the collection, though. Modern classics, non-fiction texts, more children’s books, an LGBTQ section…

Lightning flared outside, and thunder crashed, making her jump. The lights went out with a pop, and Belle squeaked, almost dropping the book.

“Are you alright?”

Mr Gold sounded concerned, his voice seeming to echo strangely now that they were in darkness, and she slid the book back onto its shelf, groping her way out of the stacks. She slammed into a warm body, squeaking in alarm as she fell, and landed on top of Mr Gold, driving his breath from his lungs with a low grunt. They were both breathing heavily, and the scent of his cologne was drifting into her nose, spicy and woody. Her heart was thumping hard, her head spinning a little. Perhaps it was the whisky. For a moment she was frozen in place, feeling the heat from him seep into her and the hard length of his cane between her legs, but then the lightning flashed again and she gasped in shock as his features were revealed, the angular planes of his face and the deep shadows of his eyes, watching her.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

She scrambled to get up, palms on the wooden floor beside him, pushing herself upright and holding out her hands for him to take. He held onto her with one hand, using the other to push himself up with his cane.

“Are you hurt?” she asked anxiously. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were there.”

“No matter,” he said, sounding almost amused. “Unintended things can happen when the lights go out.”

Belle let go of his hand as soon as he was upright, shuffling back from him on the wooden floor, mortified that she had knocked him over.

“Well, that’s more excitement than I’m used to of an early evening,” he said dryly. “There’s an apartment above the library for the caretaker, but perhaps we ought to look it over when the power’s back on. There are stairs. And furniture. All manner of things for you to fall over.”

“Yes,” said Belle hurriedly. “Yes, we’ll leave that for now, if you don’t mind. Not that I’m thinking of moving in here tomorrow, but—”

“It’s good to keep your options open,” he finished, and she nodded.

“Something like that.”

He was still standing in the middle of the floor, a slender figure with his hands folded over his cane, illuminated by the lightning flashes, purple and blue in the darkness.

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble,” she said, and he gave her that tiny grin again.

“Beyond dripping water all over my floor, drinking my whisky and knocking me flat on my back? I think I can handle your sort of trouble, Miss French.”

“Right,” she said, still blushing at the memory of lying on top of him. “Right. Well, okay. Thank you.”

He drove her home in near silence, and Belle sat with her hands folded in her lap, the woollen shawl still around her. She realised that she had left her coat at his shop, but she didn’t feel that she could ask him to turn around and get it. Besides, the thing was soaked through. She could pick it up the next day. Mr Gold changed down the gears as the Cadillac slowed and turned into the road where her father had rented their three-bed house. Heavy rain was making the wipers work hard, and the view through the windshield was a fragmented jumble of shapes and shadows and streaks of light from the streetlamps and houses that flanked the road. Mr Gold slowed to a stop outside her father’s house, and turned his head to face her.

“A moment,” he said.

He reached behind for the umbrella, unfurling it as he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to open the door. Belle got out hurriedly, grateful for the shelter. The rain was soaking the shoulders of his suit, and she stepped a little closer so the umbrella covered both of them. He walked her up the path and onto the porch, the cane clicking on the wooden slats, and Belle sighed in relief to be in some relative shelter.

“Thank you,” she said, and made to lift the shawl from her shoulders. Mr Gold shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said. “You can return it tomorrow. Assuming the weather improves.”

“I left my coat in your shop,” she said, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Then we can make a fair exchange,” he said. “Until tomorrow, Miss French.”

“My name’s Belle,” she blurted.

He mouthed the name, so softly she could barely hear it, soft lips forming the word. Her heart was thumping again, her breath quickening. There was a strange tingling in the air, electricity between them. It felt almost like anticipation, as though this was the end of a date and she was expecting to be kissed. She licked her lips, and his dark eyes flicked briefly to her mouth before returning to meet her gaze.

“Until tomorrow,” he repeated.

He inclined his head before stepping off the porch back into the rain. Water cascaded over the umbrella, and Belle watched as he walked to the car and got in. He met her eyes as he opened the door, and she felt her breath catch before he ducked inside and out of sight.

Great. I have a crush on the landlord. Great. Absolutely fantastic.

#winterswanderlust #rcij 2018 #rumbelle christmas in july #rumbelle fic #fic: back in business

[edxwin-elric]

Morning After

Checkmate Ch. 3

Rating: M

Pairing: Royai/Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Word Count: 4425

Chapter Title: Morning After

Description: Royai multi-chapter/modern/BDSM AU where Riza, a cautious submissive, met Roy, an experienced Dom, and now there is sex with future romance potential.

A/N: This one is not smut. It’s more exposition and hints at romantic feelings. There are some smut allusions though.

tag || first || ffn || ao3

previous || next || ch. 3.5 (havolina)

Riza

A large hand slides across my back and around my belly, and I make a disgruntled sound.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

I mumble something unintelligible and curl up into a ball around the pillow I’m holding. Roy laughs softly behind me and strokes my neck, making me jump.

I wasn’t totally expecting to sleep in the same room. The same bed. But after he cleaned me up, he slid a t-shirt over my head and brought me up here. To be fair, I didn’t put up much of a fight. I like being with him.

“I thought you might want the first shower,” he speaks up again.

“What time is it?” I groan.

“After ten. You didn’t have work or something did you?” He frowns down at me.

I shake my head, rubbing my hair across the mattress.

“No…” I yawn.

Though, my dog will be wondering where I am if I don’t get home soon. But he’ll be all right for a little bit on his own.

“Seriously, Riza. How are you feeling?” he repeats the question in a low tone, and I open my eyes.

“You mean…about last night?”

He nods, and I feel my face heat.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, scooting back, so I’m leaning on the pillows behind me. “I don’t hurt or anything.”

“You’re sure?” He reaches out and cups my jaw, and I swallow at how nice it feels. “I don’t want you to hide anything from me. Even if it’s embarrassing, or you’re just shy about it.”

I don’t tell him it’s a little late to start getting embarrassed in front of him. That ship sailed the night we met.

“It’s sore,” I admit, looking down. “But not bad. Really. I’m okay.”

“Okay, good.” He runs his thumb over my cheek and moves his hand. “This arrangement only works if there are no secrets. I told you that before.”

“I remember, Roy.”

“Right.” He stands and turns to look back at me, lying on the mattress. “I take it you don’t want the first shower?”

“No. You can have it.”

“Okay.” He starts to walk toward the bathroom but stops in the doorway and looks back. “There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he informs me over his shoulder.

I blink in surprise before I catch sight of his sleep pants on the floor. My eyes snap up only to watch his firm ass disappear behind the steamed-up shower door. I bite my lip and look down, feeling a rush of heat between my legs.

I turn and slide out of the bed, stretching my arms over my head. I flinch when I feel a draft on my ass and look behind me. The shirt Roy gave me is unbelievably soft if not entirely long enough. I drop my arms and shuffle out into the hall and to the stairs. I freeze halfway down when I smell syrup. Frowning, I go the rest of the way to the kitchen, where I stop in the doorway and stare.

He said there was coffee. He failed to mention there was also bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice, pancakes, and toast. How did I not smell this earlier? What time did he get up to start preparing all this? I mean, I knew he could cook since he’s mentioned it several times, but… And just how much food does he expect me to eat? There’s enough here for twenty people.

I take a small step into the kitchen and inhale, the delicious scents of well-cooked breakfast filling my lungs. With a glance over my shoulder at the stairs, I grab one of the plates set out and begin filling it. I’m in the middle of dying and going to heaven from the pancake that is melting in my mouth when I hear Roy behind me. I turn from my seat at the bar and watch him as he saunters into the room and goes straight to the coffee pot. My eyes travel from his damp, messy hair down the line of his bare back to where his pants are hanging loosely on his hips.

Yum.

“Good morning,” he says in a low voice as he turns to face me, sipping coffee from a dark mug. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” I nod, feeling unsure again of how to behave with him. “And, thank you. For breakfast.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugs and takes another drink.

“Is this, um, normal?”

“What?” He frowns. “Eating breakfast in the morning? Or–”

“I mean, do you usually cook breakfast for your subs?”

He doesn’t answer at first, taking a long drink of coffee and grabbing a strip of bacon from the plate. I watch as he chews, my eyes drawn to his insanely strong jaw. God. I’m getting wet just looking at him. Even his facial structure is sinful.

“No,” he murmurs finally.

“What?” I blink, my cheeks going pink.

“I don’t usually cook them breakfast. Nor do I buy them wine.” My eyes widen as he continues. “It’s also rare that I let them stay overnight. And even then, not in my bed.”

I feel all the air go out of my lungs, and I look down at my plate.

“But don’t read too much into it. I just have a fondness for you.”

What? What the hell does that mean?

I start to ask, but I don’t know how. And he doesn’t say anything after that. Just goes about his business, fixing a plate and sitting down on the stool beside me at the bar. As if he didn’t just confuse the life out of me.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” He turns to me casually before taking a bite of pancake.

“Uh.” I blink. “I… I have to walk my dog,” I answer lamely, still not entirely certain what just happened.

“I love dogs,” he says in a low voice. “So loyal. What breed is he?”

I frown.

“I’m not exactly sure, I guess. He was a stray one of my coworkers found, and no one else in the office would take him, so I said I would.”

