#which allows the hand to curl around objects a bit better like our palms but also different-y

[transingthoseformers]

Oh look at this cover art. Look at the detail, the sheer brutal messiness of it.

It invokes a very specific feeling, and I feel like Tarn's servo here is very well detailed

fun fact, I've noticed that sometimes he has claws, sometimes he has blunt digits. I suppose it could be a blue eyed Brainstorm situation, but who knows. I personally like him better with the claws. Sue me, I love giving characters claws.

#the mtmte servo designs are interesting as the hand is sort of split in between the middle and ring finger #which allows the hand to curl around objects a bit better like our palms but also different-y #tarn here also has an extra thumb joint that no doubt is useful #you can also see his wrist is like an honest to goodness servo joint and not the disaster that our wrist joints are #another thing I'll focus on is how the optics in the covers are detailed— from sunder we see they're basically mostly glass #so from what i can see it's like shining a light through an orb as we can see here #I'm assuming it's tf magic in how they see #we can see the crumpling of Megatron's helm (helmet? iicr it's mostly helmet actually) but i can argue it's also chunks taken out #from what i can see he's likely ground his dentae hard enough for them to crack like that #yeah I'll shut up #riot rambles #mtmte tarn #mtmte Megatron #comic reading

[givemeyourcrunchbars]

Sequestered

Fern x f!reader

If there are any warnings I need to add, please let me know :)

The weight of the crown on your head was too much to bear today. You gently set it down onto the grass, next to you in the shade of the giant oak trees above you.

If someone were to ask you what it's like to be a princess, you would say it's a curse. For the past 15 years you've been raised, your father was stern and barely paid any attention to you. Suffering from neglect, you slowly watched him become more and more corrupt with power, forcing the entire kingdom to stay within its walls. As far as the common people knew, the outside was a mysterious place not to be messed with.

That's what power does to people. To have all these abilities at your hands, is a great responsibility. But most rulers toss those away, like a bag of trash being disposed into the garbage can.

You sighed, gazing across to the opposite side of the clearing you were sitting in. You raised your head to look up at the sky. Oh, what I would do to have a different life...

The rustling of leaves caught your attention. You gasped, quickly backing away into the shelter of the trees. Dad can't catch me being here!

"Hey."

You froze as relief washed over you. It wasn't your father.

You weren't allowed to leave the kingdom. Finding loopholes wasn't easy, so you didn't know what you'd do if he found out.

Carefully, you stood up, squinting at the figure standing at the opposite end of the meadow. Slowly, they- or it- stepped into the sunlight. You recognized him from your past adventures. Fern the Human.

"Hi," you replied warily. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," he said. "Just exploring." Fern wore the same expression he did normally, a blank set of eyes and his mouth set in a straight line.

You nodded, your eyes darting around the clearing, at anything but him. You rarely interacted with outsiders, especially since you weren't allowed outside of your kingdom. So you didn't know how to act. All your social skills started chipping away because you were forced to stay inside all the time. "Princess duties".

"I haven't seen you around here before," the grass boy remarked. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" I repeated. That was a good question. Every single decision I've had to make and every emotion I've had was decided for me. So much so, that I wasn't sure there was any "me" left.

"I'm Y/N," you replied. Fern tilted his head.

"Where are you from?"

"Um." You struggled to find the words. He couldn't know about the kingdom, or else you would find yourself kicked out. What was even the purpose of telling him? It could only end badly. His curiosity would get the better of him, driving him him to see the kingdom for himself. Would Fern even try to save us?

Even though you wanted to rescue your people badly, the thought of them roaming around aimlessly in the Land of Ooo scared you. They barely knew anything about the outside, and the only information they did know altered their perspective to think of it in a bad light. Besides, what could Fern do to help? He's just one person.

"It's none of your business," you ended up blurting out. "I have to go." Your father wanted you home for the evening anyway. For what, he didn't say.

You turned away before you could hear Fern's reply, dashing off into the dense forest.

Taking a deep breath, you began to form an image of a raven inside your mind. Shapeshifting was still something you weren't good at. You were supposed to follow a certain set of rules as a princess, one of which being that you couldn't shapeshift into your raven form in the presence of other people. It was seen as impolite.

Focus on shapeshifting! You commanded yourself. Finally, you were able to fly, ruffling your wings a bit. You missed being able to soar.

"Wait!" Fern's voice yelled from behind you, his footsteps trodding through the layers of leaves on the forest floor. You sighed, flapping up to the tree tops and taking off. A feeling of dread gradually grew in your chest, facing the reality that you had to go back to your secluded life, with people that ignored and misunderstood you.

As the dark green leaves of the forest zoomed by beneath your feet, you began to wonder whether you should've listened to what Fern had to say. Eh, it probably wasn't important.

Directing your thoughts back to your destination, you vowed to come back to your happy place as soon as possible. It helped clear your head. Hopefully, Fern won't be there next time. The idea of talking to people made you uncomfortable. The people that you've trusted in the past have all either broken your trust, or just didn't care about you at all.

There's a crown here in the bushes, Fern observed, lifting the heavy piece of gold. It was a big ring, with an arm extending upwards, holding a small, rugged black crystal. Interesting.

Turning it over in his hands, something strange caught his eye. A carving on the back of the crown. It was barely illegible, but Fern could make out one name. Y/N.

"Where is your crown?" The Raven King hissed angrily. "The suitors are already here!"

"I don't know, Dad!" You frantically racked your mind, trying to remember where you had left it. A princess' crown was a part of her, as a role model and a symbol. But this time, it represented worth.

"Why are you making me marry someone I don't even know anyway?" You hurriedly glanced at your father, brows furrowed. Your father had invited a group of suitors to compete for your hand in marriage. They desired only the princess' heart, but it wasn't true love, like what you dreamed of as a child. They just wanted land, wealth, and power. Marrying you was their key to a happy life. Without your label as a princess, they would have no opportunity at all.

"You know very well why!" Your father growled. "This is going to be beneficial for the kingdom! Don't you want me to prosper?"

You started walking down the spiraling staircase that lead to the main hallways, unable to stay calm any longer. "I want the people to prosper," you replied, sending a spine-chilling glare to your father behind you. Before he could respond, you stomped away, into the main hallway where a line of antsy suitors stood waiting.

You definitely have a thing for walking out on people.

"Heya, Fern!" A boy wearing a worn, dual-toned green backpack greeted Fern, holding open the door that had separated the two just moments before. "Jake just made some meatloaf! Want some? It has your favorite- I mean our favorite garnishes." Finn grinned.

"No thanks," Fern replied, distracted. His eyes wandered all around the giant treehouse that stood over him, almost menacingly. Despite what Fern wanted to think, there was something about it that made him uneasy. When he thought of the treehouse, he thought of Finn, which in turn caused him to obsess over the fact that he wasn't Finn. Then who was he?

"No probs." Finn sounded a little disappointed, but cheered up when Jake called out that the meatloaf was ready from somewhere inside the house.

"By the way, can I ask you something?" Fern asked, taking something out of his backpack, which tumbled to the ground, causing him to groan in frustration. Finn turned back to his grassy friend while taking a plate of food from the unseen Jake. "What's up?"

He gasped when he saw the golden crown gleaming in the sunlight. "That belongs to one of the princesses!" He picked it up and handed it back to Fern.

Fern nodded, stowing it in his backpack. "I found it in the forest near Tree Trunks' house. I think this girl dropped it," he said.

"Whahf girl?" Finn said, trying to chew meatloaf at the same time. "PB? Fire Princess? Slime P?"

"No." Fern shook his head. "I've never seen her before, and honestly," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "She was scared of me." He sounded frustrated, his voice trailing off.

"Dude-"

"Why doesn't anything ever work out?!" Fern said in anguish. He curled his fingers in and out of his palm, trying to release the tension trapped in his mind.

"Calm down, dude," Finn exclaimed. "I can help you find her, don't worry! I've never seen this crown before either, so we can go together." He placed a hand on Fern's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"No!" Fern protested. "I wanna do it myself," he said, softer. "Can you just tell me how to find her?"

Finn looked taken aback for a second at his grassy friend's outburst, but nodded regardless. "You can ask the Candy People and the other kingdoms, they probably know who owns that crown." He handed Fern a map of the Land of Ooo, sketched out on a yellowed piece of paper.

Saying their goodbyes, Finn left Fern on his solo quest to find the mysterious princess.

The long and chaotic day was finally over. You sank down to the floor, your back against the door to your room. You stared at the king-sized bed. I hate this. I hate everything.

After you left your father standing on the stairs, you had awkwardly walked into the main hall. But that must have been the last straw for your father, because he still didn't join you, even after five minutes. He ended up sending a replacement to accompany you after a long time of waiting. You wished that the suitors didn't keep glancing at the spot where your crown was supposed to sit while you stood with your hands clasped in front of you, staring at the doorway your father was going to follow you through.

I still have to get the crown back, you thought. Where did I leave it? The only place I would've lost it would be... Then you realized. The clearing! Of course! Oh no, I have to go there right now!

You raced over to the small window in your bedroom, peeking your head out. Seeing practically no one outside, you transformed into your raven form and hopped on the windowsill. Suddenly, an object was hurled at you from below. Looking down, you saw a small child chucking pieces of corn at you.

"Get out of there, you stupid crow!" He yelled. Close enough.

You carefully flapped your wings, flying high above the kingdom. As soon as you were out of reach, the child gave up trying to knock you out of the sky and returned to his home, resuming the quiet atmosphere the kingdom always held during evenings.

Night had almost fallen over Ooo when you finally arrived at your meadow. Landing in the spot where you had sat earlier that day, you turned back into a human and rummaged through the bushes for your long lost crown. As the minutes ticked by, you began to grow more frustrated. Where is it?! If I lose it forever, I'm done for.

"Huh?" You said out loud. Prying apart the branches of a blueberry bush, you found a few grass blades attached to the rough leaves, reminding you of Fern. You stood up. Why not just see if Fern had it? He wasn't the scavenger type, but something as mysterious as an unknown princess' crown was sure to fascinate him.

Ugh, the sun is setting. You sighed in defeat, vowing to visit Fern the next day to take back the circlet. Another day that's ending, another gloomy morning to look forward to. But this time, you had a mission to accomplish.

#adventure time fern x reader #adventure time #fern x reader #adventure time x reader

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror Finale P.2

masterlist  request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw reader

request: yes very highly requested lol

summary: despite never speaking before, y/n has a big crush on draco malfoy, a particularly broody and obnoxious slytherin. what will happen when they finally have to start associating? and what if they run into a certain mirror that shows you what you truly desire?

warnings: cursing!

a/n: so ik i said this was gonna be out later this week but i love you guys too much! here it is...the final part of mirror, mirror! it’s weird to finally finish a series like this but ohhhh boy here we are

taglist: @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99 @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 2.1k

“About time you got off your arse.”

“Hello to you too, Rena,” Y/N sighed as she dropped her satchel on her bed. Her roommate watched, bemused, as she began to unpack her things. 

“How are you?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer. “I really missed you. We were all worried sick, you know.”

Y/N snorted, tossing her wrinkled robes on the bed and making a mental note to spell them neat later. “I do know. Madame Pomfrey was going to kill me for how many times she had to tell you to leave me and let me rest.” 

Rena’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Y/N. “I missed you too.”

The two sat in silence for a bit as the cold afternoon breeze wafted into their room, carrying the smell of fresh snow in. 

“So, anything exciting happen? Did anyone tell you anything….interesting?”

“No.” Y/N was about to turn back to her work before she caught the mischievous expression on Rena’s face. “What? Why?”

“Nothing,” she sang. “I’m just wondering. I have to catch up with my best friend, you know. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been the whole of four days.”

“It’s been forever,” she restated, jumping up and spinning Y/N around (who couldn’t help but allow a slow grin to spread across her face). 

“I was going crazy in there.” Y/N’s voice was considerably more serious. “I never told you, but--” she chose to ignore the look of anticipation written all over Rena’s face, “--Malfoy talked to me. And he was so nice to me, it was we--”

“That COWARD!” 

The outburst started Y/N, who dropped her things on the floor in shock. “I’m sorry? Rena, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Rena, her tone dutiful and mournful. “It’s not my place. Anyways, what did that loser do?”

“Er,” began Y/N, “I don’t know how much of it was real or if it was because I was on pain potion, but he and I--I don’t know, flirted? There was a lot of banter, and before he knew it he pulled me off the ground--”

“You were on the ground?”

“--he pulled me off the ground and picked the gravel out of my palms.” Y/N swallowed as she recounted the instance. She’d never seen him look so soft before. “He said he had something he wanted to tell me, and his voice got all strange.”

“And then?” 

“And then Madame Pomfrey came to yell at me and basically--oh god, Rena, she basically told him that I dreamt of him!”

Rena snorted with laughter. “Shit, dude. I don’t think you should worry, though. You’d think any bloke with half a brain would’ve figured out that you were obsessed with him by now.”

“Shut up.” Y/N’s face was hot. “Anyways, I haven’t seen him since. I’d prefer if we could stop talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She took in a breath. “Wait, what about rounds? Don’t you still have to see him?”

“No. Flitwick told me I’m off. At least until next month.” If she sped through the thought, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ending of a chapter, huh? How are you feeling about that?”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, Rena, I love you, you know I do, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay? It’s over.”

If her words carried any deeper meaning to Rena, she didn’t show it. “Lighten up, girly. Maybe it’s not.”

“All I’ve done is make a fool of myself,” lamented Y/N, throwing her empty satchel in the closet and collapsing onto her bed. “I’m just going to go back to what everything was before. This hasn’t changed anything. Now, Rena, I have a Potions exam to study for.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

~

Her interactions with Draco were few and far between in the following weeks. Sometimes she caught a few glimpses of a pale blonde head of hair as she walked down the halls to her classes, but nothing concrete, nothing even close to the amount of interaction they had while she was still bound to her rounds. 

It was certainly a punch in the gut--after all, she did spend a good portion of her academic career thirsting over him--but the sensible part of her knew that this was for the better. Her schoolwork became her top priority again, just like it had been the years before she was assigned to be his partner.

So, given this pattern of communication, it was fair to say that Y/N was completely and utterly flabbergasted when she saw Draco waiting by the entry of her common room at 11pm one night.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she shifted the books in her satchel to be secured over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly, not tripping over his words in the slightest. “I have rounds tonight.”

“I’m aware.” She hoped that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding the way that it was.

“And I’m out of Wide-eye potion.” 

“That really sucks,” Y/N said as she held up her hand on the door of the common room, uttering the riddle’s answer under her breath before she stepped in. 

“Wait!” His voice turned her around--it was pleading, almost desperate. “I have an exam tomorrow. No one in Slytherin has any. Snape would kick my arse for waking him up now. I know you have some left over since you never finished the rounds, and I--I understand if you don’t want to but it doesn’t have a very good shelf life anyways and I was hoping you’d...that you’d be alright with giving it to me.”

She paused, completely stunned. The most hopeful part of her wondered if he had made this up, but she squelched this with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Fine. Come with me, you must be freezing outside.” 

Y/N wasn’t wrong--the weather had taken a turn in the past few days to be bitterly cold--but it wasn’t like she’d object seeing him for any longer. She mentally cursed herself for being so weak-willed.

Draco looked pleasantly surprised at the suggestion and stepped into the common room with her, following her up until she reached the base of the stairs. “I’ll wait here.”

“If you’re comfortable,” she began, “I’d honestly prefer if you came with me. I don’t want to explain to anyone why I let you into our common room unsupervised.”

He looked like his mind was buffering the information for a second, standing with a glazed look in his eyes before he sucked in a breath and became the picture of confidence once again. “Want me in your room that bad?”

Yes.

“You wish.”

He scoffed as they climbed the stairs, Y/N a few steps above him. She thought that if she maintained the space he wouldn’t see how hard she was shaking and wondered where Rena was. Studying with Hermione like she told her she was? She hoped.

Y/N stopped in front of her door at the very end of the hall, decorated with a banner that had their names displayed in glittering bronze letters that moved in the light. “Ok. You can come in with me if you want--it might be a couple minutes since I don’t quite remember where it is.”

He looked amused with himself as she got out her wand and attempted to unlock her door with the specialized charm she and Rena had decided upon. Mortifyingly enough, her hand was too shaky to execute it.

“Hey, hey,” Draco tutted, holding his hand out. It enveloped hers and held her wand still as she muttered the incantation, unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

“Er...thanks,” she said. His hand was still over hers. 

Y/N broke the eye contact to dart through the door to a thankfully dark and empty room--if Rena had seen that, she never would’ve let her hear the end of that--and began rifling through her drawers as Draco shut the door and examined her room.

“You’re flustered,” he noted as she tipped over one of her candlesticks and just barely managed to catch it. “Is everything okay? Trouble in paradise, little Ravenclaw?”

“Like you care.” Y/N shut the desk drawer with an audible BANG. “And don’t call me that. Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave hearing you infantilize her good name like that.”

