#because fruity things almost always have orange hiding in them

[windwardstar]

anyway gotta love missing the big ORANGE on the front of the carton and it being the very first ingredient when you check the juice carton to make sure it doesn't have oranges

then realizing it and having to scrap that idea

and then grabbing a different juice drink you also checked the label for (and being correct in it not saying anything about oranges)

but then that juice drink has generic "natural flavors" and "fruit juices" for color and flavor and suprise! they include orange because your mouth and lungs are now full of mucus!

#this is why i can't have nice things #because fruity things almost always have orange hiding in them #and savory has garlic and onion

[waitimcomingtoo]

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: when the Avengers notice signs of Peter having a girlfriend, they suspect he’s not as innocent as he seems

Masterlist

“Hey Pete the treat.” Tony greeted Peter as he passed him in the hallway. “Have you seen my screwdriver with the orange handle?”

“Oh, yeah.” Peter remembered. “I used it to fix my web shooters. It’s on my desk in my room.”

“Mind if I grab it?”

“Would you listen if I said no?” Peter asked, assuming he knew the answer?

“Nope.” Tony smiled at how well Peter knew him. “I’ll go get it.”

Tony waltzed into Peters room and went straight to his desk, rummaging through the papers and sketches he had strewn about.

“Now where are you hiding?” Tony drummed his fingers on his chin as he looked around Peters desk. He opened the top drawer and found nothing, so he opened the next drawer and began to rummage around. After moving a notebook to the side, Tony found an unopened box of condoms among Peters things.

“Hm.” Tony furrowed his eyebrows at the surprising find. “Well it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He put it down and continued searching through the draw before the box caught his eye again.

“Value pack?” Tony read off the box. “Jesus.”

He shut the drawer and found the screwdriver in the next drawer, mindlessly tucking it into his pocket. As he left Peters room, the box stayed in his mind. He walked into the living room and found the rest of the Avengers chatting.

“What do you guys think about Peter?” Tony wondered as he toyed with the screwdriver.

“I don’t think about Peter.” Sam deadpanned.

“He seems lonely, no?” Tony shrugged. “He could use a companion of the female variety.”

“We should set him up.” Steve suggested. “He could use someone.”

“I don’t know.” Nat scrunched her nose. “He seems too young to be dating.”

“He’s in college now. It’s about time he gets a girlfriend.” Tony decided. “I had dozens by the time I was his age.”

“Are we even sure he likes girls?” Rhodey asked.

“He complimented my hair color once.” Nat shrugged.

“There we go.” Tony nodded, getting excited now.

“What are you guys talking about?” Bucky asked quietly as he entered the room.

“We want to set Peter up on a date.” Steve told him.

“Parker? I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend.” Bucky said, making everyone look at him.

“What?” Tony asked. “No way.”

“Yeah. My room is next to his.” He shrugged. “He’s on the phone all night almost every night.”

“What?” Nat laughed in surprise. “With who?”

“Someone named Y/n I’m pretty sure.” Bucky went on. “I hear her name a lot.”

“Y/n.” Tony rolled it around his mind. “Interesting. I have to know more.”

“I think if Peter wanted us to know more, he’d tell us.” Nat clicked her tongue.

“And I think I don’t care.” Tony retorted. “I’m gonna find out more.”

That night, Tony sat in the dark as he waited for Peter to come home. He heard the elevator coming up and shivered with excitement at the incoming confrontation.

“Hey, Parker.” Tony dramatically turned on the light once Peter walked in the room, making Peter jump.

“Hi Mr. Stark.” Peter stammered as he took off his coat.

“Are you just getting back?” Tony asked coyly.

“Yeah, I was out with my…friend.” Peter shifted his eyes at the mention of you.

“Oh really?” Tony feigned a gasp. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Y/n.” Peter said casually. “I was with her.”

“So I see.” Tony nodded. “Is she from school?”

“Yeah. She’s in my organic chemistry class.”

“So one might say you two have…chemistry?” Tony shrugged as he walked closer to Peter.

“Anyone with our schedules would say that.” Peter laughed nervously.

“Whats she like?” Tony persisted. “Is she pretty?”

“She’s great.” Peter smiled. “She can talk circles around me about just about anything. I don’t even know why we’re in the same class. She’s so much smarter than everyone in the room, even the professor. She’s just...she’s great.”

“So I hear.” Tony smirked. Peter completely avoided the “pretty” question, and that told Tony everything he needed to know.

“Hear?” Peter asked curiously. “What did you hear?”

“Thin walls, buddy.” Tony knocked on the wall. “Bucky told us all about your late night phone calls with your lady friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Peters face heated up. “I’ll be quieter.”

“You don’t have to be quieter.” Tony told him. “Bucky doesn’t deserve a peaceful nights sleep.”

“Why do you say that?” Peter asked.

“Because he murdered my parents. Night!” Tony threw up a peace sign before leaving the room. Peters jaw dropped a little before shutting. He quickly pulled out his phone and clicked on your contact.

“I think Mr. Stark is onto us” He texted you.

“Good. He can pay for our wedding 👀” You wrote, making him smile. He put his phone away and went to bed himself.

~

A few weeks later, Tony needed the screwdriver again and had an idea of where he could find it.

“Hey Pete. Did you use the screwdriver again?” Tony asked when he found Peter in the hallway.

“Yeah. It should be in the same place.” Peter informed him.

“Thanks.” Tony nodded and went into Peters room. He went to the desk, expecting to find the screwdriver in the same drawer it was in last time. When he didn’t find it there, he opened the drawer above it. Right on top of a pile of notebooks was the box from last time.

“I shouldn’t.” Tony sighed and chewed his lip. “But I’m feeling snoopy.”

Tony picked up the box and to his surprise, it was significantly lighter. Tony opened it up and peered inside, only to see it was nearly empty.

“Who did this to you?” Tony gasped. “Who took your goodies?”

Elsewhere in the tower, Peter was heading back to his room when he crashed into Natasha.

“Oh, sorry.” Peter apologized as he caught her before he could knock her over.

“It’s fine.” Natasha assured him, sniffing the air a little. “Why do you smell so good?”

“Hygiene is very important to me.” Peter straightened his shoulders to solidify his lie.

“Yeah, but,” she sniffed him again, “you smell fruity.”

“I’m a fruity boy.” Peter stated, regretting it immediately.

“Oh.” Natasha backed away a little, giving him a strange look.

“Not that kind of fruity.” Peter stammered. “I have to go.”

Just as Peter scurried away, Sam walked into the hallway.

“Am I crazy or did Peter smell like perfume?” Natasha pointed behind him.

“I don’t care.” Sam mumbled as he walked by.

“Romanoff.” Tony rounded the corner after leaving Peters room. “I think the Manchurian Candidiate was right. I think Peter has a girlfriend.”

“I think so too.” Natasha nodded. “He smelled like perfume just now.”

As Tony and Natasha exchanged evidence, Sam passed by Peters room just as he was going inside.

“Hey Sam.” Peter greeted before he shut his door.

“Don’t talk to me, Parker.” Sam mumbled without looking up.

“Sorry.” Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes, making Sam briefly look up.

“What’s that?” Sam narrowed his eyes when he spotted something peeking out over Peters collar.

“Whats what?” Peter asked as he pulled away.

“On your neck.” Sam caught his collar and pulled it down. “Is that a hickey?”

“No.” Peter said quickly as he covered his neck with his hand. “I burnt my neck with my curling iron.”

“Oh, okay.” Sam was satisfied with the answer. “Wait, what?”

“Bye Sam!” Peter stammered as he quickly shut the door.

~

Tony’s plans to interrogate Peter about his love life the following day were halted when he found Peters room empty. A quick check in with Friday showed Peter leaving earlier that morning with a few presents in hand. Tony sighed and went on with day, anxiously waiting for Peter to come home to get more information.

“Another late night.” Tony announced his presence as he flicked on the light. It wasn’t until after midnight that Peter had come back, so Tony waited him out in the living room.

“Oh, hi Mr. Stark.” Peter waved awkwardly, not having expected anyone to be there.

“Were you with Y/n again?” Tony asked casually.

“Yeah.” Peter smiled shyly as he shed his jacket. “It’s her birthday so I spent the day with her.”

“How come I never see her here?” Tony proceeded with caution, not wanting to overstep.

“She lives kinda far.” Peter shrugged. “That’s why we talk on the phone so much. I don’t want her driving all the way out here and she doesn’t want me swinging at night.”

“She knows?” Tony raised an eyebrow, not realizing they were at that level yet.

“Yes. But I only told her because I trust her.” Peter quickly assured him. “She won’t tell anyone. She promised me.”

“Oh, I’m not mad.” Tony smirked. “Trust is good. Especially in relationships, so I hear.”

“Yeah.” Peter smiled at the thought of you. “It’s good. We’re really good.”

“Have you told her you loved her yet?” Tony jumped to the point, taking Peter by surprise. “Because that smile on your face says you do.”

“I have.” Peter admitted as his face flushed. “And she told me she loves me too.”

“Aw.” Tony couldn’t help but smile at his protégé being in love. He was so moved that he took out one of his business cards and scribbled something on the back of it.

“Here.” He handed it to Peter. “Don’t abuse it.”

“Whats this?” Peter curiously looked at the number Tony had written in the card.

“It’s the number for my personal driver. One of them.” He corrected himself. “I always forget who I employ so I have about 18. This one makes unforgettable coffee cake, though.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark.” Peter smiled in appreciation. “But why are you giving this to me?”

“So you and Y/n can see each other.” Tony said simply. “And so more people can experience this coffee cake.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate this.” Peter said softly, knowing Tony wasn’t much for displays of affection.

“Don’t mention it.” Tony brushed it off. “Really, don’t. I don’t have enough personal drivers for everyone. I mean, I probably do, but I’m not known to share.”

“I won’t tell.” Peter nodded. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

Tony have Peter a fond smile before nodding as well.

“Night kid.”

~

“Mails here.” Tony announced the following morning as the team sat around the kitchen table.

“Thanks for bringing it in.” Steve reached for an envelope addressed to him. “Who delivered it today? Was it Michelle or Rodney?”

“Michelle.” Tony concurred.

“Oh, nice.” Steve smiled. “I like her. She’s always friendly to me.”

“Yeah. Nice girl. Nice name too.” Tony put the plan into action. “That was the name of the first girl I ever kissed.”

“I remember my first kiss.” Steve recalled. “It was at a school dance when I was in high school. I bought her a milkshake after and she never spoke to me again.”

“What about you, Peter?” Natasha asked causally. “Have you had your first kiss?”

“Um, yeah.” Peter chuckled like it was obvious.

“With who?” Steve asked curiously, and the rest of the team leaned in to hear the answer.

“Um, my girlfriend.” Peter flushed a deep red as he avoided eye contact with the group. Everyone collectively let out a gasp at the news, making Peter flush even deeper. He looked up to a table full of dropped jaws and wide eyes and felt his ears turn red.

“Isn’t it neat?” Tony tried to take the attention off Peter. “The innocence of young love.”

“Yeah. Innocence.” Sam narrowed his eyes at Peter as the hickey on his neck suddenly made sense.

“When can we meet her?” Nat asked, and everyone nodded softly. Peter looked around in surprise, not having expected everyone to care as much as they did.

“You want to meet her?” He asked with a small smile.

“Of course.” Tony shrugged. “You’re on our team and if she’s your girlfriend-“

“She’s on our team too.” Sam concluded with a gentle nod. Everyone nodded in agreement, making Peters heart swell in appreciation.

“She was gonna come over so I could swing her around the city.” Peter told them. “I could ask her to come up and say hello.”

“I think you should.” Natasha encouraged. Peters lips twitched into a smile as he pulled out his phone to tell you to come up. Within a few minutes, you were coming up the elevator and Peters heart was pounding in his chest. He met you at the elevator and escorted you to the rest of the Avengers, his hand holding yours.

“Hi.” You smiled shyly as you met the team. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Steve said politely. “I’m-“

“Steve, right?” You smiled a little. “Um, Peter talks about you guys all the time. You’re also a little famous.” You chuckled, and everyone laughed as well, breaking the ice.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” Steve smiled back at you. “So you’re the girlfriend? I can’t say Peter has told us that much about you.”

Peter looked at you anxiously, hoping you wouldn’t take that the wrong way.

“It’s okay.” You laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “We agreed to keep it on the down low. Plus, I doubt there’s anything about me that could impress the Avengers.”

“That’s not true.” Peter cut in as he twirled your hair around his finger. “You’re very impressive.”

“Tell us more.” Nat smiled as she leaned on her hand. Everyone watched you and Peters display of affection with childlike wonder, a collective peace settling in the room as they watched the baby of the team experience happiness.

“Y/n volunteers as a candy striper at the children’s hospital a few blocks from here. When she’s not with me, she’s there.” Peter bragged about you. “And she’s a lifeguard in the summers, CPR certified, valedictorian of her class, organ donor-“

“These are not impressive things.” You laughed as you cut him off.

“Yes they are.” Peter insisted. “She can make the worlds best brownies, her ponytails are always perfect on the first try, she can parallel park, she-“

“She sounds amazing.” Tony cut him off as he smiled at you. “And we’re very happy to finally meet her.”

“I just can’t believe the guy who watches Dance Moms in the living room with no shame actually has a girlfriend.” Sam snorted. “And a normal one too.”

“Why is it so surprising?” You wondered as you leaned on Peter arm.

“Because he’s so innocent.” Sam shrugged. “I doubted he ever even held a girls hand.”

“Wait, you thought Peter was innocent?” You laughed abruptly. “He literally webbed me to the headboard last night and-“

“Ah ah ah.” Peter quickly cut you off. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“I think she should say them.” Bucky chuckled as he sipped his coffee.

“One time, he used his-“

“Well, Y/n and I really need to get going.” Peter cut you off and quickly ushered you to the door. “We won’t be out late.”

“It was nice meeting you all.” You called as Peter pulled you out the door.

“Nice meeting you too.” Tony yelled back. He and the team exchanged knowing looks, a collective happiness for Peter settling among them.

Tag List 🏷

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #avengers x you

[peanutpinet]

Yuta as a cold yet soft mafia boss

Prompt: 99) “You think prison is the worst place you could go? You pull some shit like that again and I’ll have you thrown in places that’ll make prison seem like a wet fucking dream.” from 100 Dialogue Prompts for Mob Boss AU

A/N: just like the Jeno fic, I've always wanted to do a Yuta fanfic and it wasn't until I saw this writing prompt that I'm like, this feels like something Yuta would say.

Warnings: probably some cursing since it's Yuta XD

Now, we all know how cold and scary Yuta looks when in fact he's a big softie. Which is probably one of the reasons why you fall for him; because of how soft whipped he is with you and the rest of NCT.

Like the boy is very much whipped for you that he would even have time to ask you 'have you eaten', 'what are you up to' while being on a mission. The boys also like to tease him about it, even WayV (who we all know are slightly terrified of him)

Would definitely take you out on a date every now and then if he can. A/N: Kay, hold up, we're getting a bit ahead. I forgot to tell you how y'all met XD

So, it was a school night (well, you're in college); and you were quite stress with your final assignment that you decided to go to the nearest convenience store to grab some coffee and snacks to pull an all-nighter.

You wore an oversize hoodie and some sweats (cause comfort is key) and was walking through the snack aisle, about to grab (your favourite snack) when another hand was about to reach for it (ehem, Yuta, ehem)

Despite wanting to grab the snack, you insist the tall, handsome man to have it instead (even if you were wondering how a guy like him like your fave snack). But the man insist you take the snack; which led to the both of you having a little debate and eventually the man took the snack, paid for it but gave it to you, saying that you needed it more

"Take it. Finals are tough and you need the little boost to keep you going. Also, don't worry so much about the result. What matters is you did your best, mkay? See you around kid" the man lectured, giving you a slight smile before leaving with his own coffee

After he left, it took you a while to process what just happened before going back to your dorm and continue your final assignment

But oh how the universe like to bring people together ;)

It was right after your finals and you and your friends decided to have some drink at a nearby bar since you guys were curious and have never experienced the bar aura.

You weren't much of a drinker despite your amazing tolerance in alcohol so you were rather confused what to order until a familiar sound came.

"She'll have the orange-mango crush" a familiar voice stated

Turning around, you saw the same man you bumped into at the convenience store almost 2 weeks ago but this time, he looked way more put together and even wore a suit. Lowkey, your mind was starting to wander around and thinking whether there was going to be a fight or some sort or if this was that typical mafia story you secretly read.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to come to a bar on a school night. You done with your finals kid?" the man asked

"I, uhh, yea. Wait!! What do you mean the type to come to a bar?" you stuttered; not aware that your friends were staring at the both of you

"Don't worry, I don't mean it like it's a bad thing. People do what they want. Who am I to judge. Anyways, you ladies enjoy your night. If there's any problem, don't hesitate to let me, the bartender or the guards know. Also, the drink is on the house" the man winked at you and your friends, giving a slight wave before leaving

Cue your friends immediately plastering you with all sorts of question. Wondering how you met a handsome hunk in the midst of your finals. Not to mention, that handsome hunk even remembers you. Cue you becoming a blushing mess; especially after the bartender came with the drink the man requested for you.

Though you were worried that the drink was spiked, you gave a little sip and it was all fruity and delicious. Mental note to yourself: not only is he good-looking, kind but also has good taste in food; great, just great.

The rest of the night went fairly nice. You and your friends were sipping on your drinks, having a nice chit-chat bout life in general, catching up since you guys were not in the same classes. Once the clock hit 1 am, you figured that it was time to head back to your dorm.

Since you decided to wait for your friends who were calling an uber to head back to their homes since they live near your college. Whilst waiting, you told your friends that you were going to go to the bathroom for a bit.

Right when you came out of the bathroom, a random man tried to hit on you and it made you very uncomfortable that you eventually hit the wall behind you. But luckily, a certain someone came and save the day ;)

"Oi. Hands off the girl. Looks like someone is new to my bar since I don't accept any sort of make-out if there's no consent between two parties. Scram before I make you" your saviour growled, making the man leave you alone

"Are you alright?" the man asked while you were catching your breath

"Yeah. Yea, I am. Thank you again. Uh..." you mumbled

"What is it? Are you sure you're alright?" the man questioned, worried in his tone

"It's just, you've basically helped me twice and I still have yet to know your name" you chuckled, making the man chuckle as well

"If that's really what you want. I'm Yuta" the man called Yuta chuckled

"Thank you, Yuta. I appreciate it" you thanked him, giving him a genuine smile; not knowing what that smile does to Yuta's heart

And folks, that was just the beginning of your relationship. Ever since that night, Yuta made it his goal to get to know you more before actually asking you in a relationship; which, when the time came and Yuta asked you, without thinking twice, you said yes.

Throughout your relationship, Yuta was pretty blunt in telling you what he does as a living and mentioned that while he may live a dangerous life, he still had morals and his job was actually putting down all the bad people hiding in the shadows.

Despite all, you trusted Yuta and he also trusted you. You still had your freedom and was allowed to go wherever with whoever you wanted as long as you told Yuta beforehand. Even throughout your near one year anniversary, both of you knew each other's friend group and you even get to see how soft Yuta was when it comes to his mates.

However, all those sweet moments you both felt like a dream the second Yuta heard news that you were captured by some lowlife gang that NCT made go broke. Hearing the news, it was only a matter of minutes before the whole NCT used their network to find you and create a well thought out plan to get you back.

Once Yuta got you back, he made sure you were alright whilst the other members lock the gang up in their basement. Yuta made sure that you had no injuries; which, if you do, he would tend them himself and if he can't then he'll have someone come but stay by you until you were alright or, until you fell asleep.

After tucking you into bed and making sure you were fast asleep. Yuta peck your forehead for a moment before quietly sneaking off the bed and out of his room, going down to the basement and confronting the gang with some of the other members.

“You think prison is the worst place you could go? You pull some shit like that again and I’ll have you thrown in places that’ll make prison seem like a wet fucking dream. Now, which one of you nutjobs came up with the idea in the first place?!" Yuta growled, smirking once he saw the gang cower in fear

A/N: hope you guys enjoy this Yuta fic that came out of nowhere XD and hope you all stay safe and healthy :) xoxo

#nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct yuta #nct 127 yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct yuta scenarios #nct yuta imagines #nct u #nct u scenarios #nct u imagines #nct u yuta #yuta nakamoto scenarios #yuta nakamoto x reader #yuta nakamoto imagines #nct yuta nakamoto #nct mafia #nct mafia fic #nct mafia au

[the-darklings]

╱ together.

pairing: jean & v, implied other v ships

verse: coa, alt post-ch19 timeline

word count: 4.8k

prompt: “We’ll lose.” - “Then we’ll do that together, too.”

notes: so this is a speculative piece looking at how jean might have fit into coa verse & how him and clara v could have fit together. dedicated to that one anon who asked more of them, thank you very much for making my day! 🌿 ✨

“Well, well. Out here all by yourself and in the dark?” a smooth, accented voice calls out and your shoulders jolt, stiff with disuse, your head tipping towards the approaching figure of a man. “Have you been doing much brooding, chérie?”

Jean’s tall, graceful frame casts a shadow across the decking of the penthouse terrace as he saunters closer and you bite back a grin. With the cover of darkness as his partner, he’s a panther, a predator, out for a casual hunt in the shadows. Tonight, his prey is you. But he knows better than that. You both do.

The Frenchman halts beside you and takes a seat on your right without waiting for an invitation. This time a roll of your eyes follows his innate show of arrogance but you don’t impede him. Allow him space next to you which is a privilege very few have ever been granted.

It’s dark up here. Quiet. You didn’t bother with any lights aside from the automatic pool ones. Wind whistles gently across the tranquil surface, causing a ripple to shift across the previously calm body of water. Faintly—from the direction Jean had just come from—you can still hear the rest of your family inside the apartment.

The final touches are being added and prep is being made. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow will either spell the beginning of your victory or utter defeat. One of these scenarios ends with all of you dead, if not worse.

“And here you are bothering me in my final moments of peace,” you note dully.

The man beside you stretches his legs out, inclining back in the comfortable outdoors chair leisurely. Plush and Italian made—as if Santino would ever clad his home in anything that wasn’t authentic or expensive. A taste for finer things in life is something Jean and Santino share in common. Though you’ve long since learned that Jean’s appetite comes from a different place; a place you could always relate to, much to the Italian’s chagrin.

Wind plays with your loose hair—a rare occasion when it’s not pulled out of reach—and it leaves you breathing calmly, counting the thuds of your own heart. It’s not frantic this time though. You savour every beat of your heart now. Relish the moments you still have. However few of those there are still left.

Jean shifts beside you, pulling something out of his pocket and you glance at him briefly. The dark grey of his expensive wool jumper almost makes him blend in with the night, but the icy blue of his eyes stands out with the pool lights reflecting in them. If anything, it makes his attention feel even more intent. Honed.

“Can’t a man enjoy a smoke anymore?” he wonders innocently, a touch of sarcasm clear, and places an unlit cigarette between his lips, lighting it with expert ease a moment later.

He takes a long drag before pulling it away from his mouth and you watch his profile as he exhales slowly, savouring the moment, his head tilting towards the vast sky above you.

Using his momentary distraction, you reach forward, pinching the cigarette between your fingers and placing it between your lips instead. Jean doesn’t offer much resistance. As usual, he only looks mildly amused by your antics, a brief smirk appearing before it’s gone.

“Still greedy.”

Your lips twitch at that, too. “Some things don’t change.”

You inhale deeply, feeling the burning heat of the smoke at the back of your throat before passing the cigarette back to him. The smoke slips like dreamy wisps from between your parted lips and you look towards the open sky as well. Jean’s stare stays on your mouth. You know because you can always feel him. His attention is like silk caressing your skin, kissing little patches of skin, stealing them for himself.

You’re hardly the only greedy one here. He, too, exists in absolutes. More so than he would care to admit at least.

The blinding lights of New York City—even this late—almost drown out the stars but you can still see them. As cold and as distant as the man beside you. You want to ask him why he’s out here in the first place. Why would he bother? He may dress it up as wanting to smoke but everything Jean does is far too deliberate and calculated for this to be a mere coincidence.

Nor does the man beside you believe in such things. Master of his own fate—he always has been.