“I see.” He nods. “So, what’s his name?”

“Black Hayate.”

He raises his eyebrows, and I immediately start trying to explain.

“I… He’s… It means ‘black hurricane’ in Japanese,” I mutter. “I don’t know why I… I like it. It fits him, I think.”

“Is he particularly destructive?” he goes on around another bite of food.

“No. He’s a very good boy.” I grin to myself. “But he’s stuck with the name now.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes until he speaks again.

“So, you mentioned an office. What do you do?”

“Oh, well. Um…” I swallow a bite of eggs. “I’m sort of between jobs right now.”

“Really? Are you looking for something? I might be able to find you a position at my firm. Though I suppose I should find out more about your skill set.”

I blush and shake my head.

“I’m really okay. Also, I’m not sure working with you would be the best idea.”

“Fair point.” He nods. “But go ahead and tell me about what you’re interested in. Or what you’ve done before.”

“I’m very organized, so I’ve taken reception jobs here and there. I was registered with a temp service for a while. Most recently I was a P. A. to a lady who started her own company… My father always wanted me to follow him into the field of scientific research. Specifically, chemistry. I’ll admit I’m good at it, but I didn’t care for it much.”

“What would you like to do?” he asks softly. “If you could choose.”

“I like flowers,” I admit, poking at a bit of toast.

“Flowers? You mean gardening or–”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a florist.” I turn to look at him. “I mean, I think arranging them would be interesting and calming, and flowers smell good… But I guess that’s sort of silly, since I don’t even own a flower vase.”

“Not if you want to do it,” he counters. “I think that sounds interesting.”

I sigh.

“Well, it’s either that, or I’m going to open a pet shelter.”

“Open one?” He frowns. “You mean start one from the ground up? That sounds expensive.”

“When my mother died, she left me some money,” I tell him on a shrug. “I could use that. I just don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “About your mother.”

“It was a long time ago. But…thank you.”

There’s another lull in the conversation where I finish most of my food, and Roy reaches across the bar to grab another handful of bacon. As soon as he drops the strips onto his plate, his phone buzzes on the counter, and I focus on my orange juice while he texts.

“I hate to have to cut this short,” he says slowly, “but it looks like one of my employees is having a crisis at the office. Nothing serious, but I’m going to need to go in and sort it out.”

“Oh.”

“Should we go ahead and make plans for our next meeting?”

A shiver goes down my spine, and I swallow. Right. I almost forgot, for a second, the nature of our relationship.

“I’m free on Wednesday and Thursday. This Friday I’m going out of town, and Saturday I have an engagement,” I mentally recall my calendar.

“Does Sunday work? Not tomorrow, but the next one.”

“I’m free all-day Sunday,” I murmur.

“Then let’s schedule it for then. I’ll text you later with a time.”

“Okay. I’ll go ahead and get changed.” I start to stand when he stops me with a hand on my thigh.

“You’re forgetting something, Riza.”

What? I blink.

“I am?”

“I haven’t given you your homework yet.”

My heart jumps into my throat, and I have to steady myself with a hand on the counter to keep from falling off my stool.

“Right,” I whisper.

He looks at me thoughtfully for a second before he shakes his head.

“Go ahead and get dressed. It’ll give me time to think.”

I nod and start for the stairs, ignoring the way my entire body feels hot and off balance. I’m afraid I’ll trip, but somehow, I manage to stay upright all the way to his room.

Roy

When she comes back down, I’m still sitting on the stool where she left me, the struggle to decide what assignment to give her still going on in my head. There are just too many things I want from her. To do to her. Ways she makes me hard.

Fuck.

“Have you, um, decided?”

I jerk my head up to find her standing in front of me wearing her clothes from last night. My eyes catch on her chest where the rosebuds on her bra are poking through. My cock hardens instantly. When I remember the matching thong, I almost groan.

“Roy?”

“Do you have a toy?” I grunt.

“What?” she whispers.

“A toy,” I repeat more clearly. “Do you have a toy?”

“I’m…not sure what you mean?”

“Something you use to get yourself off when you’re alone. A vibrator? Or a dildo?”

I watch her lips part in surprise, and damn if my already hard cock doesn’t turn to steel.

“Um, yes, I have a vibrator,” she admits, swallowing.

“What kind?”

She reaches a hand up and pushes her hair behind her ear.

“It’s, uh… It’s a g-spot, um, dildo vibrator,” she confesses. “It’s purple.”

“It resembles a penis?”

She nods once. “It’s not quite as big as yours,” she murmurs, and I suppress a laugh.

“Is it strictly for vaginal use?”

I watch her cheeks pale slightly.

“Riza?”

“It, um… I can use it on my nipples, my clit, my, um, pussy, or…in my ass.”

Fuck. I need to get my hands on this toy.

“Did you use your toy this week? After you sent me my pictures?”

She closes her eyes and nods, making my cock throb painfully.

“For your homework,” I start off, sliding off the stool, hoping to relieve some pressure, “anytime you’re wet this week, whether from thinking about our sessions or any other reason, and you’d like to use your toy to take care of it, you are to call me.”

“Call you?” she whispers.

“I’ll make sure your needs are met,” I promise, my voice dropping. “But I’ll be talking you through how I want you to use your toy.”

She bites her lip, and my eyes drop to where her thighs are clenching together.

“Are you wet right now?” I ask in a low tone.

She starts to nod.

“Yes, Sir,” she murmurs.

“Good. If you need to use your toy when you get home, you know what to do.”

“Yes.” She nods again.

“Oh, and before each call, I’ll want both a photo of your toy and the wet spot on your underwear.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders.

“I’ll see you Sunday, Riza,” I tell her softly, dropping my dominant voice. “Have a great week.”

“Thank you, Roy.” She gives me a small smile and lets herself out of the apartment.

Fucking fuck.

I’m going to kill Havoc.

Riza

When I get home, Black Hayate is waiting at the door.

“Good boy,” I bend down and rub him behind his ears as he wags his tail at me. “Are you hungry?”

He lets out a short bark and turns to pad over to his food bowl. After I feed him, I lean against the counter and stare at my phone.

I need to call Becca.

I can’t call Becca.

I mean… I think I like him. For more than sex. That’s the kind of thing Becca would be good at helping me with. On the other hand, if I tell her about that, I have to tell her…all of it. And then—

But, I mean, she’s Becca. So…maybe she’ll understand? Or I could be vague and say I’m into kink…

That’s dumb. Becca would immediately demand details, so that wouldn’t—

My phone starts ringing in my hand, and I let out a small yelp and almost drop it when Becca’s face appears.

Like…did she know? How?

After a calming breath, I press the green button and hold the device up to my ear.

“Hey. I was just thinking about calling you.”

“Oh really? Was it something serious?”

“Maybe? I’m not sure. Did you need something?” I shift my weight, my nerves making me restless.

“I was on my way to brunch and thought you might want to come with me.”

“Um…sure. I’m not very hungry, but I would like to talk.”

“It’s a date,” she announces.

“Oh, and I need to take Hayate out, so if we can find a café, that would be great.”

“I have one in mind. I’ll text you the address.”

“Thanks.”

She hangs up, and I go about getting my dog set for his walk.

When I arrive at the place Becca picked, I find her sitting at a table under the cover of an awning sipping a steaming coffee drink.

“So. What did you want to talk about?” she opens before I even sit down.

“Well…actually, it’s about Roy.”

“Ooh! Tell me everything. How was it last night?” she gushes.

I feel my face getting warm, and I distract myself by looking down and looping Hayate’s leash around my chair leg.

“That dirty?” Becca pipes up again, and when I meet her eyes, she’s giving me a deeply suggestive look.

“I… It…” I swallow and rub my palms over my thighs. “That isn’t what I wanted to discuss,” I mutter. “It’s more… Well, up until now we’ve been seeing each other strictly for sex–”

“And I’m so damn proud of you for that.”

“But,” I say over her, “this morning he made me breakfast, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t part of his usual morning after routine as far as booty calls go.”

“Riza Hawkeye: A Booty Call. What is this world I live in?” Becca sighs and looks up dreamily.

“Of course, that’s the part you got hung up on.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I’m confused. I need advice.”

“You like him,” she says cheerily, setting down her mug.

“Well, yes.”

“No. You like him. Not just his big dick.”

“Maybe, but I don’t–”

“And you think he likes you, but you’re not sure, and now you need to know because if he doesn’t, things will get totes awkwardville.”

“That is not a thing people say.”

“But it’s still true.” She takes another sip of her drink as her food arrives, and she beams up at the cute waiter.

“Whatever,” I mumble pointlessly.

“This is perfect,” she tells me after we’re alone again. “Jean just called to let me know he’s going to have the next few nights off. Now you can invite Roy Boy to double date with us.”

“Uh, Becca, didn’t you hear me? I don’t really know if he feels like I do. I mean, he might just want to fuck.”

And spank me. And blindfold me. And…

I squeeze my thighs together in my seat, and shift so I can cross my legs. I can’t think about this here.

“Then this will help us find out.”

“Well, not this week,” I reply. “I have things going on, and I need some more time to think about it before I decide to do anything drastic.”

“A double date isn’t drastic.” She waves her fork around with a bit of salad on it. “Sex without a condom is drastic.”

I frown at her and shake my head.