Draco laughed from his stance by her door--a sound that she hated to admit that she really missed. “I take back what I said. You certainly sound like yourself.”

Y/N’s fingers finally closed around the last bottle of Wide-Eye, which was quickly tossed to Draco. “Happy now?”

He sent her a strangely weak smile as he slipped the vial into his pocket, no doubt silk lined and expensive. “Sure. So this is goodbye? Actually?”

“I think...I think so.” 

Y/N had moved closer to him so only about a foot stood between them, a distance that felt like a mile from where she stood. 

This is goodbye.

Draco was making a motion to turn around and open the door when Y/N experienced the most severe lapse of judgement in the entirety of her 17 years.

She sprung forward, her fingers curling around the satiny soft fabric of his tie and pulling. Her motion was rough enough that he jolted forward, his eyes wide with surprise as Y/N closed in and pressed her lips to his in a very chaste and ungraceful movement. 

The split second that it took for her to realize the consequences of her actions was enough for her to let go completely and jump away, apologies readily falling out of her mouth in disjointed and clumsy collections. 

“I’m so sorry...Oh my god...I have no idea what got into me...Draco, I--”

Before she could finish, his hands were already cupping her face, his frame bent down the slightest so he could be more level with her. And he was--oh--he was kissing her, actually properly this time, without the tense closed-offness of her first attempt.

When Y/N imagined what it was like to kiss Draco Malfoy, she didn’t imagine him to be so soft. Or warm. Or gentle, or pliant, or whatever other good things he was to her as he snaked her arms around her and held her tight to him.

His kisses turned feverish, almost desperate as he turned her so she was pressed up between him and the wall. Everywhere his hands touched felt charged with electricity and energy, and as his hands traveled up and down her spine she decided that this must be what it’s like to die of happiness. 

“Draco,” she managed in between kisses, pulling away for air for just a moment and sliding back down so her feet touched the floor again. “Can we talk? About this?”

“Thanks,” he responded, his eyes glittering with endearment. “I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up.” 

He grinned but made no effort to step away from her, instead choosing to drag his fingers up and down the side of her exposed neck. “What’s there to talk about? I like you, you like me, there’s nothing we need to do to complicate this further.”

“You...you what?”

“Yes, genius, what else did you think I was planning on telling you that day in the courtyard,” Draco said. “I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were over me. That was horribly embarrassing, you know. Had to nurse my ego for weeks before I could garner up the courage to speak to you again.” He stopped to gently press the pad of his thumb into the little dimple she had in her left cheek, smiling uncontrollably as he moved his hand back to cup her face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” argued Y/N. 

“Isn’t this supposed to be the smart house?” he teased. 

She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t make me decide I don’t like you anymore.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like me?”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Just from kissing me? Wow, I must be good.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I!”

Y/N gazed up at the boy in front of her for a few beats, admiring how the moonlight bounced off the silvery strands of his hair and how his smile reached every corner of his face. 

“I take back what I said,” she told him.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

He smiled again, leaning in close so his lips barely brushed her ear. “No. No, it isn’t.”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #dracotok #draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x you

[fnf-brain-rot]

back in the day

Boyfriend held onto his microphone with a strong grip, staring down at the dulled, black surface that triggered memories in his mind. this wasn't the mic he used in his everyday quests of rap battling, no. this was, what he used to call, his battle mic. It was a pretty lame name, but now it holds loads of sentimental value.

Back when he and Pico were dating, yes he dated in his middle school, his parents couldn't tell him he wasn't allowed to, he would often hang out with his friends, Nene and Darnell. He actually enjoyed Pico's friends a lot. Nene helped get him in touch with his feminine side, and Darnell would give him guys talk about things Pico hated talking about. Being together with them had its downsides of course. he was occasionally dragged into their hijinks, which would get him pretty beat up. He and Pico even argued over it. Boyfriend didn't mind, he thought it was cool in all honesty, but Pico didn't want him getting hurt anymore, and his parents might start noticing the cuts and bruises. It gave Boyfriend a bright idea.

________________________________________________________________________________

"Mom! I'm heading out!"

"Okay sweetie! Be back BEFORE ten, okay?"

Bee rolled his eyes, then closed the front door of his home behind him. He had a bright idea. A dangerous one, but it was totally smart. He skated his way down to the lesser developed area of Newgrounds City, which already put him in a bit of danger. He was the brightest thing there. Stopping near an old, rusty bus drop off, he took out his phone. Maybe he should tell the others he was there, just in case anything went wrong. He stopped himself though. Nene would panic and tell Darnell and Pico. Darnell would doubt the idea and tell Pico. And Pico... He would come down there himself just to chew him out.

he shook his head to clear his thoughts, then pocketed his phone. He was already there. there was no point in going back.

He had a couple hours to put his new skills to the test. Did he start training only a week ago? yes. Was he impatient to prove himself? Very much so. Was this a good idea? Hm.. probably not, but he'll get nowhere if he doesn't believe in himself! 

He set down his board, then began his walk down to the little ice cream parlor a couple minutes from him. He remembered Pico saying something about it swarming with Uberkids. This was his ticket. He held his microphone tight in his sweaty palms. it seemed like the parlor was the only thing using power around here. All the other buildings were either dark, devoid of life, or destroyed, as if fires have been set and holes have been blasted through the walls. 

He stepped foot at the door, already feeling the refreshing cool air brushing against him from the other side of the glass. He swallowed hard, then pulled the door open. He couldn't see anyone behind the counter. That alone made him nervous. "H..Hello?" His voice quivered, despite his best attempt to sound tough. Standing in front of the selection of ice cream is when he noticed a kid his height standing there. It was one of them.

Boyfriend smiled nervously. these guys don't really talk huh? He gripped his microphone to comfort himself. He was now realizing he didn't really have a plan, and he was mostly daydreaming about kicking ass on the way there, but now this felt super stupid. Maybe they won't wanna fight? "Uh.. hi? Can I get a chocolate mint ice cream?" Maybe ice cream would make him feel better. The other was about to comply with his order, but seemed to stop, staring into Boyfriend's eyes for longer than he was comfortable with. No doubt they knew him, he was literally always with Pico.

the way he recoiled confirmed his thoughts, and before he knew it, he had a gun pointed at him. "Bad idea.." bee murmured before immediately ducking as a shot was fired in his previous position. "Oh shit! Shit!" He scrambled off the floor, making a run for the front doors, which he kicked open with his foot. He could hear the uberkid chasing him down, firing shot after shot at his moving target. 

Boyfriend ducked behind a dumpster for cover. His hands were shaking, and he felt like he was about to collapse. Wait no, he knew what this was. Adrenaline. He could call Pico.. Or he could handle this himself and prove he was fine with the other three. Right. He's not being brushed off anymore.

He waited for footsteps, hearing them get closer and closer to his location. Right when he saw the shadow, he flung himself out into the open. he heard gunfire, and felt a searing pain in his shoulder, but he ignored it. In one swift motion, he threw his mic at the kid, then yoinked it back. He had his eyes closed, so he had no idea what he really did, but when he opened them, he was holding the kid's gun. 

"Ha! Hahaaa!!" Boyfriend laughed triumphantly, but quickly made more distance between him and the approaching opponent. He flung his mic again, pulling the cord down. The solid object made direct contact with the other's skull, tripping him up and flinging him face first into the pavement. With a wide grin, Boyfriend dropped the gun, then kicked it away behind him. "Not so useless now, am I?" He put his hands on his hips, but wasn't prepared for the next act.

The uberkid lifted himself up on shaky arms, and pulled a whistle from his pocket.

oh no..

"Oh! Wait! nono please!" Boyfriend held his hands up, but the shrill sound of the whistle cut him off. He knew what that meant. He could already feel the buildings around him come to life. They were probably waiting for the signal this whole time. Maybe they thought he had Pico, Nene, and Darnell with him.

He's really starting to think he should have called them.

Boyfriend began running without a second thought, passing the barely conscious kid on the ground. He needed to get to his board. he needed to get out of here.

He pulled out his phone and pressed on the first contact he could see. Pico. Oh great, now he had to get yelled at. he pressed call, hearing the gun fire begin to echo around the decrepit walls of the broken down area. Pico picked up on the second ring, a yawn following right after. "Bee-"

"I'M BEING CHASED BY UBERKIDS AND THEY'RE SHOOTING AT ME!!" 

Silence crept between them for a moment before Pico responded, his voice dripping with a stern, serious tone. "Where are you." Boyfriend cried out at the feeling of another bullet grazing him, almost tripping over his foot. "Downtown! Near the ice cream parlor!" He heard Pico sigh heavily. "We're on our way. Get behind something." With that, the ginger hung up the phone.

Boyfriend felt relief wash over him at the news of backup on its way, however it was short lived when he felt a solid hit in his left arm. He gasped out in pain, the spot immediately boiling with heat. He tried to focus on his skate board but.. Oh god, they were already there.. he skidded to a halt, but quickly moved in a different direction. he hoped to god this alleyway didn't have a dead end. He tripped over an open garbage bag, tumbling over and rolling into a brick wall, hitting the back of his head. 

His vision swirled, and he was in so much pain. He bit back tears and tried to stay quiet, doing that thing he saw Pico do when he got shot. he ripped off a piece of his shirt, then tied it around the wound. The pain was unbearable, but he had to be tough. 

The gunfire stopped, supposedly because they didn't know where he was. All he had was his microphone.. It wasn't really a weapon.. But it could be.. He looked around, squeezing the hand of his injured arm. The sooner he got used to the pain, the sooner he could fight. Drawing in a breath, he stood up, suppressing the urge to curl up in a ball to wait for his saviors.

There stood two uberkids, thankfully unarmed, but still looked dangerous. He was quick to jump forward, throwing out his mic. The force of the sling wrapped the object around one of their necks, and with all his force, Boyfriend gave it a hard tug. He made direct contact with his opponent's face with the top of his head, hearing the crunch of his breaking nose. The buddy he was patrolling with quickly ran to help, grabbing Boyfriend by the shoulders, and the blue haired struggled against his grip. 

He then smacked his head up into the uberkids' jaw, then kicked his leg up at his crotch, causing the clone to double over. "When Pico gets here you guys are FUCKED." He threatened them through grit teeth, kicking away the one in front of him. He didn't have it in him to kill them like the others did. If anything he just hoped he knocked them unconscious.

He breathed out as the two bodies collapsed under him. The adrenaline really did do wonders huh.. He limped his way out of the alley way to get to his skateboard, hopefully it was less crowded-

The moment he stepped out he saw a good five of these wastes of science grants running his way. "Son of a-" He began to back track, almost stumbling backward into the wall to hide. Welp, at least he did some cool fighting shit before he died. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sounds of gunfire to end his life.

Well, it didn't.. kill him when he heard it.

he cracked an eye open as blood splattered onto the pavement in front of him, but it wasn't his. He turned the corner to see no other than Nene, who jumped in the middle of them for dramatic affect. Pico covered her from some ways back, gradually making his way toward the scrap. It wasn't too long until Boyfriend heard an explosion, surprisingly nearby. He often forgets how bloody these fights are.

"Nene..!" Bee quickly rushes toward her, surprising both her and Pico. "Bee, wait!" The ginger yelled out, but Boyfriend didn't listen. The blue haired boy held up a hand for Pico to hold his fire, then threw his microphone to wrap around the neck of one minion about to grab Nene from behind. he tugged to give himself a speed boost, then lifted his legs to collide with his stomach, knocking him to the ground, the shorter standing on top. 

"Wow Bee, where'd you learn that?" Nene smiled, impressed, and Boyfriend couldn't help but breathe out a laugh. "It's why I'm here." He admitted to her.

With all the immediate ubers handled, Darnell came down from one of the already destroyed buildings, seeming giddy as hell while Nene checked Boyfriend for any wounds. "Holy shit Bf! I saw what you did! Where the fuck did you learn to fight like that??" He clapped the boy on the back, which made him wince painfully, and the taller muttered an apology with another laugh. Pico was quiet, as to be expected. "Did you know you got shot in the leg?"

"I what."

Boyfriend looked down to see blood oozing out of his calf. Oh wow, he hadn't even felt it.

"N..No I didn't know that." He felt the pain wash over him though when he looked at out. "Wow that hurts!" He forced himself to laugh at it, and  Nene and Darnell happily lent him their shoulders to limp on. "Let's go, before he loses too much blood." Pico muttered, walking over to the rusty bench and grabbing his skateboard. Boyfriend already know how this talk was gonna go..

________________________________________________________________________________

The three kids easily helped boyfriend patch up his wounds. The worst hurdle was taking the bullets out of his arm and leg. He had to bite down on a towel for that.

Pico had him lie down on his bed, the boy no wearing one of his sweaters and a pair of his boxers since he had to shower. He texted his mom to ask if he could stay at Pico's, and being the understanding mother she was, she allowed it.

"Get better soon, okay Bee?" Nene waved as she walked out of Pico's bedroom, Darnell playfully saluting him. With those two gone, Boyfriend grew tense, watching Pico walk into his bathroom to clean up everything they used to dress his wounds. He felt bad about making them do all this. He knew it was his own fault he got in trouble like that. He should endure the punishment.

Pico came back, turning the light off as he left the room. Without a word, he sat down on his bed, then turned to look at Bee. They stared at each other for a moment, and Boyfriend's cheeks began to redden. Now wasn't the time to faun over his boyfriend-

"Uh.. I'm sorry.." He started, looking away in embarrassment. He couldn't read Pico's expression, and frankly he didn't want to. Pico put a hand on his face, drawing a slow breath, then letting it out. "bee, you could have gotten seriously hurt."

"I know I know! I just.. I wanted to.." Pico grunted before he could finish. "You wanted to put yourself in danger to, what, prove a point? What's the point in doing that if you might not live to prove it to people?!" Boyfriend flinched as he raised his voice, then winced at the dull throb he was met with from moving so suddenly. Pico sighed again, and without warning, leaned forward to gently hug onto Boyfriend's torso. The smaller's eyes widened, and his heartbeat increased. "I'm just.. glad you're okay. Don't.. Don't do that again, okay?" 

Bee smiled brightly as Pico sat up. It always melted his heart when he smiled like that. "I promise! I obviously can't fight on my own like you can." He teased, then whined as Pico flicked his nose. "No dumbass. Since when do I fight armies without backup, huh?" He scoffed, and Boyfriend laughed again, gently rubbing his nose. "Yeah, yeah. I learned my lesson." Pico rolled his eyes. "You better have.." He leaned down and kissed Boyfriend on the forehead. He was dramatic about it, a happy squeal leaving him while the ginger simply rolled his eyes again. He should stop doing that, he could feel his sockets loosening already.

________________________________________________________________________________

Bee smiled at the memory. He was lucky enough to get away without any scars. Meeting Pico this week was tough. he could barely explain to Girlfriend why he started crying after that. He wasn't ready to tell her about it yet. He would soon though, he doesn't like hiding stuff. He loves her too much.

.......

"You up?"

The phone showed Pico was typing for a while.

"Ya, why"

"I wanna talk"

#friday night funkin #fnfboyfriend #pico #Picos school #nene pico's school #Darnell pico's school

[inhanf-archived]

1. threesome | toys under clothing | hand jobs

Squares/Prompts used:

#kinktober2020 all three prompts incorporated

@cmbingo​ library square

@cm-kinkbingo​ Professor!AU

Warnings: Smut, public smut, descriptive smut, three-way relationship

Summary: Alternate Universe in which Reid stays on as a full time professor, the role given to him when Barnes restructured the BAU in Season 13. Other canon deviations exist but are minor.

Word count: 1530ish

AO3

There was a certain peace that being surrounded by books gave to Dr Spencer Reid. If he turned his immense profiling skill inwards he could trace it back to his mother’s love of books and the escapism they offered him from a difficult childhood. He had quickly developed a preference for a corner of the campus library rarely used by anyone except a handful of graduate researchers. The books and papers here were older, the stacks were closer together and there were only a few desks scattered around the entire section. It was remote enough to offer solitude while giving a soothing background noise of staff and students in other parts of the library.

It was here, at a desk furthest from the others that you found Spencer, surrounded by a stack of books and papers, sipping from a reusable coffee cup you’d bought for him to sneak his illicit substance into the library. You watched as he replaced it on the desk, well away from the old books and turned a page. The speed with which he consumed the written word made you feel dizzy, though your reason for seeking him out here could also be partly to blame.

He looked up as you approached him, his curious hazel eyes scanning you for signs of bad news. You rarely disturbed him at work and this was an emergency but not the kind he was thinking. You perched on the edge of the desk, setting your satchel down beside his. ‘Hey’ you smiled and reached out to push a stray stand behind his ear. Spencer matched your smile and leaned in to the affectionate touch.‘Hi? What brings you here? Not that I’m objecting.’ Before you could answer him a very faint buzzing met both your ears in the near silence. You bit down on your lip, gripping the table and pressing your thighs together and Spencer knew instantly what had brought on this visit.