Jean places the cigarette back between his lips and turns to grab something from beside his chair. You hadn’t even noticed he was carrying something. Are you slipping this much already? Your instincts and body deteriorating even quicker than you calculated?

“May I interest you in a drink?” he offers, his words almost a soft murmur around his cigarette, and raises a bottle of wine and two glasses in the air.

You don't bother hiding your chuckle. “Trying to get me drunk on the eve of the battle?’

He, in turn, doesn’t bother denying it. He only bestows you with a knowing twitch of his mouth—all half-secrets and implications; dark and arcane as him, but doesn’t confirm nor deny your words no matter how long you wait.

“Maybe your hangover will be so terrible tomorrow you will abandon your suicidal plan, vipère.”

It’s a mild statement; a test of waters more so than anything, but you know Jean doesn’t speak mindlessly often. If ever. He chooses his words as carefully as he does everything else in his life. He’s methodical; oftentimes ruthlessly so.

You watch curiously as he places one glass next to your feet and one beside his own, opening the bottle with practised, near beguiling ease. He pours half a glass each, a cigarette bit between his teeth now, and you see how he inhales the smoke, still tasting tobacco on your own tongue. Red wine and cigarettes are two flavours you associate with him. With his mouth. The growl of his voice in your ear, the roll of your name on his destructive tongue.

A smudge of dark orange light illuminates his angular, handsome features and dark stubble and you can’t quite help your next words.

“You’re here.”

You hadn’t expected him to linger. His job was done. Yet here he is.

A small sound rumbles from the back of his throat. “I’m here because you asked me to be here,” he reminds you, and you can hear the displeasure—the downright callous edge to his amiable words—when he removes the cigarette from between his lips. Smoke slips from between them as he speaks, his eyes finding yours in the darkness. “Consider yourself very lucky that I owe you, V. After this, however, I’m not sure I’m ever going to bother you with business again. I’m not sure why you bothered inviting me here in the first place.”

Yes. His debt.

He’s tried to weasel out of it for years. Everything from trying to get you into trouble, outright attempting to get rid of you, to downplaying the sheer magnitude of it. He’s never succeeded, however, and has grown fond of comparing you to a viper with seven lives.

A life debt is a life debt though.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t think you’re half as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

Even if others have outright disagreed with your opinion of the man.

Jean snorts under his breath, a cool smile splitting his face, sharper than one of your blades. Shaking his head, he lifts the glass in the air, offering it to you. You take it after a pause, watching him do the same with his glass. “You’re right,” he hums in agreement, and takes a sip of his wine; a slow one because he never rushes these things, and you know it. The cigarette returns to his mouth a moment later and he turns to glance at you again. “I’m much worse.”

“You’re also smart,” you note without missing a beat and take a mouthful, too. It’s red and fruity, and the sweetness of it coats your tongue pleasantly. Though usually you aren't too fond of wine this sweet, Jean has developed a habit of finding things you love. However accidentally. Or perhaps he knows you better than you do. He no doubt believes so. It’s become another game for him over the years. One of his favourite games to play between you on the rare occasion you would run into each other. “And know that if you betray me and my family, death will be the least of your worries.”

You don't bother mincing your words or implying things. Not this time. Not when it comes to this.

If he betrays you, he will die choking on his blood regardless of your past association or lingering fondness for him. You will rip him to shreds with your bare hands if he ever so much as attempts it.

Bringing him in on this has been the biggest risk you ever took. Everyone opposed you. Even John. Winston had been the only one who—no matter how reluctantly—eventually agreed that Jean Laurent could end up becoming a unique and unexpected advantage.

You proved your own suspicion correct. Combining Jean’s web of information with Step’s hacking skills has been as good as striking a goldmine. It’s been invaluable in gathering intel on all the members of the High Table and their weaknesses.

A vicious, clever spider sitting in the middle of his silky web of information, and you have taken advantage of every single thread in it.

You’ve been watching his every move since he joined your side like a hawk. You don't trust him—can’t trust him. You would be a fool to do so, and even though he has stuck by his word so far, you still feel like the moment you glance away from him will be the moment he sells you out.

One leak, one sly suggestion—that’s all it would take for everything you’ve been working towards to fall apart. Everything would be lost, and it would be your fault.

All because you placed some semblance of trust in the last man on earth deserving of it.

“My, my, I do love it when you talk dirty to me, vipère,” he murmurs lightly, his voice unconcerned but the shift in his eyes informs you how your words have been noted. He knows better than to dismiss you.

Jean raises the glass back to his mouth, a smouldering cigarette sitting snugly between his index and middle fingers, and you watch how the wind ruffles his black hair.

This time smoke rolls from his nose. He gazes at the New York skyline silently, pensively. Maybe he did mean his earlier words after all. Maybe he simply joined you because he, too, wants a moment to himself.

Cold nips at your fingertips—you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been sitting out here by yourself—and perhaps that’s the reason why you break the silence between you first.

“You came because I asked,” you begin carefully, still peering at him while he looks out towards the world. Forever looking ahead. You always loved that about him. Jean doesn’t like looking back, only ahead. Often you wished you could shake your past as easily as he seemingly can shake his. How many times has he told you the same? “But you chose to stay. Why?”

His expression remains impassive, not outwardly reacting to your words, and you begin to doubt he will ever offer you a response before he finally speaks up.

“It will never work,” he states frankly. “This plan of yours. It cannot be done. We’ll lose.”

Of course this is what this is about. He’s always been out for himself. The fact that he thinks your plan will fail should not surprise you. He told you as much the moment you finished telling him about it. He point-blank called you an idiot for ever thinking you could take on the High Table and win.

You are many things, V, but foolish is not one of them.

You had hoped these weeks spent planning and working together would have changed his mind. Shown to him that this isn’t a simple pipe dream. That you have the raw skill and the will to follow through with this coup.

You wanted Jean to believe in this goal—this dream—too.

He is, of course, not wrong.

The longer you planned, the more of this plan came together, the easier it became to see what he’d been saying from the start.

You are not only likely to lose, you are near guaranteed to do so.

Unless…

Unless you gamble away everything. Whatever little there is still left of you. The clock is already ticking. It has been for two months now. Every minute of every day the end is nearing. The least you can do…

The least you can do is make it count.

“Then we’ll do that together, too,” you say softly.

And it won’t be such a terrible way to go, you think, keeping them safe.

Jean finally drags his eyes your way. The bitterness creasing his expression cuts deeper than you ever could have expected it to. It’s rare for him to show this much.

“Do not tell me you are this naive, chérie,” he says coldly, his expression emptying of emotions swiftly. He seems to have caught himself in the uncharacteristic slip, exhaling a low, “But it seems like this night is full of disappointments,” he adds quietly with a forced exhale, his eyebrows curving downwards.

Neither of you speaks for a while after that.

You cradle the wine glass between your partially numb fingers, occasionally lifting it to your mouth.

Maybe you should get drunk. Do something reckless. The call of the void has been screaming at you as of late. Seductive whisper after seductive whisper how you could and should do anything you want. With whoever you want.

L'appel du vide, vipère, Jean used to exhale hotly against your ear, it is why you and I are the same. Your days are numbered unless some miracle happens and you find an antidote anyway.

But feeling hopeful after failing for two months straight is not something you can muster up tonight.

You realise, then, that this may very well be the last opportunity to get some answers from the man beside you. Get some rectification on your odd bond over the years. Not your first attempt but what will certainly be your last.

“Do you think…”

You’re suddenly unsure where to even begin. How does one untangle years of tiptoeing around different labels? Enemies that are not quite enemies. Lovers that are not quite lovers. Friends when it suits them, then the cycle repeats, and it’s like they’re back at square one all over again. Constant push and pull.

You’ve never been sure where you stand with Jean. Two years ago everything between you changed but unlike with others, he’s always been every blurred line in your life. An almost-maybe.

“I try to,” comes his dry response from beside you.

You roll your eyes, bobbing your leg up and down as another gust of wind sweeps across the silent terrace.

Jean has finished his cigarette, his shrewd stare now focused on you, expectant.

Go on, then, say it, his unfaltering stare seems to goad.

You’re not nervous. You have nothing left to fear, not anymore. But all the same…

You’re tired of constantly being hurt by someone. Your question opens the door for exactly that.

“Do you think we ever could have worked out?”

Had life gone just a little different. Had you met when you were both less guarded and twisted up inside. You, at least, have managed to find people willing to stand in your corner and fight your fight.

He’s all alone.

And maybe he prefers it that way—he has certainly always been adamant that he does—but you’ve never believed it. Not fully, at least.

A house full of people he could string along and play with, yet the liesmith seeks refuge out here in the dark. With you.

A thoughtful hum, then, “Don’t let your gaggle of boyfriends hear you asking me that.”

You almost splutter.

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing, “I don’t have a gaggle of…fuck you,” you spit when you spot his smug expression and a raised brow.

“You have,” he purrs, his accented words a caress of his hot mouth across your fluttering pulse. “Many, many, filthy times, amante. Or am I so easy to forget?”

“You know, for how often you go on about Santino stroking his ego,” you remark dryly, giving him a pointed stare. “You sure do it often yourself.”

Jean clicks his tongue, leaning back in his seat, more irked by the change in the topic than he lets on. You’ve learned to read him as well. To a degree, at least.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by D’Antonio’s drooling?” he scoffs, words bland but tone sharp. “It’s frankly embarrassing. Either he’s atrocious at seducing you and you’re entertaining him out of pity, or he doesn’t understand you at all.”

His words dig into your heart but you don’t let him see it. Quirking an amused brow, you instead stare at him. “At this point, I honestly can’t tell if you hate him because you’re French and he’s Italian or because you don’t like him as a person.”

Jean grins this time; a dark, cruel thing. “Ah, chérie, hatred is too strong of an emotion to waste on someone I don’t care about,” he rebukes smoothly, standing to his feet. He glances in your direction, adding a deliberate, “But D’Antonio hates me because I won the one thing he always wanted but could never have.”

You.

Even if it weren’t for the deliberate, hot dig of Jean’s stare focusing on your face, you know as much already.

Blue depths drag over your still shape, lingering on your neck and lips, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on all the wicked things he’s done with them. Every moan and bruise, every hot drive into your body and mould of your naked skin together. He’s been an escape from everything. A bit of fun, a release, a shadow smearing in and out of your life for years.

Now though, you can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but consider why it’s always been so easy with him when it hasn’t been with others. Why every pursuit of happiness in the past has ended in misery and pain. With Jean, you always got exactly what you signed up for.

Mindblowing sex, thrill, challenge, and an escape without any attachments. No promises of a glowing future or expectations for you. He never made you live under the expectation of you being anything other than yourself. Messy and cracked around the edges but still you.

Jean has never cared for a normal life or demanded it of you, never wanted you to become an apprentice or Lady of anything.

You’ve always been enough to him just as you are, you realise with a dizzying rush. And his awful, seductive, traitorous self has always been enough for you as well. He’s never tried to change you or himself to appease you.

Not hearing a response, Jean offers you another striking grin you know has seduced endless numbers to his bed and turns to go.

“Wait!” you call out, jumping to your feet. Your joints protest, groaning and cracking, and stumble a step after him. He’s paused in his tracks, turning back towards you. “You never answered my question. If you think we could have worked out.”

You stand together, breathing, and he gazes at you for a long, charged minute. It’s nigh impossible to tell what’s going on behind his effortless mask of ease and composure. Always in control of himself and his emotions.

You’re about to ask him again but he closes the distance between you in two steps, grabbing you by the neck and yanking you to him. His mouth is hot and consuming as you remember it. His tongue drags over the roof of your mouth, seeking out every edge, every crevice, claiming it entirely. Claiming you. Despite him standing almost a head taller, you snake your hand around his neck, savouring his hiss of breath at the feeling of your cold fingers on his heated neck. Broad shoulders block the wind, block the rest of the world, and you sigh into him. He still tastes of smoky tobacco and sweet wine. A dizzying mix that stirs your body, warming your blood. Your nails drag up his neck and into the strong strands of his midnight hair, scratching all the while. You feel his hold on the back of your neck tighten in response.

The battle between you two never ceases and you can feel him grinning against your mouth, as if he, too, is having the same epiphany.

“Don’t die,” he exhales hotly against your parted lips when you separate with a gasp, still holding you to him, every hard edge of his body cutting into you. “Maybe then we can find out.”

Don’t die.

You almost burst into tears.

I’m dying right now, you want to confess to him. Would he stay if he knew as much? Would he stay until your heart halted inside your chest and you became forever still? Would he be kind if you asked him to be? Just this once?

He’s unaware of your internal struggle, dragging his thumb over the line of your jaw. Lips parted, and eyes hooded—you’ve seen this side of him many times. The sensuous lover with his sultry eyes more sapphire than blue now that he’s gazing down at you. How many times has he stared at you exactly like this? Caught dragging his tongue over every crevice of your body, his favourite being the dip between your thighs and your neck.

Jean nudges backwards, and you read his question there, his body asking what his tongue won’t.

If you’re joining him in bed. If tonight you’re his. Another stolen instance between you.

“I can’t,” you say quietly. He doesn’t appear surprised or angry by your refusal, his hands slipping from your body with a nod. But you don’t let him retreat, grasping his forearm, feeling the coil of muscle where you’re holding onto him. “Wait.”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out a familiar, heavy object. Gold gleams in the low light and you turn the circular disk, warmed by your body.

Jean stiffens at the sight of it. You both know what it is.

Opening the Marker with a too quiet click, you release your hold on him, staring at the print of his blood smeared inside.

He helped you only because the High Table would have hunted him if he hadn’t obeyed his Marker, you remind yourself. You silence the voice inside your head that reminds you he could have sold the information to them for immunity if he so wished.

Exhaling, you press your thumb against the tiny needlepoint, not reacting to the bite of pain. Blood wells against your skin and you stare at it for a moment.

You’re not sure if Jean is still breathing but you feel the intensity of his stare searing into your body.

Breathing deeply, you press your thumb harshly against the cool metal. Another second later you pull back, staring at your dual blood prints on the metal plate. Your insides quiver at the sight of it.

This is the way it’s always been between you. Shadows and blood, secrets and hunger.

Sometimes…

Sometimes in between those moments, you could almost pretend he loved you.

“We both know you were going to leave anyway,” you begin tightly, closing the Marker with a grim smile, holding it out to him. “This was just another shitty goodbye. Never thought you’d manage to top Venice. Or Berlin for that matter. But now you’re free. I no longer want you here, so don’t be here tomorrow. Save yourself while you still can.”

He doesn’t deny your words. He at least respects you enough to not dismiss you like he would others. Let them tangle themselves in a web of speculations and doubts. Jean enjoys few things more than people choking on their own words. A rope of their own fashioning is poetic justice, he used to tell you.

He reaches for the Marker, the one damn thing that’s always tied you together, and takes it. A stab pierces your heart to see it in his grasp. Now there’s nothing between you. You don’t doubt his earlier words. It’s unlikely he will want to associate with you in the future after this.

Doesn’t matter now though. You’re likely to be dead by tomorrow, or another few weeks if you’re lucky.

If.

“You knew.”

Your smile is grim. “Of course. I know you better than you think.”

He won’t risk himself for a plan doomed to fail.

You drop your hand but he grabs it before it can fall back to your side. This time his kiss is different. Hungrier, simmering with some desperation you’ve only caught glimpses of a few times in the past. A silent war in him you’ve never been able to decipher. Jean cups one of your cheeks, leaning over your at an angle that’s unlikely to be comfortable with your height difference but you savour it all the same. His heat. His presence. The burn of his stubble scratching against your skin. More, more, more. You want every last bit of him.

You’ve never noticed how safe a man this dangerous makes you feel. After Tokyo, Chicago, after the desert, after everything you’ve been through, you never thought you’d ever feel like this again.

Alive.

For being no better than glaciers, cold and merciless, nothing burns better than him.

His nose nudges against your cheek—it’s too big, you put that nose any closer to me and you might take an eye out—his arm, an iron band around your waist. Jean is never shy about his touches, he knows exactly how every inch of you trembles and shudders. He’s spent endless hours familiarising himself with every inch of you after all. You hate how you feel a silent goodbye in every second of your body curled against his now.

“Come with me,” he says, and it borders on a snarl, a demand. “Arrêter… this stupidity now and come with me. My web goes far and wide. I could hide you.”

“And go where?” you wonder softly, leaning into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek despite the chipped bite of his native tongue. You’re desperate for another few seconds with him.

You never thought you would miss him this much, that you would ache so much at the mere thought of never seeing him again.

“Anywhere, vipère,” he drawls, tugging you closer as if he’s a hair away from throwing you over his shoulder and disappearing into the unknown. For a single second, you want him to. “The world is ours. A beach. You and me, and a whole lot of naked skin,” he continues with a seductive grin you feel against your face.

Seduction—his preferred weapon of choice. You wonder if you’re imagining the harder bite of his voice and meaner grip of his hands, as if he needs to convince you to abandon everything and disappear.

Your closed eyes flutter open, meeting his earnest stare. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more earnest in all the years you’ve known him.

“I want to,” you tell him, leaning closer to kiss him once, softly. His muscles tighten and you half expect him to flinch away from it because it’s not lust you’re kissing him with, and he knows this. He’s too good not to recognise it. Leaning back, your breaths still mingle, and you inhale his cologne, “But I’m done running, Jean. One way or another. This ends. Now go. I don’t need you anymore.”

He pulls back, his smile cool, caustic. “You’re still a terrible liar, amante.”

The golden Marker disappears inside his pocket. Out of sight.

“I do believe there’s more left for me to teach,” he drawls deliberately, his smile smoothing into something more enticing, crooked as it is sly. “I’ll be seeing you, V.”

There’s no question there. You don’t have the heart to inform him you’re unlikely to ever see each other again.

When no one can locate Jean in his room or reach him over the phone the next morning, you simply tell others to stop looking and focus.

It’s better this way anyway.

At least this way one of you gets to live.

#original writing #spilled prose #original prose #oc x reader #oc writing #writing #s: almost love #c: jean

[rocorambles]

Fall is for Falling for You

Pairing: Kyoutani x Reader

Genre: SFW, Fluff 

Prompt: Fall/Autumn

Summary: Kyoutani hates a lot of things, but he doesn’t hate you.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Tuesday, September 29th 11:00pm U.K. time!)  

Kyoutani hates the fall. He hates how everyone loses their minds as soon as there’s even a slight chill in the air. He hates the sweet cloying sense of pumpkin everywhere he walks. Pumpkin this. Pumpkin that. He’s never hated a food so much in his life and he glares at the mocking orange carved faces that taunt him as he walks side by side with you through your neighborhood. But when you reach for his hand and interlace your fingers as you excitedly point out your favorite Halloween decorations and carved pumpkins, he thinks that maybe fall isn’t that bad, even if you are dragging him to Starbucks for a pumpkin spice latte. 

He hates waiting in lines. He hates paying for overpriced drinks. But he can’t help the small twitch of his lips as you debate what size you want and if you want whipped cream or not, and he just slightly rolls his eyes in amusement when you, of course, get the largest size with a large dollop of whipped cream on top. You reach into your purse for your credit card, but you yelp when you’re nudged to the side and Kyoutani quickly pays for your drink before ushering you back outside, and despite all his grumbling as the two of you walk back home, you giggle at the embarrassed look on his face when you cheerily thank him for the drink with an affectionate peck on the lips. 

Kyoutani hates fall, pumpkins, and overpriced coffee, but he doesn’t hate the lingering taste of pumpkin spice on his lips and he waits for you to take a few more sips before leaning down to kiss you once more as the fall breeze rushes past both of you. 

Now apples, on the other hand, are something Kyoutani can appreciate and even though he hates not being able to fully rest on one of the few days he has off from practice, he hates not being able to spend his free time with you even more and he groggily rubs his eyes and stretches himself awake as you bustle about the house, getting ready to go apple picking. He’s still finding the will to get up from bed when you prance into the room and he grunts as you cheekily jump on his prone figure in a mock body slam, lightly batting at you when you non-stop pepper his face with good morning kisses, but he wraps his arms around you as you finally mercifully stop your playful antics and affectionately nuzzle your nose against his before urging him to start getting ready. 

FInally dressed and washed up, he allows himself to follow the tantalizing smell of hot, freshly brewed coffee and french toast and he just stands in the doorway of the kitchen for a few quiet minutes, watching your apron flutter as you move about the stove, watching you carefully maneuver your spatula and not for the first time, he wonders how he got so lucky to have you in his life. He quietly pads near you, smirking at the way you jump, startled by his warm arms wrapping around you from behind as he hooks his chin on your shoulder and watches you cook and you pout at him, chastising him for scaring you, but the upturn of the corner of your lips tell him that you don’t really mind at all. The two of you stand there for a bit, a quiet domestic peace falling over both of you amongst the sizzle of the pan, but as you begin to plate the food, Kyoutani untangles himself from you and sets the table, pouring generous mugs of coffee for both of you and setting down knives, forks, and maple syrup.   

Breakfast is a quiet affair, but that’s how it always is between the two of you with Kyoutani being a man of few words. But it’s a comforting quiet and you happily munch away as Kyoutani guzzles down bitter brown liquid, sneaking glances at you and hiding his snort and smile behind his cup as your eyes twinkle and you make tiny little pleased sounds with every delicious bite. Plates cleared, you move to load the dishwasher when a calloused hand gently dabs at your mouth with a napkin and your face goes slightly hot when Kyoutani teases you for being a messy eater, but he just ruffles your hair with a laugh before moving to put on his shoes and you hurry to follow him, excited to spend some quality time together. 

Kyoutani hates not being able to just rest and laze around on non-practice days, but he doesn’t hate how adorable you are as you reach on your tippy toes under apple trees, barely able to grasp the apples you want, sending him pleading puppy eyes that he’s absolutely powerless against. He doesn’t hate how your whole face lights up as you happily thank him as he helps you pick the higher up apples you want, placing them in your basket. He doesn’t hate how endearing the sight of you struggling to carry and lift your quickly filling basket is, but he quickly steps in after a few chuckles at your expense and trails after you, basket now in his hand as you continue apple picking unencumbered. And as the two of you travel back home, overflowing bags of apples in hand, he doesn’t hate how you ramble on and on, musing over what to make with your new fruity haul and he lets his mind drift a bit, relaxing to the sound of your familiar voice pattering on in his ear in a melody he’s come to love. 

One thing Kyoutani does love about fall are haunted houses and despite the fact that you are not nearly as avid of a fan as he is, you indulge him, laughing at the way you can almost see his imaginary dog ears perk up and his imaginary tail wagging wildly behind him when you tell him that the town’s haunted house finally opened up this year. You assume that Kyoutani just loves scary things and horror in general and while that’s not entirely inaccurate, what Kyoutani loves more is the way your hands clutch at his sleeve as the two of you walk through haunted halls, the way you fling yourself at him and nuzzle into his body as much as you can in an attempt to hide from the surprises around every corner, the way you cling onto him for hours after you finally exit the haunted house. And it’s not that he likes the fact that you’re scared because he would fight anything or anyone who genuinely frightened you in an unsafe environment, but he loves that he’s your go-to when you feel the need to be protected and he loves how much you trust him to be there for you whenever you need him and to keep you safe and his chest swells with pride as he protectively holds you and stands guard. 

But he does feel a little bad when you’re still tightly holding onto him when the two of you go to bed that night, hiding your face in his chest, tucking your head under his chin in an attempt to hide from the darkness of the room when he turns off the lights and he makes it up to you by letting you drag him to go flannel shopping with you. Kyoutani hates shopping and your annual fall flannel shopping trips seem pointless to him. Don’t the two of you already have enough flannels hanging in your closet? But at least now there’s a bounce in your step and you’re all smiles again, no more lingering fear of monsters in the closet or under your bed from the haunted house playing at the edges of your mind, so Kyoutani walks behind you, his hands shoved into his pant pockets as you peruse racks and racks of flannels at your favorite local thrift store. And honestly, all the patterns look the same to him, but he watches in amusement and bafflement as you scrunch your face in concentration and show him what looks like two identical shirts for his opinion, only to jokingly roll your eyes at him when he seriously tells you they look exactly the same to him. 