“Anyway, you still have to give me the details about last night.”

“No,” I state plainly. “I don’t. And I won’t.”

My panties are wet enough already without that going on again.

“Oh, come on! At least tell me what he thought of the lingerie.”

I sigh.

“He liked it. A lot.”

“Really? What did he do?” She giggles.

“His face got…sexier,” I murmur. “And when I looked down, there was a pretty serious bulge in his pants.”

“Damn, I need to meet this guy. Then what?”

“He sort of took his time taking them off of me. And then he fucked me. So…I’d say that was a pretty good sign.”

“Did you do it in a new position this time?”

I cough slightly and quickly recover before answering.

“We were on the couch this time. Missionary,” I tell her softly, my ass clenching at the memory of the plug. “But enough about that. Tell me about what you did.”

“Me?” She frowns. “I watched a few episodes of Friends and then used my rabbit to get myself off in the shower.”

“I guess it’s a good thing Jean will be off then.”

“Oh yeah.” She nods, smiling. “Tomorrow will be a full-on sex-a-thon.”

“Anyway, which episodes of Friends were you watching?”

I relax as she starts retelling me in great detail every line of the show between bites of her salad. I may still be unsure of what my feelings are about Roy—besides that I really like what we do during sex and also that he’s sweet when he isn’t making my body cry out in pain and pleasure at the same time. Sometimes even then. I mean, I do like him. Probably more than I should. I’m not sure exactly when that happened, but…

“Riza, are you even listening to me?”

I blink and look up at my friend.

“What?”

She exhales through her nose and gives me a disappointed look.

“Now I have to start all over.”

I grin to myself as she takes a deep breath before I reach under the table and pat my dog. For right now, I’ll try not to think about Roy. I don’t have to have everything figured out yet. Maybe when I see him on Sunday things will be clearer.

I bite my lip, thinking about what he might do Sunday night. I re-cross my legs and clasp my hands tightly in my lap, letting out a slow breath. I already know I won’t make it to Sunday without talking to him. At the rate I’m going, I’ll need to call him before dinner.

Roy

“Havoc,” I growl as I storm into my office. “You’d better have a serious fucking emergency on your hands to call me in like this on a Saturday.”

“It is, boss.” He stands from where he’s been leaning on my desk and looks me over. “Fuck. What’s wrong? You look ready to murder someone.”

“Well, yes,” I bite back, as I round my desk and fall into my chair, glaring up at him. “I was in the middle of having breakfast with a beautiful woman when you interrupted. So, if I look pissed, that would be why.”

“Oh.” He nods. “That explains it.”

He goes quiet, and I feel my jaw get tight.

“So why the fuck am I here?” I grind out. “Start talking, Jean. Or do I need to also tell you that the woman I was with was naked except for my shirt, and I had a whole different morning in mind.”

“Right.” He nods quickly. “Um, well, Madam Christmas called and the three guys she threw out last week came back again. This time they refused to leave and even threatened to hurt some of the girls who work the floor. They finally bailed after some of the other guys there forced them out, but she said the customers were freaked and the girls are shaken. As things stand, she doesn’t want to involve local police, but she wants a detail for tonight and asked that we do a little digging into these assholes.”

Shit. She probably called me first, but my phone was turned off because I was with Riza. Dammit. I’ll have to go by there and check on things.

“Thank you,” I tell him quietly. “This qualifies as an emergency, so you’re forgiven for ruining my morning.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Now get out of my sight before I change my mind,” I grumble.

“Okay.” He starts for the door. “Oh, and before I forget, I’m not going to be available for the next three nights. Breda and Falman said they wouldn’t mind taking the job at Christmas’s though.”

“Good to know.”

I wave him away, and he disappears out the door. The last thing I want to do today is go visit Madam Christmas’s club. Not that I don’t like it there. I’m just not into the sex club scene these days. Plus, I don’t want to deal with her questions. Or the pleading looks from the subs who know I’m a Dom. I’m off the market, but they don’t know that. And I don’t think I want to take Riza to the club anytime soon. As much as I’d like to show her off, I like having her to myself more. And I doubt voyeurism is something she’s into.

Rising from my chair, I stride toward the door. The sooner I get this mess taken care of the better.

“So that’s really all I’ve got to go on.”

“That’s enough for me. Thank you.” I follow the lady out of the surveillance room and start for the stairs.

“Roy, wait. Stay for a drink at least.”

“I would,” I start, “but I have work to do–”

“You never come by anymore, and I’m curious about how you’re doing,” Madam Christmas interrupts. “Just one drink. On me.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “Whiskey. Dry.”

“I know.” She grins, leading me down to the main floor.

I slide onto a stool as she pours.

“So, have you met anyone lately?”

I take the glass from her and swallow a good amount before answering. The question is her way of asking if I’ve picked up a new sub. Besides being the proprietress of this place, and therefore knowing about my tendencies, she’s the woman who raised me. Growing up in the backroom of a sex club makes it no wonder how I ended up a Dom.

“Maybe,” I answer her cryptically.

“You’ll have to bring her by.” She leans on the counter. “Unless you’ve branched out to men. Have you?”

I snort into my drink. “She’s definitely a woman.”

“Well. I had to ask.” She grins. “And you like her?”

“I’m breaking her in.”

“I mean you like her,” she repeats. “Not that she gets you off.”

I swallow the rest of the liquor and set my glass down.

“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “She’s…different than any sub I’ve had before. Than any of the women I’ve dated. But I’m not sure that means I’m interested in pursuing something with her outside of our agreement.”

“You are,” she tells me knowingly. “I can see it on your face.”

“My face?” I frown.

She nods slowly. “You’re forgetting I watched you grow up. I can read your face like a book. And it says you have a crush.”

“Crush?” I scoff. “I’m a grown ass man. I don’t get crushes.”

She gives me a skeptical look, and I scowl.

“Maybe I have…an interest. But it’s not a crush.”

“What’s her name?”

I debate answering for a moment, deciding if that’s something I’m ready for her to know. Riza isn’t a very common name, and with technology today she can run a thousand searches on her before I make it back to my apartment. I should know. Fuery is already running most of those searches on the bastards that have been harassing the clients at this place.

“Roy–” she starts to say something, but as she does, my phone starts ringing.

When I look down at the caller, I’m instantly on my feet.

“Excuse me,” I mutter. “I have to take this.”

Without waiting for her response, I turn and head for the door, answering it as I go.

“Riza?”

There’s a pause where I just hear a soft breath panting on the other end of the line.

“Riza? Are you there?”

And then a text comes through. I pull my phone away from my ear to look at it, and I almost trip and fall. I quickly catch my balance and jog to my car. The images she sent burned into my brain.

“Riza,” I say quietly, folding into the driver’s seat.

“Sir?” Her soft voice goes right to my cock, and I suppress a groan.

“Let’s get started.”

#royai #checkmate #dom!roy #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fanfiction by me #my royai #roy x riza #royai fanfic #royai fic #fanfiction #fma fanfiction #chapter 3 #fueled by fire #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist

[fourtrisheafanfic]

Under the Stars CH 3 (Jonerys fanfic)

Chapter 3: Hiking ~ Day Three

Summary: Modern AU, a camping trip in Colorado ends up being more than originally planned. There will be four chapters total.

Links: Chapter 1 (X), Chapter 2 (X) or Ao3 (X)

Rating: Mature

Words: 9,000+

+++o+++

Chapter 3: Hiking ~ Day Three

*Dany POV*

I'm pulled from sleep by a familiar sound I know too well, the bugling of elk. A smile touches my lips as I lie still and enjoy. The bugle of a bull elk is a distinct sound that begins deep and resonant, and becomes a high-pitched squeal before ending in a series of grunts. The herds of elk that roam the Rocky Mountains has always been one of my favorite parts of camping here.

I know once I open my eyes it will be time to start the day. Rising early is normal for camping, but I find myself waking up even earlier when not sleeping in a tent. I enjoy the noises around me and realize it must be super early, as I do not hear any of the usual hustle and bustle of large campgrounds.

I finally roll onto my back, slowly opening my eyes as they adjust to the sun. The morning is still cool, but I know the July heat will soon be here.

I really need a shower. Should I go now, or wait until someone from the group wakes up so I can tell them where I am? Decisions, decisions.

Lying still, I unexpectedly feel Ghost's snout nudging my chin, silly dog! It was nice of Jon to let his dog sleep with me last night, not that I worried, but having a guard dog is always nice

As I stretch out my arms, another sound catches my attention - soft coughing. I quickly turn to the left, and my mouth falls open. Sound asleep, Jon lies on the other side of the fire pit. His sleeping bag positioned in a way that we can see each other's face and nothing more.

Why is he sleeping out here? For me?

Suddenly, I feel butterflies flying in my chest. I close my eyes to breathe in and out and push those feelings away.

He's amazing. But he's not for you.

Graduate student and teaching assistant Jon Snow is a well-known name in the Integrative Physiology department. Aside from his academic reputation, he's known for being an amazing teacher, having a great working relationship with the faculty. He's extremely smart and career driven - and lastly, he's the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on in my life. It should be a sin for one man to look so damn good. Gazing at him as my eyes settle on his mouth, I fantasize about kissing him and how I'd bite his lower lip. Don’t get me started on his hair - raven black and those curls. My hands long to touch his hair every time I am around him. I know I shouldn't just sit here and ogle him, but when else would I have the chance to stare to my heart's content?