Grinning widely he waited for the soft buzzing to stop which it did just as you caved and let out a soft whimper. His cock jumped in his pants at the sound and he shifted in his seat. ‘Emily torturing you again love?’ He smiled as you met his gaze, the flush of your skin suggested she had been at this for a few hours now. ‘She has me on ten minute intervals, I almost lost it on the way in here. Spence you’ve gotta help me.’

He chuckled and shifted again in his seat. The games Em played with you often ran for days at a time, setting all three of you up for a session of exquisite pleasure. What she exacted in her mischievous preparations she gave back tenfold when she wanted to. This knowledge of your shared girlfriend along with the physical effects she was creating within you had him hard and straining against his slacks.

Spotting the shift and knowing exactly what it meant you slid from the desk to perch on Spencer’s lap. There wasn’t the power play between you two like there was between you and Emily but you knew how to press his buttons and he was a decidedly softer touch than Em. He loved having his hair stroked so your hand naturally went back to the wild curls at the nape of his neck, your little finger simultaneously skimming the sensitive skin there. He shifted again beneath you and you knew you had him.

‘She’ll only drag it out if I help you cum Y/N. She’ll read it all over both our faces if I so much as touch you.’ He was being careful not to let his hands stray to where he wanted them, one against your lower back, pressing you in closer to him, another on your thigh, tracing the goose bumps your over aroused state had caused. ‘I know, I know. But it’s not against the rules if I get there without being touched.’ His quizzical gaze met your eager eyes, his genius brain gave him no advantage at all when it came to the fairer sex, something you found endearing. Realization crept into his expression when your fingers lightly traced the bulge in his pants and he had to cough to cover up the moan he let out. You got a huge amount of satisfaction from pleasuring both your partners but to Spencer's flawless memory he could never remember it causing you to reach orgasm without touch. When he saw you glance at his watch it all clicked into place for him.

‘You want to time getting me off to the next vibration scheduled.’ You bit your lip again and nodded, leaning in to capture his lips in a soft but passionate kiss as your fingers lightly traced his length again. Spence lifted his hands to cup your face, fisting them either side of you when he remembered he wasn’t allowed to touch you. ‘How do you want to do this?’ He whispered softly against your lips. You leaned back to check the nearby stacks and glanced again at his watch. ‘I have seven minutes till the next onslaught’ ‘six minutes forty two seconds actually’ you rolled your eyes and laid your palm against his cock which quietened Spencer again as he stifled a fresh moan. ‘I was thinking we sit just like this, pretend to be chatting and innocently kissing and I jerk you off.’ you stated simply against his ear. Preemptively answering his next question you pulled several clean Kleenex from the pocket of your dress and sat back to meet his gaze.

Spencer took a moment to process the situation. He’d never been much of an exhibitionist but he couldn’t deny the chances of you being caught were negligible. You were waiting for his consent and he gave it with a nod and a shy smile, moving himself to face you better and give you easier access to his trousers. Your smile lit up your entire face and you kissed your boyfriend tenderly, your fingers making quick work of his belt and fly. Reaching inside his black slacks you slid your hand along his aroused cock, gripping it softly through the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. Glancing down you smiled at the pattern. ‘Avocados eh?’ He grinned back at you, burying his face in your shoulder as you carefully extracted him from the novelty pants, your thumb swiping over his head to gather the precum that glistened there and spread it along his shaft. You could feel the kisses he placed along your collar bone as you worked him slowly, up and down, twisting your wrist slightly and collecting the slick from his slit on every other stroke.

You could feel your own slick soaked cunt clench around the small egg like device Emily had lovingly placed inside you that morning. The antenna that connected it to your phone and thereby to hers sat against your now swollen and throbbing clit and you moved your hips ever so slightly to feel it rub against the sensitive nub. No doubt knowing exactly what you were up to Spencer lifted his face from your neck and kissed you fiercely, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth and running his teeth over it. Your strokes sped up a little as the clock counted down to your mutual finish. Spencer continued kissing you deeply, letting soft moans and whimpers escape into your mouth. His knuckles had just turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair when you felt the device come alive within you again. Pressing your thighs together you sped up your movements around Spencer’s throbbing cock, gathering the tissues to soak up the now steady flow of precum that leaked from the tip. You felt more than heard the grunt he made as his climax surged through him and you watched his beautiful face clench in ecstasy, his cock pulsing it’s orgasm over your hand and into the tissues.

The combined sensations of the toy, the visual Spencer’s orgasm face provided and the feel of him coming undone in your hand pushed you over the edge and you let out a muffled moan of relief as your own orgasm rippled through you. Both breathing heavily you slumped in the chair, wrapping the wet tissue inside a few drier ones and pocketing the evidence of your adventure. Now that you’d climaxed Spencer felt free to touch you again and he cupped your face between both his hands and kissed you long and hard.

‘I better get out of here before the next one hits’ you mutter to him and you half grin half grimace at the thought of what the toy would do to your sensitive post orgasm body. ‘See you at home?’ Spencer nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet and he watched you walk away, your body more relaxed than it had been your entire visit. He smiled to himself, abandoning his perch to head back to his office and clean himself up properly. If Em had her way, and she always did, it would be a long night, one he wouldn’t miss for the world.

#cmkinkbingo2020 #cmbingo20 #cmbingo #kinktober2020 #kinktober #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #emily prentiss x reader x spencer reid #emily prentiss #reader insert #smut #public smut #gill writes

[yeti-the-infinity]

hanami

matchaloveblossom - founder's trio festival day 1

Kojiro and Kaoru were from respectable families themselves once upon a time, but even back then they had not been permitted to visit Adam’s family estate due to the fact that they were pierced up, loud-mouthed, skateboarding hoodlums that had once landed a teenaged Ainosuke in a holding cell for an hour and twenty-three minutes.

It’s part of the reason they eventually agree to Adam’s invitation. The other parts being that 1.) Adam will not stop asking, 2.) they are trying to give Adam a second chance, and 3.) they want to see what he’s planning.

Adam spends the better part of the first hour of their visit leading Kojiro and Kaoru on a tour of the Shindo estate’s sprawling gardens. He lists off the names and meanings of flora and fauna like poetry before leading them across a stream over a whimsically ivy-hung stone bridge and into a grove of vibrant, sweet-smelling cherry blossom trees.

As Adam steers them both by the arm into a small clearing, they set eyes on a large blanket sprawled across unnaturally healthy grass. A hefty picnic basket weighs the center of the blanket down, with a bottle of a wine poking out of its top, and a cat has settled itself just beside this, snoozing in the warm, breezy afternoon.

“Well, isn’t this fucking adorable,” Kojiro croons, the first to settle on the blanket, kneeling, one leg stuck out as he pops open the basket and peers inside. “Did you do all this yourself, Adam?”

Kaoru recognizes that Kojiro’s gauging how much effort Adam put into this versus Adam’s servants, trying to understand how much this gesture matters.

“Yes.” Adam shoos the cat away with a feign of his boot and a canine snarl and then lowers himself gracefully onto the blanket as if he hadn’t. He sprawls onto his back, not unlike the cat had been sleeping, and crosses his arms. Kojiro catches but ignores the mild glare he receives before lifting small containers of strawberries, cherries, and sliced peaches out of the basket and retrieving three stemless wine glasses.

“Not all of us went to culinary school, sweetheart,” Adam drawls and kicks at Kojiro’s thigh across the blanket. “You could at least pretend to be impressed. Wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.” He pulls a long face, his hands flutter over his heart, and Kojiro snorts.

Adam turns toward the shadow stretching above him and reaches out both hands, his long fingers callused for an aristocrat’s, but clean. “Sweet, delicate, Cherry Blossom, will you kiss my feelings better? You like it don’t you?”

Kaoru smothers an indulgent smile with the back of his hand and makes a show of surveying the picturesque, sugar-scented, sunny grove, with its swaying pink trees. Petals drift on the wind like fresh, warm snow, and Kaoru’s always been partial to the trees he had been nicknamed after, even if sweet, delicate cherry blossom had once been an ironic title given to a teenager who enjoyed getting into brawls and beefs and generally didn’t lose them.

It’s difficult to argue that the scene is not idyllic.

“It is very beautiful here…” he allows, his eyes gradually drifting back down to Adam and Kojiro, sprawled comfortably on the blanket. They look fairly idyllic themselves, well-dressed, casual, relaxed. Kojiro with his sleeves rolled up, to show off his absurd muscles as he pours out a Riesling, liberally as always, and Adam licking sugar from a strawberry a little too slowly. “And I see you brought wine, so, I’d say I’m content.” Kaoru lifts his sandal delicately onto the edge of the blanket, feeling for rocks underneath. The garden is immaculately manicured and all is smooth as he folds himself neatly by Adam’s legs. “Although, I didn’t expect we’d be roughing it…”

“Hm.” Adam’s hum stretches too long, his smile a little nasty as he rises to sit, the better to hold his wine glass—the better to reach out with his free hand to run his thumb across Kaoru’s cheek, just before pinching it. “You must be misremembering my proclivities.”

Kaoru snaps teasingly at Adam’s fingers with his teeth—he knows better than to rap at them with his fan—and Adam retracts them with a smug smile, as Kaoru mutters, “I remember them just fine.”

Kojiro pretends to ignore their antics, his eyes shifting from the trees to the picnic arrangement, drawing both of their gazes as he replies to Adam as if he hadn’t paused, “No, he’s right. It’s… nice… Just not exactly your usual fare.”

Adam holds Kojiro’s stare for a moment in recognition of the challenge in it. Kojiro seems to both tease and approve of Adam’s softness at once and it makes Kaoru’s stomach flutter faintly.

Adam breaks the gaze with a downward glance and then sighs. “Mm, yes, well,” he tilts his glass, making the wine swish, “my therapist might have suggested it.” Adam’s gaze shifts to Kaoru, because Kaoru asks more often, “And I do rather like this one. I think I’ll continue courting her a while…”

“You have your therapist giving you dating advice now?” Kaoru bats back, the muscles of his jaw stiffening.

“Not exactly,” Adam dodges and frowns back, fine lines between his brows, and leans forward to smooth Kaoru’s hair and give him his wine glass, since Kojiro had been distracted from pouring a third. “Relax. There you are, pet.”

Kaoru’s lip juts out, eyes narrowing, and he gives Adam’s shoulder the mildest of bats with the back of his hand. “I am not your pet.”

“No, of course not,” Adam sings, fond yet dismissive. He looks perfectly aware he has the upper hand as Kaoru accepts the glass and leans unconsciously into another caress of Adam’s palm, also callused, against Kaoru’s cheek. Kaoru’s skin is faintly pink from the blatant attention, and Adam wonders dimly and not for the first time if that’s why Cherry Blossom really wears a mask.

Kaoru swats Adam’s palm away when he lingers too long, but Kaoru does not flit his golden eyes away from the ruby ones that stare longer.

“You’re our beautiful Cherry Blossom,” Adam sings.

Kaoru can see Adam’s eyes flicker with devilry as his lip curls. “Joe’s our pet.”

Kojiro grunts an objection. “Come say that to my face why don’t you?” he challenges from over Adam’s shoulder, smiling and rising up to his haunches, all rippling muscle.

“You are our tiger,” Adam flirts, pleased with the response, crawling across the blanket on all fours, with more catlike elegance than either of the other two. “Big, strong, fiercely protective. Overly fond of very bold prints.” Adam reaches his target, and Kojiro leans back to let Adam climb into his lap. Adam sportingly tugs open the collar of Kojiro’s loud sky-blue shirt with its pattern of palm leaves, as he straddles Adam’s thighs.

Kojiro laughs, bright and overwhelming as direct sunlight, as Adam rests one hand on his collar bone. The other plucks one of the various blossoms Adam had collected in his coat pocket earlier and tucks it prettily behind Kojiro’s ear, smoothing back green curls with his thumb. “A tiger lily for a tiger man.”

Kojiro bares his teeth at Adam with a sly smirk, and then his eyes shift Kaoru’s way, smile warming, tone mocking, “I’ll take that over gorillaany day.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes, sips at the wine, and watches Kojiro’s brawny arms wrapping Adam’s broad chest as Adam shifts in his lap to watch Kaoru. Heat rises under Kaoru’s skin, and he feels a bit like a steaming up kettle as he exhales slowly.

“And how does your therapist feel about your fascination with pet play?” Kaoru counters, closing his eyes to better appreciate the feeling of the sun with its fuzzy pink cherry blossom glow heating the bare skin of his cheeks, neck, ankles…

All the sun, of course, he tells himself.

“Need I remind you your skateboard calls you Master, darling?” Adam counters quickly enough that he may have had the comment on standby for just such an occasion.

“I…” Kaoru grimaces.

“Yeah, wait a second.”

Kaoru finds himself saved by Kojiro who wraps his hands around Adam’s which have absconded with Kojiro’s wine glass and is lifting it daintily to his lips.

“What exactly are you focusing these sessions on, Adam,” Kojiro echoes, “that led to sappy, romantic picnic?”

“Oh, the usual.” Adam gives an exaggerated eye roll, ruffles his own hair in mild exasperation. “We’ve been talking about healthy outlets: ways to relax, destress, let off some steam without…” Adam swishes his hand in a euphemistic circle, “maiming anybody.”

Kaoru tenses, eyes flickering open and finding Kojiro’s already on him, soft with concern. Adam is oblivious, head leaned back on Kojiro’s shoulder, watching the flowers above shift and shimmer in the breeze like a mirage. Adam’s hand shifts restlessly with his explanation, “Not an entirely fruitless effort, I suppose. Recently, I’ve been experimenting with yoga and the sacred art of meditation, and my therapist suggested hanami.”

Kaoru’s shoulders relax again hearing him sound so comfortable with such formerly foreign concepts.

“Meditating and connecting with nature, huh?” Kojiro’s hands have wandered from Adam’s arms to his chest, roaming with a thoughtless kind of ease. “Well, look who’s turning over a new leaf.”

“Everyone could do with taking a little time to stop and view the cherry blossoms,” Kaoru says, voice unusually soft, shifting closer to the center of the blanket, where the basket had been. Petals polka dot the warm fabric, and Kaoru scoops up a handful, leaning forward to lift them over Adam’s head. “Here, let me help you appreciate them properly.” They flutter down his face and broad chest, catching on his hair, his cheek, his lip.

“Full of yourself, are you?” Kojiro teases, flicking a few petals from Adam’s shoulder.

“I deserve it,” Kaoru counters, eyes still focused solely on Adam’s.

Adam chuckles quietly, as Kaoru touches the petal sticking to his lip, and then Adam kisses his palm and wraps his wrist in his hand.

“Not just view them, Cher,” Adam purrs, “breath them in, admire them, meditate with them, worship them… and I thought…” Adam sets down his glass and reaches for Kojiro’s wrist, drawing Kaoru and Kojiro’s hands together, watching their fingers intertwine.

Kojiro’s grip is firm and Kaoru’s tightens to match it. Their eyes meet, always, Adam observes, with that sharp sizzle of tension and the thick underlying glow of trust.

Adam eases himself off of Kojiro’s lap, squeezes their wrists and releases them. “…Who would know more about viewing Cherry Blossom in all his glory than you, Kojiro?”

“My glory?” Kaoru smirks but his eyes flicker nervously between them, his fingers twitching. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

Kaoru watches Kojiro’s pupils dilate as a smooth, confident smirk slides across his face, his expression beginning to mirror Adam’s.

Kojiro’s knuckles bump Adam’s shoulder. “You know I never pass up a chance to show off.”

Adam reaches to the shoulder and begins to shrug off his suit jacket. “I’m going to have to insist that you do. For my therapy.”

Kaoru’s scoff catches in his throat and his voice comes out a little thin, “Need I remind the two of you,” Kaoru pauses as Kojiro lifts their folded hands and kisses the inside of his wrist, and Adam crawls to kneel at Kaoru’s back, his hands settling possessively on Kaoru’s shoulder blades, “where we are right now…?”

“In a grove of sweet, ripe cherry blossoms…” Adam’s fingers knead hard into Kaoru’s back, and Kaoru can’t help but lean into the warm, certain attention.

Kaoru’s head rests against Adam’s slow, steady heartbeat, his chin tilting up as Adam’s face draws closer. Kaoru can feel Kojiro’s lips pressing and nipping their way up his arm, drawing the flowy fabric of his sleeve up to his shoulder. “Ah…”

“Flowers waiting to be outshone by a more…” Adam whispers, his tongue tracing Kaoru’s lips before Kaoru leans up to close the distance. Adam’s kiss is firm but brief. “… superior specimen…”

Kaoru feels a faint pinch in his bicep and a low pained noise comes from Kojiro’s direction. Kojiro watches a string of saliva pass between their lips, before the distance closes again with a muffled squeak from Kaoru that might have been inspired by Adam’s teeth or Kojiro’s hands dropping to wrap Kaoru’s slender, muscular thighs, effortlessly easing them up onto Kojiro’s thick, stony ones.