He lets himself be shoved into a fitting room, a pile of flannels thrown into his arms and with a sigh, he obediently comes out after buttoning on each one, letting you twirl him around and circle around him as you scan him over, making mental notes of what meets your standards and what doesn’t, but he sighs in relief as he exhaustedly slumps down in the chair as you switch roles and he patiently waits for you to showcase your own flannels you’d chosen to try on. He tries his best. He really does. But he can’t help the fact that he genuinely thinks you look good in everything and anything and he just helplessly shrugs his shoulder when you ask him to give more constructive criticism.

“It’s not my fault you always look good.” 

And yes, Kyoutani hates shopping, but he loves the way you get so easily flustered from his honest words and the two of you wrap up your shopping spree, walking back home with new flannels to add to your already impressively large flannel collection.

Now there is one fall activity that the both of you love and there’s excitement in the air as the two of you rise at the crack of dawn, throwing on the new flannels you’d bought. Kyoutani doesn’t love the fact that you purposefully set it up so that you’re wearing matching flannels, already knowing that he’s in for a earful of teasing from his team when they see the social media photos he knows you’ll take, but he supposes he can sacrifice some of his self-respect if it makes you happy. And happy is an understatement for how both of you feel as you pack trail mix, sandwiches, and bottles of water and slip on your hiking boots before trekking out the door.

It isn’t an easy hike and the two of you are a sweaty panting mess as your legs climb and climb up the steep trail coursing over the mountains. Breaks are taken. Snacks are eaten. Water is guzzled. And you’re thankful that at least the two of you had left early in the morning, still comforted by the cooling breeze of the early morning, but as you near the top, the sun rises and bears down on you and you both thank whoever’s listening when you finally round the corner and reach the peak, collapsing in a heap of sprawled limbs. But as breathing evens out and heartbeats slow down, you stand up and circle in awe as you fully take in the surroundings you had worked so hard to see and it does not disappoint. Rich reds, golden yellows, vibrant greens, and amber-like orange swarm your vision and despite the fact that Kyoutani and you make this trek to see the foliage every year, it takes your breath away every single time. 

You’re brought back to reality when a warm presence stands by your side and you slip your hand in a larger palm as fingers interlace, your heart warming as you see the softness and wonder in Kyoutani’s eyes as he soaks in the colorful views. And the two of you stand there, watching as the sunlight shines and accentuates the multitude of hues, letting the autumn breeze cool you down, quietly thanking life for allowing you to have magical moments like this with the person you love most in the world. 

It’s you who breaks the silence first. 

“Isn’t it beautiful, Kentarou?” 

And maybe if you weren’t so transfixed on the scenery around you, you would have noticed Kyoutani subtly turning to look at you, taking a mental photo of your profile against the stunning backdrop, wondering how even one of nature’s most impressive scenes pales in comparison to you. Maybe you would have noticed how his eyes never leave you when he responds with a small noise of affirmation. 

And as Kyoutani turns back to soak in the natural sights, he thinks that maybe he doesn’t hate fall that much after all. 

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kyoutani x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fic #haikyuu #haikyuu writing #kyoutani #kyoutani kentarou

[pinky-the-elephant-room]

Passion Week

AN:  I wrote this crackish Tamaki smut prompt for @liliesoftherain​ and I’s server Dessert May prompts. Did anyone ask for this? No. Did I enjoy torturing poor Tamaki? Yes. Did I possibly bully my entire server to do this prompt so I have a reason to write this? Maybe. I haven’t completely edited this yet, will continue to edit it throughout the day. So excuse the typos and point them out in comments if you notice anything. 

Warning: Explicit smut involving handjob and a blowjob between Fem Reader and Tamaki.

Read the rest of the prompts: Here

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Tamaki admired Mirio immensely. The thing he admired about him the most, was the fact Mirio was able to approach anyone and befriend them in a couple of minutes. Or at least remain acquaintances and be on friendly terms with them. Unfortunately for Tamaki it was the complete opposite. He could barely utter a few sentences to someone he didn’t know personally. That was the reason he managed to have only one best friend since elementary school. Furthermore, Tamaki didn’t befriend Nejire until high school. It was kind of sad to be honest and he severely wished he could emulate Mirio.

He wanted to be able to chat with his classmates about the newest video game or even about the weather if he could manage it. But Tamaki couldn’t muster the courage, and neither would any of them approach him. Apparently, being one of the big three meant that you were off limits and intimidating. Even though all of them saw him blushing and crouching against the nearest wall, they still stayed away.

However, recently since gaining his courage and fighting villains, gave him the courage to want to change himself. Tamaki was finally going to befriend people. Well, other than Mirio, Neijire, and did Kirishima count?

Tamaki took a deep breath to settle the anxiety bubbling in stomach. Yes, he was going to approach someone first and talk to them! He had even written down a few topics to talk about on his notecard. He was ready to take that step!

Tamaki looked up to see a group of his classmates leaving. Releasing a shuddering breath, he left go of his tight grip on his desk. Showtime.

Tamaki slipped his backpack on and got ready to leave. He followed the group of boys behind them, his plan was to interrupt and ask them if he could join. Being their classmate hopefully they would say yes.

“Uwaa, Ren-kun you bought the newest issue? How was it?” A boy with brown spikey hair named Seiji asked.

“It was really amazing, worth every yen. I had to hide it from my parents, but I managed it.” Ren stated smugly.

All the boys uttered expressions of amazements. “Sugeiii!”

Tamaki from behind wanted to ask what they were talking about as he opened his mouth only to hesitate horribly and squeak.

The boys fortunately didn’t hear that and kept walking.

“I don’t have enough courage to even step in front of the cashier with that!”

Ren put his arm around his friend Seiji. “Don’t worry I gotchu. I’ll let you borrow it!”

Immediately everyone else erupted, asking for Ren to also borrow who only laughed smugly.

The boys walked away in a hurry, leaving behind a terrified and disappointed Tamaki.

He sighed sadly and knew that he would fail eventually, but at least he tried. So, Tamaki trudged home, his failure weighing on him heavily.

The sunny day contrasting tremendously with his current mood, he was about to cross the street when he noticed a bookstore.

The boys were talking about the newest issue, so maybe he could buy and read it! Hopefully finish it by tomorrow and have something to talk about when he got to school.

Feeling much happier about his revised plan, Tamaki strolled in and wandered for a few minutes before he found the manga they were talking about. It was a pink and orange cover with the words “Passion Week” splashed in lime green. That was a weird name for a shounen manga, but Tamaki shrugged. He hadn’t read a manga for a couple years now so maybe that was the trend nowadays?

He waited in line patiently before it was his turn. Stuttering his way through the greeting to the cashier, he quickly put down the manga.

The cashier picked up the merchandise and froze. He eyed Tamaki suspiciously and shot him a judgmental look.

Tamaki blushed heavily and quickly laid down some yen, murmuring for them to keep the change and quickly ran out of the bookstore.

That was weird, he couldn’t help but think. Maybe he looked suspicious or the cashier recognized him as an intern for Fatgum?

Trying not to let it get to him too much otherwise he could spend hours being paranoid about what happened.

Tamaki waited till he got home and settled. Taking care to get undressed and munched on a snack before he grabbed the manga to begin reading. The beginning was pretty soothing, it was a love story between childhood friends. He liked how innocent the vibe was, it kind of felt like a slice of life. Way different than the shounen manga he figured the boys liked. Then a few pages later the vibe started getting different, Tamaki felt his eyebrow furrow. Huh, maybe it was a mix between a mystery and a slice of life? He skipped a few pages to see where the plot was heading and shortly felt his face explode in a plethora of color. Tamaki could feel his eyes swirling and steaming blowing out of his ears.

Oh no. This wasn’t a shounen manga. Or a slice of life. Not even in the slightest. Tamaki squeaked and threw the comic from him as far as humanly possible.

He didn’t know it was possible for girls to put that in their mouths!! Tamaki gulped as he tried to process what his naked eyes had just seen. The manga was porn. His classmates were talking about reading p-o-r-n!!!

No wonder the cashier gave him such a weird look, there was no way he could step into that store ever again! He covered his face with his hands and let out a low groan. He just wanted to befriend his classmates why was this so hard??! Tamaki gave up, he wasn’t going to discuss porn with his classmates even if they became best friends for life. He was satisfied with Mirio who he was sure had never seen a naked girl. Nor did he read porn well as far as Tamaki knew.

He threw a look at the cursed manga he threw across his room. Now what was he doing to do with that?

 A week later~

Y/N cheerfully skipped and hummed under her breath as she followed Mirio. The two of them were classmates in Class 3-B and since the first day of class somehow ended up sharing lunch with Nejire-chan and Amajiki-kun.

Today was an especially amazing day because she bought another set of desserts from the foreign bakery that opened up nearby. It was incredible, there were so many Italian sweets, the likes of which she had never seen before. Just yesterday she tried a Panforte and moaned as the nutty and fruity flavor exploded in her mouth. It was destiny! Y/N was in love with the quaint Italian bakery and she made sure to promise herself to pick a different pastry for lunch every day.

Y/N waved at Nejire-chan who was excitedly doing the same, almost falling off the bench in her endeavor.

“Y/N-chan! Did you grab something else today too?” Nejire asked excitedly. Y/N imagined a tail wagging behind her.

She nodded in affirmation and turned to greet the shy, pointy eared boy.

“Amajiki-kun! How are you?” The boy merely turned his head away, blushing deeply as he mumbled a response.

Y/N smiled patiently at him. He had always been like that with her. At first, she thought he hated her, but after talking with both Mirio and Nejire-chan they both reassured her that wasn’t the case and he was merely shy with strangers. So, she let it go and waited enduringly. Y/N hoped one day they could be good friends.

Mirio collapsed next to her and opened his large bento to start wolfing it down.

Y/N opened her own that her oka-san prepared for her and also took out the neatly packed bakery sweets. They were adorably wrapped in bows. Nejire-chan cooed at the sight.

“I bought something called Cannolis today! These are filled with sweet cream and some chocolate chips,” Y/N explained showing the tube-shaped shells.

Neijire was about to take one for herself before her hand got slapped by Y/N.

“Eat your bento first,” she said strictly.

Nejire pouted and settled down the bench before taking up wooden chopsticks and forlornly ate her lunch.

The four of them settled into a comfortable silence with only Mirio eagerly breaking it, talking about his exciting internship with Sir Nighteye.

“He seems strict at first, but really you just need to make him laugh to break the ice is what I told Izuku! I hope Sir Nighteye can see Izuku for who he is soon,” Mirio said.

Y/N nodded absentmindedly, Mirio had told them this story like 10 times this week. It was getting kind of boring, but the trio didn’t have it in them to tell their excited friend the truth.

Soon enough everyone finished their bentos, except for Nejire who set aside the rest of her plain rice, too excited for the dessert.

Y/N passed one to Mirio, who took a huge chomp and with his full, puffy cheeks managed to mumble out a “thanks.” She giggled at her silly friend before offering one to Nejire-chan. And finally, to her shy friend who with rosy cheeks, quickly bowed to her in thanks.

She took one for herself and took a tentative bite. The cream was really sugary, but the doughy bread mixed well, and the chocolate chips provided a slight bitter taste. The heaven in her mouth made her slightly orgasmic as she relished with joy. Y/N took another bite and moaned at the flavors in her mouth. Seriously, that bakery was top notch! She exchanged a delight look with Nejire who also was enthusiastically finishing her own treat, with cream covering the corners of her mouth.

Unknown to either of the girls, Tamaki had frozen in his seat. His hand was suspended in midair as he stared fixedly at Y/N’s face. The moan, the cream, and the flush of her cheeks resembled way too much what he had read in Passion Week! Ever since that awful week, Tamaki noticed things he normally wouldn’t have. Especially things regarding Y/N, like how pouty her lips were or how she seemed to bite her lips often.

Tamaki flushed red as blood flowed down to an entirely inappropriate place. When Y/N let out another girlish sigh, he stiffened and jumped out of his seat. He could no longer hide how excited he was and so he quickly covered his front with his school uniform. Tamaki dashed away from the scene, humiliated beyond belief.

Y/N turned to her friends, who looked just as baffled as her at Amajiki-kun’s behavior.

“The pastry wasn’t that bad was it guys?”

 A week later:

Y/N scowled while she stared at the bench. It had been a week since Amajiki-kun last ate with them. Ever since that day where he strangely ran away, Amajiki-kun refused to eat with them. Y/N felt distressed, she didn’t realize how much she would miss her shy friend. His silent but supportive presence was a much-needed reprieve from Mirio and Nejire’s chan hyper and exuberant companies.

Moreover Amajiki-kun interacted with Nejire and Mirio frequently, but he was extensively avoiding Y/N more than he usually did. Sure, he blushed heavily, rarely spoke, and stuttered whenever he attempted to talk to her, but at least he didn’t run away at the sight of her. Y/N didn’t know what she did for him to be so upset at her. Both of her other friends told her to wait it out, they were sure Tamaki would get over whatever that was bothering him. But Y/N wasn’t so sure, she was convinced he hated her. Her lip quivered and she felt the urge to cry.

Y/N jumped when she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned around to see Nejire-chan looking sympathetically at her.

“if it’s bothering you so much go talk to him!”

“But you said to wait it out,” Y/N said confused.

“I know! But both of you are driving me nuts so go fix it right now,” she said cheerfully.

Y/N smiled wryly at her friend and sighed.

“Fine, I will go. Don’t get your hopes up though. I doubt we will even talk before he runs away again.”

Y/N trudged though U.A. looking for the sight of the pointed ear boy and found him tucked away in the obscure parts on the grounds of U.A.

She approached slowly and quietly, trying not to spook him before they got to talk. He finally noticed her when she stepped in front of him and he peeked at her nervously through his navy hair.

“Hi, Amajiki-kun. Do you mind if we talk? I have something to ask you.”

He shook his head and scooted over so she could sit on the grass next to him.

She began right away, not wasting time. “So, I’ve noticed this past week. You’ve been avoiding us or specifically me. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you upset and I’m really sorry. Please don’t be mad,” she began, her eyes started getting watery, her voice getting more and more emotional.

“I just want to be friends again. I want to eat with you again. Please, come back,” Y/N choked out.

Tamaki jumped hearing the emotional plea, he looked at her in horror. He didn’t want to make her cry! God, he was an awful friend.

“No! I-It wasn’t your fault,” he replied quietly. “It’s mine.” She sniffed and calmed herself.

Y/N looked at him confusingly. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a couple of minutes, unable to make up his mind whether to come clean to her.

“I promise I won’t judge. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He nodded. “I read something that was bad. Now I can’t get it out of my mind, and I see it everywhere. And you eating cannolis reminded me of what I read.”

Y/N cocked her head to the side. “What was so bad about it? And why did cannolis remind you of that?”

Tamaki whimpered as his face became flushed and he buried his face in his hands.

“Because i-it was meant for adults! I didn’t mean to and it was by accident. I bought the wrong book and the character put something in her mouth from the male character. It looked like a cannoli!” he managed to get out between smushing his face in his hands.

Y/N’s face twisted as she tried to decipher his words. What was so bad about a book? Then it hit her. It was for adults and it was shaped like a cannoli which resembled a body part. Oh. Oh.

Her own body started flushing. “You read a hentai??!” she exclaimed.

Tamaki let out a sound that sounded like a dying animal and curled himself even more.

Y/N immediately backpedaled, “noooo! It’s not a bad thing. It’s completely normal to be curious. I’m sure a lot of boys our age do! Heck, I’m pretty sure even girls do so please don’t be embarrassed.”

Tamaki peeked from behind his fingers at her. “Really?”

She eagerly nodded. “You should ask Mirio! I wouldn’t be surprised if he does too!”

Tamaki froze at that statement. Oh god, he never wanted to know if his best friend did.

“So, why did you run away? Even if you read that it doesn’t explain why you’ve been avoiding me!”

Tamaki floundered for a minute, indecisive whether he should admit his guilt. He didn’t want to see Y/N’s lovely face with revulsion on it. Tamaki since he met her, thought she was unbelievably pretty, not like Nejire who was attractive in her own way. But rather beautiful in a way that made his heart pound.

“Because after I saw you, I got too excited. I didn’t want you to be disgusted and hate me,” he whispered, admitting his shame.

Y/N perked up, excited? There was always a part of her that found her friend attractive and cute. She wanted to get to know him better, but it was obvious to her Amajiki-kun didn’t need a girlfriend but rather a friend. So, she shoved that part of her far away and settled for giving him his space. Y/N wanted Amajiki-kun to be comfortable around her and she couldn’t do that if she was always flirting and embarrassing him.  

She scooted closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t hate you for something like that. In fact, I have a solution if you’re willing to hear it.”

Tamaki straightened up and removed the hands on his face. She wasn’t mad? She didn’t hate him? Everything about this was way too good to be true.

“A solution? Like what?” he croaked out

She slid her hand from his shoulder all the way to his hand and squeezed it.

“Every time you feel excited, I wouldn’t mind helping you out,” she said softly.

Tamaki shocked beyond his words, could only numbly nod. He let out a squeak when he felt her hands started raking down his chest.

“Relax… Let me take care of you.”

Y/N as she teased her way down his body, felt the muscles underneath his shirt twitch and flex. Meanwhile, she removed his uniform jacket with the other hand. Tamaki felt his breaths get heavy with excitement, his ears and neck both were flushed red. He couldn’t believe what was happening, he honestly thought Y/N wouldn’t speak to him again! Her hands finally made it to his pants, he let out a whine when her hand pulled down the zipper.

Y/N jerked his pants down and dipped her hands to feel his cock. It took a few pumps before the member got engorged with blood, throbbing with heat. Y/N felt herself salivate, he was the perfect size, not too large and not too small. It was too bad Y/N couldn’t just swing her leg over and mount him like she wanted. But perhaps she could find an excuse to get him alone in her dorm room later. Tamaki whimpered with need when he felt her swipe her thumb across his weeping head.

God, he couldn’t do this. Tamaki could feel himself panic, he needed to hide. This was way too embarrassing, he looked side to side trying to find a way to escape. He choked out a groan when Y/N started a fast rhythm, pumping his cock in a way that made him dizzy. Tamaki slumped and rested his forehead on Y/N’s neck.

She could feel his hefty, hot breaths on her skin. The only other sounds that filtered out was the sound of fast, slick skin sliding and the occasional cry that erupted out of Tamaki who couldn’t suppress it any longer. Y/N stiffened when she felt his tongue flick out and accidently lick her neck. Tamaki for his part was trying to maintain composure and nervously licked his dry and chapped lips. She let go of his shaft and spit a wad of saliva on her hand before resuming her fast rhythm.

Tamaki bucked his hips into her hand, a crescendo of wails spewed out of his mouth. His eyes started tearing up, he sobbed out his pleas, asking for what he didn’t know. She could see the telltale signs that he was close, and so she shrugged him off her before bending down low. Tamaki blinked through his wet lashes to see why his safe place was gone, only to clench his eyes shut as he felt a warm and wet tongue close around his cock. Y/N hallowed her cheeks as she sucked the bulbous head and finally felt him explode. He gasped out and writhed in his spot as pleasure coursed throughout his body. His legs shook and his dick gushed out an excess of warm cum.

Y/N kept swallowing in a rush, trying to down the overflow. Still despite her vigilance, some spilled out as he kept cumming. Finally, his member twitched one last time before she licked it clean and straightened up. Y/N wiped the cum on her face before she looked at Tamaki in the eyes and made a show of licking it clean.

“It’s tasty and sweet. You should definitely let me do this more often,” she teased him.

Tamaki felt his eyes widen and became speechless at her cheek.

Y/N helped to tuck himself back in and made him look presentable before standing up and stretching her cramped legs.

“Come on, I think there’s still time to join Nejire-chan and Mirio. Let’s go eat lunch.”

He nodded and put his jacket back on. Just as Y/N was about to turn away, he grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled.

She looked back at him and shot him a questioning look.

“I want you to call me, T-tamaki,” he whispered.

Y/N shot him a warm smile and grabbed his hands.

“Ok, let’s go, Tamaki-kun”

Mirio and Nejire both exchanged a look of glee when they saw their friends finally return with their hands interlocked and happiness prominent on their faces.

#bnha prompts #mha prompts #bnha fanfiction #tamaki amajiki #mha amajiki #tamaki x oc #tamaki x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #awkward tamaki #amajiki x reader #bnha server prompts #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha scenarios #amajiki tamaki x oc

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Four (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: The Games grow closer, and so do Denali and Rosé as they start their plan, finally going public at the interviews.

A/N: I know it's been a while, but I'm so happy to be back to this fic! Thank you all so much for the love and support, not just on this fic but in general, with everything going on lately. It really means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please leave some feedback if you'd like!

Read on AO3.

Rosé is early to dinner that night, because Denali’s words had gotten to her. She wasn’t just letting Denali down. She was letting herself down, both the younger version of herself who wanted to protect Jan and go home, and herself now, who still wants to go home. She has to help Denali, or it could kill them both. Just because she couldn’t save the tributes she mentored doesn’t mean she can’t save herself now. She can’t go into the Games blind, as much as she wanted to hide behind her sword and snarky comments, and it took Denali—someone Rosé had mentored and given advice to—to help her see it.

And it’s brought them to pretending they’re in love for Capitol favor. It’s a good idea, admittedly. So good Rosé wishes she’d thought of it. There’s nothing the audience loves more than drama, and this is the best you could get.

But alliances are hard, and an alliance with someone she knows is even riskier. Maybe this isn’t a good idea, because what if they work so well together that they’re the last tributes standing? If Denali is the only thing between Rosé and home, can she kill her? Can she kill a friend, someone she’d tried so hard to keep alive in her last Games? Can she--

“Rosé. You’re…early.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Rosé mumbles as Denali sits across from her.

“It’s a nice surprise,” Denali says, and Rosé takes it.

“So, about this plan…” Rosé is ready to suggest calling it off. But Denali tucks her hair behind her ears, and it makes her look so young, so hopeful, and Rosé can’t take her hope. Not when the world has taken so much already, leaving the energetic, fun-loving Denali in the dust. However risky the alliance is, they’re stronger together. Her close-combat skills perfectly balance Denali’s bow and speed. Together, they could really do this, and Rosé lets the strangeness of hope bloom in her chest.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Rosé says quickly. “I think we’ll be great.”

Denali beams as they browse their menus, food rushing up into the compartment next to them.

Rosé grabs the pickle off her plate. “Want this?”

“Sure.” Denali crunches happily. “Why’d you get it if you don’t like it?”

“Because I was pretty sure you liked them.”

Denali points at Rosé in approval. “See, you’re already doing relationship stuff. We got this.”

Rosé nods, but she wasn’t thinking about the fake relationship. She just wanted to see Denali happy.

---

Denali goes to meet their stylist with dread pooling in her stomach at what horrible outfits they’ll be forced into. Each district’s outfits represent their industries, which means District 1 glimmers in jewels and District 12, shafted as always, resembles a coal miner. It’s the same every year. Today, though, a new stylist sits among racks of clothes in the dressing room. She’s young, with soft skin that absolutely glows. She introduces herself as Symone, and somehow Denali hopes she might not look like an idiot this year.

“First year as a stylist?” Denali asks while Symone takes her measurements. She does her best not to flinch, reminding herself Symone’s hands aren’t an attacker’s hands.

“Yep,” Symone says. “About damn time. I’ve been trying for years, but sometimes people aren’t ready for real talent, you know?”

Denali laughs despite herself.

“I hope so,” Rosé says. “Because no offense, Symone, if you want me to wear another coal miner outfit, I’ll go out there naked.”

Denali’s cheeks are on fire, brain short-circuiting at the image of Rosé’s words.

Symone just laughs. “Well, as fun as that might be, I’d never put you in something that ugly. I’m breaking the rules a little this year.”

“What do you mean?” Denali asks.

“I think the outfits should be less about the district and more about you, since this year’s Games are about the victors. Let the Capitol see not just where you’re from, but who you are.”

Where she’s from is who Denali is--the coal dust coating everything in town; the hungry eyes of nearly everyone she passes; the harsh winters burrowing in raggedy blankets--but she gets what Symone is saying. Instead of being another faceless statistic from a district the Capitol owns, let them see Denali and everything she is.

“What did you have in mind?”

Symone almost drops her sketchbook in excitement. “Well, you both had animal nicknames in the Games, did you notice? The Lion and the Fox. I want to play with that, do some animal-inspired stuff to reference your history and present you as a union. One, instead of two.”