I had the biggest crush on Jon when I first met him, when I was a student in two of his classes last fall. Just like dozens and dozens of other girls in my school who are crazy about him. As cute as he is, listening to them carry on and on about him grated on my nerves - to the point that I determined a crush on him was a waste of time and could not even be enjoyable. So I let it go and just put him out of my mind. I have this game where I'd pretend he was a married sixty-year-old-with eight grandchildren anytime I would talk to him.

He was consistent with his rejections of the numerous girls that pursued him. He wasn't cruel but he was direct. His rebuffs were always the same, "I don't date my students, so it's never going to happen. I am taken, ladies, sorry." And then he would go right back to the material he was covering that day. I was impressed at how calm and matter-of-fact he was, probably something learned after years and years of dishing out countless refusals.

Although one time he was so kind to me, that it still makes my heart do somersaults when I think about it.

++o+ Flashback +o++

I'm numb with grief. My brother is dead.

I desperately run through my to-do list because I must get it all done. My family needs me, and I need to get home.

I glance at my watch as I'm walking quickly through campus, sporadic tears escaping my eyes as I trudge forward with my face down. I have one teacher left to speak to, and then I'm headed to the airport. I wrap my coat tightly around me, but nothing is helping fight the chill in my bones. It's the middle of February in Colorado.

I cringe when I think of Drogo, my boyfriend.

How could he?

I know Drogo's disappointed that I'm flying to Chicago, but he offered not one kind or comforting word for me. He only hissed his displeasure regarding the Valentine's formal for the Leeds Business School because I've left him without a date.

"Damn it, Dany! This will ruin my summer internship chances. You know I can't work for my father's company again. It's all about appearances," Drogo grumbled. "Now I'll look like a loser who can't get a date."

I found myself apologizing, and I was sorry but... my brother just died in a car accident. I didn't get to say goodbye. He was the only sibling I had left, now there was just me.

The United Airlines customer service rep that got me a seat flying direct from DIA to O'Hare offered me more comfort than my own boyfriend.

I shake my head, pushing thoughts of Drogo away. I can't worry about him right now. This may be the end of us.

I wouldn't care.

I arrive to the Integrative Physiology main building and stop in a restroom on the first floor to splash water on my face so I don't look like a drowned rat. I knock on Jon's office door, entering when I hear his voice. Although he shares the office with numerous other TAs, he sits alone at the moment.

I walk in and spit out my practiced explanation verbatim, ready to plead for a later makeup of the exam I'll be missing. Jon's eyes study me, but he says nothing.

I stand still and wait. After a moment he nods with a small frown.

"I'm sorry for your loss Daenerys," he says. "We'll figure out the test when you get back. Take this time with your family now."

His hand slips into mine, his thumb gently tracing the small bones on the back of my hand. The small act of kindness broke through my walls. I turn away, trying to bite back my sobs, mumbling a thank you while yanking my hand away so I can leave quickly.

Jon catches my hand again and pulls me to stand in front of him, a concerned look on his face. His other hand on my cheek, I realize my tears have started again as he wipes them away.

"Daenerys, is there anything I can do?" he says quietly. I try to bite back the sobs and fail.

He pulls me into his arms and holds me while I sob. Suddenly I don't care about anything except my grief and being held by him. He rubs my back while my arms hold him tightly. I stand still, except for the sobs that make my shoulders shake, with my face buried in his chest. We stand that way for I don't know how long, and then I have to pull away. I wipe my tears before looking up, Jon's hands still on my shoulders.

"Thank you," I murmur, our eyes locked, mine still swimming with tears. "Also, please call me Dany. I've gotta go, now. My flight..."

He swallows hard."Be strong, Dany."

++o+ Flashback End +o++

Jon clears his throat, snapping me out of my thoughts, my eyes meeting his instantly now that he's awake.

"Hey," he smiles.

"Good morning," I smile back, "Thank you for sleeping out here with me."

"Oh, I felt like giving it a try," he says, faltering a bit. "Not because I was worried about you, or anything like that."

His eyes now look around the campsite, anywhere but at me.

"Uh huh," I laugh at him while sitting up. He smiles at me and rolls his eyes.

"I'm dying for a shower, it's super early so there shouldn't be a line," I start. I'm about to ask him to tell the others if they wake before I return.

"I'd like one too, let's go," he responds.

+++o+++

It was a far walk to the entrance of the grounds, and we walked quietly as most people were sleeping.

I gasp seeing the shampoo-conditioner bottle he has, one of the joys of car camping. He chuckles when I jump up and down with joy. I hate when my hair is oily, it drives me nuts. He even has an extra towel I can use, that's not something I packed for hiking. The showers are unisex, but we agree neither of us want any surprises. We'll take turns and the other person will stand guard. I tell him to go first, as I need to still organize my clothes in my pack.

"Jon, let me know when you're coming out. I am just going to wrap myself in this huge bedspread you call a towel and only bring in my clean clothes," I call, while moving behind a wall for privacy as I quickly strip out of my dirty clothes.

"Bedspread size, huh? Do they make special towels for especially tiny women?" he snickers at me.

"Shut up," I snap while laughing.

The water turns off and I imagine him drying off with his towel. Stop, Dany. I push those thoughts out of my head. I wish he'd come out in a towel....

"Dany?" he calls.

"What?" I say.

"Make sure you're decent, I'm coming out," he says.

"I'm ready," I say, as we slip past each other in the narrow hallway. The hallway is so narrow our bodies awkwardly brush against one another as we move past.

Jon glances away from me, the tips of his ears flaming red. I wonder what happened.

"I'll be quick, I promise," I say, once I'm in the shower stall and hanging my towel and clean clothes on the far door.

"Take your time," he says, but his voice sounds strained.

I don't want to hold up breakfast, and we still have to walk back to camp, so I rush through my shower, only taking time to concentrate on scrubbing my hair.

Suddenly I hear a woman's voice right outside the shower door. I can't not hear them.

Woman: Hey Jon, you look nice and clean.

Jon: Um, hi. Yes,well. A shower tends to do that to a person.

Woman: My friends are still sleeping. Come back to my tent, we'll have some alone time.

Jon: (Silence. An uncomfortably long silence.)

Oh my God, are they already fooling around? Maybe he just walked off with her?

Woman: Why so shocked, Jon? Come on, I know you were checking me out yesterday. Let's have some fun. There's so much I can-

I've never gotten dressed so fast in my life! I roll up my towel, tucking it under my arm and opening the stall door without raising my eyes, afraid of what I'll see.

"Excuse me," I interrupt.

Out of morbid curiosity, I steal one glance at the voice. Damn, she's gorgeous. Who the hell looks that good and sexy when camping? This chick, that's who.

"Dany...um..." Jon stammers, he sounds stunned.

Without looking at anyone, I swiftly grab my backpack off the floor and walk out of the showers area while prattling away.

"I'll find my way back," I say. "Bye guys!" I cringe at how awkward that was, and how stupid I just sounded. I shake my head, it never ends with this guy.

Once I've put in a good amount of distance between myself and the showers, I laugh to myself. It's class all over again. I get it...he is really handsome, like weak-in-the-knees hot. I don't know what went down with his ex, but I don't envy her. She probably had to beat women off with a stick! Who'd want to deal with that shit every day?

Not me.

"Hey!" Jon grabs my elbow and stops me. "Why'd you leave like that?"

Is he joking? I look at him, confused.

"You looked busy," I respond.

Jon frowns, releasing my elbow as we both resume walking to camp.

"I just met that girl yester-" he starts. I can hear the embarrassment in his voice.

"It's not my business. You don't need to explain," I shrug my shoulders and smile at him. "Just drop it."

It really has nothing to do with me, I'm just relieved they didn't start hooking up right outside my shower.

"Okay, got it," he frowns.

I shrug my shoulders and chuckle at him, now that I'm not trapped in a bathroom, afraid they were gonna get it on two feet from me. It's at least a little funny.

"I'm starved, I want to offer to cook too," I say seriously. "Let's hurry."

I'm eating all their food, the least I can do is all the grunt work. I still feel guilty.

Jon nods, still frowning. I hope he didn't pass up on tent sex with that girl because he thought I shouldn't go back to camp alone without him, since I'm not really part of the group. Ugh.

We walk in silence, but it feels a little uncomfortable - awkward, even. I start planning ways to get out of the Bear Like hike. I'm starting to feel like a third wheel. I just want to go home.

It's early and this is a busy campsite, I'm sure someone could give me a ride out of the park. One of my friends would be willing to come get me from Estes Park. Missandei is going to have a fit when she hears what went down with Drogo, and I can already hear her "I told you he was bad news." And she'd have every right to say it, she has been asking me to dump him. I should've listened to her.

It'd be even better if I could catch a ride with someone heading to Boulder.

"Dany, just wait. I want to talk for a minute." he says, his hand slipping into mine, and then leading us towards the side of the main path. What's he doing?

I look at him curiously and smile. He can't possibly be mad at me, right? I didn't tell him he should leave that chick behind. I force a smile and wait for him to talk.