“Ko… Kojiro,” Kaoru scolds, voice thin, half-breathless, hand reaching out and grabbing blindly for Kojiro’s arm, as the hands slide slow and hot up his thighs. “You big, thirsty galoot—” The heels of his palms trace the grooves of Kaoru’s hips on their assent toward the belt of his trousers. “We’re out-outside…mm.”

Adam’s fingers press briefly to Kaoru’s lips.

“Hm, so, what?” Kojiro purrs, his massage spurred on by the way Kaoru melts and rises against his hands.

“On private property…” Adam tacks on, sliding his chest down Kaoru’s back and wrapping Kaoru’s hair around his hand. “You said you’d help me appreciate you properly.” Adam’s lips find the back of his neck and Kaoru’s eyes flutter half shut. “Let us appreciate you, Kaoru. All of you.”

“I have not had enough wine,” Kaoru insists smooth and articulate as ever, leaning the back of his neck into Adam’s teeth, sliding his hands along the muscles of Joe’s upper arms, “to take off all my clothes in the middle of your garden, in the middle of the day…” Although the thought of skateboard rough hands on his bare skin makes him sound increasingly less certain with every breath. “Why don’t you ask Six Pack Joe here?”

“I can get you more wine,” Adam muses into the nape of Kaoru’s neck, and gets swatted in the shoulder by Kojiro for his trouble.

“You spend so much time appreciating my muscles,” Kojiro answers, and Kaoru watches Kojiro’s tan arms stretch as he grasps the collar of Kaoru’s shirt. “Maybe I just want to return the favor, Lord Cherry. What, too intimidated?”

“Our tiger’s muscles might be intimidating, but you’re captivating in your own right. I’ve seen you at S and on the news. People line up to see you too.” Adam’s hands wrap Kaoru’s stomach and reach toward the lower buttons of his shirt, as Kojiro’s thumb presses in on the top one. “What are you so afraid of, Master Cherry?”

“I’m not intimidated by you, musclehead,” Kaoru leans forward to butt his forehead against Kojiro’s, the challenge straining his face slipping into a more thoughtful expression as he worries his lip, “I suppose I’m just afraid the three of us, the two of you, are too good to be true. But…”

He realizes Kojiro and Adam have gone still. Their playful expressions hardening with concern, maybe guilt, and it’s contagious.

Kaoru shakes his head, feeling the light delicious pull of his hair against Adam’s immobile hand. “I don’t want to feel that way anymore.” He meets Kojiro’s eyes and burrows further into Adam’s chest, “I want to let you see all of me, touch all of me, have…” “We’ve got you, Kaoru,” Kojiro leans forward to brush their lips together carefully.

“There’s no safer place in the world…” Adam’s tone is half comfort half-threat, as he presses his lips to the back of Kaoru’s neck once more and begins to pluck open the bottom of Kaoru’s shirt. His touch is almost unfamiliar, his palm smoothing over Kaoru’s abs careful as if he’s cradling a flower blossom. “Yes, I know.” Kaoru closes his eyes, giving into the friction of their hands, feeling the warm air on his chest mingle with the damp, mind-dazzling softness of their lips, their kisses falling everywhere like petals. “I trust you.”

#shows up 7 days late with a day 1 fic #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #matchaloveblossom #cherry blossom #lovematchablossom #shindo ainosuke #kojiro nanjo #kaoru sakurayashiki #adamcherryjoe #foundertriofest2021 #sk8 fic #adam #joe #my writing #hanami

[heyyyharry]

Daddy, I see a ghost

…in which Harry is sex-starved because their daughter keeps asking to sleep in their bed. (from the Flatmate Series)

Warning: SMUT (they fuck in his office)

More on my Patreon

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“Fucking finally!”

Harry had never bounced on to the bed so fast. He crawled to his wife, yanked the book out of her hand and pressed his mouth against hers before she could protest. Instead of shoving him off, she burst into giggles as his kisses trailed down her throat and he shoved his hands under her shirt, his cold palms roaming across her heated skin. She pressed her palms against his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer until he was practically on top of her. His mouth found hers again, needy and messy.

“Miss you,” he murmured against her lips.

She combed her fingers through his messy hair, relishing his rough yet intoxicating touch. “We’ve lived together for ten years, baby. How do you still miss me?”

He shook his head. “You know what I mean.” Then he pushed her– well, his shirt up, catching his breath at the sight of her perky breasts as if he was seeing them for the first time. He leaned in and took a nipple into his mouth.

Ever since they’d had Ria, they hadn’t had as much sex as they used to when it’d been just the two of them. It’d been torturing recently because their baby daughter kept asking to sleep in their bed. Three days ago, Ria’s friends’ brother had told the girls a ghost story and since then Ria had been afraid of sleeping alone. Tonight, Harry had stayed with her until she’d fallen asleep so he could have some time alone with Y/N afterwards.

“I miss fucking you everywhere in this flat,” he groaned as she pulled his shirt over her head, leaving her wearing only her soaked panties. They were kissing again as she tugged down his boxers, eager to get her hands on him.

“I miss that, too,” she panted, stroking him slowly as she sucked his bottom lip and slipped her tongue into his mouth. “Do whatever you want to me. Whatever you want.”

Her words drew a rumble from his throat as he slipped his hand between them to rub her clit. He was going nuts and he thought he could actually smell her. His balls felt so heavy he was afraid he would cum embarrassingly too fast. He had to make this worthwhile.

He held her thighs apart, breaking the kiss to slide down and leaving pecks on the stretch marks on her stomach, making his way down to her cunt. He loved everything about her body. He wanted her always. Every single part of her.

Her hips jolted when his lips met her clit over the fabric, and his ego grew, missing how responsive she was. He’d missed making her feel like she’d lost control of her own body, like he knew it better than she did, and sometimes it was true. He knew she couldn’t make herself cum the way he could because she’d also got him in the palm of her hand.

“You smell so good.” He hummed, glancing up to find her watching him with half-opened eyes, her lips parted as she breathed harshly. He pushed her panties aside and licked her once, causing her hips to buck against his mouth but he drew back and held down her hips. “So eager for me,” he teased. “Can’t wait to put my cock–”

A knock on the door caused them both to freeze.

“Daddy! Mummy!”

“Shit!” Harry plunged out of bed and immediately tugged his boxers back on as Y/N grabbed his shirt, put it on, and rushed to the closet to get her bottom.

“Daddy! Mummy! Please let me in!”

“I’m coming, baby!” Harry bolted to the door, swung it open and locked Ria in his arms just in time tears started to spill from her eyes. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Sighing, he picked her up and carried her to the bed where Y/N (now fully dressed) was still blushing and panting as she forced a small smile at their daughter.

“Hey, love, Daddy got you,” he whispered and lay their little girl down between him and his wife. “Mummy is also here. You’re safe.”

“You left me…”

Harry felt a jab in his stomach and exchanged guilty looks with Y/N. “I’m sorry, baby,” he told Ria. “I was with you but then...I heard Mummy call for me and had to go check on her.” He hated lying to his little girl but he couldn’t tell her the truth.

Ria turned to look at Y/N, her glossy green eyes widened with concern. “The ghost hurt Mummy?”

“No.” Y/N shook her head as she smiled. “I also missed Daddy.”

Ria pouted and looked back at Harry, whose head was propped on his hand as he considered her taut face. “I think the ghost is scared of Daddy,” she said.

“There’s no ghost in our house, baby,” Harry said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead. “But if there was, Daddy would chase the ghost away. Nothing is allowed to scare my ladies.”

“Are you...” Ria ventured. “Are you a ghost hunter?”

“That’s right. Ghosts see me and they run away.”

Assured by that answer, Ria relaxed as she snuggled closer to Harry. It didn’t take too long for her to drift off.

Harry gave Y/N a regretful look, which she returned with pursed lips and a shrug.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she sing-songed and kissed him once on the mouth. From that grin on her face, she knew he’d called him that for a purpose. He rolled his eyes in frustration and flopped back on to his pillow, an arm wrapped around his daughter and his wife. He watched them until sleep folded over him.

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The next day, Harry got stuck at the office after almost everyone had left. It was actually a choice since he was the boss and no one but himself could make him stay overtime.

His mum and sister would always reprimand him. Y/N, however, never complained. They were as crazy about their jobs as they were about each other, so somehow they still managed to be good parents, maintain a happy marriage and run their own companies.

Whenever one of them had to work overtime at the office, the other would go home early to be with Ria, and when the busy one got home, their daughter would be asleep and they would spend the rest of the night together. But Harry knew when he got home tonight, he would either sleep alone while Y/N slept in Ria’s room, or he would find both of them in his and Y/N’s bed. He loved his daughter, but not being able to have alone time with his wife was killing him.

“You’re a good dad. You’re a good dad. You’re a good dad,” he would tell his reflection every morning in the past week after a cold shower. Thank God, he could still rely on his hands to get himself off and release some tension, but it didn’t feel the same without Y/N. Being sex-starved had somehow aged him in reverse. He probably masturbated more than he’d ever done since he’d discovered the art of masturbation.

While drafting an email, he heard his assistant’s voice saying goodbye to someone before she left.

That was weird. He’d just dismissed her because she’d been the only one here beside him. Who had she said goodbye to?

There were three knocks on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

The door creaked open. He leaned back into his swivel chair, feeling his smile reaching his eyes.

“Can I get you anything, Boss?” Y/N asked, one hand on the handle, the other on her hip. She was wearing a black trench coat and high heels, her hair in a bun. He bit his pen and beckoned to her. When she stepped in, shut the door and locked it with a click, his heart leapt in anticipation.

He pushed his chair back to make room for her between his legs and the desk. She sat on the edge of it, spreading her legs and revealing her thigh-high stockings with garters to hold them up. He wet his lips as she flicked a finger, motioning him to come closer. Without hesitation, he wheeled his chair forward, gripping her thighs and leaning down to kiss each one. Her chest was at his eye level, rising and falling with each shaky breath.

“Where’s my other baby girl?” he asked, his arms resting on either side of her as he nuzzled the exposed skin of her chest. She leaned back to give him more access to her throat.

“She's at home,” she murmured. “Maisie is watching her.”

He nodded once. His breath caught as he unbuttoned her coat and pushed it off her shoulders. She now sat on his desk in satiny black lingerie which included the bustier that emphasized her cleavage. Her arms were wrapped around his neck as she tugged him closer. He cupped her bum with both hands and pressed a kiss to one of her nipples over the bra. She shivered, her fingertips digging into his back.

He brought up one hand to fondle her other breast, glancing up to meet her lazy eyes. “I cannot believe,” he sighed, “that you left our daughter with your sister so you could come to my office and distract me from work.”

She tilted her head to the side, blinking innocently at him.

The Y/N at the beginning of their relationship would be speechless when he talked like that, but the Y/N who was his wife wouldn’t let him have the upper hand.

“I’m sorry. I can leave,” she pouted as she cupped his face. “I would never want to come between my husband and his work.”

He gave a smirk and kissed her thumb as she brushed it across his lips. He circled his arms around her waist and dragged her in, her core against his chest. “Liar. You’re not sorry.”

She ignored his remark and turned to his laptop sitting right beside her. “Why don’t you finish your email?” she said, grinning at him. “I can wait.”

He opened his mouth to object, but he was curious to know what she was up to. She nodded her head toward the laptop, telling him to go ahead. With an eyebrow arched, he reached for the keyboard at the same time she unclasped her bra. He sat frozen in his seat as she shrugged it off, and tossed it somewhere on the floor.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said and released her hair, letting the curls bounce down to her shoulders and bare breasts. “It’s just hot in here. You should fix the air-co–”

He shut his laptop before she could finish and suddenly stood up and pushed his lips to hers. He cupped her face with both hands to deepen the kiss while she was already working on his belt. He groaned into her neck before kissing his way down to her chest, sucking her nipple hungrily as she unbuttoned his shirt to feel his skin on hers.

“Someone might walk in,” he hissed, drawing a nervous laugh from his wife as she pushed him back to kiss and lick the swallows tattooed on his pecs.

“We should stop,” she taunted, grinding her hips. “Or do you want us to get caught? You want people to see how you fuck me, don’t you? Show them what a good husband you are. How good you fuck your wife.”

He cut her off with another sloppy kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. “Fuck, I fucking love it when you talk dirty to me.”

She nearly fell forward when he suddenly broke the kiss. His eyes didn’t leave hers, not even when he sat back in his chair and spread her legs apart. He took no time to get rid of her garters and stockings, and once she sat completely naked on his desk, he caught a glimpse of shyness rising above her confidence.

He cracked a smirk. Her stomach clenched when she gasped and flinched. Fuck, she was so responsive. He managed to compose himself as his gaze fastened on her glistening pussy.

“Stop.” He froze at the command and gaped at her. “I mean...stop s-staring at it.” She stifled a laugh, blushing with her whole body.

Something never changed.

Giving a nod, he removed his eyes from her core, but then slipped his hand between them and touched her there instead. She jolted, letting out a startled gasp. Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his fingers, now coated with her juices, into his mouth and sucked them clean.

A blush crept up to her face as she giggled, covering her eyes. He pulled her hand off and kissed it. “Are you shy, Y/N?” He acted surprised, and from the way her face scrunched, he guessed she half-wanted to slap him, half-wanted to kiss him. “Where’d your arrogance go?”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe we should stop,” he told her what she’d previously told him. However, right before he got a chance to relish his revenge, she stuck her hand between them and started rubbing herself. His mouth fell open, mirroring her expression.

She was panting and moaning as her fingers moved faster on her clit. She was so wet the sound made him go frenzy. He decided to not stop her. He let her have her fun but didn’t intend to just sit back and watch. He leaned in and kissed her neck to encourage his wife.

“That’s right, baby. Fuck yourself on my desk,” he whispered in her ear before sinking back into his chair. He pulled out his hard cock and started stroking it. Her eyes went wide. She moaned, taking in the sight of him pleasuring himself while watching her getting herself off. Her free hand was gripping her thigh because he wasn’t touching her anymore.

“Don’t–” she blurted, her eyelids fluttering. “I need...Please…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence because he knew what she was begging for. She didn’t want him to cum first. She wanted him to finish inside her. After a whole week of fucking his own hands, he was confident that he wasn’t going to cum so easily by just masturbating, but if she wanted to play this game, he could pretend to play along.

He let out a gasp and moved his hand faster, fucking into it. He guessed he’d underestimate her effect on him, because as soon as he saw how wet her fingers were, an electric current swept right through him and he almost shot his load right there.

He could see the relief on her face when he slowed down and eventually let go of his cock. He was leaking so much precum that his dick was wet enough for him to just slide right into her.

“Get your hand off,” he demanded and she painfully withdrew her hand from her reddened pussy. He wasted no time to throw her legs over his shoulders and fasten his mouth on her clit. He ate her pussy like it was his last meal on death row, hands under her thighs holding her in place so she wouldn’t move too much when she got sensitive.

It didn’t take him too much effort to get her off because she was already on the edge when he started lapping at her cunt. As soon as he slipped two fingers into her and started fucking her, she started shaking and pulling the hair at the back of his head, her hips bucking against his face but he didn’t stop until she finished.

She was still shaking when he rose from his chair. Despite her euphoric daze, her first instinct was to reach for his open shirt and pull him in, pushing their mouth together again so she could taste herself on his tongue. They kissed clumsily as he stroked his cock a few times and positioned it at her entrance.

“Do you need a break?” he breathed against her lips. She shook her head, unable to get a single word out. He smirked and kissed her cheek. “Guide me in.”

She nodded fast, reaching between them. When her fingers closed around his erection, he groaned so embarrassingly loud that made her burst into soft giggles. She rubbed the head of his cock against her clit before pushing it into her cunt. She was so tight it felt as if she was sucking him in. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as they exchanged open-mouthed kisses. One of his hands was gripping her bum, the other on her breast, teasing her nipple as he pushed slowly until he was all the way in. They gasped at the same time.

“How are you still so tight?”

The way she blushed at his remark made his heart go boom. He couldn’t believe after all those years they’d been together he was still getting butterflies. They stayed still for a moment. He kept kissing her neck, and she got impatient and started moving her hips, causing him to groan.

“Give me a second. You’re squeezing me…” He laughed lowly and started with steady thrusts. She moaned his name and nibbled his ear. “Shit,” he hissed, nosing at her throat. “If I cum right now, will you go home and file a divorce?”

“Probably,” she giggled, bracing her hands on his shoulders as they moved together.

He bit his lip, his fingers digging into her bum as he thrust faster. “I’ll try to save our marriage then.”

“I love you,” she smiled.

“I love you, too,” he returned, his voice strained.

With another kiss, he held her hips and pulled out. She was so tight her body fought to keep him in. They both gasped when his cock sprung free from her core. She blinked at him, confused as he stepped back.

“Get off the desk,” he ordered.