Denali meets Rosé’s eyes. It’s almost eerie how it worked out, how easy it’ll be to present themselves as a pair in Symone’s outfits. Like it was meant to be.

“Do you not like the idea?” Symone asks in worry, mistaking their silence.

“No, I love it! It’s brilliant, Symone,” Rosé says quickly. She’s such a big sister, Denali thinks fondly. She always praised Jan and Lagoona for their drawings no matter how hideous they were. Symone’s sketches, though, are some of the most beautiful things Denali’s seen, and she has no trouble nodding her approval.

“Great.” Symone beams. “I have samples for you to try on, to test colors and stuff.”

Rosé goes first, disappearing behind a wooden screen and returning in a ruffly pink dress, arms twisting all over to find the zipper among the ruffles.

“I got it,” Denali says. She pulls the zipper, not breathing as her hand runs up the curve of Rosé’s spine, letting her touch linger.

Symone shifts ruffles aside and takes more measurements, continuing as Rosé tries on dress after dress, with sequins and stripes and even more ruffles.

“Do a spin!” Denali says.

Rosé rolls her eyes, but she does, her red hair waving behind her as she twirls.

“Faster!”

Rosé laughs and keeps going until she stumbles, and Denali doesn’t even think before reaching out to catch her, running her hands up and down Rosé’s sides.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Denali stammers as Rosé retreats behind the screen.

“This should be illegal,” Rosé mutters, emerging in a hot-pink zebra dress with matching hat.

Denali can’t resist her laughter. “You look like Manila!”

“Shit, Denali, don’t tell me that. Let me pretend it’s not that bad.”

“Trust the process, darling!” Symone says grandly.

“Easy for you to say,” Rosé grumbles.

Denali laughs again.

“Just wait, Denali. It’s your turn, and I can’t wait to call you Manila.” Rosé’s smirk is too adorable for Denali to care about what’s coming.

Sure enough, Denali’s paraded behind the screen and given a bundle of clothes. There’s a neon nightmare, with green pants and a yellow shirt, plus a glittery orange jacket with puffy sleeves. Rosé laughs and teases her and frees her from a skin-tight red dress, and Denali gives in to it. The Games are days away, and who knows if she’ll have fun like this again. It’s nice to have her biggest worry be dresses, and she finds herself striking ridiculous poses to hear Rosé laugh and see her smile. It’s been years since they've laughed or smiled this much, and Denali’s going to treasure each one.

Symone ushers them into a group hug, and Denali can’t believe how good it feels, arms intertwined, warm bodies pressed together. She’s really missed hugs all this time on her own.

“You two are perfect,” Symone says. “With my outfits, you’ll be the talk of the Capitol.”

“As long as there’s no zebra print,” Rosé says, and Denali spends the day wishing she could hug her again.

---

The days go too fast.

Rosé hates this place, but now she’d give anything to stay at the Training Center, working out and eating with Denali, rather than go to the arena. She feels like a kid dreading being dragged back to school after summer vacation. She’s been talking to Denali more, bantering back and forth, and she’s starting to like it. But this, like summer, has to end.

They prowl around the training room every day, getting stronger, faster, better. When Denali hisses for Rosé to watch her, make the contestants see how in love they are, the command is useless. Because Rosé already can’t look away from her arms pulling the bowstring taut, how she nods to herself as she aims and lets the arrow fly, a bull’s-eye in each target. Her cheer and hug are genuine, and she revels in the surprised looks on the tributes’ faces.

They eat together every day, passing food back and forth for each other to try, working their way down the menu. Denali laughs until she cries after tricking Rosé into eating chicken in a sauce so spicy Rosé gulps down a gallon of water, and Rosé gets revenge by telling Denali to press a shower button that produces fruity bubbles, bursting into laughter when Denali shows up to breakfast smelling like a perfume store exploded on her.

And it continues, day after day, until other tributes watch them in envy, until Rosé doesn’t have to tell Denali to fake laugh at something she said, because she trusts Denali enough to say it, and Denali likes it enough to laugh.

---

The first sign of the end is their private sessions with the Gamemakers, where they show their skills and get a score. The score doesn’t mean much--people average in the sixes, and a lot purposely act mediocre to fly under the radar. The arena is a great equalizer, and Rosé’s seen tributes score a nine and die the first day. She won with a score of seven. Part of her wants to beat that score now. Plus, with her and Denali playing the romance angle, all eyes will be on them anyway. What’s the harm in Rosé showing off, getting a high score that reinforces how good she is?

There’s no point appearing weak on purpose, and Rosé enters the training room confidently. A dozen Gamemakers have a long table set up on the track, food spread from end to end, forks in hand.

“Sorry to interrupt lunch,” Rosé calls to them. “Think you could make me a take-out box?”

The group jumps, and Rosé snorts when one woman spills wine on herself.

“Go ahead,” a man says, his gaze on the basket of rolls.

Rosé sighs, and she takes the anger boiling in her and uses it like Denali said. She annihilates a training dummy with her sword, then grabs three knives and makes three bulls-eye’s on the wall target. She does the same with three spears, the little red circle not even visible around her accuracy.

The same man dismisses her, and Rosé leaves without another word, annoyed and clueless on what her score will be.

Denali paces the hall outside. She looks expectantly at Rosé, who shrugs.

“They’re having lunch,” Rosé says. “They barely paid attention. But you make them pay attention, okay? I believe in you. Good luck.”

Denali smiles and heads in. Rosé can’t hear anything, but Denali comes out much faster than she did, breathing sharply.

“I fucked up,” Denali says, pacing circles and wringing her hands. “Shit, I fucked up.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Rosé soothes. “What happened?”

Denali mumbles something that sounds like shot an arrow at the Gamemakers.

Rosé blinks. “Did you say you shot an arrow at the Gamemakers?”

Denali hums miserably.

“What happened?”

Denali huffs, coming to a stop. “They weren’t paying attention! Someone brought out a roast pig, and they were literally slicing it while I practiced. So I took an arrow and shot the apple out of the pig’s mouth.”

Rosé bursts into laughter. “That’s so badass!”

“No!” Denali shakes her head, and Rosé sees fear in her eyes. “Rosé, I’m sorry. They’re probably gonna punish you because of me and make things extra miserable for us in the arena.”

“Like they aren’t gonna do that already?” Rosé asks, and Denali cracks a smile. Rosé’s touched that she’s Denali’s first concern, but she won’t let her worry. “Look, it’s fine. They’re supposed to watch you, and they didn’t. That’s on them. I’m not worried, Denali. It’ll be okay.”

Denali nods.

“How did they react?” Rosé asks, because Denali needs more cheering up, more reassurance that she hasn’t done any harm.

“Well, one lady dropped her wine glass. One guy spit out his roll. Another actually screamed and tipped over in his chair.” Denali cackles, and Rosé joins her, laughing until their stomachs hurt. It really is okay.

And when they each receive scores of ten that night, Rosé believes it.

---

Denali’s gotten so used to training that she could pretend the Games weren’t coming. Until it's interview day, with the Games the next morning. The countdown is officially at hours instead of days, and her stomach churns like waves.

She grunts her way through the prep, a trio of people waxing her and fixing her nails, like preparing a doll for the Capitol children. At least it keeps her mind off things. Like how Rosé feels like a friend again, like when Denali and Jan and Lagoona would run up to her after school, babbling about a million things and begging for gossip on the older kids. Like how they both earned the highest tribute scores, labelling them as threats, and how Denali almost likes being seen as a threat. Like how tonight, they’re going to confirm their ‘relationship’ on live television. There’s no turning back, and she almost wishes Rosé was here instead of in her own prep room. At least Denali wouldn’t feel as alone. It’s strange how quickly she’s come to enjoy talking with Rosé again, when they’ve barely talked all their years as mentors, everything they share just too wide a bridge to cross. But they’ve crossed it now, and having Rosé again was worth the journey.

Symone runs in, a beautiful turquoise dress flowing behind her, and helps Denali into her outfit. It’s softer on her skin than the scratchy burlap she’d worn eleven years ago, and Denali hopefully peeks in the mirror.

She’s gorgeous.

The dress is long and white, made of tiny strands of fabric that reflect the light and twinkle in every color of the rainbow, like sun bouncing off gleaming snow. Like the fur of a white fox.

“Do you like it?” Symone asks.

“Holy shit,” Denali mutters, and it’s answer enough.

“I’m gonna get Rosé,” Symone says, but Denali hardly hears her. She can’t look away from how beautiful she looks, with her dress and pale blue eyeshadow and her hair in its familiar braid. She’s the Fox.

And Rosé is the Lion.

Denali gasps when she sees Rosé’s golden dress, the fabric shifting under the light and revealing soft tones of amber. The lion pin over her heart is a little too beat-up to shine, but it does anyway. She’s beautiful, beautiful in a way Denali can’t ignore anymore, beautiful in a way that Denali never wants to look away from again.

“You look amazing,” Rosé says, watching Denali with wondrous eyes.

“So do you.”

Symone hugs them, and they head to their chariot.

Denali hated this last time. Her fellow tribute was bigger than her, and they were stuffed into this thing, Denali crammed against the side trying not to fall out. And she was in a hideous coal miner outfit on top of it.

Tonight, she’s in control, and she's beautiful. The chariots pull through the City Circle one by one, past masses of people. It’s the biggest crowd Denali’s ever seen, a blur of color and cheers. The crowd is screaming when District 1 pulls out, and they don’t let up for District 12. People are already rooting for them, and it’s so bright, so loud. Almost too much. Rosé stiffens beside her and Denali knows she’s thinking the same thing. But they have to do this. Denali squeezes Rosé’s hand, the touch easing the ringing in her ears.

“Don’t let go of me,” Denali whispers.

Rosé doesn’t.

---

After the chariots, they’re lined up by the stage. District 12 is last of course, and Denali has to listen to 22 other tributes be charming and witty and lovely. Nina West, the Capitol interviewer, is unavoidable in a rainbow dress, and Denali winces against its brightness. She wishes a quiet good luck to Rosé before she takes the stage.

Rosé waltzes on stage with the spin Denali made her do in the dressing room and becomes a star in an instant, joking about how the Capitol just had to have her back, about how she still presses the wrong shower buttons and filled the room with bubbles last night, and everyone rolls with laughter. But when Nina’s face turns serious, Denali knows the tide has turned.

“Now, you volunteered for your sister last time.”

“Right,” Rosé says quietly, and Denali remembers her saying that she didn’t want anyone using Jan against her.

“I see you’re wearing her pin again.”

Rosé nods. “I gave it to her as a birthday gift when she was a kid. When I said goodbye, she gave it to me and made me promise to bring it home to her. To me, it’s...it’s a symbol of love and home.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. People volunteering like Rosé is extremely rare. Denali remembers how people back home had whispered about her last time. Some people called her selfish, said she was the oldest daughter and shouldn’t have left her parents. Some said she was an idiot and should have sent her sister to the Games, a pig to the slaughter, and counted herself lucky that she was spared. But many people, Denali included, thought that Rosé was brave, almost certainly saving her sister’s life even at the risk of her own. A kind of brave, a kind of love, that you don’t see much anymore. Everyone in the Capitol held the same belief, and it was why they loved her so much, in awe of her devotion and kindness. Why they love her still, if the adoring gazes are any indication.

“And did you make the same promise this time?” Nina asks.

“I did.”

Nina nods solemnly. “It’s wonderful to hear about your family.” Her smile is genuine, and Denali wonders how someone so nice ended up doing this. “While we're on the subject, is there anyone special back home?”

Denali holds her breath. This is it, practically served on a platter. All Rosé has to do is take it.

And boy, does she.

She smiles mischievously, fixing her hair while the audience holds their breath, wondering if she’s taken or if they somehow have a chance with her.

“Well, Nina, I do have someone. Except she’s not home.”

Nina’s eyes light up. “Are you saying--”

Rosé nods. “Yes. The woman I love came here with me.”

People actually scream. Some gasp, some cheer, while Nina tries to hush them and ask Rosé more questions. Even Denali smiles in surprise and she knows the camera catches it. Rosé is every inch the lovestruck woman she needs to be, and Denali listens as she explains how they’d gotten together.

“Denali was like a little sister to me, you know? She was best friends with my sister Jan, and they were always following me around. Little terrors,” she jokes, and the audience laughs. “She was always so funny, so strong and brave. I saw that firsthand when I mentored her. She’s amazing, isn’t she? Everything she does with her bow--I’d poke my eye out.” Another laugh, more smiles. Rosé’s face softens as she continues. “We lived nearby after the Games, but I always kept my feelings secret. I was just too afraid to tell her. But after the Quell, I had to. We stayed awake all night on the train here, and I finally told her. We agreed to work together for the Games, and Denali...she gives me a lot of hope going into them.”

The crowd is on their feet, clamoring for more, but they’re past the time limit, and Rosé exits to applause that goes on for over a minute.

By the time Denali takes the stage, they’re absolutely rabid. Nina asks her basic questions first, stringing things along and making everyone wait. Denali has no idea what she answers, because she’s still reeling from Rosé’s interview, goosebumps on her arms at how much Rosé admires her. She sounded so genuine. Someone hopelessly in love and afraid to confess her feelings, finally doing so in the face of danger. It didn’t happen, there was no love confession on the train, but Denali almost feels like there was, because Rosé made it that real. But this is just a game; she can’t forget that, no matter how in love Rosé seemed. They’re just friends.

“Now, I have to ask what we’re all waiting for.” Nina’s cheerful voice cuts through her thoughts. “Tell us about you and Rosé!”

Denali puts on a smile. “Well, like she said, me and her sisters followed her around all the time. We probably were little terrors.” Nina smiles, and the crowd follows. “I always admired her. I watched her Games all day and night, because I just had to see her win,” Denali says, heart tingling at the memory of her joy when Rosé won. “And then I had her as a mentor, and she helped me so much, with whatever I needed. She never gave up on me, and that respect and awe I had for her turned to love over the years. I didn’t know she felt the same way.”

The words feel real, simple and close enough to the truth to be believable. Denali smiles and bats her eyelashes, a woman in love. Nothing is a lie except for the love part, and Denali could leave it at that, but a memory pops into her head. One to really seal the deal, a thought she hates an instant later, because Rosé is her friend, not just some pawn.

“When I was eleven, my father got hurt. He was fine, but he was out of work for a few weeks, and things were...hard. I was really upset. And Rosé—I don’t even know if she remembers this—she stuck a cookie in my bag every day on the way to school. Just to help me feel a little better. She never brought it up, never wanted attention or thanks for it. She just wanted to help.”

Denali swallows as the audience awws. The camera is surely panning to Rosé, but Denali can’t look at her. The memory hit harder than she expected. She never lets herself remember it, because she hates even acknowledging that she’d needed charity. But it was never like that with Rosé. She never made it seem like charity, never wanted power over Denali by helping her. Rosé just wanted to help. She’s the only person who ever helped Denali when she was a kid, and real tears prickle in her eyes.

“I never forgot that,” Denali continues. “It shows how kind and caring she is. That’s why I fell in love with her.”

Nina wipes her eyes. Everyone is yelling their names, clapping and blowing kisses, and Denali knows.

They’ve won this round.

Game, set, match.

---

Rosé can’t sleep.

It should come easy, after how well the interviews went, how beloved they’ve become overnight. Yet it’s 1am and sleep isn’t coming. She can’t spend another minute in this room, staring at the ceiling and suffocating under thousand-thread-count sheets. She heads to the common room on their floor, and she’s not the only one awake.

Denali’s on the couch, watching footage from her Games.

“Can’t sleep either?” Denali guesses, turning off the TV.

Rosé shakes her head. “Okay if I sit?”

Denali nods, and Rosé takes the end of the couch, afraid to breach the gap between them even if she wants to, wants to feel someone human near her before tomorrow. But they’re not on camera, and maybe Denali won’t want that.

“Does it get tiring?” Rosé asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Watching the Games over and over. Your workouts,” Rosé explains. She never talks about the Games--hell, until this year she’s never talked about anything big with Denali. But something is coming undone in Rosé tonight. Maybe the threat of tomorrow. Maybe how close she and Denali have become. Maybe how everything she said about Denali on stage is lingering in her heart. Maybe how Denali remembered Rosé’s childish attempts to help her with cookies all those years ago, how Rosé’s heart warms at the memory. Whatever the reason, the words are flying out past everything Rosé uses to keep them inside.

“Does it get tiring trying to ignore it all?” Denali doesn’t sound mean, just curious.

“Yes,” Rosé says bluntly. “I just...wouldn’t know what else to do.”

She learned early on that the only way to get out of bed and function was to put all the thoughts and feelings and horrors of the Games deep inside herself, seal them tight, and pretend they weren’t there. They come back sometimes. In nightmares. In certain smells that take her back to the arena, muscles instantly clenching. In the time she got a papercut and was frozen in place when Lagoona found her, because of the blood, the blood. But for the most part, she has a handle on things. Living like Denali--going on runs, watching the footage, talking about it constantly--would just be inviting it in, breaking the seal on the memories. And that’s undoubtedly worse than Rosé’s method of dealing.

“It gets tiring for me too sometimes,” Denali admits, playing with the couch cushion. “I guess I’m trying to fight it. Like if I keep running, memorize the Games, then I’ll beat it and it can’t hurt me.”

“Does it work?”

Denali just shrugs.

“Sometimes I think they want us to forget,” Rosé says. She’s never voiced it to anyone, but she’s safe with Denali.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Rosé tugs on her shirt, exposing her left shoulder. “In my Games, that boy’s axe got me here. I felt it, Denali. My shoulder was torn open, the blood was everywhere. I woke up in the hospital without a mark on me.”

“My knee too,” Denali says quietly. “I saw the bone when it happened, and now there’s nothing. Like it never happened. It just gets stiff sometimes.”

“It’s like the Capitol wants us to fear the Games, but forget how bad they were. They erase the scars and give us nice houses and expect us to be grateful. Perfect little victors,” Rosé spits. There’s an anger there she usually ignores, the deep hurt of the Capitol parading her around as a victor but not actually caring about her.

“I think it’s another way to control us,” Denali says. “Who’s gonna speak out against them when they fixed us up and gave us a nice house with heat and indoor plumbing, y’know?”

Rosé nods. “I guess I just want—“

“You want a life they don’t own. A life that’s yours,” Denali guesses. A guess that flies out so easily because it’s something she wants herself, something no one else understands. When Rosé left for the Games, Denali was still young enough to have that wish. She had the freedom to not know what she wanted to be when she was older. No one dreams of becoming a Hunger Games victor.

But somehow they both did.

“Yeah.” Rosé sighs. It’s something she never really lets herself imagine—a normal life with her family, with easy sleep and no Capitol obligations—but something she longs for just the same. And Denali understands. Rosé wonders if it could’ve been like this all the time if she had the courage to talk to her.

“Are you scared?” Denali asks suddenly.

“Fuck, how could I not be?” Rosé mutters, her honesty continuing. “I mean, I’m scared to go back, sure, but…but I’m also scared that if I come out, I might not be me anymore. I don’t want the Games to make me something I don’t want to be.” She doesn’t know how to explain it, only that she doesn’t want to lose herself to the Games, to what she might have to do. She never wants to become so soaked with blood that she can’t recognize herself.

Denali nods. “You still want to be you at the end. Not just a piece of the Games.”

The words strike Rosé’s heart like she thought them herself. “Yes.”

“It scares me too.”

It shouldn’t do anything. It’s just a simple confirmation that they feel the same way, recognize something in each other. But it proves to Rosé that she’s not alone, that someone understands her, and after she and Denali say goodnight around two, she falls asleep easily.

---

The sun dawns bright the morning of the Games.

Denali moves in a daze, stomach knotting over a silent breakfast with Rosé.

She needs to focus. She needs to let go of last night, of how real Rosé’s love seemed, of how she let her guard down and talked with her, of how close they’ve gotten. This is a game, and it’s about to start. Time seems to malfunction, and one minute she’s picking at her food and the next Manila’s leading them to the launch room. This is it.

Denali’s heart pounds as they get ready. She’s in all black--boots, pants, shirt, and jacket--and Rosé is dressed the same. Her lion pin roars on her jacket, while Denali has her mother’s necklace. She hopes it protects her.

Manila dabs her tears with a bumblebee handkerchief, and Denali would roll her eyes, but she’s pretty sure it’s genuine.

“Remember,” Rosé says hoarsely, “we get our weapons and run.”

Denali nods as they step on the plates that take them to the arena. Denali closes her eyes as the platform shoots up, her head spinning as she tries to breathe. Everything stops, and the announcer’s voice declares the 75th Hunger Games have begun.

Denali opens her eyes.

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #symone #rosnali #lesbian au #s13 #hunger games au #ever in your favor #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

[pandoraswrld]

WARM

— in which yuna and jiyoon talk about love

characters / boo yuna, kim jiyoon

words / 1.9k

warnings / none, it’s mostly just fluff n comfort

유나나 at 01:15: can i come over?

오렌지윤 at 01:18: sure you can

Yuna was already halfway there by the time she sent the text, she knew Jiyoon would never say no to her, even if it was way past midnight and she had a schedule tomorrow.

It was only a short trip to the Jinx dorms, Yuna had made her way there so many times before that it had been muscle memory for her to just twist and turn around the streets until she arrived at their apartment building.

Jiyoon had greeted her with her usual smile, cheek to cheek with open arms. Her orange hair had faded since the last time they had seen each other, brown roots now taking over the once bright colour. With the week left of promotions for Jinx, Yuna was sure she would be invited over at some point to come help her dye it again.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jiyoon had quickly ushered Yuna into her room, Rosie sleeping soundly in the far right of the room. Yuna would be more worried about talking with her in the room but she knew that the younger girl could probably sleep through just about anything.

“How do you know I wanted to talk about anything? Can’t a friend just want to see her other friend.” Yuna’s lips pouted outwards.

“It’s one in the morning, you always have something to say at one in the morning.” The other girl deadpanned, arms crossed as per usual.

Yuna simply rolled her eyes, falling down onto Jiyoon’s bed to rest her head on her lap, “Fine, I want to talk but you go first.”

“Me go first? What do I have to talk about?” Jiyoon chuckled.

Jiyoon’s hands had taken purchase in Yuna’s hair, just like always. One tangling in the soft strands of pink hair and the other resting lightly on Yuna’s cheek.

“I saw you and Joohyuk the other day, what is that about?” Yuna was feeling cheeky that night, bringing up the scenario she had spotted at the cafe in the HJK building, one involving a particular Kim Jiyoon holding the hand of her ex boyfriend as if nothing had changed at all.

“That was nothing, he just wanted to talk.”

“And what about all the fondling?” Yuna cooed.

“There was no fondling, I just wanted to hold his hand,” she paused for a second, “for old times sake.”

“So there is something going on, hmm?”

“No silly, we only talked for like five seconds about our relationship and then he went back to his dorm and I went back to mine.” Jiyoon sounded entirely unsatisfied with her own story, there was something more, there was always something more when it came to those two.

It only took a minute of Yuna staring up and into Jiyoon’s eyes for her to crack, “Okay and he told me he’s sorry for everything.”

“What! The Oh Joohyuk apologised? What brought this on?” Yuna had straightened up, eager to hear more.

“He told me he’s been thinking of me.” Jiyoon was almost giddy saying these words as told by the smile slowly creeping onto her face. “He acknowledged that he was wrong for everything that’s happened over the last few years, he wants to make things up to me.”

Yuna observed Jiyoon as she talked, a habit she had formed over the last few months. Jiyoon always smiled when she talked about Joohyuk, even when she was mad at him, which was most of the time. She reckons it’s because she was still fond of him, recalling all the times Jiyoon had reminisced over their past with Yuna. She didn’t want to make any assumptions but she’s sure Jiyoon’s still in love with him.

“What are you gonna do with this information? Are you gonna be friends or do you think he wants to go back to how things used to be?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Yuna, part of me wants him back.”

“I could’ve told you that.” That earned a hit to Yuna’s arm from Jiyoon.

“Shut up, this is serious! Obviously I can’t let him have me back so quickly but I’ll be damned if I said all the tension between us didn’t make me want him even more.”