He drops my hand and runs his fingers through his hair. He seems flustered. Once he looks at me, locking eyes, I feel a small flip in my chest, and it's not from fear of him being mad. I want to drag him into a tent myself!

Stop it, Dany!

"I get you don't care, but Melisandre is a girl I met for three minutes yesterday, and I was just stunned at how forward she was," he says. "And of course I knew you'd hear her. I was caught off guard," Jon frowns. He's now staring intently at me.

I fight the urge to squirm. Should I apologize for something? I could just try to say a general sorry. Like an umbrella apology to cover everything and anything.

He slowly releases the breath he's been holding and chuckles nervously.

"I'm sorry if I somehow ruined your moment—" I clear my throat.

He frowns deepens, which is not what I was expecting. Why do I feel like I'm making things worse?

"If I wanted to screw her, I would've done it yesterday. You didn't ruin anything," he states matter-of-factly.

I bite the inside of my cheek and ignore the warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

"Okay, got it," I smile and nod. As we start walking back to camp, I knock my shoulder into his and tease him. "It must be so hard having pretty girls throwing themselves at you! Poor guy, what a difficult life you live."

He shakes his head, dismissing my joking comments. He does smile though. I smile too, as I push away the pang of jealously I feel.

Ugh, stop. I'm being silly.

Get over it, Dany.

++o++

I'm so excited to do this hike. I've gone around Bear Lake countless times, which is awesome, but I've never hiked from Bear Lake to Bierstadt Lake. All Drogo and his band of misfits wanted to do was sit around all day drinking.

Our group walks to the front of Aspenglen to catch the shuttle service, it runs through a loop of the entire park and will drop you off so you can do a day trip, and then take the shuttle back when you're done.

As we board the bus, I notice that the couples sit together, Ghost lying on the floor between their seats.

"Dany, let's sit here," Jon's breath tickles the back of my neck, sending chills down my back. I didn't realize he was standing so close to me.

I turn to look at him, he is not that much taller than me so our faces are just inches apart. I gulp and nod. Once we're sitting in the seat our arms and knees touch, these shuttles are not designed for comfort. He feels so warm next to me. I control my urge to lean into him.

We disembark the bus at Bear Lake. Good weather is predicted for the afternoon so we all packed light. We plan to eat lunch out here, so we have our food and water too.

"Guys, let's do a loop around the lake before we start, okay?" Gilly asks.

"I want to warm up too, before the off-path hike. Around the lake will be perfect." Tyrion says.

We all quickly agree and start our walk around Bear Lake. It's obvious quickly who the couples are. Bear Lake has a well-established path around it, but it's usually two people side by side - which leaves me and Jon walking together. We both roll our eyes at all the happiness around us.

Jamie slips his hand up the back of Brienne's shirt to guide her around someone, and I almost gag.

"You look like you are about to hurl," Jon quietly teases.

"That obvious?" smiling back at him, I nudge him with my shoulder. He chuckles and puts his arm around me for a moment. He then frowns and pulls me back a little from the group before we keep walking.

"It didn't occur to me that you and Drogo broke up like five minutes ago. Is it hard for you to be around all this happiness and sappy crap?" Jon asks me seriously. He looks genuinely concerned.

Could he be any nicer?

I think it through before answering him, I want to be honest with him. "Drogo and I were together a few months, and things were never really right. If what we had was 'good' then I would just give up and go the convent now."

Jon chuckles and mumbles something along the lines of "That'd be a waste." We are walking again, we've fallen behind the group by a few yards so we can speak privately.

"You're sweet, thank you for that," I say as our eyes meet, for a moment I forget where I am. Am I imagining this? The way he looks at me...it feels...

Yes. It's your imagination. Get over yourself, Dany.

"My parents don’t have the best relationship," I say softly. "The most important advice my mom gave me was that it shouldn't be 'that' hard."

I see Jon's brow furrow as we walk along, but he is looking straight ahead.

I slip my hand in his to get his attention. He seems startled for a moment and then smiles at me, his grip on my hand tightening.

"I'm not doing a good job explaining this. My mom didn't mean that relationships should be all roses, believe me, my parents have had some serious issues deal with but... The problems between them had always been there. She wanted me to learn that dating, is just that... dating." I pull my hand away to nervously wring my hands, why am I telling Jon all of this? "I just realize that things with Drogo were hard from day one. But he had this way of pulling me back in, with his best behavior bullshit."

Jon frowns, and then he opens and closes his mouth as though he wanted to say something.

"So after all of that blabber...to answer your question, it's not hard hanging with you guys, happy couples and all. I accepted a while ago that Drogo was not the right guy for me. I just made the poor choice of staying as long as I did. But no, I don't feel sad or yearn for him. Or anything like that," I smile at him, "Hopefully that doesn't make me sound like a heartless bitch...since we broke up five minutes ago."

"Not at all, thank you for talking to me about that," Jon says seriously. I notice he is brooding again, something I’ve noticed he does often. "My parents...well, my mom died before I even turned one," I feel my stomach drop with sadness. He was just a baby, that's awful. I nod to show him I'm listening. "My dad remarried when I was really young, but I never felt a connection with his wife. Well...that’s a really long sad story. But that aside, I can admit they had a very solid marriage.”

I give him a sideways glance, he has a dark look on his face. This time I grab him, I give his hand a firm squeeze. He doesn't look at me, but I see a small smile on his face.

"What's your story with the now ex-girlfriend?" I ask cautiously, afraid I'm being too nosy. My worry washes away when Jon starts laughing.

"That bad?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Probably even worse than you're imagining!" Jon laughs.

"Worse than a belligerent drunk boyfriend that couldn't deliver 95% of the time because he'd blackout drunk, but then decides a public romp at a camp site is what he wants?" I scowl, remembering Drogo's pressure the night we broke up. Wait, did I just say that outloud?! Damn it, why did I just admit to Jon how pathetic my sex life was? What the hell is wrong with me?

Jon's eyes are dark for a moment and my cheeks flush. "Sorry, TMI," I mumble.

"Dany, you can tell me anything. Never feel like you have to hold back with me." He says firmly, and I believe him. I blush and nod.

Jon then tells me that his story is worse. He gets me up to speed with his ex, named Ygritte. I'm laughing hysterically as he explains her antics to get engaged.

"You have to be lying, or at least exaggerating," I say between peals of laughter. "She did not do that!" I actually have to stop to grab my side as I am getting cramps from laughing. At this point we are really far behind our group. Neither of us seem to care.

"Are you tired already? Do you need me to carry you?" Jon teases as he scoops me up and carries me. "I thought you would be in better shape."

I wrap my arms around his neck to steady myself. I’m immediately impressed at how very strong he is.

"I can walk, but I need to you stop exaggerating about Ygritte," I say. "She did not log in to your online checking account to figure out how much money you had available to spend on a diamond."

I can't even say it without laughing. That would be crazy!

"On my life, Dany! I didn't figure it out until the breakup argument," Jon explains. "She let it slip that she knew I wasn't serious about her ring because I had just spent $637.42 on a white water rafting trip. She knew the amount to the penny. You know, the same argument that it was somehow my fault that she cheated on me all weekend."

My mouth falls open. Ygritte makes Drogo look like a catch. "Wow," I say, "You deserve so much better, Jon."

"I think so, too," Jon stares directly at me, and I feel a pull in my stomach.

"Um, you can put me down now..." I say meekly.

"You sure?" Jon says seriously, staring at me.

I giggle, and nod yes.

He smiles and puts me down.

"Are you sure you're up for the hike to Lake Bierstadt? I was expecting you to have better stamina—"

"Shut the hell up, Jon," I snap and shove him.  I try to hide the smile on my face.

"I will only shut the hell up under one condition," he smiles.

"Which is...."

"You need to stay with us for the rest of the camping trip, and then I'll drive you home Wednesday morning," Jon says seriously, all joking forgotten.

I bite my lip. Can I stay? This isn't my trip, and these aren't really my friends. How could I not be infringing, but I want to stay.

"Are you sure?" I start. "I mean, what about..."

Jon pulls me in front of him, his hands holding my shoulders.

"Dany. Stop it. Look at me, I'm sure," he pleads. "I've already talked to the others, and everyone wants you here. Please stay."

I blush, feeling the heat on my chest as well.

"Okay, I'd love too!" I say happily.

Jon pulls me into his arms, lifting me up and squeezing me tightly. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. Suddenly our friendly hug feels like something different. I can't think of one time that Drogo held me, and made me feel this way.

Shit...I'm so screwed. Jon's hands slowly roam up and down my sides and I freeze. I wasn't expecting any of this. He puts me down, his cheeks red too.

"Um..." Jon starts.

"Come on guys, pick up the pace! Less laughter and more brisk walking, we can hear your girlie giggles all the way up here," Tyrion yells from ahead.

+++o+++

The hike to Lake Bierstadt was incredible, better than I imagined it would be. I'm entertained the entire way with the banter between Tyrion and Jamie. They are both hysterical. I notice that anywhere I go, Jon seems to gravitate towards me.

When we sit down on a huge boulder to eat lunch, everyone takes out different parts of the meal that they carried. Jon gets up and brings back a sandwich and apple for each of us, smiling as he sits down next to me.

"Listen guys, tonight I'll handle dinner and clean up. It's the least I can do," I say firmly. "I still feel bad I didn't contribute to food and drinks."