She was so aroused she didn’t even question. He watched her slide off the desk, her legs wobbly as he grabbed her hips and spun her around. She braced her hands on the table, arching her bum toward him. He spanked her before positioning his cock at her hot entrance again. Without warning, he slipped back in and started fucking her again. She sobbed, reaching for his hand on her hip and bringing it to her breast. He squeezed it, pushing her body up until her back was flat against his chest. He could get deeper in this position but at least he didn’t see her face. He would always cum faster if he could see her face while they fucked.

They were a moaning mess now. Anyone could hear them as soon as they stepped out of the lift, and at this point, Harry didn’t give a fuck. He’d been so frustrated that if she’d asked him to fuck her in the lobby, he would probably have done it, too.

“Harry…”

“Mmm,” he hummed in her ear. She didn’t tell him what it was that she wanted. Instead, she took his hand from her chest and brought it to her neck. He could just cum right then. He squeezed his fingers slightly and felt a cry grumble in her throat. She let him fuck her with his hand around her neck until her arms gave in and she collapsed on her chest, holding the edge of the table to keep herself from slipping off.

He held the back of her neck to keep her down, his hips slapping against her bum. He moved his hands down her spine and gave her butt cheek another smack which made her pussy clench around his cock. He gathered her hair into his fist and fucked her so hard the content on his desk rattled. His pencil holder tipped over and hit the floor, sending his pencils flying and rolling across the room.

“T-That could’ve b-been your laptop,” she managed to speak and he couldn’t help but let out a laugh. From the way she was squeezing him, he knew she was close.

She slipped her hand down under, but he swatted it away and started stroking her clit as he bent forward to whisper in her ear, “Only I get to make you come. Do you understand?”

“Yes, s-sir.”

With that, her walls closed around him. He clasped her shoulder and tugged her upright. She’d started rubbing her nipples, back arched, mouth open and panting.  Bloody hell, she was so beautiful. He thrust up into her, matching her rhythm, and his fingers rubbed frantically over her clit, desperately coaxing her towards orgasm.

“Oh, oh God! Harry!” she cried out his name as she came, hips jerking, driving herself down on his cock. He grabbed her chin, tilted her head back and brushed his lips against hers. His breath caught at her slick on his fingers and how wet and tight she was when she came. The room smelled thick, like sex and sweat, and them. He couldn’t hold it any longer. His hands went tight on her hips as he held her still and thrust up and into her, hard and fast.

“Come in me. I need it,” she whimpered into his ear. He couldn’t breathe, grunting unintelligible words as he chased that feeling. With one last hard thrust, he came, pulsing into her with a groan that started as an attempt at her name. She sobbed, arching her neck to meet his lips and kissing him deeply. His hands were shaking as he held the edge of the desk, catching his breath. The thunder of his heartbeat was all he could hear. Her head fell back on his shoulder, her eyes were shut. Harry felt a bit smug at how dazed she seemed.

He stayed inside her for a few moments of silence, just softy kissing her lips until she broke the silence with a satisfied laugh, her breath hot against his face. “Should we thank the ghost?”

He rolled his eyes, laughing breathlessly. “Fuck the ghost.”

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“Thank God, you’re home!” Maisie said as soon as Harry and Y/N entered the flat, holding hands. His shirt was untucked and her hair was probably a mess because he’d pushed her against the wall of the lift and kissed her wild. If Maisie noticed, she didn’t point it out.

“What’s wrong, Mai? Where’s Ria?” Y/N asked.

Her sister was just about to speak when a little figure dashed out of the kitchen and flew straight toward them. Ria, who was wearing a cooking pot on top of her head and holding her toy gun, crashed into Y/N and wrapped both arms around her legs.

Maisie let out a sigh, “She’s been hiding in the kitchen with her ‘weapon’. She said the ghost is only afraid of Harry.”

“Daddy is a ghost hunter, aunt Maisie!” Ria said.

Y/N took the pot off her daughter’s head and got down on her knees in front of the little girl, giving her a reassuring smile. She knew there was no point trying to convince Ria that there was no ghost, so she said, “The ghost cannot hurt you, baby.”

“Why not? I’m so little!”

“Yes, you are, but–” Harry also got down on his knees and pinched her cheek “–you’re my daughter, aren’t you? The ghost cannot hurt you knowing I would destroy it if it tried.”

Ria pursed her lips as she considered him for a moment. “Did Mummy help you hunt the ghost? Is that why you came home late and your hair and clothes are messy?”

Harry and Y/N exchanged bashful looks. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see her sister trying not to laugh. Her face heated even though she tried to remain composed. Harry was much better at concealing his embarrassment. In fact, he looked almost indifferent when he told Ria, “That’s right. We told the ghost to never come back here again. The ghost was so scared and had to apologize for scaring my little girl.”

“No wonder Mummy dresses like a spy!” Ria said, indicating Y/N’s trench coat. This time, Maisie let out a snort and Y/N shot her a warning glare.

Harry laughed and tousled Ria’s hair. “Do you still want to sleep with Daddy and Mummy tonight?”

Ria thought for a moment before shaking her head, schooling her face with a determined look. “No. I should practice sleeping by myself,” she said. “I want to be a ghost hunter, too.”

“You will, baby, you will.” Y/N kissed her daughter’s cheek and thanked Maisie for babysitting Ria.

“I’ll tuck her in. You should take a shower and get some rest,” Maisie said. “Come on, Ria. Kiss your parents good night.”

“Good night, Mummy. Good night, Daddy. I love you!” Ria kissed both of them and whispered in Harry’s ear, loud enough for Y/N to hear. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a ghost hunter.”

And then she ran for the stairs, holding her toy gun by her side. Maisie laughed and followed Ria.

Once they were gone, Harry wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist from behind, his mouth at her ear. “Second round in the shower?”

She spun around and put her arms around his neck. “How can I say no to our fearless ghost hunter?”

#flatmate series #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfics #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry smut #dad!harry #husband!harry #flatmate!harry

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

The new Shadowhunter Academy (Fan Fic) - Chapter 1

In the mood for a bit of Shadowhunter Academy drama so there goes chap 1 of my new fic (it's part of my "To never being parted series" though it can be read as a standalone story).

Ao3 link here.

*****

This is how I die, Ash thought. He was surprised by how indifferent he was to the news. He had always imagined he would have more fighting in him.

If he were honest, it was not such a bad place to die. Green grass had started to grow again in the lands of Faerie, where there had only been wasteland and death before. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe Ash was exactly what he had been named after. Ash, the symbol of rebirth, his blood fertilizing the land and giving way to lush vegetation and the chirping of birds. Through his blurred vision, he could see Jace lying a few feet away, unconscious. He held on to the steady rise of his chest that told him he was still alive. But barely.

Ash coughed up blood in the already drenched soil. He tried to lift himself up, but the muscles in his arms were failing him and the slightest move equalled to excruciating pain. He felt as if all the bones in his body had been crushed into small pieces that were piercing through his organs.

He thought about the girl he had met in the weapons room, the girl in the drawing. Drusilla Blackthorn. There had been loneliness in her blue-green eyes, yet there had also been a fierce will to live despite everything. A hope beyond despair. You and I are the same, he told her in his mind. We witness the worst horrors, suffer the most intense grief, but keep our chins up and stand ready to fight to live another day. We do not give up.

Ash craned his neck sluggishly to get a better look at his opponent.

The new King of both Seelie and Unseelie Courts, a Herondale no less, who looked more like a Californian surfer boy with his tousled blond hair and unforgiving bright blue eyes, was standing before him, hands curled into fists against his hips, his white wings tipped with gold rustling behind him. He was glorious, an angel of death, and Ash idly wondered how someone so beautiful could be so cruel.

“Stand. Now. There is no fun in striking someone lying on the ground,” the King said, his blue eyes rolling in a very unkingly manner. Even his voice was not that of a monster. It was a nice, clear voice, that sounded like it belonged to a sweet boy. Ash knew, though, that he was anything but. He needed to distract him, to play for time.

“All these faeries that you have massacred,” Ash managed to utter through the blood in his throat. He flinched at the pain that the mere act of talking caused him. “And you call yourself their ruler… I don’t understand. Why this… bloodbath? What did they do to you?”

“What did they do to me? What did they do to me?” If the King’s face bore any expression at all, it would be pure hatred and contempt. “How about what did they do to my mother? And her parents, and their parents before that? Did they really think I would never find out, stay in the dark forever? Remain a blind and helpless mundane my whole life? I see them every single night in my dreams, you know… I am haunted by the cries and howls of my ancestors. Always running, always hiding, never allowed to rest, never allowed to live. No more. I crushed the faeries who stood in my way as if they were cockroaches under my shoe. If there was still such a thing as Shadowhunters, I would have them suffer the same fate, if not worse, for they have betrayed my bloodline just as much.”

As the Herondale King talked, Ash slowly moved his hand to clutch the folded paper inside the left pocket of his jacket. The psychopathic witch that had grown so fond of him – Annabel, the mere thought of her still sent shivers down his spine – had at least taught him one useful thing. How to get out of this hell hole.

He held on tight to the drawing in his bloody fingers. If he focused enough on creating an interdimensional Portal to her… Surely, he would go back to where he came from himself. The drawing had probably been made with material found in Thule, but the artist… the artist was from the other world. Maybe it could work. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance he and Jace had.

My blood, willingly given. He had lost enough blood as it was, but it had certainly not been willingly given. Trying to grab his sword, which was lying a few feet away, would draw too much attention. A deep paper cut could work. That’s how potent his blood was. He brought the paper to the palm of his hand and sliced through the skin, murmuring the incantation.

As the Portal started shimmering before him, Ash heaved a sigh of relief, causing a sting in his lungs. That was the first step. Now, how the hell would he find the strength to haul himself and Jace through it, without being stopped by the Faerie King?

“Wow, you will have to teach me how to do that,” the Herondale King said, showing for the first time a flicker of emotion. “I mean, I probably have enough power for that – Aren’t you like a cheap knockoff of me?”

Ash was spared to give an answer as the King whipped around at the sound of swords being drawn out behind him. The Riders of Mannan. There were only five of them left.

“You again?” The King rolled his eyes. “Ever thought of a retirement plan? Aren’t you like, thousands of years old?”

One of the Riders shrieked. “You killed two of our brothers. It has become personal. We will never acknowledge you as our new King. So that leaves us with only one option.”

“Yep, got it. You pick option B. Getting your decrepit asses kicked by me, myself and I.”

The Faerie King advanced with a casual stride on the five Riders, drawing two longswords that he immediately started twirling as if they were cheerleaders’ batons.

This was Ash’s chance.

He crawled to Jace, grabbing their two swords - Heosphorus and Phaesphorus - on his way. Pulling on a strength he didn’t know he still had, he finally managed to stand, ignoring the ache in his limbs – he had known torture and pain had become a familiar companion – and hauled Jace’s body up and they both stepped through the Portal, with only two swords and a folded bloodstained paper as their interdimensional trip’s luggage. He let himself be transported in between worlds, drained and already fainting from the strained effort.

When he came to, he was lying on a sand beach, the sun barely peeking out from the horizon, casting a reddish glow on the sea. He inhaled deeply the clean and salty air, like a treat to his lungs, so pure compared to the one in Thule. He turned his head to find Jace’s limp body a few feet away. If only he had been taught how to draw the Angel’s Runes his uncle had told him about. The ones that could heal the wounds and ease the pain.

He heard voices and started to drag Jace’s battered body behind a nearby rock, breathing heavily as he did. The fresh air and the sound of the soft push-pull of the ocean made him feel better already.

He peered around to see three figures approaching.

He instantly recognized the girl. Drusilla. She looked a little bit older than he remembered but she had the same thick and luscious dark brown hair and freckled milky skin. She was wearing her pyjamas, black fabric with a pattern of white skulls. She was laughing carelessly, throwing her head back, and it made Ash smile, his zygomatic muscles almost aching as they awakened from their deep slumber. They hadn’t been put to such use in a while. She was holding the hand of a younger boy with rumpled hair of the exact same colour. Their eyes shared the same singular summer-blue shade. Probably her little brother. He seemed to be around ten years old, but Ash wasn’t very good at guessing age.

The third person was a very tall boy, with hair as black as a crow’s feathers, walking along the water’s edge. Ash couldn’t see his face because he was looking away, toward the sea. There was something fragile, almost poetic, in the graceful curve of his neck and the delicate line of his jaw. Something hypnotising about the careful yet purposeful way he moved his long limbs. Ash almost felt disappointed he could not see the face of the person they belonged to.

“Tavvy!” Drusilla cried out as the younger boy released her hand to run to the edge of a tide pool.

He picked something in the water and held it up in triumph.

“Starfish,” he yelled, hopping up and down excitedly. “I have found a starfish!”

Tavvy ran, though not in the direction of his sister, but of the older dark-haired boy.

The tall boy held out his hand and the younger one put the starfish gingerly into the other’s palm.

“Pisaster ochraceus, also known as the purple or ochre sea star,” the mysterious boy said, after a single, swift glance at the starfish. He had a deep, raspy voice.

“It’s beautiful! Please! Please! Can I dry it and keep it in my bedroom at the Institute? I could have it framed, and maybe even painted by Jules!”

“It’s a keystone species that controls mussel populations. It was nearly wiped out by the sea star wasting syndrome. In other words… Waste of a perfectly good starfish,” the voice of the graceful boy caught at his last words and he trailed off, his head still turned toward the sea, almost as if he was no longer talking to Tavvy. He lifted his free hand absently to grasp a shiny object - a silver pendant? - resting on his chest.

The three Shadowhunters snapped their heads in the opposite direction from where Ash was hiding, when a fourth person called. A blond-haired girl – probably a Shadowhunter as well, though she had pointy ears - was coming down the beach wearing slippers, an apron tied around her slender body.

“Breakfast is ready! I have managed not to burn the whole stack of pancakes this time.”

Ash heard his stomach growl. How long had it been since he had last eaten? Probably days. But much sharper than the pain caused by hunger or even by the battle wounds, he felt longing… Longing for a normal life, in a normal happy family. What would he not give for carefree strolls on the beach in the dawn, surrounded by loved ones, followed by something as simple as a breakfast of – even burnt he didn’t mind – pancakes?

The landscape swirled and changed into the dark, dirty and moisty walls of a cell. He was so thirsty, so hungry, and so cold. Two Unseelie guards were staring at him through the bars, with a smirk on their narrow faces.

“We are here to bring you to your bedroom. Yes, you will get a bedroom. How fancy is that? The King just wanted to make sure you knew it was in your best interest to fully cooperate. From now on, and for as long as you behave, you will benefit from the most luxurious accommodation befitting to your royal lineage.” Ash – the younger, clueless version of him – found he did not care for a fancy room. He had known the most decadent living conditions and the worst. Knowing the full spectrum, he had realized nothing really mattered but a place to call home. Mom, where are you when I need you the most?

The door rattled and one of the guards came in.

“You have a pretty face, skinny boy,” he said, as he opened Ash’s bloody shackles. “When we will have cleaned you up, maybe you and I could have a little fun.”

Ash spat on the rude intruder.

The faerie was about to slap him when the other guard grabbed his wrist.

“Careful… He is the Seelie Queen’s son. You can’t take liberties with him as you can with other regular prisoners.”

“He may be of royal blood, but his father Sebastian Morgenstern died leaving us alone to bear the consequences of his mad plans, to suffer the Cold Peace. The traitor is the reason why the Fair Folk are treated as if they are less than nothing.”

A wave of pure hatred – that he had not felt at the time, having never met his father – woke Ash up from his dreams, his whole body drenched in sweat. He almost sighed in relief as he realized he was in his wide bedroom, in the house in the hollow hill.

There was a pain in his stomach, different from the one caused by hunger. He immediately ran to his bathroom and retched above the sink. There had been no time to run to the toilet. He opened the tap and splashed water over his face. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he noticed there were dark circles under his eyes and that his features, although smooth and ageless as all faeries’ were, bore the permanent mark of having seen too much horror, suffered too much pain, loneliness, and sorrow before he had even reached adulthood. He swiftly schooled them into the mask he wore in public. He had become good at that.

****

“Riders of Mannan, tremble!” Mina cried out as she burst into the kitchen and started running around the table on her little legs, brandishing her Cortana baby-sized wooden replica. Her dark hair was now long enough that she could wear them in two tiny braids. It was Kit’s job, and Mina loved to barge into his room at ungodly hours with a hairbrush to jump up and down on his bed until he had performed his daily task. So much for privacy.

“Oh no, here comes Emma Carstairs!” Kit raised an empty pan from the stove to use it as a shield. “Quick, run! Or she will end us all!”

“Nooooo, Kit-Kat” Mina paused to strike a dramatic pose and rolled her eyes. “You are not a Rider.”

“No? What am I today?” He asked, putting down the pan.

“My fiancéééé!”