“My best advice is to just be cautious about things, if you really want to get back together, I don’t want you to get hurt again.” Yuna held Jiyoon's hand in her own, rubbing small circles into her palm as she spoke.

Jiyoon shook her head, “Of course, we don’t want a rerun of me crying in front of everyone in the produce dorms, that was so embarrassing.”

The two girls sat and laughed for a little bit, the memory of Yuna shielding Jiyoon off and telling the other trainees that she was just sad because of her performance coming across both of their minds.

Once both of their laughs died down a silence came over the room, Yuna assumed it was now her turn to talk now, after all she was the reason why they were having this conversation in the first place.

“Jiyoon, how did you know you loved him?” Yuna was hesitant with her words.

Jiyoon looked over to the other side of her bed, clearly in thought. After a moment she simply laughed and turned to give Yuna a soft smile.

“I wanted to do anything for him, I always got this inexplicable feeling in my chest whenever I was with him and that’s why it hurt so bad when he ended it.” The ginger girl simply sighed, throwing her hand back into Yuna’s hair, coming to brush the loose strands out of her eyes and tucking them behind her ear.

“Have you ever been in love, Yuna?”

“I think I loved a boy once.” Yuna started, her breath hitching ever so slightly and her heartbeat steadily rising. “He was sweet, kind to me but he was kind to everyone.”

“He made me feel like sunshine, I was always warm when I was around him.” She smiled, each memory she had of him was positive. It was rare that she ever brought them back up. Yuna wanted to keep each memory of him safe, away from the prying eyes of others and away from the negativity inside herself that she knew would one day overtake them.

“What happened?”

Yuna sighed, she began to recall how cold she felt when he had left, her fingertips had turned blue and she couldn’t feel her nose anymore. The worst of it was how she felt inside, sure she was physically cold but something had run through her blood and frozen each and every nerve. She knew he wasn’t coming back, she knew he never would.

“He left, I moved on.” Yuna exhaled, she couldn’t feel that same cold again.

This is why she never liked talking about him. Every word she breathed about him made him even more distant. It had been years and yet when she talked about him it only felt like days since she last saw him. She wanted to feel warm again, she did, but if the warm was followed by the sinking feeling of freezing up again she couldn’t do it.

A beat of silence followed Yuna’s words before Jiyoon began to talk, “Is this related to that conversation we had after your date with Sanha?”

Yuna sighed, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it was, she always thought about it when she had time to herself, she thought about how no one quite measured up to him. There was so much confusion going on in her brain that she couldn’t handle it half of the time, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with all of it. That’s usually when she’d go to Jiyoon or Juliet and distract herself with their problems but she’s already here with Jiyoon, there’s no hiding for her right now.

“It’s not really a matter of if it was a boy I loved or a girl, I just can’t love like I did back then, it hurts.” She rarely talked like this, she was never one to share anything less than positive with those around her.

“The closest I’ve felt to that feeling was when I was around Somi, it probably wasn’t love but maybe even what I was feeling back then wasn’t love. All I knew was that they both felt good to me.”

The last time Yuna had met up with Somi was a couple months ago when she got her first win. She shared so much of her happiness that night and she just wanted to feel like that forever, or at least for a little longer than she had that day.

“I don’t know, things were just different with her. She makes me feel like…like when you see the sun hit the water just right and it sparkles? Like that.” Yuna always tried to make sense of her emotions by attempting to connect them to moments, scenarios, anything physical and real. Jiyoon understood her most of the time, she was the easiest to talk to when it came to explaining how she felt.

Yuna’s eyes had fixated on the ceiling light, how it was decorated with little paper butterflies most likely done by Rosie as told by the crumpled edges and jaggedly cut lines. She wanted to feel like those butterflies, she wanted to feel like everything, there was no way to explain it. Everything emanated something to Yuna, those butterflies were simply a sense of something free, crafted for nothing other than decoration but still placed lovingly in and around the room.

“Realistically though, I think that if I were to feel that same love again it would be for a girl.” Something heavy had finally lifted off of her chest once she had finished her sentence. It felt freeing to finally say what had been sitting at the back of her mind for the last few weeks, even though her hands and legs were a little jittery she felt like she could do just about anything in the moment.

“Boo Yuna are you coming out to me?” Jiyoon gasped, feeling Yuna’s elbow nudging into her side.

“I’m not saying anything! I don’t exactly know how I feel, I like girls ninety nine percent of the time but there’s always him.” Yuna saw his face clearly in her mind, every detail the same as it was all those years ago, “Maybe I’m not meant to know who I am? I don’t identify with anything I just am, you know?”

Jiyoon threw her arms around Yuna’s body, drawing the older girl’s body closer into her and resting her head on top of Yuna’s. The smell of Jiyoon’s fruity shower gel comforted Yuna greatly, if there was one thing she could always count on her for it was that she would always be there, never changing.

“That’s completely fine my love, sometimes labels just aren’t right for people and if you’re happy with where you’re at then I’m happy and I will always support you!” She left a kiss on Yuna’s cheek, pinching it right after in typical Kim Jiyoon fashion.

Yuna grinned at her friend, her eyes turning into half-moons as her cheeks rose. Jiyoon always made her feel good about herself, even in her worst moments. Yuna truly was grateful to have such a person in her life, she made her want to be the same positive influence for others, she made Yuna want to be a better person.

“I love you so much Jiyoon, you’re the best.”

#bobakocnet #aeskocnet #yuna — dev #kpop oc #kpop oc group #fake kpop idol #fake kpop group #not my best graphic but it’s still cute ig

[tyrustrash]

Double Rainbow

Hey, all! Here’s my first Julie and The Phantoms fic! @caro-reads @random-nerd-3 I tagged y’all cause y’all seemed interested in the idea. It’s also on AO3 if anybody wants to read it on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726482

He thought once he told them everything would be alright. His parent were assholes, which he figured they would be. That night had less yelling than expected, but just the right amount of disappointment. His father called him every slur in the book as he threatened to make things physical and his mother just cried and wondered where she went wrong. He gathered up everything that he thought was valuable before he stormed out of the house due to his father’s orders.

He walked to the closest park and rested on one of the benches. The rain came down hard. Good for him because it covered up his tears. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that his father wouldn’t immediately be open with having a gay son but hoped he would lighten up because they always told him they would always love and support him. He guessed he wasn’t the only one that lied.

With the flash of lightning, Alex jumped from the bench. He nearly dropped his phone on the concrete sidewalk. Without thinking about what he would say, he called one person he hoped wouldn’t be like his parents.

“What’s up,” the voice on the phone said. He knew Luke would answer even if it was late.

He couldn’t form a complete sentence due to his sobs. “Lu-Luke. I c-can’t. Please.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” The concern in his voice seems sincere. It made him hope that it was real. “Just breathe. Tell me what’s going on.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t come out to him. He just lost his parents and he wasn’t ready to lose his best friends. “My parents just kicked me out.”

“What!” His shouting was loud enough to fill up the empty park. “What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”

Alex got even more upset that he couldn’t tell him the whole truth. “I’m at Frankly Park, in the rain.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What are you-” He couldn’t finish speaking because Luke hung up. He wanted him to stay on the phone longer. He wanted him. He wanted someone that would care about him.

A few minutes later, a car pulled up to the sidewalk. He recognized it as Emily’s car. He walked to it and got in the passenger’s seat. He noticed Luke in the driver’s seat with the most worried face he has ever seen.

“I’m sorry for getting the inside wet,” Alex said without looking at him. His voice was so faint that it felt like a ghost talking.

“I don’t care about that,” Luke told him. “I care about you. What happened? Are you hurt? Do I need to get Reggie?”

Hearing him mention Reggie made him begin crying again. It just hit him that his friends were all he had left and he couldn’t mess things up. He didn’t know how to tell them, nor did he know if they would even be cool with it.

“I just need somewhere to stay.”

“I know a place.” With that, Luke drove off.

A short drive brought them to a garage in a neighborhood. There wasn’t a house attached to it. Walking inside, there was some sort of setup for playing instruments with some couches on the side and a little bed area on the top floor. Alex looked at it in awe.

“What is this place?”

Luke went to the fridge and gave Alex a bottle of water. “Welcome to Sunset Curve’s new rehearsal studio. I was going to show you guys this weekend as a surprise. The original owners didn’t need it anymore and let me buy it off them real cheap. I wanted to set things up before we actually got started in here.”

Alex sat on one of the couches and took it all in. He looked up to the partial second floor which only consisted of bedroom supplies. He figured he could stay there. “Thanks for getting all this.”

“No problem.” Luke sat next to him. “My parents wanted us to find a new place because they wanted the house to be quiet. You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Nah, it’s our space now. You’re free to crash here for however long you need.”

Alex couldn’t be more grateful. Luke went out of his way to find them this space and was okay with him living there. Without thinking, he leaned over and gave him a hug. When Luke placed his hands on his back, it made Alex pull away quickly. He just realized he gave his male, and straight, friend a super close and tight hug. It got him thinking if he gave off any signs.

“It’s okay,” Luke said. “If you need a hug, I’m open. I don’t mind.”

Before he could let out any more tears, Alex got up and made his way to the bed on the second floor. “It’s alright. I just need to rest and clear my mind.”

Luke nodded and headed out. Before closing the door, he looked Alex in the face and said, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m all ears. And don’t ever forget that I love you. Reggie loves you. Hell, even Bobby to an extent loves you. You have people here for you.”

When Luke left, Alex started crying again. He thought about what Luke said. Would they really love him when he comes out? Would they end up being like his father? The world didn’t like people like him and most didn’t bother hiding their hate.

His father would make snarky remarks all the time about gay people and make it known that he believed straight was normal. One time when they saw two guys holding hands, his father covered Alex’s eyes and cursed at the guys because he thought they were going to poison him with their disease. When Alex asked what was wrong with them, his father simply explained that they were sick and needed help. When Alex said that he thought nothing was wrong with that, his father took him to church and had him pray for an hour until he caved and said what his father wanted to hear.

He remembered the first time he felt feelings for another boy. He was in eighth grade and there was a particular football player that he gravitated towards. Unfortunately, the football player happened to be his only friend at the time. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but to stare at him whenever they spent time together. He felt his insides shake just thinking about him. He finally understood what the other boys were talking about when they talked about girls. He worked up the courage to start a conversation with him to explain how he felt, but before he approached the boy, he saw that he had an anti-gay poster in his locker. That crushed his spirit and ended their friendship. Now he was worried that his current friends would think the same. He never heard them say anything alarming, but people could put on a show. So much was running through his mind that he needed to let it out somehow. He grabbed his journal and started writing exactly what his heart felt and every emotion running through his body.

Even though he shouldn’t, he wrote about what would happen if the guys ended up not liking him. He wrote about how much their friendship meant to him and how hurt he’ll be if they kicked him out. He wrote an apology to them for lying and not having enough faith in them. After a few tears hit the pages, he placed it on the little table and went to sleep.

A few weeks passed and Alex has yet to come out. He’s been alright around the guys and grew closer to them because of their extra time together. He felt safe with them, or that’s what he thought.

Over time in the garage, Alex has bought different rainbow and Pride-themed things to place around the garage to see how the others would react. It wasn’t much, just some cups, plates, blankets, and stickers for their instruments. It was his way of giving hints without saying anything, and to see if they would mention anything. He made sure that they didn’t see him bring it all in. He almost bought glitter but thought it would be too much.

One day, Alex was on the couch playing air drums when Bobby and Reggie came in and went to the fridge. They poured some orange juice in the rainbow cups.

Reggie took a sip and nudged Bobby. “Hey, man, do you know where all this random rainbow shit came from? It’s getting a little too fruity in here for my liking.”

Alex’s ears perked. He started feeling his heart sink lower into his stomach.

Bobby groaned. “Dunno, but hopefully more don’t show up. Don’t want to be turned.”

Bobby laughed and Reggie stayed silent as they made their way to the rehearsal area. Alex wanted to die. He didn’t want to believe that his only friends had those thoughts. He started having more thoughts the other day when Luke said he never wanted to think about kissing another boy. Alex stayed quiet as he listened to Bobby and Reggie.

“What does that mean?” Reggie asked. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad.”

Bobby shook his head. “Yes, it would. Do you think that that’s right?”

“I mean,” Reggie said, which made Alex worry even more. “I don’t know. With everything the news says, I don’t know exactly what to think, but I do think a little that being homosexual is weird. I mean, girls are hot. I don’t know why guys wouldn’t be into them. However, it’s none of my business what they’re into. And I’m not going to assault them or say anything to them either.”

“I’ll say something.” Bobby’s voice was cold. Alex took note of Reggie’s facial expression of confusion. “As you said, girls are hot. Guys are supposed to like girls.”

“Says who?” They all turned to the backdoor and noticed Luke in the door frame. His tone was a mix of sarcasm and pissed off. “I didn’t know there was a rule stating who we had to like?”

“Come on, man. Don’t defend them as if you’re friends with them. I heard what you said. I remember our talks.”

Alex for sure wanted to die. His heart raced faster knowing that the three of them had talks where they expressed their dislike for people like him. He wanted to get up and run away, but that would look too suspicious.

Reggie got between Bobby and Luke. “Guys, let’s just calm down and talk reasonably.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about what the two of you have said to me, especially since all this rainbow shit started showing up.”

Luke approached Bobby. “Look, I didn��t really mean anything that I said. It was all for fun.”

“What did you say?” Reggie asked.

Luke rubbed the back of his head. “It was nothing. Just some jokes about how the queers like to shove themselves down our throats. That I feel like they check me out when I go to the gym and felt uncomfortable. Nothing serious. But it’s not as bad as what Bobby says.”

Bobby chuckled as if he wasn’t ashamed. “Yeah, but at least I have the balls to say something. Those freaks shouldn’t be out in public. I shouldn’t be afraid to be shirtless at the beach in case one of them tries flirting with me. If I catch one of them even thinking about me, I’ll beat the crap out of them. Those faggots can rot in hell.”

That was it. That was the final straw. Alex started hyperventilating and tried leaving. He stumbled on his way but managed to get out. He didn’t make it far, only to the trees behind the garage. Gasping for air, he passed out.

When he woke up, he was shocked. He was back in the garage and was on the bigger couch. He looked over and saw Luke and Reggie sitting at the table, both seem interested in something. Upon closer look, his eyes widened when he realized they were reading his journal. His heart couldn’t catch a break today.

He couldn’t do anything because they saw him. Their faces look like they’ve been crying for a while. Luke still had some tears rolling down his cheek. Alex’s feet couldn’t move for some reason when they started coming towards him. Next thing he knew was these two straight guys giving him the tightest hug that he has ever had. Alex joined them in the tears.

“We’re so sorry,” Luke said without letting go. “We’re so freaking sorry for what we’ve said. What Reggie and I said truly were meant as jokes, poor and tasteless jokes that shouldn’t have been said.”

Reggie was next. “We love you so much, Alex. We’re sorry for being the worst friends ever. We understand if you hate us. But let me tell you that you are our best friend and we never meant to hurt you.”

Alex’s sobs filled up the garage. He didn’t know what to believe. After hearing all the hurtful things that they have said, it was hard for him to be around them. But he could tell in their voice and face right now that they were genuinely sorry.

“Why?” Alex asked as he broke the hug. “Why would you even say those things? Or even think those things? Are you only saying this now because I’m your friend?”

Reggie got down on his knees and took one of Alex’s hands. “Alexander Oscar Cobb, you are our friend no matter who you are. We were monsters for what we’ve said, and we’re truly sorry and we want to change.”

Luke got down next and took his other hand. A little tear left his eye. “We don’t know why we said those awful things before. Please, you have to believe us when we say that we don’t hate you and we don’t hate others like you. We were just stupid boys that listened to the wrong crowd.”

“What about Bobby?” Alex asked as he stood and walked across the room. The other two followed him.

“He’s out,” Luke said. “We kicked him out of the band and the friend group. We don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Yeah,” Reggie chimed in. “He saw nothing wrong in his thoughts and didn’t want to change. He continued talking shit when he found out the truth.”

Luke moved to be in front of Alex and looked him in the eyes and said, “We promise to never make a dumbass comment again. We’ll learn and grow and do whatever it takes. You’re not just our friend, you’re our brother.”

So many thoughts ran through Alex’s mind that it felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t risk making the wrong move, but he was pretty sure he was going to be happy.

“Thanks, guys,” Alex said as he took their hands again. “And I promise to be honest from now on. Your words mean so much to me and I hope we can all use this as a learning experience.”

At that, they had another group hug and gave supportive remarks to each other. Alex turned his head and stared out the window. He smiled seeing the double rainbow in the sky.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfiction #gay #lgbt #ao3 #fanfic

[royal-writer]

But I love you

A bunch of ideas I stitched together into the fabric of one story. There ya go.

-

It was a different world. Larger, colder; it left her feeling small. Prey to the predators. Insignificant. Everyone standing around here was dripping with dignity and class; with enough esteem and reputation to line museums with stature. There was not enough of her to fill even the corner of the room. She was not enough.

In these halls, blood was power. Although Essätha’s held a different kind of power; simmering with the old dark magic of Shadowfell, it was not the same thing. The elite in these chambers were bred from blood of the wealthiest, the wisest, the most powerful and influential individuals in history. They were people who were born and raised to carry their voice, to weld a sword, to stand tall and firm. Their authority was without doubt. Most of them knew and accepted their place in history, and in the world.

This was no place for her kind. Not for her. Her posture was not quite right, her tongue not trained for these conversation. She came from nothing. She was nothing.

In the heavy blanket of her smothering unease, others tried to start the fire beneath her broken confidence, with little success.

“They’re just people like us,” Abernathy reminded her. “Their status doesn’t make them better.”

“Come have a glass of wine,” Adela offered. “It’ll help ease your worries.”

“I can stay with you,” Sul had offered.

“Don’t hold yourself back because of how you look,” Penimra scoffed, waving a gloved hand as he sighed, “No one here will openly mock you. They’re raised to hold their gossip to private parlors with friends, so you’re safe from public ridicule.”

Essie turned them away, one by one. The more they hovered, the more she could feel the wandering curious eyes draw towards a crowd. The very last place she wanted was to be in the center of anyone’s attention.

As her eyes trailed upon Ravamora fawning over someone’s gemstone-embed attire with a star-struck Pri’cha, the Yuan-Ti woman nibbled anxiously on her lip. She was the only one who looked out place here. Everyone else transitioned smoothly into the crowd, but not her. No matter how much makeup and expensive jewels and fine clothes you put her in, you couldn’t cover up the dirty, frightened, inadequate woman inside.

Relief would be the wrong word to use, when she caught sight of the dark eyes covering her. It was a dark shroud, and for only half a second, she’d all but forgotten the crowd. The charming, regal smile that went along with it made her produce a half-hearted reply. Her lips stretched into a shaky, thin returned smile as he approached, two flute glasses filled with bubbly liquid inside.

She dipped her head respectfully as he approached, murmuring, “M’lord.”

Amon’s grin grew almost giddy. “I thought you could use a refreshment.”

Offering a less than convincing ghostly smile, she accepted the beverage. Adela had been easy to turn down the few times she’d insisted on bringing over something. Although Essie could tell herself she was only accepting the nobleman’s out of respect for his stature and not wanting to draw him humiliation, her heart knew it was certainly more to do with disappointing him. It would be a shame to put a damper on such a soft, heavenly smile.

“It’s a fruity blended medley,” he explained. “Pomegranates, blackberries, apples, and pears. I thought you might prefer this, over the brandy they’re serving. Unless you’d rather-”

She placed a hand lightly upon Amon’s forearm to pause his strangely nervous rambling. He came to an abrupt halt, his gaze passing from where she touched him to her face with an impassive expression, as though he was hiding something.

“The mead is fine M’lord Amon, thank you,” Essätha whispered; adding on teasingly, “You know what I like.”

To her surprise, his face glowed pinkish as he relaxed his posture. He seemed to mull for a hesitant few seconds on what to say next, before finally exhaling brightly, “If you’re willing, Essie, there’s some people I’d like to introduce you too.”

Her grasp tightened upon the intoxicating sweet drink while she took a sip to buy time.

“Okay.”

Beaming from ear to ear, the nobleman offered out his arm to her. Not light could compare to how radiant he appeared; how picturesque and softly haloed his face was. Each strand of hair seemed to be highlighted from behind, and the angles of his face tilted enough to show the hills and valleys that peaked and rose around his cheeks that met the twinkle of his eyes.

Her hopes however, were dashed. She’d prayed he would bring this guest to her, but it seemed she would have to traverse the field of mines.

Delicately, Essätha rested her hand against Amon’s arm to allow him to lead her through the throng. She cursed her anxious grip, which tightened as the heat of bodies pressed close and smell of alcohol on lingering breathy laughter surrounded her. The intelligent part of her knew better, but a small part of her brain couldn’t help but feel they were laughing at her.

She turned her eyes up to the Illiad, and noticed the lingering way his gaze fell upon her, and then to the crowd in intervals to make sure they weren’t going to run into anyone.

Her heart stalled. How was it he always seemed to know what she needed, even when she didn’t voice it? Even when she didn’t know she needed it.

The reassurance of his eyes continued a looping path, back and forth a few times, until they were approaching two ladies and a gentleman chatting only a few degrees from the center of the room. The chandelier hanging overhead made this area particularly bright and unwelcoming. Essie had to resist squirming or latching further on to Amon like a leech for support and guidance.

“Lady Yaereena, Lady Sasha, Master Khrono,” Amon warmly interjected, offering a grand bow of his head. “My apologies for the interruption. This is the woman I wanted you all to meet.”

The trio turned their attention upon them.

“Oh, i’s no problem Master Ay’mon,” one of the women purred in a foreign accent. Her eyes flickered to Essie; a deep brown that countered her pale complexion. To contrast just how fair her skintone actually was, she wore a startling shade of raspberry red, with a lip stain to match, and allowed her dark hair to fall down her back.

She offered out a hand politely. “I am madam Sasha. Oi must be the misses Essätha Meduza the Bearmas’ah keeps going on about, no?”

Dizzily trying to hold her breath, Essie cast a sideways glance towards Amon. He’d been talking about her?

“That I am,” she awkwardly responded, taking the lady’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet ya, young lady,” the man piped up, extending his hand next. He had eyes so light blue they were nearly silver. His age was clearly beginning to catch up to him; as both the shadow of his thin beard and hair were beginning to have the same edges of silver and there was crepe areas and rough textures to his pale skin. He wore a sharp, pressed outfit of black and red attire, and had tiny points on his protruding ears.

Taking his hand, and then finally, the last Lady’s, Essie tried not to stare too hard at the woman. Lady Yaereena was enchanting; hair blonde and golden as the sun and dark hazel green eyes. Splashed across her face was a birthmark; varying in hues of a deep reddish-orange to brown. She had tired shadows beneath her eyes. She was physically more built than the other two, with very obvious elvish ears standing erect, and wore deep burgundy gown with a hint of brown to stand out against her olive skin.

“Lady Yaereena is quite shy, you’ll have to excuse her,” Khrono chuckled as the bashful woman’s cheeks flamed red.

Essätha offered a supportive smile, the best she could despite her own timidness. “It’s nice to meet you all,” she offered, automatically drawn to the timorous one. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you. Yours is n-nice too.”

Yaereena grew more flush from her stuttering. Essätha pitied the poor woman; edges of her own fear sanded down by her compulsive desire to bring an eased atmosphere to the area to calm her. Dipping her head respectfully, she murmured, “Thank you; the emerald color would look splendid on you too.”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Yaereena shyly replied. “I do have a j-jade at home I’m rather fond of…” She tried to self-consciously turn her face away, although no amount of concealment was going to add enough shadows to hide her birthmark.

“Oh! She is just dah’lin Ay’mon, oi were not lying! I could just devour her like a cupcake!”

Amon chuckled softly. “Careful who you mention sweets around.”

Swallowing nervously, Essie took an initiative to sip her mead.

“So, where are you from lass?” Khrono trailed on conversationally. “Not from Etheron, I’d surmised that much.”

“Vramahd, actually.”

The man let out a low, impressed whistle. “Quite the travel all the way across the continent here o’ yonder. Lots o’ wild out there still, I hear.”

“I… I suppose.”

“Oi like Etheron, no?”

She smiled faintly. “It’s been good to me.”