Everyone tells me not to worry, they had more than enough.

"Actually, I paid for a fourth of all the food and drinks, so actually I have already paid for you Dany. You can consider yourself my plus one. So no more feeling bad, not one second more," Jon insists.

Before I even think about it, I lean over and kiss Jon on cheek. Jon immediately blushes and lowers his eyes. I worry I’ve made him uncomfortable.

"Aw, how sweet!" the group cheers and teases us. I'm so embarrassed, I wasn't thinking when I did that.

We end up playing cards and relax during the break from hiking. When it's time to pack up the trash, I jump up to do it, Jon immediately gets up to follow me.

"Sit, Jon," I insist, "I've got this."

We need to pack up the trash and carry it out until we find a park trash bin, basically super heavy-duty trash cans that will not attract wildlife.

When I'm on the outskirts of the group, Brienne and Gilly pounce.

"Dany!" Brienne whispers. I smile at her and raise my brows.

Gilly grabs us both and pulls us further away from the group.

"We know that we shouldn't meddle, but we just have to put in a good word for Jon," Gilly takes the lead while Brienne nods in agreement.

"Oh Dany, he's an amazing guy. Forget about his beautiful face, which come on, we can all admit is amazing. More importantly, he is kind, sweet, loyal -and we think he's crazy about you."

I just smile and shrug. I'm not sure how I feel about Jon. I'm also not sure that I could ever handle being more than friends. I think about that girl at the shower - shit like that would drive me insane. I’m such a jealous person, I always have been. Even as a child my family would say I had the temperament of a fire breathing dragon.

"We should get back guys, it's getting late," I smile as the girls roll their eyes and tell me I'm no fun.

Yeah, I know.

+++o+++

By the time we take the shuttle back to our camp, my stomach is grumbling. Walking through the entrance and taking a break to use restroom and freshen up, I keep expecting that girl to pop out of the bushes and offer to have sex with Jon again. I shake my head, trying to push those thoughts away.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jon whispers, sneaking up on me.

I laugh, because there is no way in hell I'd admit what I was thinking about.

"Guys! There is a warning posted on the board about bad weather rolling in tonight. We better do an early dinner and be ready to go to our cars if needed," Sam calls out.

Jon and I immediately make eye contact. He walks closer and I turn to face him, ready to talk.

"You know, if you insist on sleeping under the stars and in the rain," Jon leans closer to me. "I will be forced to sleep out there too. Or you can sleep in my tent, we can even switch with Jamie so you and Brie—"

"Stop, I'm not that much of prude. I'm not going to separate a couple. I'll stay in your tent...with you. Thank you, Jon," I bite my lip nervously.

"Good," Jon smiles. Then leans down and whispers, "And I'm glad you're not a prude."

I giggle and smack him. He jumps back, laughing.

We all rush through dinner, hungry for cooked warm food. Everyone is so excited for our hike to Ouzel Falls tomorrow. I've never been to the waterfall. I practically make out with my corn on the cob because nothing beats campfire corn. I notice Jon watching me with his eyebrows raised, I am glad my messy devouring of food entertains him. I wink at him and keep eating. He licks his lips in jest, and I laugh.

As soon as we clean up, all the couples start yawning and stretching. Jon and I exchange a look. The couples all want alone time to fool around. So we all agree to take an hour break and then do s'mores by the fire, at least until the rain starts.

Jon leads me to his tent, which is not visible from the fire pit. I end up yawning while we walk.

"You gonna make it for s'more tonight, Dany?" he asks.

"I'll rally, you'll see," I wink at him.

My mouth falls open when I see Jon's tent.

"Wow! Your tent is huge," I say as we step into it. We both slip off our shoes at the entrance to avoid tracking in dirt.

"I'm actually a little claustrophobic," Jon confesses. "Plus I wanted to have room for Ghost to be comfortable. All the good it does me as my loyal dog enjoys sleeping outside and patrolling."

Jon clears his throat, nodding at the corner where he has one large sleeping pad that would fit two bags side by side.

"I only have the one pad, do you mind laying our bags next to each other?" he asks.

I nod in agreement. I know I'll sleep much better if my bag is on top of the pad. I laugh when I see Jon's sleeping bag up close.

"Hey, we have the same style bag, our bags can actually zip up to make one big bag," I blurt. I then think about what I just said and groan. One big sleeping bag…

He chuckles over my embarrassment when I process what I just said!

We end up laying on top of our sleeping bags and talking. The temperature is falling rapidly since the storm is coming. That's the funny thing about Colorado, you can wear shorts one day and have snow the next.

I'm smiling at Jon when I hear scratching and whining at Jon's tent door. He rolls his eyes and lets Ghost in, explaining that he’s noticed that his dog seems to love me most of all.

I laugh as Ghost snuggles right in between us.

"That's it, the dog has got to go!" Jon frowns, motioning to Ghost.

I smile and yawn. Jon tells me to close my eyes and rest. He'll wake me when it's time for s'mores.

+++o+++

**JON POV**

Damn, I'm so tired now, the cool weather is not helping. The temperature is dropping rapidly. I should have taken a nap when I had the chance, but watching Dany sleep was too tempting. I'm officially that guy - I'm completely whipped by this girl. If she were to say jump, I'd say how high. I thought I liked her before, but the more time I spend with her, the more I want her. Not only in a physical way; I know I want her in my life. I want her in every way.

I frown, remembering how dismissive she was when Melisandre basically threw herself at me. Dany didn't care in the least. She seemed to even find it funny, teasing me about all the girls that that chase me.

That's because she's not into you.

I also worry that we'll have this weekend, and then she will disappear. It's not like we are really friends, I don't even have her cell phone number.

"Earth to Jon, your turn!" Sam reminds me. All eyes are on me because we're playing Truth or Dare.

"Um, okay?" I ask.

"Do you pick truth or dare?" Jamie asks. I see the wicked gleam in his eyes.

Shit, so far I've been given simple dares by Sam and Gilly. I know Jamie and Tyrion will push the envelope and do something really embarrassing and it will probably involve Dany.

"Truth, be kind," I state.

"Jon, yes or no...are you currently crushing on someone?" Jamie smiles.

Asshole, that is not something I want to admit in front of everyone.

In front of Dany.

I roll my eyes and refuse to answer. Jamie chuckles and assigns me the job of putting away the folding chairs tonight. I smile and nod.

I steal a glance at Dany who is looking at the fire pit, looking completely uninterested. I frown.

My turn to deliver some torture. "Jamie, truth or dare?"

"Dare!"

"I dare you to go to Dickon's camp and steal their lanterns," I say.

Jamie smiles as he is always game. He succeeds and comes back with three lanterns. He sets them down carefully. They'll figure out it was us, and then come get them, or we will bring them back.

The games goes round and round. The girls are being nice to each other and giving each other decent dares. The boys, not so much.

Everyone laughs. The rules of the game are that you agree to some kind of grunt work assignment.

Suddenly, Ghost is on guard and standing at attention, alerting us someone is coming. Dickon lets us know it is him, and the dog runs over to greet him. Dickon and two of his friends came over to search for their lanterns. I remember that Dany hadn't joined us yet the afternoon we saw Dickon at his camp.

Sam introduces Dany to his little brother. I notice the way his friends' eyes slowly rake up and down her body. He whispers something in Dany's ear, and she laughs at him and rolls her eyes. He then smiles and shrugs. They stay a few more minutes and then say goodbye. The boys wave goodbye to Dany. Dickon mouths her an apology for his friend that has been hitting on her nonstop. I don't think Dany is going to be interested in a high school junior.

We need to keep the game going. It's obvious the rain will start soon. I ask Gilly if she wants Truth or Dare. She takes dare.

I dare her to stand behind Sam and give him a good shoulder and back massage for the rest of the game. Sam laughs and claps happily. She scowls, but I know she really doesn't mind. She is always loving to Sam and doing things like that without him asking.

"I know this game is ending soon. Alright, Dany. Truth or Dare?" Gilly asks.

"Dare, please," Dany replies.

Gilly smiles, sharing a look with Brienne who nods, encouraging her.

"I dare you to take Jon into his the tent for Seven Minutes in Heaven," she says matter-of-factly. As though she had just asked Dany to hop on one foot.

Damn it, Gilly!

My cheeks are red, and poor Dany looks mortified, but she nods and gets up.

"Are you coming?" she asks me quietly.

I nod and follow her, shooting Gilly a nasty look. I didn't want Dany to feel weird or uncomfortable. We quietly step into the tent, my palms sweating because I'm nervous. I quickly find my lantern and turn it on, and once the light is on, I notice Dany is wringing her hands.

I sit down on my sleeping bag I fumble with the lantern, putting the light down as Dany sits down on her sleeping bag.

I clear my throat. "Dany, don't worry about the dare, we can just hang out—" I begin.

Suddenly. Dany has her hands on my upper chest, and she's looking at my lips. She's kneeling in front of me. I'm stunned and gulp nervously.

"Only kissing, okay?" Dany whispers, her eyes searching mine.

"I'd like that," I whisper back, while gently touching the seam of her V-neck shirt with my fingertips.

Before I can think about anything else, she closes her eyes and kisses my lips softly. I feel a spark the moment our lips touch.