“Ooooh.” Kit drew himself to his full height, putting on a very serious don’t-mess-with-mine-and-I-won’t-mess-with-you face and brushed his hand through his hair in a mock nervous gesture. “Beware Riders, I will strike you with my wits, if not my crossbow.”

“No. Not Julian. I have changed my mind. I want to marry Tiberius Blackthorn!” She said and shook both her hands in front of her the way she always did when she was very excited about something.

“Oh. Oh. Well don’t tell Julian that, I am not sure he will appreciate the swap.”

“Do Tiberius! Do Tiberius!” Mina exclaimed, hopping up and down. Kit knelt in front of her and rested his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “Do him, please!” Mina whined.

“Sure, Min. I will imitate Tiberius but please stop shouting that,” Kit said, feeling heat rush up his entire face.

“Yeaaay! Do him!”

“SHHHHhhh,” Kit said, putting a finger on her pouty lips. “Understood, Min-Min. I will play Ty’s part.”

Their parents were in the room next door and though both knew that he and Ty were a thing now, Kit had obviously not gone into detail as to the physical part of their relationship. He expected that they would simply guess and leave it at that.

He had a vivid memory of the time he had been cornered to sit through the “sex talk.” Tessa and Jem had made some Earl Grey tea and scones for the occasion and had taken the opportunity during one of Mina’s naps, to go through the whole process of explaining to Kit that it was the most natural thing in the world and that he shouldn’t feel uncomfortable raising any questions he had on the subject. Kit had dutifully listened, his head bent and his ears red, slouched in the middle of the couch, fingers knotting and unknotting where they rested on his lap. As the awkward conversation had gone on and on, he had disappeared little by little into the plump cushions, wishing he could vanish entirely inside the furniture.

Jem had been the old-fashioned gentleman, talking about “mutual respect” and “the shared responsibility of contraception and adequate protection”, but had been clearly as red faced as Kit, while Tessa had been the modern mom, freely and animatedly speaking about “exploring one’s sexuality” and “ignoring peer pressure and imaginary standards”.

When Jem had started listing all the STDs he had encountered in his life as a Silent Brother, Kit had secretly hoped there was poison in the tea. Dropping dead in the middle of the living room would have made for an adequate diversion. Fortunately, Tessa had silenced Jem with a glare.

In the back of his mind, Kit had wondered if Ty had gone through the same ordeal. He had imagined scary-overprotective Julian discussing sexual intercourse and condoms and had suddenly been profoundly relieved that – where Kit was concerned – the task had befallen to Tessa and Jem.

Kit had to admit, they employed the same thoroughness and dedication in everything they taught him. With Jem, Kit had learnt how to fight, how to heal wounds, how to waltz and – though that part still required a lot of training to get over his bad habits – how to behave like a gentleman. Tessa had taught Kit how to drive, how to cook and how to uncover and harness his First Heir powers. Both his parents had given him history lessons and they were the reason why he now knew how to speak five languages. He had read more books since he had joined their home than throughout the rest of his previous life. While Johnny Rook had taught Kit how to pick locks and steal pockets, Tessa and Jem had taught him trust and boundless generosity.

Truth be told, they were the best parents he could ever have dreamt of. He had the best family he could ever dream of, he thought, watching Mina’s big dark eyes widening as her gaze caught the plate of homemade chocolate cookies.

“Oooh you baked cookies! Can I have one Kit-Kat? Pleeeeeease?” Thank God for her short attention span.

“You already had a croissant this morning, Mina. You can have a cookie tomorrow. Remember, us Shadowhunters must eat healthily.”

Mina raised her eyebrow at him, in a way that reminded him of his boyfriend. Kit slipped a cookie in her tiny fingers.

“One. And remember how generous I was when I am sent away to sugar-addicts rehab and I beg you for one last shot of candy for the road.”

Mina nodded. He loved the way she always acted as if she understood his ramblings.

“Kit?” Tessa called as she entered the kitchen, waving her phone. “It’s Jace. He tells me you’ve been dodging his calls.”

“I am not here,” Kit mouthed.

“He told me you would say that. So, he wants you to know he still has this picture of you from last Christmas and he will not hesitate to send it to a certain dark-haired Centurion if you don’t take the call.”

Kit shot out his hand, palm up, and Tessa handed over her phone.

“This is blackmail.” Kit tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he swept the plate of cookies away from sight.

“Never said I was above blackmail. Just make sure it’ll work if you are ever to use it.”

“Is it another one of your cardinal rules and guidelines to being a proper Herondale? I am pretty sure half of them are made up.”

“They’re not.”

“They are,” Tessa mouthed, grimacing, as she whisked Mina away from the kitchen.

“So, here’s the thing. I usually act as a guest lecturer at the Academy, you know, for basic stuff. Learning how to jump and fall properly, balance in swordfight, choice of weapon… I was scheduled for next week, but Clary decided to plan her art gallery opening at the same time. So, I was looking for the best person to fill my shoes and of course immediately thought… who else than Kit?”

“Liar. I know you asked Emma first. What’s her excuse?”

“She sprained her ankle during training two days ago.”

“She posted a video of herself dancing in a nightclub with Cristina and Mark. That was yesterday.”

“This girl sure knows how to put on a brave face.”

“She was doing backflips in front of a cheering crowd.”

“Like I said, brave face. So, you’re in?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Not really, but I thought it would be nicer if I asked.”

“Whatever.” Kit grumbled.

“Great. You won’t regret it. I will even buy you dinner in Manhattan while you’re in New York. Fancy restaurant with amazing desserts.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Jace Herondale?”

“Just lie down and let me do the rest.”

“WHAT?”

“Sorry, not talking to you. I’m in the middle of a training session. We’re stretching. Have you trained this morning?”

“It’s 2 PM here, Jace. I’m on my break. I already trained for six hours, starting at the crack of dawn.”

“You put us all to shame.”

“So, I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“I was not finished.”

“Raziel, what else is there?”

“The Scholomance is sending a Centurion to represent them and provide a two-days training course for the Academy’s senior students who wish to apply to join them after they graduate.”

“Oh,” Kit said, with a familiar flutter around his stomach. “Do you…” He swallowed. “Do they already know who they will send?”

“Probably that Joshi guy. But it’s not set in stone. Jia Penhallow told me they have been trying to convince their best Centurion to go for months now, but he keeps saying no.”

“Oh, so he gets to say no.”

“I told her Herondales can’t resist a challenge...”

“You didn’t.”

“… and that I had a secret weapon to convince him to go this time.”

“You mean me.”

“Use your body!”

“WHAT?”

“Not talking to you, sorry. Beatriz, use your whole body’s strength, not just the muscles in your arms!”

“Thank the Angel.”

“What was I saying?”

“You were using me to try to convince Tiberius Blackthorn – who absolutely loathes talking in public, by the way – to give a two-days training course at the Academy for Scholomance applicants. Jace, I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t want him to feel obligated in any way, just because…”

“… just because you let him play with your sword?” Jace offered.

“God, Jace. I am going to pretend you never said that.”

“Make us proud.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you, too. Gotta go. Catch up later.”

“Jace,” Kit groaned in frustration, but Jace had already hung up.

Tagging @gabtapia <3

#the dark artifices #the wicked powers #kit and ty #kit herondale x ty blackthorn #kit herongraystairs #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #tiberius blackthorn #jace herondale #jem carstairs #tessa gray #mina carstairs #tsc fan fiction #cassandraclare #the shadowhunters chronicles icons #the shadowhunter chronicles

[doctors-star]

Can you stay still for the next 20 min? (If this was meant as a prompt ask 😅)

“Okay - have you got it?”

“Yeah, you can - shift it to the left a bit, yeah - is that right your end?”

“Looks good to me.” Peter leans back very carefully, eyeballing along the length of the beam with half of his face scrunched up in a squint. Alex resists the urge to fidget the cold, heavy wood between his hands; there is a strong likelihood that, in seeking a better grip on the slippery, paper-like bark of the skinny silver birch trunk they are using as a rafter, he will in fact fumble with numb fingers and drop it through their half-built structure. Peter straightens up and grins at him. “Right. Now, you just hold that there, perfectly still, while I drill and fix this end - shouldn’t take too long, anywhere between-” he tilts his hands mock-thoughtfully, “-two minutes and three days. All right?”

Alex sends him a withering look, somewhat weakened by the smile he is valiantly attempting to fight from his face. “You may have twenty minutes, maximum,” he says sternly.

“Why twenty?” Peter asks, casting about him for the auger they’re using to bore holes in the rafters and peg them together. “And - I mean you no offence, mate, but you keep shifting the beam - can you stay still for the next twenty minutes?”

Peter starts to descend his ladder to hunt down the drill and Alex takes pity. “You tucked it in your belt.”

“Ah! And you told me it was a bad idea,” Peter acknowledges with the point of a finger, scrambling back up and fidgeting the large, curling length of very sharp iron out from the small of his back.

Alex tilts his head slightly. “I meant because you might fall on it and die, but yes, fine, also because you have no object permanence and would lose it.”

Peter snorts and aligns the auger carefully over the crossed beams, perpendicular to their length, before beginning to twist the handles that form the T-shape of the drill. They’re down to their loose white shirts, despite the biting cold, what with the hauling and lifting and boring and pegging. Alex can see the muscles across Peter’s shoulders shift and pull under the thin linen.

“Anyway,” he says, dragging his eyes away and fixing them on the birch between his palms. The wood is scarred and knotted by the vagaries of Welsh weather but straight and sturdy; the bark is peeling in tight coils of ghostly parchment. It judders in his hands with every wrench of the auger, so he focusses on simply holding it still. “You can only have twenty minutes, because lunch is at one and that’s in about twenty minutes - whereupon I will abandon this whole project, because I’m hungry.”

Peter huffs a laugh, silver in the winter air. “Oh, right,” he says, as though this is quite reasonable, “I understand. Twenty minutes it is, then - although you’ll have to count it out in your head, what with us being Stuart farmers in rural Wales and therefore not having access to such newfangled things as watches.”

Peter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip. Alex assumes a suitably innocent expression in the face of this challenge. “Mm,” he agrees.

“After all, I assume that’s how you know it’s twenty to one - you’ve been counting the minutes since dawn.”

“Oh, no, I can read the time in the sky.” Peter looks sceptically at the thick duvet of cloud overhead - the light has remained the same weak greyness since the sun technically rose, though they’ve not seen it. Alex shuffles the log into one hand, moving his foot up one ladder rung to support its weight on his thigh, and fumbles the other hand in the small leather pouch attached to his belt. He lifts the modern stainless steel watch up to the sky and makes a show of squinting at it against the clouds, and then puts it away. “Twelve forty-five,” he says decisively, slowly creasing into a smile when Peter abandons the auger to put his face in his hands and laugh.

“The director’ll have your head for that,” Peter points out, amused, as he goes back to the drill with a fond shake of his head.

Alex shrugs. He can, it turns out, do without most modern conveniences: he’s become used to candlelight and going to bed early, he likes the food, he honestly hasn’t thought about television for about three months. They’re allowed enough bits of their old lives to keep them all healthy and sane, like toothpaste and regular phone calls to friends and family, but other than that they’ve been keeping to the period fairly religiously and Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s just - it turns out that, like how an explorer might like to keep a compass on them to know which way is north, Alex likes to know what time it is. Not for any particularly rational reason. There’s just a sort of comfort in knowing where he stands, temporally.

“Should have got you a pocket sundial for Christmas,” Peter says wryly, jimmying the auger back out of the wood with effort.

“A sundial? In Wales?” Alex objects mildly. “Peter, be serious.”

“Hah. Well, Stuart Welshmen managed somehow,” Peter points out, trotting swiftly down the ladder and fishing about in a basket for a peg long enough to pin the beam to the apex.

Before Alex can respond, there is a call from the farmhouse, and Ruth is waving at them as she picks her way through the frosted garden towards them. “Hello, boys - oh, this is going up well.”

Peter smiles shyly at her and pats the nearest upright of the latrine. “It’s good, yeah,” he says, turning the peg in his fingers with the other hand. It’s terribly sweet, this nervous adoration Ruth seems to inspire in him when she catches Peter off-guard. Sweet, and slightly embarrassing on Peter’s behalf, and very slightly inspiring of jealousy, as though Alex were five years old and sulky over Ruth stealing his best friend. He doesn’t like to examine that much.

“Slightly roofless,” Alex points out.

Ruth smiles, tilting her head back to look up the ladder at him, and the niggling, uncomfortable envy fades somewhat. “It’s al fresco,” she corrects cheerfully, and he grins. “It’s got walls, anyway, and this looks like your last roof beam, so it’s only slightly roofless.”

“You won’t say that when it rains,” Alex foretells, and she laughs.

“All right. I came out to tell you lunch will be in a minute, so if it’s at a point where you can leave it-”

“I’m letting go of this beam,” Alex tells Peter firmly. “I’m doing it.”

“You said twenty minutes,” Peter corrects, scrambling up the ladder.

“I said until lunch,” he says, steadying the beam carefully so that Peter can jam the peg in and shove at it with the heel of his palm. “It is now lunch, and I am no longer holding this beam for you.”

“Two minutes,” Peter pleads, shoving at the peg and then looking around him, patting his belt and where pockets might be on jeans but definitely are not on breeches. “Where’s the - thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth’s eyes slide sideways to Alex in amusement as she passes Peter a sturdy wooden mallet. She’s always pleasingly entertained by their antics, even if Alex and Peter are being more than slightly unhelpful, and it absolutely encourages them to further bouts of silliness. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says warmly, folding her arms and looking delighted around the edges of a stern expression. Alex basks in her indulgence.

“Alex wouldn’t really abandon me for lunch,” Peter says, deliberately overwrought and self-pitying, as he secures the peg. “He wouldn’t destroy all our hard work just to eat, not after the hours we spent working on it - and the years we’ve been friends, and all the nice things I’ve done for him.” Ruth laughs and Peter, beam now secured, leans on it slightly to look plaintively in Alex’s direction. “You wouldn’t leave me just for food, would you?” he says, with his best puppyish eyes.

Alex looks back at him. He’s given up a lot to be here with Peter for this year - they’ve not been out of uni that long, all things considered, and are definitely in that stage of academia in which a person is supposed to work extremely hard and get all the funding available to become very specialised and useful - essentially, they are not supposed to be going on a year’s sabbatical to wrestle pigs and plough fields and become bizarrely knowledgeable about early seventeenth century agriculture, which is something neither of them are aiming to specialise in at all. He has no idea if this is a good career move, or a sure-fire way to never be taken seriously again. On top of that, he’s given up on all the comforts and joys of modern life, and on seeing his friends and family particularly often, and on starting or maintaining relationships with anyone other than Peter and Ruth and the rest of the cast and crew. He had been worried, when he and Peter had been discussing whether or not to go for this opportunity, that he would be constantly miserably cold and lonely - but Peter had promised him good company and all of Peter’s spare layers and blankets, and had reminded him of all of the things they would get the opportunity to do and try, and all the experiences they could have out in the valley that they might never have again. And Alex had allowed himself to be convinced, and had followed Peter onto the farm and into Stuart life. He is yet to have cause to regret it; he has loved it, and Peter and Ruth and all his new friends, to excesses.

He fixes Peter with an unimpressed look. “I would leave you in the mud for an unripe tomato.”

#thank you for prompt! apologies for the delay! #bbc historical farm #based on green valley events which i can only half remember so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #this is your captain speaking

[bumblebee-moreno]

Lovers

After hours of cursing at my laptop, I have finally finished my secret santa fic for @artemiseamoon​ (hope you like it!!!)

Ezra x reader (written with an AFAB reader in mind, though it’s entirely possible I accidentally made it gender neutral)

Warnings: insecure Ezra, discussion of body image (Ezra), light angst, but mostly fluff, possibly OOC Ezra? idk I haven’t written a lot of him yet... umm marriage is discussed just but it’s left ambiguous as to whether it’s legal or if y’all just decided to say you were 🤷 ...um possible inaccuracies with the tarot content?? i did my research but I had zero knowledge to begin with so idk if I got everything right?

Word count: 5098

A/N: Important!!! This fic is separated into sections... Italics take place in a different point in time. The three middle sections (which each have titles) are to represent each card in the tarot reading, the first titled section (in italics) is a flashback, the second is present time, and the third (in italics) is a snapshot of the future. the beginning and end also take place present time. 

before you continue, did you read the author’s note?? it’s important to understanding the fic!!

Ezra lets out a soft sigh, burying his nose deeper into your chest. You card your fingers through his hair, a soft smile appearing on your lips at the way he leans into your touch.

These moments are your favourite: when the weather outside is too dreary for work, and the two of you curl up together on the small cot you share.

Ezra insists he hates days like this. A day without work is a day without pay, after all. You’d always laugh at his complaints.

“Surely a day in bed with me isn’t that unbearable,” you’d always tease.

“A day in your arms,” He’d reply, pressing a kiss to your lips, “is the only satisfactory substitution for a day’s work.”

Ezra shifts in your embrace until he can reach to brush his lips against your neck. You tilt your head, allowing him easier access.