Sash raised her eyebrows slightly, glancing between her and Amon. “Yes, it seems it has.”

Ignoring the strange glance, Essie let out a nervous cough. “Do you three help rule a territory of Etheron?”

“Moi? Heavens no!”

Khrono simply laughed, shaking his head. “No, miss, ‘fraid I ain’t. Lady Yaereena here though, she’s late in line to uphold the mantle in her family, should anything happen to any of ‘em.”

The elf shivered nervously at the half-elf man’s words. “I am not fit to be a ruler. I’m f-far more content with my life, how it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with either,” Essätha offered gently. “Not everyone has to be a leader. Just because you were born to the possible responsibility, doesn’t mean it owns you. You just have to lead your own life the best way possible. You carve your own path, my Lady. If you should ever change your mind, there is always open positions and ways you could grow your experience from.”

The blonde woman blinked with astonishment, looking at her full on. Her mouth opened a few times, and a rush of red coloring flushed her features. She dipped her head, offering a humble, squeaky mumble of thanks.

Sasha grabbed at Khrono’s arm. “Fan me, Khrono, I may swoon!”

The elderly man snorted his laughter. “You and your theatrics ‘nd drama, Sasha. ‘though I must say,” he turned his gaze to Essie, “You got a very valid word there, miss. You got a promisin’ future ahead of ya with that sorta level head.”

“I- it’s nothing,” Essätha muttered, fanning off their gushing. “There’s nothing wrong with choosing your own path. Just because you’re a leader doesn’t make you a follower, either. You can still tutor and guide through other means. The world doesn’t just need Lords and Ladies; it needs the farmers that plow the fields, the doctors that heal, blacksmiths, fishermen, cooks, undertakers, barkeeps…” she trailed off, offering a hand to Yaereena as she fidgeted. “The point is to be the very best you possible. If you’re happy with where you are, I’m happy for you; and I support your choice.”

With a look of absolute awe on her angelic face, Yaereena fiercely gripped her hand in return.

“You are truly as unique and artful as Master Amon said,” she thickly remarked; her stuttering disappearing in her whispering tone. “Thank you for your kind words, miss Essätha.”

Blushing herself, Essie stood a fraction taller beneath the praise. “M’lord exaggerates.”

“Oh dah’lin I ever don’t so,” Sasha snorted. “Oi are a fine specimen. Upholding others is a beautiful and honorable task. Keep women strong. The men will beg for your attention.”

“I don’t think she’s doin’ it for the young lads, lassy.”

“Perhaps not young men,” Sasha agreed with knowing.

Offering a vaguely amused half-grin, Essie took a drink from her glass, wrapping a self-conscious arm around herself. It felt a little easier to breathe, at least, for the moment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Letting out a heavy sigh, Essätha stared vacantly at all the extravagant décor and finely dressed individual as they blindly passed her by. A face among faces; lost in the sea of glances as she watched others depart the party. Her own companions were still spread among those chatting; not yet willing to let the dream die. Sasha and Yaereena had left a short while ago, and Khrono had since gotten tangled in other conversation, leaving her feeling stranded.

A warm hand touched her own; fingers splayed against her digits.

She turned her face up to Amon, smiling painfully. “Thank you for introducing me to your acquaintances.”

He nodded. “They’re good friends.”

“… You thought Lady Yaereena could benefit, meeting me.”

The nobleman arched a single brow. “Anyone could benefit from knowing you, Essie; that is simply the warmth you bring forth to others,” he gently offered, “I… I just wanted to…”

“Pull me from my shell?” she offered, studying his expression. “Yank me from the staircase?”

His eyes were troubled. He frowned slightly, searching her face.

Exhaling deeply once more, she turned her eyes over the emptying room. It looked as she felt.

“… You are very thoughtful to think of me,” she said quietly, pulling her hand away. “But I do not belong here.”

As soon as her flats scuffed the floor in a single step, Amon’s hand took hold of hers, careful but firm.

“That’s not true, Essätha,” he rasped, holding her hand close. “You belong right here.”

Her gaze skirted from his hand, up the length of his arm, to the open invitation of his side. Up further, the pleading of his eyes stared longingly back at her. His pupils were blown out, and his breathing was shallow. Each breath was ragged; rough, struggling against an unexplained force.

She could feel the tightness constructing her throat. The tension in the air that was magic and yet was not. No matter how much she wanted to turn away, her eyes were held. She was stuck in the pull and it was taking her in, deeper and deeper, answering her questions, whispering to her the universes very secrets in a strange language she knew yet did not. Amon’s body language an open invitation; the doors to refuge and sanctuary wide open.

What was he fighting for? Why did it matter so much to him that she stay? Why was her comfort so important to him? Her happiness?

What am I to you?

She sucked in a breath. The words echoing in her head there were not her own. It was his words, and it was as fresh as the day he spoke them to her.

She knew the answer, but could not explain it. She could not identify it. She held back from admitting it, from letting the feeling flow freely. But she could not seem to hold it all back. How she unconsciously leaned in towards him; how her heartbeat picked up, the way she smiled when she truly smiled around him. Or even how, like now, she found it impossible to remove her eyes from him because looking at Amon made her chest light, made the world feel safe, and everything else in comparison just seemed so lackluster and uninteresting.

He was, in every way, her heart. Her sanctuary. Her fondest thought. Her Lord Amon.

But she could not give him the things he was warranted, what he deserved, what he wanted.

Essie smiled, even though it hurt, and mouthed softly, “There are… better women who should have that position.”

A quivering breath, shaky and uneasy as a boat on choppy waters, escaped him. His voice rose in the most broken whisper; soft, longing, and hopeless.

“… But I love you.”

She swallowed. “You…”

He turned so red she wondered if he’d forgotten how to breathe. A short, frightful nod, and he clutched to her hand with enough strength to make her fingers ache a little. He brought her hand closer, holding it against his chest. For comfort, for her to feel perhaps the sound of his heart trying to claw out of his ribcage desperately.

“There’s few things I’ve ever done right in my life,” Amon rasped; voice cracking in a rush. “Raising Marie. Joining the party. Keeping my word to you that I would stay.” He swallowed. “… Loving you, with all of my broken pieces.”

“Essie, I wanted you to meet them because I wanted them to meet you. You make a difference in others lives. I wanted them to see this beautiful, smart woman I can’t stop talking about and can’t get off my thoughts because I knew they couldn’t believe me and would never understand until they met you, just how wonderful you are. You are… extraordinary.”

She could hardly hear anything else past the exclamation. She didn’t need to hear anymore.

Maybe she wasn’t fit for this lifestyle. But she fit comfortably against Amon’s side.

“You’re not broken. You’ve been wounded, but you’re still one very solid, one very kind, one very reassuring and lovely man, m’lord Amon;” she retorted, smoothing her palm out against his chest. “… One man I admire, very deeply.”

Worry crept in. He began to falter; his joy deflating beneath defeat. “You make me feel alive and whole again,” the nobleman declared softly.

She scoffed, reaching to hold his cheek in her other hand. “If that’s true, why do you appear so blue right now, m’lord?”

He reached out to cup her cheek in his palm in response. She leaned into his touch, and the anxious smile grew more genuine as he stroked a line of warmth with the pad of his thumb along her cheek.

“I’m scared that I have made a very foolish decision in telling you, and that it will change how you are with me. That you will never be comfortable. That I will lose your trust.”

“You can not lose that which has always been yours,” Essie murmured, turning her head to kiss his palm. “My trust is as true as my heart, which loves you unconditionally.”

Amon gasped loudly. “You do?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “I do.”

Grinning wildly, he stepped closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against her own.

“That’s a relief,” he murmured, “I… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as a friend.”

She snickered faintly. “Sorry to say, you’re stuck with that title for life, M’lord.”

“It is one of my best titles,” he clarified. Releasing her other hand, he tentatively reached around her waist.

She stepped into his embrace without hesitation, allowing the warmth of his arms to steady her and wrap her in safety. A sigh parted her lips as she nuzzled against his shoulder. Amon rested his chin atop her head in turn, humming gratefully.

All the world was brighter, more colorful, and beautiful for it. Simply because he existed, because she was lucky to know him, and it made her world better for it. And as far as she was concerned, they held each other gently in this moment that she hoped could last a lifetime.

#royal writes #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #warning there be floof ahead

[themagiciansreccenter]

Five @ Five: @hoteldestiel​

As a part of our author spotlight, we’ve asked each writer to highlight 5 fics and tell us a little about their experience writing (or reading) them.

1. Peaches and Plums

This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he told Quentin to live his life here, at the mosaic. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that Q got it all wrong – all they ever seemed to do was cross their wires. But after 3 years together at this thing, he thought, he hoped the younger man would have learned how to decipher the Eliot of it all a little better. Most of what he meant wasn’t found in the words he spoke. It was somewhere underneath, in between, hiding in pauses, coiled around snark, and lurking just to the side of clever witticisms. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.

Usually, his favorite part of these cyclical days was when Arielle went home and he had Quentin to himself again. But today, after failing at the mosaic yet again, and having to watch all the canoodling while he was at it, he was tired, and cranky, and really needed a cigarette in an oppressively nicotine-free land.

“What a day, like, I mean, right?” Quentin was grinning like a puppy lovestruck fool as he went about prepping dinner for them both.

Eliot picked at his fingernails, nodding without making eye contact from where he sat at the dining room table. “Indeed.”

It was a twisted consolation, watching Quentin love someone else while Eliot still got to enjoy all the trappings of domestic bliss with him. A half-dream, a half-life, and it took a lot of energy for him not to scoff at how that had somehow become the overarching theme of being Eliot Waugh.

“Isn’t Arielle just the best?”

“She’s got nice peaches, I’ll give you that.”

This piece is my baby, and I’m so excited to see where it takes me. It’s already taken me about seven places I never considered going when I first set out on it, so I know it’s got some more tricks up its sleeve. Exploring both of these characters, together and in the aftermath of a life they don’t know what to do with, it just breaks me and puts me back together again in so many ways.

2. Don’t Say Magic Is Real by IvyDevoss

The friendly stranger named Eliot fussed around Quentin for a moment like a mother hen, making sure he was comfortably ensconced on the couch in the corner before darting back to the bar and returning almost instantly with a tall glass full of a dark red liquid and topped off with a tiny paper parasol. Quentin looked askance at the parasol but didn’t say anything. You don’t insult a free drink.

His first sip told him it was some sort of mixed drink—powerful yet enticingly fruity. His second sip followed rapidly on the heels of the first.

“So tell me,” Eliot started, a new glass in his hand as well. “Why on earth would anyone drink Ghiallo? I thought they used that stuff to clean toilets.”

Quentin shrugged, making a face at the vivid description. “It’s cheap. I have no cash on me and they’re weird about credit here. They always want to make you open a tab.”

His companion looked perplexed. “What kind of happiness-hating person would ever not open a tab?”

This is one of the first fanfics I read in this fandom, and I’ve always loved the AU of Quentin getting expelled, losing his memories, and Eliot keeping good on his promise. The only tragedy is that no new chapters have been published in like, two years. UGH.

3. Reaching in the Dark by @ohmarqueliot

Presenting his finished drink with a flourish, he waited as Quentin looked at it blankly. “That’s just vodka and orange juice,” he said, his twitching mouth ruining what Eliot thought was supposed to be a disappointed look. “I wanted a cocktail.”

Okay, yes, but that was beside the point. Lifting his chin, he waved his hand in another dramatic flourish over the glass. “It’s a screwdriver.”

“You mean, a vodka and orange juice.”

“I mean,” Eliot said good-humouredly, picking up the glass and leaning in close, holding the glass high between them, “that I can only create with what I’m given. Drink the goddamned cocktail.”

His eyes alight, Quentin wrapped his hand around the glass, his fingers brushing against his for a moment before Eliot let his hand drop. Still standing close, he watched closely as Quentin raised the glass, parting his lips and taking a long sip. Humming in appreciation, he placed the glass on the kitchen bench beside him. “It does taste good,” Quentin allowed, and then smirked up at him. “For a vodka and –“

There was no way he was going to let Quentin shit on his drink and continue to drink his drink. Eliot moved forward to steal the glass but Quentin moved faster, cutting off his own words as he pressed his lips to Eliot’s. Eliot’s hands grabbed Quentin’s forearms automatically when he came towards him but then he froze, stunned by the soft touch of lips against his. Quentin’s lips against his lips.

Look. I think we all know Sarah is a goddamn genius. But this piece hit me in so many feels, so many different times, in so many different ways, I honestly couldn’t handle it. And the cliffhangers, oh the cliffhangers. Plus, I’m a sucker for anything that explores the depth of Eliot’s feelings for Quentin, because I believe more than anything that they run very, VERY deep.

4. Sugar On My Tongue by Knowledgekid

Julia holds out her hand again. Both down another finger of vodka.

“Never have I ever hooked up with a girl.”

Julia narrows her eyes. “What’s that mean?” she asks.

“Don’t play cute,” Margo says.

“No, what do you mean, exactly, ‘hooked up’?”

“Want me to show you, bitch?” Margo leans over further. Julia can see down her dress.

Julia smirks. The liquor’s loosened her up. “Sure, bitch.”

Margo hops down from the bar. Solicitously, she holds out her hand to Julia, who takes it and drop down next to her. Margo grabs her wrist and threads her way through the crowd, to the stairs. Up the stairs. Julia bites her lip. She hasn’t made out with a girl since college. But as nervous as she is, she'd really like to do it again.

The characterization in this is so good, and honestly there is not nearly enough femslash in The Magicians fanfic world. I love the way she writes, the pace is perfect, and if we’re gonna be real, that shit is just hot.

5. Modified Aspect Ratio by @sabrinachill

“I am not going with option number two, it has green shag carpet in the master bedroom.”

“Jesus, El, it’s not like it matters! This is a fake episode of House Hunters; it isn’t really going to be our home.”

“Then just let me have my infinity pool!”

“That house is forty thousand dollars over our budget!”

“Our fake budget!”

“But one we have to stick by, according to the rules.”

"So the rules only matter when it’s important to you?”

“No, it’s just that the second option makes the most sense. It has an open floorpan and it’s in an excellent school district!”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m considering buying property with you. And in suburbia.”

I love this piece because the way it’s written is out of what I usually read, but it works so well with the premise of the thing, and it’s such a unique take on the situation, but something I can absolutely see happening in the show (not only because Supernatural definitely did the thing with Tricksters and I see you Sera Gamble), which makes it so easy to lose yourself in, and that’s one of my favorite things about fanfiction.

#the magicians #the magicians rec center #author spotlight #author spotlight: hoteldestiel #five @ five

[triumphorce]

under umbras of bundles  of stars,

canopies of leaves & branches that shatter-scatter sky image held indirect

as a gleam in eyes

as conscious lay in fabricated gardens watching memories, & desires in dream form

from across highway covered by

blue-white, 

yellow,

& orange lights

sound of tires, mufflers, sirens, 

amidst a higher sense 

attuned to

muffled far cries muffled while crossing empty lands

filled with chilling wind howls, stealing hope, 

which

kickstarts the power on survival mode..

ups& downs 

drown the cries further,

that

war, warn, or cheer..

or just sing..

maybe

a hymn made by souls for souls under same umbra to set free to lead to wonder & beauty beyond the surface of senses directly to free to seek love loss between me and me

buried beneath  road of longest journey to reach

turn feet all around

all about a world I have no idea about

just mad ideas about Kept in journals i turn over

to all but from in front of views not yet exploited by value of which is, views are power,  & are the will in word- to-page transaction

self diminished to substantiate

entries from entrails, not shown to be conquered

win or lose is how I never saw things.

win or win, only optionss, only progress..

yet..,always over complicating;

marathon sprints from start to finish

as I choose, If i choose, to continue to choose to overlook slopes in existence, where hides I, in ruins, digging for recognition

contribute to a mind overloading with what I know I owe society, &me,

burden of see-through beast, I see illusions of future thru,mistaken as truth, play victim, get stressed or believe I'm down on luck ,in dumps of depression and slum of beliefs,

 in a slump with headphones on temple and music up, reminisce about the golden olden, me and broseph, SSB, PSO, kanto, johto, cartoon cartoons, many one saturday morning’s, plenty cinnamon toast, fruity pebbles, so many card games at Books-a-million

but when I open eyes from trance

I'm forever face to face with today is today

not then not later...

just

 changes who changed how I changed regret and anger to compensate for blaming everybody but me

now I stare afraid at dilemmas mass effect decisions

 daily in-and-out-terventions

to keep from falling back into resentment.. spite blinding shelves of subconscious-self- disappointed perpetuating judgment of others binding progression, tying tongue, boiling blood because old habits die hard and I continue fucking up, up raging rapids w/o a paddle,   almost 3 decades of failing infinite (according to projections) feel I missed and am missing out on so much, so much world, so many words coiled inside, waiting to explode,

all the time, just like everybody.. everything mind sets sights on turns to target issue     how unfortunate for aforementioned coordinates, for anyone close enough for me to put in poems' , important enough to torment conscious over, used to be everybody, used to be nobody, used to be just some people, now its just me and i dont know him

   attempts to speak, to learn again, to teach me about me       to learn to teach                     myself, to set example for ambition directed toward a better version, better verses, better reimbursement of time given tryna be an extrovert, free from bitter, free from bitch asses, set internal standards to never  get fucked with again, fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, i only fucks with a journal & question  everyone,  everything, every word, every whisper, shit ima tell my children every day, breakfast lunch dinner,  do your best and fuck the rest, get it, get lit off enlightenment, fuck rest, save roosting for death, dont look at me, looknat the sky, seize the day in everyway brain permits, dont reach for others' and if anyone tries to take yours, that means they dont fundamentally respect life, so always permeate passion, ignore distractions keeping you from creating, test limits, test intentions, challenge imperfections with wisdom, know that perfect is just cosmetics, but i remain quiet.. remain tied up being alone, wondering..           whether I'm right to do any god damn thing        'cause if I don't do it right..       was I right to think I could, wrong to think I understood

am i wrong not to try?

what of what's sacrificed ?

how do i keep count

how did I end up here       in standby...

standing squeamish & deer eyed in light of opportunities rising in horizon of night skies, to step in to obtain warmth, maintain from days before, to do something, do the one thing, but when will I be ready will eyes be ready to comprehend right or wrong

only me, here. only us, on planet.

only who's responsible? how is who is affected by, afflicted by? when is too late? when is just right, always too soon to tell and.. if I don't do it now, then why expect change..

why, why, why

'cause I expect anything at all

anger toward unmanned vehicles imminent to collide with mine

driven mad up eighty-five degree angled walls during rush hour, sun beaming heat into ride, where i travel on path, thru battlefield of past where fallen intentions decompose to ignorance and wisdom sprouts in the mean time.. I'm in between times, feelin down, down down down down by the way

a trail thru fears past dead ends, rotting trees, looks like fallout hit

a past I try an' forget..

but remember out of reluctance 

to accidentally revisit regret,

stand next to biggest fears,  see if facing them uproots soul

rolls ideas in head, non-stop

like trolls troll under bridges 

to which billy goat gruff temper charges like crono's katana on zenan crossing,

lodes of odes to oaths, lightning loaded, aimed at negative minded sapiens bioshocks via rhythm and syntax, cryo cascades of ideas, locked away in moleskine or computer files to put to rest the rest of an inside in arrest to judgment, in side quest of public playthrough, i feel im on public display, static complaining in front of pretty much strangers   modes of awareness to mental problems i exploit to people who might not think im crazy, who might like what i write, might like to write about the same thing, might see giants in those same nodes i stand near, i hear crisp crackles filling an awkward air as i stare at words on sheets that i might tear, might let collect dust, or share prolly might be quiet, only sound is poetic drafts that fill in under open windows, I open slowly, cool rush, goosebumps, awake aware always, even when mind is a crinkled, crumbled candy wrapper still just construct wrinkles in time via           hairs stand, ovation, and encores to

     helping to cross over doubts, screams of slander, stop it all, right now, shed truth in another light, fed through veins like pen's ink to go over and correct vision of pinheads vane turnin art, free thought to cash and competition, trade purpose blow for blow with obstacles in the name of the next step, over opponents, trade nervous for nerves robust to withstand standing up to stretch and spread chest to stand up for work where time invested is braided circulation    goin in circles,        time wasted pet peeve number 1

    a nowhere never felt before        but something seems familiar.. overlooked,   under yards, under pressure of bone leverage, give life a lift thru cracks of a collapsing effort stretched behind chest and ribs

a heart glows in

hot coal hues hearth warmth under carbon sheets

till blood boils till steam coils from pores to kill the cold along roads

sun or none

no light above, isn't lack of.. 

(look inside)

----

harsh heat of reality hot enough to feel cold

make me go ghost in dark times..

friction strong enough to spark moist..

continue until i sear nerves disembody fromm pain till im felt by meta-form of others

heartfelt arcs between soul and soul-mind 2 mind

light releases thru iris folds spectacle in spectacles----

spectrum wheel of emotions spins &spins to  understand self an urge that intensifies the more  i live life as well as I can Improve every day, no excuse, don't ignore the corners, get behind my ears,every nook and cranny in creative muse-um, uhm, duh, raised on books, nintendo, animation,& wishbone, outside, only myself as playdate, use every square inch as play-scape under every hair in head, a mind uses face and body as way to create 4 fourever& vice versa to escape who ever & know I can do whenever, wherever

wherever i go, a voice in mind goes

that keeps on talkin , keeps me talkin tellin me I've talk--, wrote enough hoped enough to last a lifetime, but that's not enough

and I still got a lifetime

to either solidify or fuck it up

gradually let go of 

to concentrate on life's finest moments i build to build form in appreciation, saying get up, enjoy the sun rays breaching clouds just before dawn; gett off yo butt and do what you know what you taught you to do when you were at multiple low points and you promised you, you'd never fall to end, even if you fall again, again, and again, never stall in the middle of  takeoff stop in middle of road, cant press play if you lost remote, might as well get up and do it, crawl, run or walk away when the times calls to brawl dark-inner energy only honorable mentions defend health during dishonorable discharge of nega, into rivers, into blue sky.. bordered by white clouds and linear silver

a safe place, work space, desk clerk sifting day to day thru file cabinets memories in memos in notebook; written relativity explaining how I see, what I think say what i want like im eight, glad i spent so much time with words and space-bars,   to escape judgment, hatred,

anxious surrounded by bad vibes

above an Earth, below expectations; over a self under surveillance by approval from inside, crazy dimensions, On the fence between people and myself I close eyes, ride waves of nostalgia once more..

see plenty light to traverse pathways, walk fer hours, walk like back in younger days, playin, runnin, completely captivated immersed in games played, tv, roller blades, monopoly, scary stories, trampolines

&10thousand songs later, 10million thoughts later, here I am doing what I made me to.

can't wait for the next chance

supplied energy through lines to hidden gracelands.

[feathersnow]

A Miraculous Christmas Hogwarts AU

Merry Christmas everyone!! Here’s a little fic I did  to celebrate the occasion ^_^ Special thanks to @vanilla107 for beta-ing!  Summary : It was Adrien’s first Christmas in Hogwarts. Fluff! Adrienette “…up.”

Adrien shut his eyes tight and snuggled tighter in his duvet as the morning glow hit his face.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, turning to the other side.

But his roommate was not having any of it. He jumped on the bed.

“I said ‘Wake up’!” said Nino, wacking a pillow on his head.

“Ow! Go away,” mumbled the blonde-haired boy ,turning away.

“But it’s Christmas!”

“So?”

“The girls are coming over now,”

“What?!” This time, Adrien bolted up , almost knocking his head into Ninos, with wide-eyes.

“Th-They can’t come up here,” he stammered, pulling his covers close to his chest. “I-I’m not even dressed.”

Nino laughed. “Not in our bedrooms, you silly. Our Commons Room. C’mon, just put on your dressing robe. The girls won’t mind,” Nino hopped off the bed,  “I’ll head down to let them in. Oh, and Adrien?”

Adrien lifted his head.  “Yes?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Adrien smiled, “Merry Christmas to you too.”

Once his friend was gone, the fourteen year old boy scrambled out of bed and opened the window. The fresh cold morning air hit his face, followed by the bright sun warming his cheeks. The birds were chirping. It was a clear bright day. The ground was covered in a thick layer of snow but was shining like diamonds.