Her hands roam up my shoulders and go around my neck to pull me closer. I move my hands to her waist and hold her while we kiss. I desperately want more. Our knees touch as we lean into each other so our lips can meet. She means too much to me. She always has. I control my urges and don't push her. I don't want to pressure her in any way. My eyes are closed as I just feel the energy of her kisses. I feel as though I'm about to combust.

The kisses start out sweet and timid, we both smile at each other, and then I lean down to kiss her again. Our tongues slowly begin a dance, as we kiss gently.

I move my hands up and down her sides, enjoying the feel of her under my hands. I want to let my hands roam, but I will respect her request of only kissing. Dany has one arm around my shoulders, while her other hand gently tugs at the curls at the top of my neck. With each tug of my hair, I deepen the kiss and let a little more passion slip through.

I moan when she gently nips at my lower lip. Without thinking, I pull her into my lap so I can kiss her thoroughly.

"Is this okay?" I ask, my voice betraying how worked up I am.

"Yes, Jon," she says as she kisses me roughly in return. "Very okay," she whispers in my ear and then goes back to kiss my lips.

Our kisses are incredible, full of want and need. My lips are already sore. I've never in my life kissed someone in this way.

I want to devour her mouth and -

"Guys, time is up and it's starting to rain. Sorry! But we need your help," someone yells from a few yards away.

We both smile and then pull away from each other, both embarrassed. Even though we were just kissing, the feelings were intense.

+++o+++

The next ten minutes are a blur because everyone is running around and packing up the gear. Dany helps me do the folding chairs, even when I tell her not to worry. She rolls her eyes at me.

As we say goodnight, and all the couples go to their own tents, I ask Dany if she would like some drinks and snacks for our tent.

"Of course!" she says, laughing at me.

I grab the food I think we'd both like, plus a six-pack of beer. I see the other couples had the same idea.

I make it back into our tent right as the downpour begins, Dany has fixed the lantern and set it up by our sleeping bags. I suddenly feel nervous. I don't want to mess things up. I really like her, a lot. I know from experience that sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, especially when part of a dare. I can't assume anything.

"Cards?" I offer. Her face lights up as she nods.

"Can I get you a beer? " I ask. "Some food?"

We begin our card game of Rummy, and I think she may be slightly obsessed with this game. She really gets into it, getting peeved when I pick up a card from the deck that she wanted to build her set. Of course, this only encourages me to mock her more.

"I've been meaning to ask you, when all of this crap was going down with Drogo what were the other campers doing?" I ask, trying to mask the curiosity in my voice.

I know if I ever got grabby and belligerent with any female, my friends would knock some sense into me - literally, with their fists.

Dany scowls as a scoffs escapes her lips.

"Well, let's see," she starts. "Drogo's cousin is named Margaery, and she would never stick up for me. She avoids conflict at all costs, especially if would make her boyfriend upset. She's also Joffrey's girlfriend."

I note the way Dany' voice changes when she mentions Joffrey, and the way her shoulders tense.

"Joffrey was in your class, Exercise Physiology, last fall semester. He's blond, with an obnoxious face to match his obnoxious mouth," Dany spits.

I instantly remember the student she's describing, I was actually relieved Joffrey wasn't in any of my winter classes. He was one of the most unpleasant students I've ever had to deal with as a TA.

But if I'm honest, that's not the only reason I didn't like him. He was always leering at Dany in class. It was unnerving.

"Joffrey is Drogo's best friend and dating his cousin, so I was always stuck with him. The worst part was he was always after me," Dany says. "It was this sick fantasy of his that we have an affair, which made me want to swallow my own bile. I don't even think it had anything to do with me, it was something between him and Drogo. I even wondered if that was the only reason he is dating Margaery..." her voice trails off.

"What happened? There's more, right?" I push her, I need to know.

Dany takes a long sip of her beer and then sighs. "Joffrey is another reason I had to leave the camping group," she continues.

My stomach drops, if that asshole did anything...

"After Drogo cursed me out and dumped me, I started fixing my bag and gear. Everyone had retreated to go to sleep. I had no doubt Drogo had blacked out for the night." she sighs. "Joffrey came over, Margaery was sleeping in their tent, he really wanted to hook up by the fire pit. He told me that would be the best way for me to get back at Drogo - while his girlfriend was sleeping just yards away!

"I told him he disgusts me and I'd scream bloody murder if he even looked at me again," Dany says with a sneer. "And that I'd have to care about Drogo in the first place to want to get back at him."

Her eyes meet mine for the first time, and she seems upset.

"I barely slept that night, I was so freaked that Joffrey would do something to me while I was sleeping." She cringes at the memory.

"Dany, I'm sorry you had to deal with those jerks. They sound like a bunch of assholes," I say firmly. "I hope you know that you're safe here. I'd never let anyone hurt you."

Her eyes meet mine. She looks at me and it's as though she sees me. Everything about me, everything I work so hard to hide. All of my secrets, including my past I fight so desperately to overcome.

Dany reaches out to touch the side of my face, as my heart races a mile a minute. Her thumb gently traces my lower lip before resting on my cheek again.

"I know, I trust you, Jon," she whispers.

I think about kissing her. I really want to, but I hold myself back. She's just finished telling me how some bastard has been sexually harassing her. Now is not the time. I like her a lot, but I want to be a good friend to her as well.

Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder roars and we both jump, accidentally knocking my beer over and all over my shirt.

My freezing cold beer. “Crap!” I hiss while gasping. Dany’s eyes widen for a moment.

Suddenly, she tilts her head to the side, looking at my shirt. She lowers her fingers to trace the outline of the beer stain. My Adam's apple bobs as she touches me.

"You should probably change your shirt, before you catch a cold," she whispers. She's very observant. I fidget because I have never been very comfortable with nudity. I work out, but I still don’t enjoy walking around without a shirt on. Dany sees everything, I want to be open with her. I need to be.

"Yeah, I better. I’ll take this wet shirt off first?" my voice nervous.

Dany nods, her eyes watching me carefully. I pull my shirt off and fight my instincts to cover myself up.

Dany smiles, and I tense and close my eyes. I hate how uncomfortable I am. I think about Catelyn’s words growing up.

“Ugh, Jon. Put a shirt on, no one wants to see your pudgy stomach. Maybe if you’d stop eating us out of house and home you wouldn’t be so gross!”

"What is it?" Dany asks carefully.

"I don't invite many people to look at me," I stammer. "Any actually."

"I can't imagine why," she whispers quietly. "I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous, Jon. You must know that, right?"

I turn my face to look at her. I want her so badly. I gaze at her lips, and then meet her eyes.

"Um," I gulp with desire, while also filled with self doubt.

I hold still as her fingertips trace along my shoulder and then collarbone. When Dany meets my gaze, I can see that she is trying to understand why I feel this way. I control myself as I fight to keep from flinching under her gaze.

Moments pass and she just smiles kindly, her hands falling back on her lap. I realize she won't ask me. She'll let me keep my secrets. But I don't want that, not anymore. Not with her, at least.

"My stepmother, who is pretty much out of my life now, was not very nice to me when I was a child, ever really. She was this amazing person to everyone, but me. She could barely stand the sight of me. She really harped on my appearance when I was growing up. It’s just something that stuck with me, even when logically I know she had the problem. Not me. It was as though she needed to direct all of her rage somewhere... and that was me," I deadpan. Dany sits up and moves behind me to trace my back muscles, encouraging me to continue.

I tell her about my past. How my stepmother would insist it was for my own good. That I need to toughen up, and not be such a baby. How I'd been made to feel like I was not really part of the family and how Catelyn always hated me, and never let me forget it. All while Dany moves next to me in order to listen. She looks sad, but she remains calm. I see no judgement in her eyes.

It felt good to talk to someone about this - to tell her. I know I'm falling in love with her, which terrifies me. I have no idea how she really feels about me.

Dany moves to sit behind me again, resting her chin on my shoulder as she breathes in and out, as though to calm herself. She wraps her arms around my waist, she leans down to kiss my shoulder. I almost burst, I've never felt as loved as I do in that moment.

"Dany," I croak, as I fight to not break down.

"Thank you for trusting me, I know that wasn't easy for you to talk about," she murmurs. "I promise I will never reveal what you’ve told me."

"I believe you, Dany. I trust you." I say with confidence, turning to face her.

She smiles at me, her eyes shining brightly. Her eyes showing me that she does care about me. My eyes settle on her lips, as our earlier kiss flashes through my mind. I'm desperate to kiss her again.

"Dany, do you think—" I ask quietly before being interrupted.

There is a huge gust of wind, and a small tree branch hits the side of our tent, startling us both. I quickly slip on a new shirt.

We both laugh, Dany wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. I frown, as I notice she's freezing. I hand her my sweater I had been wearing earlier and smile.

"Are you sure?" she raises her eyebrows.

I nod and smile. Dany slips it on and then pulls it up to her nose to smell it. Does she think it will stink?

"Hey now!" I chastise her, while laughing. Her mouth drops open and her cheeks get red.

"I like that it smells like you, I was just checking," she admits and then bites her lower lip.

We hear the rain droplets pounding on the tent as it sways in the wind. I'm really glad I was very careful in staking it to the ground. We will be fine.

"I'm really glad to be in a tent tonight!" Dany laughs and smiles at me.