Ezra begins murmuring against your skin. Between every kiss comes a compliment. You have no idea what most of them mean; you can only guess by the love with which they’re said. “There are,” Ezra kisses you again, “no words,” kiss, “impressive enough to describe you, my Star.”

You slowly sit up, Ezra following suit, not allowing any significant distance to come between the two of you.

You cup Ezra’s cheeks, steadying his face between your hands. Softly, as if he might shatter if you’re not careful, you brush your thumb across his lower lip.

Your lover stares into your eyes, almost as if they are the night sky and he’s searching for constellations. Just as you begin to wonder if he’s lost himself, Ezra breaks the silence, his voice barely more than a breath. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to hold the universe in my hands,” you reply, and as if to prove your point, you pull Ezra into a kiss that is as gentle as it is passionate.

“You are mistaken, Star,” Ezra lifts his hand to your face, desperately wishing he had his other, so he could properly mirror your touch. He places a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

“Oh?” you breathe, preparing yourself to argue when he says that he’s the one holding the universe in his hand. Just as he always says.

But his touch falls from your face. With a feather-like touch, he pulls your right hand from his cheek, turning it to place your palm on your left one. He mirrors it with your left hand.

“Now you hold the universe in your hands,” he whispers with a subtle quiver in his voice.

You drop your arms, lips parting to argue with him; to insist you had it right the first time. But your words catch in your throat when a single tear spills down Ezra’s face.

He tries to swipe it away before you see, but you catch his wrist. “What’s wrong, love?” you dry his cheek with your thumb, allowing your fingertips to linger against his jaw.

You watch the wheels turn in Ezra’s head as he chooses his words. “…Me,” he replies simply.

For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “…you?”

Ezra nods, pulling away from you to lean against the wall.

“What does that mean?” you try to brush a strand of hair out of Ezra’s face, but he shies away from your touch.

“You deserve… more,” Ezra refuses to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” you search Ezra’s face for clues.

“You deserve someone who can give you everything,” he sniffs, “You deserve more than a forlorn pod and allocating freeze-dried rations.” More tears escape from Ezra’s eyes and drip into his lap.

“Ezra,” you soothe, “I don’t care about any of that.” Ezra opens his mouth to argue, but you continue. “Is it not enough to love each other?” you question, not bothering to wait for an answer. “If I only cared about material possessions, do you think I’d really have stuck around this long? I love you, that’s all I care about.”

Ezra wordlessly stands, shuffling across the floor to rifle through a canvas bag.

“What are you doing?” you sigh. You’re met only with a hollow silence.

After a moment, Ezra returns. He delicately sits beside you, placing a small object in your lap. Your gaze drops to find a stack of well-loved cards.

“Ezra,” you protest, setting the cards aside.

“Please,” the desperation in Ezra’s voice breaks your heart.

“You don’t need a tarot reading to tell you that I love you,” you try to meet Ezra’s eyes, but they’re glued to the floor.

“I just—” Ezra sighs. “Forgive my trepidation, but I need to know… where are we headed? I comprehend that you love me at this moment in our journey, but what about years from now? Will you still be enamoured by me?”

You give in with a sigh, realising that Ezra won’t be satisfied by just your insistence that you’ll always love him.

“I’d like to believe you when you say you love me, but I can’t help but speculate that your judgement may be clouded,” Ezra continues. “Our ceaseless wayfaring, our lamentable career… It’s all beneath you. You deserve better.”

You finish shuffling the cards and lay them in front of you. After taking a moment to examine the spread, you open your mouth to speak.

---

Reversed Ace of Cups

Ezra sat back, frowning at the canvas bag. It was stretched at odd angles, stitches pulled tight. He didn’t even attempt to close it, the zipper would tear right off.

“You’re certain all your possessions fit in here?” he asked. He wasn’t able to fit half your things in the bag, let alone all of them.

“Yes, Ezra, I’m certain it all fits.” You lifted your attention from scrubbing filters to examine Ezra’s progress. Laughing at his lost expression, you crossed the floor to kneel across from him.

“You just have to reorganise so it fits,” you explained, shuffling items around until there was room for more.

Ezra watched your hands dig through the bag. They looked like they’d fit perfectly in his. He watched your eyes analyse your work. Just like they do in the field.

Ezra could tell there was a lifetime of stories behind that gaze. He wondered which story caused that slight frown that only seemed to disappear when you were asleep. Or, perhaps, it was a collection of stories.

“There,” You sat back on your knees.

Ezra dropped his attention to the bag. Everything fit. It was still a bit stretched at the seams, but the zipper would no longer struggle to close.

Something caught Ezra’s eye. He reached in, lifting a deck of cards from the top of the bag’s contents. He removed the string holding them together and spread them out in his hands to admire the art on each of them.

“I, um…” You stuttered, watching Ezra’s fingers trace the worn ink and well-used edges.

“I was not aware that you read tarot,” Ezra murmured with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Keeps me sane,” you shrugged.

“Would you feel inclined to do a reading for me?” Ezra asked, offering the cards out to you.

Your fingers brushed against his and Ezra’s heart jumped into his throat. The contact only lasted a moment, though, before you began shuffling the cards. You were saying something. Your voice was beautiful. Ezra could listen to you talk forever.

You were staring at him expectantly. Ezra’s face heated up—he hadn’t heard what you said.

“I apologise, I didn’t quite catch that, Star.” He chewed his lip, praying that you didn’t catch on to his train of thought.

You fought the urge to smile at the nickname. Ezra has called you that since the day you met. You always pretended to be annoyed, insisting he use your name. You don’t hate it; you just wish it meant the same thing to him that it did to you.

“I asked if you had a question? For the reading.”

“Oh,” Ezra exclaimed. “My apologies, my cognizance was elsewhere.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you laughed, your usual frown melting away. Ezra’s chest swelled with pride at being the reason you’re so relaxed, despite his embarrassment.

“This assignment is approaching its end,” Ezra took a moment to sweep his gaze across the room that had been your shared home for the last several months. “How should I converge with the coming weeks?”

‘will you stick around?’ Ezra meant to say. But you couldn’t know how he feels. Not yet.

You nodded to acknowledge Ezra’s question before you finish shuffling.

Ezra wasn’t even sure how many cards you laid down.

Even through your concentration, you looked happy. Relaxed.

You began to speak. As you shared your interpretation of the cards, Ezra watched how different emotions transformed your face.

Some of them, he had seen before; the passionate look you get when you talk about the stars, the way your brows furrow in an excited concentration. He only saw your eyes light up like this on occasion; at night, usually. When it was too dark to work but neither of you are quite ready to go to sleep, so you settle on opposite ends of the bed, each doing your own thing. He’d sometimes watch you from the corner of his eye, and when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d glance up at him with that same look in your eye, Ezra had always wondered what it meant, but has never dared ask for fear you’d stop letting him see it. It was a look that felt rare and intimate. As if only those who you’d trust with your life would ever have the privilege of seeing it.

But some of those expressions, Ezra had never seen on your face. The way you looked when you paused for a breath, it was as if you were doing so much more than interpreting the message the cards were telling you; you were the connection between this reality and the next, watching a story unfold and telling Ezra what he needed to know to make it his reality.

Your expressions confirmed what your words were telling him: everything was about to change. His lifestyle. His relationship with you. Everything.

It should have scared Ezra. But this was the safest, the calmest, Ezra had felt in a long time.

You fell silent, finished with your reading. You searched Ezra’s face for a reaction.

“I love you,” Ezra blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your jaw dropped. “Ezra, I—” You didn’t know what to say.

“I understand if my feelings are not reciprocated. And I apologise if this puts you in a vexatious position, I assure you, that was not my intention.” Ezra paused, wringing his hands together. “I simply needed you to be aware of my feelings towards you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. A million words sat at the tip of your tongue, but none of them seemed right. With each passing second, Ezra could feel his stomach drop further and further into the floor.

“Oh,” Ezra breathed, taking your silence as rejection. He backed away, shoulders threatening to collapse around him. Tears stung at the backs of his eyes. His stomach was turning. How could he be so stupid as to think you’d fall in love with a man like him?

You dove forward suddenly, pulling his face toward yours, your lips crashing against his. It took Ezra a moment to register your actions, and another to react. He was soon pulling you into his chest in a bruising embrace, his lips engulfed yours in a way that was almost overwhelming. Ezra let out a soft moan when your fingers found his hair. His nose bumped yours and his breath tasted like the stale, nearly unbearable rations you’d been living off of for months, but you didn’t care—yours probably wasn’t much better.

The kiss was rushed, desperate. Your teeth kept hitting his. He couldn’t decide where on your body he wanted his hands to be.

You finally broke away for a breath. “I love you too,” you whispered into Ezra’s lips.

___

Reversed Judgement

It’s been years since that night. You’d gone through everything together; Ezra nursed you back to health when you got sick, you’d taken care of him when he, inevitably, caught whatever you had. It’s been ages since you stopped counting how many times you’d stitched each other’s wounds. You’d been there for him when he lost his arm, he’d been by your side for every injury of your own. It has never been a question that you have each other’s backs.

Ezra smiles softly. You’re so beautiful like this. The way your eyes light up as you speak, as if you’re a prospector who has just uncovered a valuable gem. It’s an expression Ezra has seen a million times, but his heart aches to see it a million more.

But his smile quickly fades. You’re happy right now. But how long until you realise you deserve better? You don’t deserve this life. You deserve more than a creaky pod and a lumpy cot much too small for one person, let alone two.

And what about the loss of his arm? The jobs Ezra can take now are restricted, the people who will hire him even more so. In bed, he can hardly figure out what to do with himself. You keep insisting that it’s okay, that he’ll learn. But how long are you willing to wait?

Ezra closes his eyes and listens to your voice; it’s his favourite sound. And the passion behind it now, during a reading? It’s overwhelming.

Ezra wants the rest of his life to be spent by your side. He can’t stop thinking about his future with you. Will you settle down together? Or spend the rest of your lives travelling the galaxy together? He’s not sure which he wants more. But either way, he can’t imagine a story for himself that doesn’t include growing old with you. If he’s honest with himself, Ezra can’t even remember a time he’s thought so much about the future. It’s always been about now. About surviving to see tomorrow.

Why does that have to change now that he’s in love? Why is he suddenly afraid of the future?

You’re happy now. Your kisses, the way you seek Ezra out even in your sleep, how your hand finds his almost constantly, proves how happy you are.

Ezra’s never been this happy. He’s never known someone who makes him feel so safe. Around you, Ezra can put his guard down. He doesn’t have to be so cryptic all the time. With you, Ezra can just exist.

Ezra’s hand finds its way into his pocket. His fingers wrap around a small stone.

He watches your hands accentuate each point you make. Ezra loves your hands. Especially your right hand; it’s the one he gets to hold when you walk beside him. It fits so perfectly in his. He loves the way your hands bury themselves in his hair when you kiss him. He loves how gentle they are when you’re patching him up. He pretends to hate it when you slip your hands under his shirt when you notice how cold they are just so you can press them against his chest and laugh at him when he squirms. Ezra loves that laugh.

He fidgets with the gem. He’s forgotten exactly how long it’s been there, though he remembers the day he got it as if it were yesterday. It was one of your first digs together. The gem was too small to be worth anything. So Ezra pocketed the stone, and it’s become a bit of an extension of himself.

Ezra watches your lips move in sync with your words. He loves your lips. The way they taste against his. The way they trace along his jaw when you’re teasing. Ezra’s kissed you a million times, and yet he always yearns for another.

“My Star,” he’d always say whenever you noted that he could never seem to stop kissing you, “a single touch shared with you could console even the most pained of men. And therefore, what motivation do I have to add to the distance between us?”

My Star. Ezra’s called you that… Forever. Ezra loves your name. But to call you his Star is a privilege only he has. Every time he says it, he remembers the countless times the two of you have laid on the ground, examining the night sky in search of constellations. No matter where you are, you always find a way to stargaze.

Through the window of your shared pod.

Passing glances through your helmet when the air outside isn’t safe to breathe.

But by far, Ezra’s favourite is when the air outside is breathable so you pull him outside to lay on the ground, held in each other’s embrace.

On those nights, you’ll continue to talk about the stars long after Ezra’s coaxed you inside to bed. He loves to fall asleep to the sound of your voice in one ear, the rhythm of your heartbeat in the other. Those nights fill Ezra’s chest with a lightness that washes away years of trauma.

But tonight, the stars are hidden behind a veil of clouds. Rain echoes through the trees outside. It reminds Ezra of the nights you’re curled under threadbare blankets and you’re whispering sweet nothings in Ezra’s ear.

Ezra smiles at this. Rainy days are his favourite. It stresses him that he often can’t work on those days, though in your company, that stress quickly melts away.

Ezra is never happier than when he’s with you.

___

Ten of Cups

“Star,” Ezra calls out to you.

You’re on your knees, elbow-deep in a sticky black mud. “Yeah?” you grunt back, nearly toppling forward into the mud in your distraction.

“The spoils of these pits appear to already have been claimed, and the sun is beginning to set.” Ezra sits back on his knees, pulling his arm from his own mud pit. “I suppose it’s time we get cleaned up for the remainder day.”

Ezra stifles a laugh at your disgusted grimace when you free your arms from the mud. After a brief examination of the sun-streaked sky, you let out a frustrated huff, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Yeah,” you give in. You have to resist the urge to wipe your hands on your clothing. You accept Ezra’s outstretched hand, lacing your fingers in his.

The stream isn’t far away—close enough that its inviting babbling has called out to you and Ezra all day.

Ezra leads you hand-in-hand to the edge of the murky water. He sinks to his knees first, wasting no time in submerging his arm into the icy liquid to wash away the itchy layers of chemically contaminated mud.

With a desperate splash, you follow close behind.

It’s jobs like these that makes Ezra wish gloves were a luxury the two of you could afford. But gloves strong enough to not break down upon contact with the mud would cost a fortune to buy and would require frequent replacements.

And so, after a long day buried in the acidic material, your arms are left itchy and raw. Ezra frantically rubs his forearm back and forth over a rock just below the surface of the water in a desperate attempt to wash himself clean, and, perhaps relieve some of the painful itch. If he notices the blood staining the water, he doesn’t care; in this moment, the temporary relief overpowers the regret that will later come from allowing the rock to break through his skin.

Ezra startles when your hands close around his wrist. Gently, You begin rubbing away the mud with your already clean hands. You’re conscious to take extra care around the steady trickle of blood.

“You’ll only make it worse like that,” you murmur, focusing your attention on making sure no mud is left under Ezra’s fingernails.

“Thank you,” Ezra closes his eyes in pleasure when you begin massaging his raw skin under the cloudy water to remove the last traces of mud.

“Mhm,” you reply absentmindedly and pull his hand from the water.

Ezra stands, hoisting you to your feet and pulling you into your shared pod.

You help each other dry off and spread an ointment over each other’s arms that makes tears of relief spring to Ezra’s eyes. After stripping yourselves free of your dirty clothes, Ezra collapses onto the cot, pulling you into his chest.

You shift until your head is resting on his shoulder and your body is curled around Ezra’s side leaving his arm free to reach what he needs to.

This position makes it difficult for Ezra to wrap his arm around you, but after a long day of work, neither one of you wants to move if he needs to reach something from the rusty bedside table.

You wrap your arms around your lover’s neck. Reflexively, Ezra’s fingers lift to find yours. He silently fidgets with the thin metal band around your finger, which had been returned to its rightful place upon arrival at the pod.

The pads of his fingers trace over the small gem embedded in the metal. Ezra smiles, remembering the cold winter’s day you’d finally said “I do.”

A soft chuckle escapes Ezra’s throat as he recalls the night you’d agreed to marry him, despite the many years you’d spent telling him about your distaste for the idea of being married.

“What’s that about?” you ask, not seeing a reason to laugh.

“I’m so fortunate to have you, Star,” Ezra whispers back, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You murmur and lean up to press a kiss to Ezra’s jaw, at the same place you always do; the little patch in his scruff, where Ezra seems unable to grow any hair.

You love those spots on either side of his face. “They’re built in places for me to kiss,” you’d always insist whenever Ezra was feeling insecure about his patchy stubble.

“Still?” Ezra asks. “You still love me after all these years?”

“Why not?” You can’t think of a single thing Ezra has ever done that might make you rethink your feelings. Sure, he has his habits that never fail to get on your nerves. But, if anything, that makes you love him all the more.

“You’re not growing exhausted by my presence?”

“How could I ever get bored of you?” You sit up enough to meet Ezra’s gaze. “I love you more than anything. If I didn’t, what reason would I have to follow you on all these jobs and crazy ideas you get to make a living?” You caress Ezra’s cheek with your knuckles. “Ezra, I stay because I love you. Those feelings are never going to change. And, if they do, it will be because I’ve fallen further in love with you. If that’s even possible.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Ezra smiles softly.