He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

Christmas, huh? So far his Christmases were never pleasant. His father had been absent on these holidays when he was younger. He was used to it.

What difference would this Christmas make?

“Dude! They are here!”

Grabbing his yellow dressing robe, the boy quickly made his way downstairs.

The fire in the fireplace burned merrily in the the Hufflepuff common room. Next to the fireplace was had a huge Christmas tree at the corner dressed in red and gold. His friends , all dressed in their respective house robes, were sitting on the carpet in front of the warm fireplace, waiting for him.  In the middle, Tikki, the Niffler, and his cat, Plagg, were sniffing the huge pile of presents.

Alya lounged at him, engulfing him into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, Adrien,” said the Gryffindor girl.

“Merry Christmas Adrien,” said the Slytherin girl, her voice much more quieter.  

“Merry Christmas, Alya and Mari,” he greeted back, hugging the Gryffindor girl back. He smiled at Marinette, who beamed at him shyly.

“It’s time to open presents!” Alya declared skipping back to the pile of parcels.  “We haven’t opened ours yet. Adrien this is yours,”  

Adrien stared at the pile. There’s got to be at least twenty or more. “How did you get them here? Did you carry them all here?”

Alya grinned at Marinette, who held up her small, round pink purse.

“Wait, in that?” the boys looked from the bag to the pile of presents. “But…how?”

Marinette giggled “Extension charm,”

“ Whoa, wicked!”  Nino gasped. “Isn’t that too advance for our year? For like Year 12?”

“More than that,” Alya beamed, “She should be in Ravenclaw instead of that Slytherin group,”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” smiled Marinette, rolling her eyes,

“You’re amazing, Marinette,” Adrien blurted,  “You’re so talented,”

“Th-thank you,” the girl stammered, her cheeks turning pink.

“Mari is just awesome,” countered Alya, nudging her friend “ Let’s open some presents!”

Nino gave a different music playlist for each of them according to their personality, along with their favorite candy. Alya had made a small photo album for each of them, with different photos of events they had done together. Adrien couldn’t stop looking at each moving photo, they were all smiling, having a wonderful time.

Not only did Marinette baked everyone a bag of her famous cookies, she had knitted turtleneck sweater for each of them. No magic was involved, to everyone’s double amazement.  Nino had a green sweater, Alya an orange and Adrien a black. Marinette was already wearing her new pink sweater

“Hon, where did you even get the time to do all this?” Alya gasped in shock.

“It fits perfectly,” Nino exclaimed, wearing the green sweater, “and it’s so warm,”

Adrien, in return, gave Alya a quill writing set, Nino the latest album of Metallic Goblins, and the latest Wizard & Witches Fashion magazines for Marinette.

They Slytherin girl couldn’t contain her excitement when she opened her gift. “These don’t come out until next month,” the Slytherin girl exclaimed , flipping through the pages.

Plagg had managed to find his presents – sniffing wheels of Camembert from each of them, in which Adrien had to quickly hide them before he gobbled them all and fell sick.  Tikki was happily content  with a few shiny coins and the leftover shiny wrapping papers from the presents. She had also received a bag of her favorite baked cookies from Marinette.

The rest of the presents came from their families. Adrien tried not to look disappointed when he couldn’t find his father’s package. After all, it was always the same every year – either late or forgotten.  However, his friends’ parents had never forgotten him.

Alya and Marinette’s parents had sent them packages of food. There were meat pies, mince pies, baked goods that Adrien thinks it will last him until summer.

Since Alya’s dad works in a muggle zoo, her father had sent them each an exquisite necklace and bracelets that have muggle animal teeth on it.

“Did he kill them to get them?” asked Nino holding up his necklace at one end and looking at it  warily.

“Don’t worry,” said Alya as she read her parents’ letter, “He said he had they had fallen out naturally. Hey, check out my family photo,” she beamed showing them the enclosed photo.

Adrien took a look at it. There was her mum, her dad, and two little girls. The only weird things is that they were still like statues.  “Why aren’t they moving?”

“Muggle photo’s can’t move,” Marinette explained, reaching into her purse. He heard a few objects moving about in the tiny bag until she fished out a white rectangle.

“These are my parents,” said Marinette showing him her family’s photo. In between Marinette there there was a plump man and a small Chinese woman standing together, smiling. “We decided to try a family muggle photoshoot for fun one day. It isn’t as great, but we had fun,”

Adrien didn’t care if it were or were not a magic or muggle. All that had mattered was if the photo had captured a happy family frozen in time.

“So…are your parents muggles or muggles in disguise?” Nino asked

"Baking is their side job.”

“Side job? Not gonna tell us what the the other job is?”

“If I told you, I have to kill you,” Marinette winked.

“Why are you so mysterious?” he whined. “Why are Slytherins so mysterious?”

“Alright, “ Alya clapped her hand, looking around. “looks like all the presents are done, it’s time for breakfast!” she cheered and bounded towards the exit. “I’m starving,”

“A good thing our House is next to the kitchen,” Adrien smiled getting up

The Gryffindor snapped her fingers, grinning, “And that’s exactly why we came here,”

The Christmas breakfast did not disappoint.

There was four different cold meats to choose from with sauces like mustard and mint, buttery mashed potatoes with gravy, roast potatoes, creamed spinach, grilled fish, a wide selection of fresh fruit, frothy hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, mango and pineapple salad, fruit cake, sugar cookies as well as Christmas cookies, fruity mince pies, ice-cream with a variety of different toppings and the huge honey-glazed gammon in the centre of the table.  

The food kept appearing on the tables  no matter how much the students ate and Adrien was always in awe at how the house elves prepared such a magnificent feast. He ate to his fill, knowing well that his father wasn’t there to stop him.

After the huge delicious breakfast, the four of them went out onto the school grounds to have a snowball fight along with other fellow schoolmates who had stayed back as well. It was a free for all with no magic until the boys started cheating since they were losing the game. But the girls still won (“Only because we let you,” huffed Nino in defense).

The fun event on the ground then changed to the air as everyone got on their broomsticks. Both snowballs and brooms were soaring in the air, and some players falling to the ground. Adrien had been smiling ear to ear till his cheeks burned and laughing along with his friends. He was always a prime target of Alya’s and she is a good thrower.

After a few hours, they went indoors to get some lunch warm up, and rest. Adrien was exhausted he didn’t know he had napped so long till Nino had to wake him up again. He thought the day was already over, but his roommate had told him they were going out again.  

Late that evening, the four of them bundled up in their scarves and jackets and made their  their way to Hogsmeade Village. They window shopped, played in the Zonko Joke Shop and bought each other candy in Honeydukes and finally settled down in the Three Broomsticks Inn for some butterbeer.

It was about an hour in the Inn that Adrien excused himself from the group and stepped outside. It was already dark and the lamp posts were all lit. The snow was lightly falling, and there was only a few people walking along the empty street.  

He took deep breath of cold air. His breath came out in wisp of fog. He closed his eyes, and relished the memories he had since that morning.

“Everything okay, Adrien?”

The blonde boy turned around to see Marinette, bundled in her coat, closing the door behind

He smiled “Everything's’ fine.” He turned to look at the falling snow “More than fine, actually. This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had in my life.”

“We never celebrated Christmas since mum left,” Adrien told her looking down at the snow, his smile falling. “ Before that,  there were always parties, laughter and smiles in the house. You wouldn’t believe it, but my dad used to be a fun person. Even if we didn’t have a party, it was always fun with just the three of us. Now, we hardly celebrate it. Even father doesn’t is never home for Christmas. There was no point for me returning there if it will always be the same every year. I don’t mind not having any presents, but I just wish..,” he sighed “he would at least greet me or spend some time with me,”

Marinette touched his arm. He looked up and gave her a soft smile.

“It’s been a long time since I had fun and remembered what Christmas is all about. You, Alya and Nino…thank you, Marinette,”

She smiled back.  “I’m glad you are having fun,”

They stayed in silence as they watch the snow slowly fall and the glowing lamp posts ahead. It was serene, peaceful and quiet.  A gust of wind blew past them, making Adrien shudder. He wrapped his coat tightly and tried to bury his neck into the collar.

“Adrien, what happened to your scarf?” asked Marinette, looking concern.

“I think I lost it during the snowball fight.” he admitted, thinking about his Hufflepuff scarf. He wasn’t bothered during that time. He had been too busy having fun. “But don’t worry. I’m fine.”

Another gust of wind blew past them, and Adrien cringed, shrinking himself into the coat.

She giggled, “Oh Adrien,” she sighed , looking sorry at him. She opened her purse, and reached her whole arm into it. He heard some loud movements , and a crash ? he can’t be sure. “Darn, I have to arrange that all over again,” he heard her mumble.  Finally she pulled out a small brown parcel with a string tied around it.

“Here, this is for you,” she said holding it out. Her voice had suddenly went soft, and she wasn’t looking at him.

Adrien’s eyes widened and took the gift. He pulled on the the string, and the brown paper unravelled to reveal a soft blue scarf.  

“I made it,” she blurted out, her voice had suddenly gone squeaky.  

Adrien stared the beautiful article of clothing. It was baby blue like the sky and felt very soft. He wrapped it around his neck. It felt very warm, and soft.  

“I just didn’t finished it until that afternoon after lunch,” When he looked back at her, she was looking at the ground and fumbling with her hands.

“This…is...I love it Mari,” he breathed out.

He didn’t know if words of gratitude were enough, so he pulled her into a hug. She let out a squeak, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you so much Marinette. You’re truly amazing and one of the best friends I’ve ever had,”  She was stiff against him at first and slowly melted into his embrace.

“Ho ho…! Bro!”

The both looked at Nino and Alya, who were grinning like idiots. Adrien cleared his throat. “Guys… we’re just-,”

Nino pointed to something above them.

He looked up.

Oh.

Mistletoe was growing above them.

He felt his cheeks grow warm.

He looked down to see his friend looking down at the floor. Her hands were buried in her face.

He smiled.

“Hey...Mari...” he whispered, gently prying her hands away from her face.

The girl bravely looked up to see him leaning towards her...and felt his gentle lips on her right cheek.

As he pulled away, she felt the warmth retreating as well. She didn’t want it to end. So, the girl did the unthinkable .

She grabbed his jacket, pulled him back, and on her tiptoes, quickly placed a kiss on his smooth and cold cheek.

She released him and turned away, blushing furiously.

Adrien was speechless. He had the same color cheeks as her.

Suddenly, there was a white flash.

“That’s a keeper!” said a voice filled with full of satisfaction.

“ALYA!” Marinette screamed, her face was very very red.

“You’ll thank me in twenty years!” Alya yelled running off with her camera. Marinette yelled, chasing her.

Nino watched the girls ran in the snow, and then turned to look at his bro.

Adrien was still rooted on the spot. Frozen. He lifted his hand to his cheek, where she had kissed him.

#My fic #My writing #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #christmas fic

[dancing-with-dichotomies]

“New Shampoo” A Teen Arnold/Helga drabble~

It was driving her. Absolutely. CRAZY!

What WAS that new shampoo?!

It was DEFINITELY new. She'd notice it right away because it was one of the Top Five things she loved about him, number Three: His personal hygiene. Most other boys smelled disgusting, but Arnold had exceptional hygiene and always smelled clean and fresh, like he'd just been scrubbed... Oh what she wouldn't do to scrub-

COUGH!

So yes! She'd notice when he changed his soap and shampoo, and he always used to wash his hair with the strawberry-scented stuff. Not exactly the good stuff either, Helga had loved it despite how obviously artificial it was. But now... He had switched to something of much better quality, something citrus-y. Helga still missed the strawberry stuff, but this new product he was using now... It was just heavenly...!

It was mostly similar to orange, she was pretty sure, but there was something else there, something more on the exotic side... Something... Tangy.

Mmmm~! SO tangy...

But still oh-so sweet, sweet like honey and flowers... It set her senses ablaze whenever she got even the slightest whiff of it. And now that she and Arnold were officially dating, he was following her around almost as much as she followed him. So that scent was always nearby, teasing her. Tempting her...

Then one night Arnold invites her to come to his house for dinner. She couldn't pass it up. Her family hardly ever made a home-cooked meal, so she always jumped at the chance to eat at someone else's. Bliss' counseling had been making some breakthroughs lately, and Helga even managed to keep all criticism to herself, and politely compliment her host's cooking and thank them for it. But then again, Stella and Miles were really good cooks too, so it wasn't that hard to manage. Hard to judge when you accept second helpings!

Plus Arnold's parents aren't judgmental either, and they kindly let her and Arnold sit next to each other at the table, which puts her in an extra good mood with them, because it allows her to smell his wonderful tangy-sweet smell. Unable to resist temptation, she can't help but turn her head here and there, and take a quick sniff of his exotic fruity scent...

Maybe just another quick sniff... Okay whoops, maybe that one turned out to be a bit less quick, she realizes, when Arnold glances up at her from his dinner. He blinks as she freezes, then smirks as her cheeks fill with color and she quickly turns away. But then to her added mortification, she realizes Stella is looking at her too...

She quickly looks down at her plate and shovels her mouth full of mashed potatoes. Stella smiles and forks a few green beans absentmindedly while she ponders what to do with that girl...

Helga isn't just blushing now, she's sweating. Of course perfect Arnold has the Perfect Parents, reasonable and tolerant, but they had to have their limits. She was pretty sure she had to get a talking-to about this before the night was through...

But when they saw her off at the door, it seemed like they might not mention it after all.

"Sure you don't want me to walk you home?" Arnold stressed over her.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine, Arnoldo. I've walked alone before plenty of times. Besides, there's always the Five Avengers and Ol' Betsy!"

Stella shakes her head then. "Helga, it's just not safe out there. Promise you'll at least call us if you need anything?"

Helga blushed again, but this time for a different reason. The way Stella worried over and cared about her... It was nice, but kinda embarrassing. The walk wasn't even that long. Still, she assured her, "Okay, Mrs. Shortman, I will..."

It reminded her quite starkly of how Perfect Arnold's parents truly were. It almost hurt to be on the outside looking in, on the kind of parents Helga wished she had, even though Stella made it clear they accepted her too. It was just up to Helga to accept that for herself. But in the meantime, she had to have herself at least a little woe over the parental figures she thought she would never have...

The hug Arnold gave her before she left helped, though. Oh, it helped a lot~

Then she left, and he closed the door behind her. She began to walk down the street, but before she reached the end of it, Stella had come out of the boarding house, jogging after Helga and calling to her.

"Yes, Mrs. S?" Helga inquired, trying to play it cool, but she was sweating again. Oh boy, here it came...

When Stella finally reached her, she sauntered up with her hands behind her back. "So, Helga... I couldn't help but notice you were smelling my son's hair a lot tonight... I just wanted to let you know..." Oh dang. Oh man. Here it came! "...It's Papaya."

"...What."

Stella smiled patiently with the bewildered girl, and pulled out the bottle she was hiding behind her back as she explained, "The shampoo Arnold has been using lately, it's one I made myself! I make it with the essential oils of papayas, oranges, limes, and chamomile. It's very good for keeping blonde hair nice and shiny~ And it just smells great! As I see you noticed, haha~ So here! You can have some for yourself!"

...No way. No way. No way no way no way. Mrs. Shortman there is NO WAY you are THIS flippin' perfect...!

A bottle of Arnold's shampoo... A shampoo that isn't sold in stores anywhere because his mother makes it herself. A shampoo full of Arnold's heavenly scent that she can now take back to... Her... Own... Shower...

Which she suddenly feels the very pressing need to be. She quickly snatches the bottle, sputters back, "Th-Thank you!" And runs at full speed with it in the opposite direction.

Stella chuckles, then heads back into the boarding house. Miles is waiting inside the front door, his arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. "The shampoo, right? That stuff used to drive me crazy!"

Stella gives him one of her sly winks, hands on her hips. "Works every time~"

Not that her son needed any help in the romance department... But surely it didn't hurt to have a mother who knew of just about every aphrodisiac in the rain forest either~

#hey arnold #shortaki #hey arnold the jungle movie #hey arnold tjm #helga pataki #arnold shortman

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Christmas Part 3

 They spent the night at Sarah's house, on an old air mattress of hers in the basement with Helena and the twins. The Hendrixes had returned to their extended stay hotel so they could sleep well before diving back into home reparations the next day, and Cosima's parents were sent back to their hotel in an Uber. Art left early, too, so he could spend all today with his daughter. Felix was too drunk to drive, so he got the couch, and Scott got the former guest bedroom, which was normally Charlotte's.

“This feels like college,” Cosima whispered after they settled in around 10 pm.

“College?”

“Yeah, crashing in someone's basement after a crazy big day or a late party. This is an upgrade, though. Most times I crashed with a bunch of people, I just slept on the floor.”

Delphine had never slept on a floor as an adult, and only rarely as a child, if she felt asleep playing or reading. “That sounds unpleasant.”

Cosima laughed. “Yeah, it was. Especially when you wake up and realize you spent the night in a puddle of orange juice.”

Helena leaned her head over the side of her twin bed. “Where did you sleep like this, Sestra?”

“Oh, just a friend's house in San Fran after a party. There was probably vodka in the orange juice, too, but the OJ was all I could smell.”

Helena regarded her sister with wide eyes that, along with her posture, reminded Delphine of a child leaning over the top bunk to talk to a friend in the lower one. “I was made to sleep in water once, in convent. Very shallow water, this much.” She held up her fingers to show an inch or two distance. “But cold, and unpleasant.”

Cosima reached out from under the blankets and held Helena's hand. “I'm sorry.”

Helena looked over at the crib containing her sleeping infants. “They will not do that.”

“No,” Cosima agreed. “They won't.”

*

The following morning, with Christmas in the past and everyone moving on with real life, felt like a hangover, even though Delphine swore she'd only had one cup of eggnog. It didn't help that the air mattress they'd slept on was almost flat by the time she woke up. When she stood to use the bathroom, the remaining air in it rushed to fill her space, dropping Cosima the last few centimeters onto the floor.

They slouched around the dining room table for breakfast pancakes prepared by Scott, who was perkier than anyone had a right to be on the day after Christmas. The girls brought the kittens down for breakfast, too, and let them bounce around the main floor with the babies, who insisted on calling them, and everything else with four legs and fur, “Beh! Beh!”

“God, that's the cutest frikkin' thing I've ever seen,” Cosima groaned. “I am not ready for this much cute. Scotty, some coffee, please.”

“They kept waking us up,” Charlotte said. “They wanted to play with Montgomery, because Montgomery's awake at night, so maybe tomorrow night they'll be in a different room.”

“Who's Montgmery?” Scott asked.

“Montgomery's my spiny mouse,” Kira said. “He's from the Island of Dr. Moreau.”

Meanwhile, Delphine flipped through the forty-five Facebook pages she kept open on her phone, refreshing them and looking for anything suspicious. Many of them hadn't updated in days. Many more had Christmas messages and pictures up, each page showing the same face in varying levels of tan, with different hair styles, often surrounded by friends or family and sending the greeting in ten different different languages. Even one of the Israeli clones posted a Christmas message, but without any picture.

“I'm not allowed to be on my phone at the table,” Kira said.

Delphine looked at her with bleary eyes. “That's probably a good rule.”

“Delphine's doing clone business,” Cosima told Kira. “It's part of our morning routine.”

“You're not doing any clone business.” Kira gave her a sly smile and poured what must've been a cup of maple syrup onto her pancakes. Her mother was still upstairs, probably enjoying a rare late morning.

“Yeah, I'm being lazy,” Cosima said. “I'll do my job later.”

Charlotte took the syrup from Kira and helped herself. “You already did your job, though. You made the treatment.”

“Yes, but we need to find all the sisters to make sure they get it, and some of them might be super sick right now. We need to find out if there are any that need to be cured right away. All the others will have to wait if that's the case.”

“So that's why Delphine's on Facebook.”

“Exactly. She checks Facebook and SnapChat, and I check Instagram and Twitter. We look to see if anybody is maybe coughing a lot more than usual, or having a hard time breathing, or if any of their friends say 'get well soon' or anything like that.”

“And I try to streamline it all for them,” Scott said, setting another plate of pancakes on the table with a grin. “That part's taking some time, though. The code's too buggy right now to work.”

A little after nine, Sarah and Cal finally stumbled downstairs, bedraggled and blinking in their pajamas. The adults and Kira waved to them, but Charlotte stared, a little frown on her face. She knows what they did last night, Delphine thought. And she's just at that age when that starts to matter.

In an effort to distract her, Delphine sat down next to Charlotte's new reptile habitat. “Can I look at this?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.”

As she'd hoped, Charlotte came over and sat with her. For each item that Delphine picked up, Charlotte provided an explanation, even if it was obvious what the item was.

“Those are calcium supplements, and that's the heat lamp so it can bask. Reptiles are cold blooded,” she said, “so they need the lamps to stay warm.”

Delphine nodded. “Yes, they do. The kittens might really enjoy this lamp, too.”

As if on cue, the tuxedo kitten, tentatively named Pirate because of the black patch on one eye, jaunted over. Charlotte's smile, a rare sight, made her look even more like Cosima, but a little like Alison, too.

“Did you have pets when you were a kid?” Charlotte asked her. “Cosima said she didn't.”

Delphine hadn't known that about Cosima, actually. It made sense. She had moved semi-frequently as a child and spent weeks or months at a time out to sea with her parents. “It depends on your definition of a pet,” she told Charlotte.

Cosima padded up behind her and set a second cup of coffee on the floor next to her, then sat in the arm chair nearby, listening.

“Well,” Charlotte said, “a pet is an animal that you take care of, that lives with you, and that isn't there for food or work or anything. So, did you have a pet like that?”

She smiled at her, impressed with the comprehensive definition. “I did, but I wasn't supposed to.”

As expected, the thought of a rebellious young Delphine made Charlotte smile. “Did you bring home a puppy or something? A girl at school did that.”

“Not quite.” She took a sip of coffee. It was from a bag of beans they'd mailed up from Honduras, with a bright tone and fruity notes, reminiscent of warm mornings spent at an open-air cafe near the jungle. “I went to summer camp in the country for a few years. It was a nature camp, but most of the girls didn't really care much for nature.”

Charlotte smiled again. She knew about most girls, and about being different from them.

“One summer,” Delphine went on, “when I was ten, I found a wolf spider outside the washroom. It was the largest spider I'd ever seen in real life, outside of a museum or a book.”

Charlotte's eyes widened. This story wasn't going where she thought, and she was hooked.

“I found a paper cup in the trash and I scooped the spider into it, and put some paper on top to keep it inside, and I showed my... teachers? Is that the word, Cosima?”

“Teachers? For what?”

“At summer camp, there are children and there are adults. The children are campers. What are the adults?”

“Counselors. I think calling them adults might be stretching it, at least in the US, though. Mine were always, like, eighteen or nineteen.”

“Whatever. Counselors. I showed my counselor this spider, and she was very impressed. She went out and got me a little clear plastic box with a lid, and we put the spider in there. We said he was probably a male because there were no eggs, and the females carry the eggs on their abdomen where you can see them.”

“Did you name him?” Charlotte asked.

“I did.” She giggled despite herself. She had not told anyone this story in a very long time. “I named him Monsieur Loup.”

Charlotte laughed. “Mister Wolf?”

“Oui. It seemed appropriate. And then, when my mother's driver came to pick me up, I put Monsieur Loup in my suitcase and I took him home with me.”

She felt Cosima's foot rubbing her back. “That's adorable,” Cosima said. “How well did that go over when you got home?”

“Well, I unpacked my suitcase and put Monsieur Loup on one side of my closet, behind my shoes. I didn't tell anyone that he was there.”

While they talked, Pirate had curled up in Charlotte's lap, and his purrs could be heard across the room when there was a lull in the conversation. Charlotte scratched under his little chin. “How did you feed him?” she asked, “if he lived in your closet?”

“Well, I found a book at the library about keeping spiders as pets, so I put twigs and dirt in his box, and I caught insects around my mother's garden from him to eat.”

“And no one suspected anything?” Cosima asked.

“Not for a while. I had a lot of freedom in, euh, in some areas.” She drank some coffee and watched Charlotte pet her new kitten. “But my mother never allowed animals in the house. Of any kind, unless they were being eaten. And as tricky as I was, I was only 10 years old, so I wasn't so good about hiding. About a month after I brought Monsieur Loup home from camp, my mother couldn't find me where I was supposed to be, and when she went looking she found me in the closet looking at my pet spider, whom I had just moved into a larger tank without anyone noticing.”