"I'm really glad you decided to stay for the whole trip. I'm really enjoying getting to know you better," I say.

"Me too, Jon. Me too." Dany smiles.

+++o+++

It is absolutely freezing in this tent. I'm cursing myself for not packing a few of my heat packs. Activating and then tossing them in our sleeping bags would have been a huge help right now. Before bed, both Dany and I dress in layers, and she is even wearing a pair of my sweatpants over her clothing.

We turned the lantern off twenty minutes ago, each of us in our own sleeping bags that are side by side. Every time I hear Dany fidget with cold, I feel a pang. I ache to take care of her, but I'd never suggest we snuggle to warm up.

"Dany, I actually hear your teeth chattering," I whisper.

"I'm glad you're awake. I may be dying I'm so cold," she jokes as her teeth continue to chatter.

"Jon, we're both wearing a lot of layers and still cold. If we attach our sleeping bags and lie side by side we will at least be sharing body heat...if it's ok with you..." her voice trails off.

"I'm glad you said it! I was thinking the same exact thing, but I didn't want to seem creepy," I mumble.

"So I'm creepy now?" she asks.

I can tell she's teasing, so I laugh. We quickly turn on the lantern and reconfigure our bedding. We unzip both sleeping bags and lay one flat. Then we take the second and lay it over, zipping them together on the three sides, leaving the top open so we can slip in together.

Dany and I are lying side by side, and I'm the most nervous I have ever been. My heart is beating a mile a minute.

"Goodnight, Jon," she whispers.

"Goodnight, Dany," I whisper back.

++o+ Chapter End +o++

Read next chapter here: (Ch4)

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fanfiction #jonerys ff #jonerys fics #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #GoT #camping

[ladybloo]

Harry!!! On Ice, the Reprise

So months and months ago around when I first watched Yuri!!! On Ice I got really into the fanfic type where crossover adoptions happen. And since Harry definitely could of used some parental love during his childhood, he becomes the adopted kid of Victuuri. A lot of the original head-canons can be read here. @cinnappo helped out a lot with the initial stuff and got me really into it too!

Flash back to the present, I notice some comments on the original post, and I was honestly surprised it managed to break 100 notes, but I figure if people like it, then that’s enough to motivate me to do more!

So here is Part 1 of how I think the adoption and life of Harry Potter goes with Victor and Yuuri. 

Harry!!! On Ice (working title)

Synopsis: Harry Potter is adopted by Victuuri (Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki)

(Part 1) Before Hogwarts and adoption

Victor and Yuuri are visiting England, potentially taking a brief break between seasons to visit and sight see. Inevitably they come across a skating rink.

The Dursley family is at the rink because a classmate of Harry and Dudley’s invited ALL of their class to the rink for their birthday party. The Dursley’s were not able to foist Harry off to the crazy cat lady neighbour, nor to Vernon’s sister. Plus it would look odd if Dudley went and Harry did not (Dudley complained, no one was happy)

At one point Dudley ends up complaining because he fell one too many times (…so…once) and thus Vernon and Petunia take him to the cafeteria to get ice cream. ((added point- Vernon was probably not too bothered by ice skating because Hockey is a MAN sport))

Little Harry is left by himself, with maybe a concerned parent or official helper dude around the rink asking if he’s okay.He mostly shies away, but determinedly keeps doing his best.

Enter the Nikiforov and Katsuki

Victor and Yuuri notice a little boy who is so small trying his absolute best to skate around the rink. Of course they look around and no one seems to be really looking out for the boy, and for someone his age and obviously very new to the ice, there should be Someone keeping an eye on him. But bar some quick concerned or curious glances, no one really looks twice at the kid.

One moment Harry is alone and doing his best not to fall down again, the next suddenly to adults are beside him, wearing friendly and warm smiles. Now, Harry has heard all about stranger danger in classroom by teachers, and once from Aunt Petunia (and he’d unfortunately never forget Aunt Marge who threatened bad and strange little boys got taken away by terrible men)- however he is in a public space and they seem so friendly and nice (he doesn’t get nice very much these days).

Yuuri and Victor introduce themselves to little Harry, and ask where his parents are-

“They died.”

“…oh…”

When they ask where his guardians are, he points towards where his aunt, uncle and cousin are. Victuuri are then introduced to the sight that is Dudley scoffing down a large ice cream, hot dog and can of fizzy juice, Petunia sneering down at her cheap ice rink tea but smiling and wiping at her precious ‘Dudders’ face, and finally Vernon cheering his son on as he’s a growing boy, going to be just like his dad. What they take not off however out of all of this, is their complete lack of concern for their missing child, who is presumably the boy next to them.

For now however, Harry seems quite content on the ice, and his supposed family don’t show any concern. So instead of leaving the boy to it, Viktor and Yuuri offer to help Harry skate, would he like that?

“Yes please.”

SO. Victuuri keep company with Harry, going around the rink and helping him out and time just flies by. They get small bits and pieces from Harry as he grows more comfortable with the two men. Then it all unfortunately comes to an end. Vernon can be heard, yelling ‘BOY! Where are you!’, causing Harry’s head to snap up alarmingly fast.

((I’m not quite sure what happens in between, Perhaps Yuuri and Victor go and introduce themselves to the Dursley’s? Maybe they ask if they’ve thought about putting Harry into classes, because in their opinion he has some potential and talent? I don’t quite know, but either way Victuuri watch as Harry leaves with his family, and they are left with a bitter taste in their mouths and their insides clenching with worry.))

The Dursley’s aren’t happy with Harry talking to Victor and Yuuri (and I’m fairly certain Vernon would have some extra choice words, especially after seeing the matching golden rings on their hands), and make sure to ground him and so on- the usual Harry is unfortunately familiar with. But as he curls up to sleep that night, he can’t help but remember the warmth he felt despite the chill of the room when Victor and Yuuri skated with him, endlessly patient and kind. Little Harry falls asleep that night and wishes.

((This is where somehow Harry meets Victuuri again and they keep up steady communication whilst they are in England. I can’t say what yet, however I am swaying towards either Victor maybe offering skating lessons to both kids (dudley only going cause vernon thinks it could get him on hockey path who knows), or magic from Harry somehow brings them together again, who knows?? I certainly don’t!))

Eventually their stay in England is coming to an end, and everyone is heartbroken about it. Harry is so upset, and Victuuri have fallen in love with the kid who seems to have taken to ice skating and also with them. They also know enough (but not all) of the kid’s home life and they think ‘we could do better’. And that pretty much how Victor and Yuuri both decide that they want Harry to be their kid.

Harry cries because he doesn’t want Victor and Yuuri to leave. They care about him so much but they are leaving and he’s going to be alone again with nothing but disdain and neglect. Harry doesn’t want them to go.

Insert Victor and Yuuri jumping through various internet searches and appointments with officials on how to adopt a child, especially on how to adopt a child and take them back home abroad.

A/N Honestly I’d love for the Dursley’s to be arrested for child neglect and so on, but I have a feeling the magicals would keep butting in somehow if such a big fuss occurred. For instance, perhaps in the past Harry was taken by social services, only to be returned later due to the work of some memory charms being applied liberally. Granted, with this being set in a modern AU, social media would definitely beat the magicals hands down, especially with news like ‘Top Figure Skating Couple, Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki Press Charges For Neglected Boy During England Holiday’. But I kind of want to do a Matilda sort of route with this, where the Dursley’s freely give Harry to Yuuri and Victor (with maybe just a little bit of threatening or pressure from Victor, showing them just how far they’ll go to gain custody of Harry. Social media is a weapon Victor is very skilled with after all, not to mention the other friends they have. Obviously there are still various forms to fill out, and they’d definitely more than likely have to rearrange stuff about (i think i read something about staying 10 weeks in total with kid before adoption?) but they’d work it out somehow.

Both Victor and Yuuri tell Harry they have some, hopefully, good news. Harry asks if they are staying.

“I’m sorry Harry, but we can’t stay here in England with you.”

“…but if you want, we’d like for you to come home with us.”

Cue happy crying.

A lot of crying, and hugging.

A/N For concerns about the whole ‘blood wards’, I think Harry would be okay. He’d be taken to either Russia or back to Japan to meet the Katsuki family, and since Voldemort was more of a UK threat when he popped up, I doubt the rest of the world had much concern over him, especially if supposedly a child killed him, so they wouldn’t be too starry eyed over the ‘boy who lived’, or even at all. Kids wouldn’t have grown up with him as their bedtime stories, nor would they have bought (grossly inaccurate) books that claim what happened that night. Magicals wouldn’t really look twice at the kid for the time being, other than him being the newly adopted kid of figure skating celebrities. So with his scar covered by his hair and outfitted in some new attire with a new passport, Harry makes his way safely out of England and the UK entirely.

SPEAKING OF SOCIAL MEDIA AND CELEBRITIES, Harry is more than likely first introduced to Japan where he can settle in with brand new grandparents and a new, much more nicer and pleasant auntie in Hasetsu. Hasetsu is also much more relaxed, the perfect place to get Harry more used to a life with his new loving parents and all that comes with them (although they eventually return to Russia and harry is introduced to the life of being in the media’s eye because he has two amazing dads).

#harry!!! on ice #harry on ice #yoi #yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #harry potter #ladybloo #tags are hard #victuuri