“What did she do?” Charlotte asked.

“Well. Suffice to say, Monsieur Loup did not get to enjoy his new habitat, or any other habitat, for very long. And I was grounded for the rest of the summer.”

Charlotte had big sad eyes for the fate of poor Monsieur Loup, but the dorobell rang, shocking everyone.

“I got it.” Sarah shuffled over and opened the door, then came back in with two packages that she turned around a few times in her hands. “One for Kira and one for Charlotte,” she said, distributing them accordingly, “but it doesn't say from who.”

The girls tore into their new packages, Pirate forgotten for just the moment. Inside each box was a wrapped gift tied in ribbon, still with no sender's name. Kira ripped the paper from hers with the same fervor as the day before, breaking the ribbon in the process, but Charlotte proceded with caution, peeling back one taped flap of paper at a time as though there might actually be a grenade inside.

“It's a kit for making jewelry!” Kira exclaimed, holding it up for them to see. “Look, there's colored threads, and beads, and little hooks...”

“And a card,” Cosima pointed out, “on the floor now.”

While Kira looked for the card Cosima was pointing at, Charlotte removed the paper from her own gift, revealing a set of twelve water color paints with three brushes. Like Kira's jewelry set, the text on the watercolors and brushes was Chinese, or perhaps Japanese kanji. Delphine picked up one of the post boxes and saw that they, too, came from China or Japan.

“'Merry Christmas',” Charlotte read from the card attached to hers. “'You always enjoyed painting, so I hope you enjoy these paints, as well. I wish you all the best for the new year, and give my best to your sisters. Rachel.'”

Kira found her card and read it silently, her manic excitement fading.

“Is yours from Rachel, too?” Charlotte asked.

Kira nodded. “But there's no return address! She didn't say where she is now!”

“Well,” Delphine pointed out, “all of these have Chinese or Japanese script on them. And I know that she always showed a certain, ehm, fondness for east Asia.”

Scott lingered behind them, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, she always talked about having a quiet life in Taiwan. I bet that's where she is now. It was super nice of her to send you guys presents, though! She didn't send me anything.” He gave a laugh that turned into a snort.

“We can find a way to get her a message for you,” Cosima said. “It might not happen right away, and it might not be in exactly the way that you want, but we can try to make it happen.”

It occurred to Delphine that she could think of no other people on the planet who would cry at the thought of not seeing Rachel Duncan, or anyone who would miss her at all, in fact. No one except the two little girls sitting in front of her. “We could leave a message of some kind on the Foundation's website,” she suggested. “We can take your pictures and post them there. Rachel knows about it, and I believe she checks on it periodically.”

The last part was conjecture, but it made the girls relax, and it might have even been true.

* * * *

By the time Delphine and Cosima got back to the Rabbit Hole, it was early afternoon. A nap was in order for both of them, and after that a shower, and by the time Delphine felt awake enough to function again it was close to evening. While Cosima toweled off behind her, Delphine wrapped herself in a bathrobe and padded over to the closet and dug around her side of it until she found the bag she had hidden there.

“What're you looking for?” Cosima asked.

Holding the bag behind her back, Delphine stuck her head out of the closet and bit her lower lip. “You haven't paid me back yet for that bratty comment you made the other night.”

Cosima paused, her eyes moving back and forth. She wore her crimson harem pants and nothing else, and her nipples puckered as her skin cooled from the shower.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten it.”

“Wait. Oh, shit, was it that stupid Leekie comment I made?”

“That would be the one.”

Cosima rolled her head around and tried to look apologetic. “You know I didn't mean that, right?”

“It doesn't matter what you meant.” Delphine stalked over, bag still behind her. “And besides, I'm pretty sure I know exactly what your intentions were, chérie.”

“Okay, yeah, sometimes I do like to be a brat. Fair.”

“You do. And sometimes I have to make you pay me back for that. Like right now.” She took the bag from behind her and handed it to Cosima, whose guilty face lit up like a Christmas tree when she looked inside.

“Holy shit, Delphine! If this is how you want me to pay you back, I need to be naughty way more often.”

“I did tell you that you could only pay me back if you were good, didn't I?”

Cosima's canines flashed as she reached into the bag. “Yes......”

Even just watching Cosima's excitement at pulling the harness from the bag made Delphine's hips twitch. “Initially,” she said, “before you made your crass little remark on Thursday, I was going to ask you to wear it. However, since you've apparently forgotten why I slept with you the first time, you get to be on the, euh, receiving end of this.”

She sidestepped Cosima and snatched the harness, complete with all accoutrements, from Cosima's hands as she moved past her.

“That sounds, uh.... really fucking awesome, actually. Wait, hang on, there's more in that bag?”

Delphine set the harness, dildo, and controller on the foot of the bed, took a length of black satin in her right hand, and paused. Did she really want to cover up Cosima's eyes when they sparkled like this? When she knew how beautiful they would be the entire time they fucked? She had a few minutes to think about it. In the meantime, she got out the set of leather cuffs and gestured for Cosima to lay down on her back with her arms out.

Cosima was more than happy to oblige, testing out the strength and comfort of the restraints while grinning and wiggling like an idiot. “So this was the extra present you mentioned yesterday,” she said.

“Yes. I thought you might've suspected.”

“It was more hope than suspicion.” Now both of Cosima's arms were bound to the bed post, to the side and a bit above her head, and her head rested on the most comfortable pillow of the pillow menagerie Alison had donated. “I'll guess we'll see how strong this headboard is.”

“You're not still sleepy, are you?”

“Fuck no.”

“Good.” Delphine kissed her, first softly, hovering just as the point of contact with her lips, then more deeply, until she felt her resolve slipping, and she pulled away. “Because I don't plan on being quick.”

“Nnngggg......”

Yes, she thought. Perfect. The strip of black satin came out of her robe pocket after all, and Delphine tied it around Cosima's eyes, first checking that she was okay with it.

“I mean, I was really hoping to see you in that strap on,” Cosima said as the fabric covered her eyes, “but as long as you promise to wear it again....”

“If you're good.” Delphine kissed her again, then dropped some light kisses down her throat before standing up. “Now stay there.”

There was a little chuckle at the joke, but Cosima's grin had turned into a pout. A flush already spread over her chest and neck, and her left leg jiggled up and down, probably brushing the fabric of the pants against her clit. Delphine reached out and pulled her pants off, without needing to prompt Cosima to even lift her hips.

The harness took a moment to get right, even though she'd practiced putting it on and taking it off once before. The little vibrating piece in the center was turned off for now. She'd selected it with Cosima in mind, wanting to see Cosima come as Cosima fucked her brains out. With the positions reversed, she worried it would be too much for her, that it might make her come before Cosima did. She took it out, but set it close by for easy access later. Next, she made sure there was enough cushioning between the base of the dildo and her pubic bone, and then she climbed back on the bed, her knees between Cosima's calves and a hand on either side of her hips.

“Still here, chérie?”

“Oh yes.”

“Good.”

She'd debated getting a feather for this purpose, but as she drew her middle finger up the inside of Cosima's right thigh, she was glad she hadn't. Cosima's skin turned her on more than almost anything, and it was hard to hold back, hard not to just grab her thigh with both hands and chew on it.

She held back.

Cosima squirmed under her fingers, twisting her hips around and bouncing her legs, then wrapping them around Delphine's thighs and hips like a monkey. She tried bucking her pelvis up to meet the silicone cock between Delphine's legs, her core muscles rippling under her skin.

“Non,” Delphine said. “Not yet.” She pushed her down by the hips and pried Cosima's legs off of her, then wiggled down to the foot of the bed, the cock wiggling along with her. With one of Cosima's shins in each hand to get her somewhat still, she nibbled the inside of her right knee, then inside her thigh, bit by bit, her hands traveling up with her until she breathed in the rich smell of Cosima's sex a few centimeters from her face. Then she pulled back.

“You fucking tease,” Cosima said.

“Oui.” She repeated the process on Cosima's left leg, stopping again just short of her clit. This time, she didn't pull back. She blew a gentle stream of air between her legs and grinned at the frustrated moan she got in return. “I told you I wasn't going to be quick,” she said, nipping the sexy little jut of Cosima's hip bone.

Cosima's hipbones had intoxicated her from the beginning. It was those hips, moving in casual tandem with her body after Cosima striped down to her underwear their first time together, that pushed Delphine over the edge from “school girl crush I can roll with to do my job” and into “holy shit I need to be with this woman” territory. And now, both hands gripping her hips, Delphine lavished all of her attention there, rememorizing the topography of her lover's pelvis with its tastes and textures.

She looked up every so often, when she felt a particularly strong thrust or spasm from Cosima, to see her straining against the leather cuffs, the muscles of her arms and shoulders swelling against her skin.

“You're beautiful,” she whispered against her stomach.

“And you're a fucking tease.”

“I believe -” Delphine worried the skin of her waist with her teeth. “- we've already discussed that.”

There was only so much she could tease, though, before it became too much for herself. She licked and sucked on Cosima's nipples until Cosima growled and stomped her feet against the bed in frustration, Delphine's own legs keeping hers from getting too assertive. And she smelled like sex, deliciously so. It went to Delphine's head much faster than she'd planned. She'd hoped to drag Cosima along for an hour or so, frustrating her enough to approach actual punishment without causing her to really suffer. She'd done it before; she could do it again.

Yes, said the horny little voice in her head, but that was two years ago. Your endurance is too low now. You can't last an hour. You'll slip up if you try.

It was true. She moved up more to kiss Cosima's throat, her shoulders, her jaw. “Are you still comfortable?”

“My arms are fine,” Cosima gasped. “But I'm not comfortable.”

“Soon, mon amour.” She tugged on Cosima's ear. “Very soon.”

She gave Cosima a little leeway to move her hips around, feeling the jolt to her own clit every time Cosima's body bumped against the strap-on. She'd been right to remove to other piece – she would come in ten seconds once that thing went in.

“Please,” Cosima wimpered. “It's been, like five days.”

“Ohh, pauvre petit chiot.” She slid her hands up Cosima's rib cage, lightening the pressure as they reached her breasts, becoming feather-light and moving in little circles.

“NO! No no no! Don't you fucking do it, Cormier!”

Delphine fell cackling onto Cosima's body while Cosima thrashed around under her. “No?” she giggled. “Hnnnn... okay.”

She pulled herself back up onto all four and kissed her face until Cosima's breathing slowed down again. It was time to be sweet. She kept her own hips held high enough to be out of Cosima's reach, though, and slid her tongue into her mouth. The last time she'd tied Cosima up, her mouth tasted a little like pot and a little more like blood, most of the time. These days she tasted like chai tea, toothpaste, or nothing at all.

Pulling away from the kiss, Delphine shifted her weight back and stroked a line down Cosima's stomach, watching her face as she moved down past her navel. “You're beautiful,” she whispered again.

Cosima might've replied, but Delphine's fingers slipped between her legs then, and all she got out was a combination moan / gasp. Delphine stayed there for a bit, rubbing little circles on Cosima's clit with her thumb and sliding her index finger inside of her as Cosima's breath sped up and her hips bucked up to try for more pressure, more penetration, just more. And she was more than beautiful, Delphine thought.

She took her hand away, gently shushing Cosima's frustrated snarl, and grabbed the little knob the harness came with. “Just a second, chérie,” she said. It took some wiggling and a few brief pinches, but she got it into its little holder in the harness, just right so it slipped into her vagina when she readjusted the harness. It felt so damn good when it did that she gasped.

“Do not tell me you're getting off without me,” Cosima deadpanned. Her knees were bent up, so Delphine had a nice clear shot at her ass when she smacked her.

“Non. Just getting ready.”

She set the controller by Cosima's right side. By now her own hips were twitching of their own accord, so she needed to hurry up. Nudging Cosima's legs back open, she threw herself on top of her, biting and kissing the sides of her neck up to her ears before kissing her mouth again. Cosima noticed the change in Delphine's demeanor even with her eyes covered. She softened under Delphine's hands, her legs relaxed some, and when Delphine pulled back from her mouth, she smiled.

The strap-on took a bit of concentration. She hadn't worn one in two years, and even then not very often. It was average-sized, ribbed and curved, and the color of Windex. And, like all strap-ons everywhere, it obeyed the laws of physics rather than the desires of its wearer, so it took some fiddling to get it pointing in the right direction and moving the way she wanted it to.

Delphine sat back on her haunches and held the base in her left hand, fucking Cosima ever so slowly with her right hand until she was certain she was ready. Then she leaned forward, biting her lip with concentration, and guided her fake silicone cock inside Cosima's body.

“Oh, shit...” Cosima breathed.

“Alright?” Delphine asked. “Is it...?”

“It's...” Cosima's breath caught as Delphine shifted her hips. “It's fucking f... God, it's really good, please don't stop.”

She grinned and bit her lip, setting up a slow rhythm and going a little bit deeper with each thrust. As she'd expected, the strap-on itself wasn't positioned to do anything for her – the pleasure with that was watching Cosima's lips tremble and widen, and her nostrils flare as she panted. The little knob tucked into the harness and pushing against her vagina, however, nudged her closer and closer, helped along by the straps tugging on her ass. She grit her teeth and grabbed the headboard with one hand, angling her pelvis to go deeper into Cosima but also inching the inner straps up and in to rub on her clit.

“Oh mon dieu,” she whispered, followed by a ragged little whine.

“Take it off,” Cosima said.

“What?” She froze.

“Take it off, take the mask off. I wanna see you.”

Delphine hesitated, her body desperately trying to get to an orgasm and her mind fighting to stay present, with Cosima. She took her hand off the headboard and leaned her weight onto her right arm.

“Let me see you.” Cosima was begging now. “You're so beautiful when you come, please let me see you.”

“Okay.” Untying it would be too complicated, so she hooked her thumb at the bridge of Cosima's nose and pushed the blindfold up to her forehead, then smoothed out the bottom so it didn't irritate her eyebrows. “Is that okay?”

Cosima blinked a few times, her pupils contracting in the light. Then she smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Now was as good a time as any, Delphine thought, so she grabbed the little controller and pushed the top button, setting both the dildo and the inner piece to a low vibrate that made both of them gasp and moan at the same time.

“Holy shit, Delphine!” Cosima cried.

There were no more words after that. Delphine propped herself up by one arm, hanging onto the bedframe with her own, and fucked Cosima until they both screamed and Delphine banged her head on the metal bars.

She pulled out of Cosima before turning off the vibrations, and accidentally turned them up instead of off, causing another, not entirely pleasant orgasm that make her squeak like a hamster. Soon, though, she turned it off, unstrapped Cosima from the bed and herself from the dildo, and she collapsed with Cosima on top of her.

“How was it?” she asked after a few minutes, stroking Cosima's hair and removing the blindfold entirely.

Cosima chuckled. “It was pretty good once you started fucking me. I think it's my favorite Christmas present this year. How about you?”

“I think it was good, but I think we'll need to try it again to make sure.” She touched the top of her head, where a bruise was developing. At least her hair covered it up.

“Mmm. Yes. Rigorous scientific testing. You're very good at that.”

She felt Cosima's body get heavier in her arms and her breath slow. Their lamps were on in the living unit, but the lab was now dark. With some reluctance, she rubbed Cosima's arm.

“We're having dinner with your parents,” she said. “At 7.”

“It's not really a good time for that,” Cosima muttered. “We're both naked.”

Delphine pinched her side. “Little brat.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm your little brat.”

#cophine fanfiction #orphan black fanfiction #cophine

[unwoundvisions]

Cayla Stark Info Fill (1982)

My crush’s name is: Tony Stark

I was born in: 1949

I am really: Happy

My eye color is: Hazel 

My shoe size is: 7.5 UK size (I think)

My height is: 5′7

I am allergic to: Certain ingredients in antibiotics. 

My 1st car was: I didn’t get a car until Anya was born. It’s nothing like Tony’s fast cars. It’s just a Range Rover. Not flashy at all but it will fit all four of us which is all I care about.

My 1st job was: Doing makeup for people. 

Last book you read: The Lion, The Witch and the Woredrobe 

My bed is: Comfortable.

My pet: We have a Coker Spaniel named Lady (yes, after Lady and the Tramp). We also have a white cat named Marie (Yes, after the Aristocats).

My best friend: Tony Stark (but also John Decon and Rachel Boyton).  

My favorite shampoo is: Anything that smells fruity.

Piggy banks are: Very cute (my kids actually have them).

In my pockets: I’ve got reminders scrambled up in them, candy for kids, probably a couple of hair ties and maybe money.

On my calendar: Birthdays, vacations, and lots of business related things.

Marriage is: The best.

My mom: Supportive. 

How many cousins do you have? A lot I think.

Do you have any siblings? No (in this universe).

Are your parents divorced? Yes

Are you taller than your mom? No 

Do you play an instrument? No but Brian has tried to teach me guitar. It never goes well.

What did you do yesterday? After some work stuff, Tony and I picked up the kids, ran errands, ran into Rachel and Rog, eventually came home to eat dinner, watch tv and get them bed.

[ I Believe In ]

Love at first sight: Not really. 

Luck: Yes

Fate: No.

Yourself: Kinda.

Aliens: Yes.

Heaven: Yes.

Hell: Yes.

God: Yes.

Horoscopes: Kinda (but they suck for the most part).

Soul mates: Kinda.

Ghosts: Yes.

Gay Marriage: Hell yes. 

War: Fuck no. 

Orbs: Like the orbs ghost show in pictures sometimes? Kinda?

Magic: Kinda. 

[ This or That ]

Hugs or Kisses: I really don’t have a preference.

Drunk or High: Drunk

Red heads or Black haired: Red heads (I’m biased).

Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes.  

Hot or cold: Cold.

Summer or winter: Winter.

Autumn or Spring: Autumn.

Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla.

Night or Day: Night.

Oranges or Apples: Appels.

Curly or Straight hair: Both.

McDonalds or Burger King: Burger King.

White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: Both.

Flip flops or high heals: Flip flops (just because their more comfortable and I’m lazy).

Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: Sweet and poor.

Coke or Pepsi: Coke. 

Buried or cremated: Cremated.

Singing or Dancing: Singing.

Small town or Big city: Big city.

Manicure or Pedicure: Both but my least favorite is pedicure.

Your Birthday or Christmas: Christmas.

Chocolate or Flowers: Chocolate.

Disney or Six Flags: Disney.

[ Here’s What I Think About ]

War: Is good for absolutely nothing. Pointless and it’s the worst.

Gay Marriage: Should be legal everywhere.

The presidential election: Rarely turns out the way it should. 

Abortion: The woman’s body, her choice.

Parents: Can be the worst sometimes but they usually mean well. Unless their awful.

Back stabbers: Conniving assholes.

Work: Has become more about supporting your life than doing what you love.

My Neighbors: Probably hate how loud me and the kids can get in the back yard.

Gas Prices: Always too high. 

Designer Clothes: Are a luxury but I don’t need need too many.

College: A lot of work but fun sometimes.

Sports: Confuse me.

My family: is my world.

The future: Looks very bright. 

[ Last time I ]

Hugged someone: I hugged quite a few people yesterday, my kids, Tony and Rachel.

Last time you ate: This morning, Tony made breakfast.

Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: Elton came over a couple of days ago and it was the best.

Cried in front of someone: I took the kids to see E.T and properly cried when he had to go home. They were confused.

Went to a movie theater: Actually went a few days ago with Tony, Roger and Rach.

Took a vacation: We’re trying to plan a proper one but we did take a short trip to New York with the kids.

Swam in a pool: A good while ago. 

Changed a diaper: Thankfully, Anya has been out of diapers for a couple of years.

Got my nails done: Way too long ago but there’s always more important things to do.

Went to a wedding: We went to one a year ago for one of Tony’s clients I wasn’t too familiar with but it was nice.

Broke a bone: Thankfully, never.

Got a piercing: I got my ears pierced when I was a teenager but I never wore earrings enough so the now are filled in now.

Broke the law: I haven’t really. I’m boring.

[ MISC ]

Who makes you laugh the most: Tony Stark 

Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My kids. 

The last movie I saw: E.T

The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: A weekend with my family and no work...hopefully.

The thing I’m not looking forward to: Having to cross paths with Paul or fucking Quentin.

People call me: Cayla.

The most difficult thing to do is: At the moment, answering tough questions kids ask.

I have gotten a speeding ticket: No, and somehow my husband never fucking has despite his driving. One day he will and I’ll finally be right.

My zodiac sign is: Pisces.

The first person i talked to today was: Anya Stark, she woke me up to tell me that Tony made breakfast.

First time you had a crush: Was when I was super young and didn’t realize what it was. It was actually a girl who lived near by.

The one person who i can’t hide things from: Tony Stark

Last time someone said something you were thinking: A couple of days ago when Tony told me to stop worrying about the kids. They were at home with a babysitter we trust but I still worry.

Right now I am talking to: Peter, he’s doing his homework while I fill this out.

What are you going to do when you grow up: I’m grown up so my goal is to stay young with my kids until they grow up and get annoyed.

I have/will get a job: As a manager for Queen but I’m also producing movies now when I have the time (which is rare).

Tomorrow: is Monday

Today: is Sunday 

Next Summer: Queen’s Hot Space tour 

Next Weekend: Family time.

I have these pets: Lady and Marie.

The worst sound in the world: I’m going to say it’s a tie between listening to Quentin speak or newborns crying.

The person that makes me cry the most is: I’m gonna say myself because I’ll get myself worked up over nothing.

People that make you happy: Tony, Peter, Anya, Rachel, Deacy, Roger, Freddie, Brian, Elton...and so many others.

Last time I cried: Not long ago due to the E.T fiasco.

My friends are: Amazing. 

My Car: Perfect for what we need it for.

I lose all respect for people who: Those who don’t treat people with common decency and respect.

The movie I cried at was: Again, damn E.T. Stupid little thing. Making me cry in front of my actual children who did not like him because of his ugliness.

Your hair color is: Auburn

Your dream vacation: At the moment, I want to take the kids to Disney World. They’ve seen much cooler places but maybe they’d like it too.

The worst pain I was ever in was: Emotional pain? When I was a teenager. Physical? Childbirth was just as bad as I imagined. Worth it though. Just won’t be doing it again if I can help it.

How do you like your steak cooked: I don’t eat red meat very often. If I do, it’s medium well.

My room is: Has lots of kids toys in it. I really don’t know how they keep getting in here.

My favorite celebrity is: I’ll go with Elton.

Where would you like to be: I’m happy at home at the moment.

Do you want children: I did and I got them. A bit sooner than I expected but they’re here now and can hold conversation which is fun. 

Ever been in love: Yes.

Who’s your best friend: Tony Stark 

More guy friends or girl friends: Guy friends.

One thing that makes you feel great is: Tony.

One person that you wish you could see right now: Freddie, he’s always so busy.

Do you have a 5 year plan: Not at all.

Have you made a list of things to do before you die: Nope.

Have you pre-named your children: Anya was sort of prenamed because I had thought of the name before but she was almost named Amelia for a while.

Last person I got mad at: Tony, for working through the night and not letting me come help out.

I would like to move to: We’re happy here.

I wish I was a professional: Singer and director.

[ My Favorites ]

Candy: Sour gummies

Vehicle: Range Rover

State visited: New York 

Singer: Freddie Mercury

Band: Queen

Animal: Tiger

Theme park: Disneyworld, though I haven’t been but it looks really nice.

Holiday: Christmas

Sport to watch: None but Peter likes football so I’m trying to learn a bit about that.

Sport to play: I’ve played some football with Peter but he’s way better than me.

Book: The Hobbit.

Day of the week: Friday

Beach: I don’t have a preference. 

Concert attended: Queen in Montreal, 1981 

Thing to cook: Pasta

Food: Greek or Italian.

Restaurant: Italian.

Perfumed: Anything thats not too strong.

Flower: Roses.

Color: Red.

#╰ curvy cayla ╮ #♫ play the game (queen fic) #✧ modest musings ✧ #(( i got to fill in some super fluffy stuff which was fun )) #(( and fun fact: peter would be 9 and anya would be 6 at this time )) #(( and e.t is the only movie i was familar with from that year lol ))