You let out a hum of contemplation. “I’m just here for the kisses,” you tease, placing a brief peck on his lips.

Ezra hums contentedly, and you snuggle back into his chest. After a few moments of a loving stillness, Ezra’s fingers find their way back to yours to toy with your ring.

“Do you remember the night I gave this to you?” Ezra whispers, tracing circles over the tiny gem.

“How could I forget?” You whisper back.

___

You finish your reading and lift your eyes to gauge Ezra’s reaction. A small smile tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t respond.

Silently, Ezra rises to his feet, gathering the cards and stowing them back in your bag.

“Lay down,” Ezra commands. With a grunt, he pulls a strange machine from under the cot. You obey, too curious to argue. Ezra shoves the machine to the centre of the floor.

Ezra switches off the lamp, plunging the tent into absolute darkness. “My mother had one of these when I was a child,” Ezra explains, “I had to construct this one from scrap parts, so it’s not as impressive as the one I grew up with.” With a soft click, the machine turns on and the ceiling is decorated with small flecks of light.

Ezra continues to explain, but you’ve already figured it out. “It’s the stars on Wehouf,” you interrupt with a gasp. Wehouf was where you first met Ezra.

Ezra lays on the cot beside you, wrapping you into a firm embrace.

“You built this for me?” you murmur in disbelief. How did he find time to work on this without you noticing?

“Took me two years,” Ezra presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “The majority of the parts I required aren’t easy to come by in the green.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“The entire time I was assembling it, I couldn’t help but meditate over how intensely I feel for you. I never thought I was capable of these feelings. When we first met, you were nothing more than an associate on an endeavour to make a living. I’m not certain when I fell in love,” Ezra’s hand slips under your shirt and he begins tracing gentle circles against your skin with his fingertips. “I don’t think I ever stopped falling. I don’t believe I ever want to. I crave to spend my whole lifetime by your side. I want to chart the view of the stars from every planet, every moon. And I want to do it with your hand in mine.”

“Ezra, I—” You start.

“You could count every single star in the sky, and still only know a fraction of the love I feel for you,” Ezra continues. “And I know you’ve expressed a distaste for it in the past,” Ezra shifts to pull the tiny gem from his pocket. Gently, he slips the metal band around your finger. A perfect fit. “But, I was hoping you’d consider marrying me? I wouldn’t expect it to be legal if that’s not what you want, but—”

“Of course I’ll marry you, Ezra,” You interrupt, shifting to meet his gaze. “I love you more than anything. If it makes you happy, of course, I’ll marry you. And besides, we’re out here alone a solid 98% of the time. So marriage can be whatever we want it to be. Right?”

Ezra breathes a sigh of relief. He wasn’t afraid of you saying no, per se, but he was terrified the question would make you uncomfortable and perhaps cause you to push him away.

“I know I can be an arduous man to love sometimes,” Ezra begins to tear up. “And I still think you deserve better than me. But, you make me exultant beyond any doubt, and you seem content by my side as well. I can’t promise that things will be perfect, because they most certainly won’t. But I will love you eternally, with every fibre of my being. And that, Star, is a promise.”

“Oh, Ezra,” you whisper, “I don’t expect things to always be perfect. I’ve lived with you long enough to know that life will go to shit. A lot. But I’ve also lived with you long enough to know it always ends up okay.” You rest your forehead against Ezra’s. “You deserve more than you think you do. I know you’ve made mistakes. Fuck, I’ve watched you make some seriously questionable decisions. To the point where I sometimes wonder how you’re still alive. But you have more love in this little tuft of hair than most people have in their whole body.” You gently tug on Ezra’s little blond patch of hair to emphasize your point. “And that’s all I care about.” You finish with a brief but passionate kiss.

Ezra doesn’t know how to respond. Tears threaten to escape down his cheeks. “Fuck,” he sobs, pulling you closer until your nose is buried in his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ezra,” you hum.

Your fingers begin to toy with the ring on your finger. “How’d you manage to get this?” Ezra doesn’t even have to see to know what you’re talking about.

“The gem is from one of our first digs together,” He explains. “It was too diminutive to sell, but I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of it. I got it fixed with a ring two planets back.”

“That must’ve cost a fortune,” you say, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that he felt the need to do such a thing to please you. Sufficient jewellers aren’t easy to find this far out, and because of that, it can be quite expensive to so much as repair a simple ring.

“Nearly depleted my personal savings,” Ezra answers. “But I couldn’t think of a superior way to spend it; now whenever my gaze falls upon your hand, I am reminded of our years spent in each other’s presence.”

“You didn’t have to,” you kiss the soft skin at Ezra’s neck. “I’d have married you without it.”

“Do you not like it?” Ezra asks with a touch of panic to his voice.

“Oh, I love it,” you reassure. Ezra visibly relaxes. “I love everything you get for me.” You pull the ring off your finger to inspect it as you talk. It’s a simple band, with just enough width to have room for the gem embedded in the smooth metal. Upon closer examination, you find a tiny engraving inside. ‘I love you, my Star.’ “I love everything you do for me,” you turn your head to admire the speckles of light above you. You return the ring to your finger. “I always will. Just know I don’t expect to be spoiled. I enjoy it, but your love is enough for me.”

“I know, my Star,” Ezra sighs. “I can’t provide you the life of luxury you deserve. I enjoy doing what I can to make up for it.”

“I have everything I want right here.” You snuggle deeper into Ezra’s chest to admire the stars projected across the ceiling.

He doesn’t respond. For a few moments, the only sounds are the rain, the soft whirring of the star machine, and your breaths combined with Ezra’s. You never saw yourself in this position. But Ezra has a way of turning the lives of those around him upside down. And for you, it somehow feels right.

“I love you, my Star.”

“I love you too, Ezra.”

#ezra prospect #pedros12daysofchristmas #ezra x reader #Pedro Pascal

[gunshou]

paralysed force

prompt: talking is overrated | taunting

fandom: MCU, Captain America (movies)

warnings: blood, amputation, htp adjacent

How one Hydra technician learns to keep his hands to himself.

 .  .  .  .  .

 read it on AO3

The screams echoed from the experimentation room, bouncing off concrete and amplifying until Drayton wanted to join in from sheer frustration. She hurried down the hallway, white coat flapping behind her, and slapped her palm against the door lock. Its beep of confirmation was lost in the howling that ridiculously increased in volume as the door slid open.

“What the actual fuck—?” she bellowed and stopped at the scene before her.

Her assessing gaze went first to the asset, crouched beside the examination chair with its matted hair stuck in sweaty clumps to its neck. The bottom half of its face was thoroughly, shockingly red. Blood dripped from between its bared teeth onto its heaving chest, but it seemed to be respiring adequately and held itself coiled but still, so she turned her attention to the source of the screaming.

Davidson’s white coat was also spattered red, and he clutched one hand to his chest while continuing to scream in high, attenuated pulses with each exhale. Lask had himself backed into a corner, his own hands clapped over his mouth and a puddle of vomit between his feet. Drayton took in the ripped straps of the reclining exam chair and reached behind her to press the door panel intercom.

“Security to Room SB7, code Ice.” That done, she remembered her training — which these idiots clearly had not — and stayed by the door, ready to leap back through it if the asset so much as twitched. Which it didn’t. It remained perfectly still, glaring through hanks of dark brown hair with those astonishingly blue eyes. Davidson had no idea why the Soviets would have built their weapon to be so stupidly good looking, even with its skin painted in blood and its lips pulled back into a feral snarl.

“What happened?” she asked Lask. Davidson had slid to his knees and was making high-pitched whimpering sounds that drove a spike right through Drayton’s temple, but they were at least quieter than the screaming.

Before Lask could answer her, the asset opened its mouth and spat something onto the floor along with a mouthful of blood. She jerked, ready to bolt, but it did nothing else, just settled back into its wary crouch, glaring at her with long red strings of bloody spit hanging to its collarbones. Drayton peered at the mess and finally identified the objects as three fingers, bitten off at the second knuckle.

Furious, she whirled on Davidson. “What did you do?” she demanded. His answered with a whine of pain and held out his mutilated hand towards her. She recoiled and snapped at Lask, “Take care of that injury and give him something to shut him up!”

Lask gestured helplessly at the medical supplies laid out on the stainless steel tray table that stood within a few steps of the asset. “I can’t,” he babbled, “I can’t, it’s right there, it’ll, oh my God, it just bit his fingers off —”

Drayton heard the clatter of booted feet in the hallway and stepped aside as a team of black-clothed armed guards poured in, guns raised and trained on the asset, who immediately widened those bright blue eyes and tipped its chin down, allowing its hair to shield its face. Slowly and smoothly it raised both hands and interlaced metal and flesh fingers behind its neck while it evened out its breathing and relaxed its posture into submission, both knees down on the ground.

“There,” Drayton said, a part of her pleased at the asset’s well-conditioned response even while in a state of aggression. “Bandage him up. What caused this clusterfuck?”

Lask finally unstuck his feet from the floor and tiptoed across the room. Keeping his body as far away from the asset as possible, he stretched his arm until his grasping fingertips caught the lip of the instrument table and rolled it towards him with a little gasp of effort. The asset stayed immobile, eyes trained on the mutilated flesh between its knees. The whole dance would have been comical if not for Davidson’s continued crying and the gun barrels that never wavered targeting the asset’s torso. Grabbing a roll of bandages in shaking hands, Lask tugged at Davidson’s messy hand and began haphazardly winding the cloth around the still oozing wounds.

“He was…he was adjusting the cyanide tooth,” Lask said. “It was loose, and, and he was fixing it back in, and…”

“And what?” she prompted, crossing her arms over her chest. She already knew, Davidson was prohibited from being alone with the asset for a reason.

“He, he…uh. He started, um.”

“Talking to it?”

“Uh, yeah. Um.”

“That filthy shit he brags about?” Drayton pinched the bridge of her nose. Davidson had this asinine need to tell everyone in earshot about the obscene shit he got away with during experimentation and regular maintenance of the asset, as if any of the rest of them cared where he stuck his dick. Davidson thought it made him look tough, like STRIKE would somehow welcome him on one of their bar crawls if he fucked the asset senseless like they did. Forgetting, as usual, that STRIKE had the advantage of numbers, weapons, trigger words, and training, and still displayed a healthy fear of the asset’s capabilities. Even when they were buried balls deep in it, they never took it for granted.

Davidson, obviously, forgot the number one rule: the Fist of Hydra was a fucking dangerous weapon.

Lask finished with the bandage and stepped back while Davidson cradled his hand to his chest again. One of the guards was murmuring a report into his radio. Lask wiped his arm over his sweaty forehead and continued, “He, uh, he was talking about how he should just take all its teeth out, so, uh, so it could suck cock better, be a better slut for everyone, and um, he pulled the tooth down so he could get a better look at it, and I guess the asset, uh, the asset must have thought —”

“It doesn’t think,” Drayton replied firmly. “Neither, apparently, does Davidson.” She massaged her temples. This was all STRIKE’s fault, honestly. If they hadn’t set a precedent for fucking around off the clock with the asset, small-dicked fuckwads on the tech team like Davidson wouldn’t feel a need to throw their weight around. God, she really hated Hydra men and their fucking egos. “Ok, go get his fingers so we can maybe reattach them.”

Lask backed up. “What? No! I’m not— Fuck no!”

Drayton sighed. Assholes, all of them. “Asset,” she snapped, and it raised its head slightly. Not enough to look at her, just enough to convey it was listening. “Pick up those fingers and bring them to me. Slowly.”

The guards fanned out and kept their rifles aimed at the asset as it unlaced its hands and reached down to scoop up the severed fingers. It rose gracefully to its bare feet and padded across the concrete floor, the big muscles in its thighs flexing smoothly. The thing never walked like a human being, it slinked or prowled, even now while it kept its bulky shoulders down and tried to make itself appear smaller and less threatening. Drayton held out her hand impatiently and the asset stopped an arm’s length away, extended its weak arm, and opened its fist to drop three bloody bits of flesh and bone into her hand. Then it dropped its arm to its side and stood there at parade rest, gaze still on the ground like a puppy that knew it soiled the rug.

Drayton held out the fingers for Lask; he hauled Davidson to his feet and propelled him towards the door. When they reached her he looked helplessly down and she sighed and dropped the bits into the pocket of his lab coat. “Take him to get fixed up and then write up a report, I want to see it before you file it,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and pulled Davidson, still weeping miserably, away.

She looked at the asset, meekly standing still, and wiped her hand on her own coat. “Now what do I do with you?” she asked herself. “Asset, get back in the exam chair,” she ordered. It complied in silence and she glanced at the guards. “I think we’re all set here, thank you.”

“If you’re sure, Doctor,” the commanding guard said, “we’ll go make our report to STRIKE that the situation has been contained.”

“Yes, do that,” she agreed. “I’ll take things from here.” She waited until they filed out before approaching the asset, who reclined in the examination chair with his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. She picked up one of the broken straps that dangled from the side of the chair and examined its ragged edge; clearly they were going to have to install electromagnetic clamps, which would likely fuck up their data readings and require a retuning of some of their equipment. Drayton glared down at the asset.

The blood on its face and chest had dried down to a tacky dark mess, which had the effect of making its eyes look bluer. She reached carefully down and plucked loose some of the hair stuck to its face, smoothing it back and running her hand over the curve of its skull. The asset made a tiny noise and actually lifted its chin as if to encourage her to pet it again, its expressive eyes wide and soft. The crease between its brows pinched at it lifted its gaze to somewhere above her left shoulder, a plaintive but resigned look on its face. It knew it had transgressed and feared punishment. Drayton traced the sharp curve of one high cheekbone and the asset’s mouth opened slightly around a quiet exhale.

“It’s not really your fault,” she mused, picking more damp strands of hair off its sticky face and smoothing them back. “Davidson’s an idiot. You were just responding to a threat, weren’t you? That’s what you’re trained to do. Still, biting off his fingers? Perhaps a bit too impulsive a reaction. Not that I blame you, honestly.” She smiled, and since the asset wouldn’t meet her gaze, it missed the coldness in her eyes. She picked up a bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a cotton pad and said, “Let’s get your face cleaned up so we can get you back to your cell, hmm?” .  .  .  .  . Brock Rumlow had just finished reading the report filed about yesterday’s incident and shook his head. He couldn’t even take a fucking day off without some asshole fucking up around the asset. At this rate, Rumlow was going to have to resign himself to working around the fucking clock until the Winter Soldier was back in cryo. He glanced at the notation at the bottom of the report: they’d managed to reattach two of the technician’s fingers. Rumlow made a note for HR that disability should be denied on the grounds that the stupid fucker violated the rules for managing the asset. What was Davidson going to do, file an OSHA claim? Shit.

He submitted the report and headed to the asset’s holding cell to check in on it. Asinine techs kept thinking the thing was some kind of pet just because STRIKE had it well-managed. In a way, Rumlow was glad there had been another incident, even though it meant more paperwork and another round of hiring. Everyone who didn’t accompany the asset in the field needed reminding what the Winter Soldier was capable of, and if they continued to stick their hands in the tiger’s jaws — literally, in this case — without proper precautions, well, fuck ‘em.

The Winter Soldier lay on its cot, its back to Rumlow as he approached the reinforced plexiglass wall of its cell. It wore black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that stretched over the broad muscles of its shoulders and biceps. Its metal hand lay outstretched along its thigh, its body balancing the weight of the prosthetic limb. It didn’t move as he thumbed the control panel and the intercom gave a little hiss of static.

“Hey, kid, heard you had a hell of a day yesterday,” Rumlow said. “If you wanted a snack you should’ve said something.” His dark eyes narrowed, watching carefully for any response. Sometimes the Soldier perked up at his voice, like a dog lifting its ears to listen to its master’s tone. Sometimes the Soldier was far too befuddled or sunk into its own empty head to do more than stare at Rumlow uncomprehendingly — it all depended on what experiments or procedures had been recently completed. Today he got nothing at all. Rumlow frowned. Something wasn’t right, and he peered at the line of the asset’s body to figure out what felt off.

There, on the metal fingers. Spots of discoloration. Rust? Impossible. Blood? Fuck.

“Kid, turn over for me,” he commanded, and watched as the Soldier slowly rolled back to look at him with red-rimmed wet eyes. “The fuck?” Rumlow muttered and keyed in the code to open the cell, locking it carefully behind him and sliding his gun out of its holster. He held it ready beside his leg as he crept forward slowly so as not to startle the asset, who sat up and turned fully to face Rumlow. It was wearing its black tactical mask for some inane reason, and blood-streaked abrasions showed all around the edges of it, scratches in short parallel lines of four.

“Why were you clawing at your face, Soldier?” Rumlow asked, concern at the irregularity making his heart beat faster. If yesterday’s shitshow made the fucking murderbot unstable again, he was going to shoot every technician in the building. “Why are you wearing the mask off mission?” The Soldier just stared mutely at him, an imploring look in those soft puppy’s eyes. “I’m gonna take a look at your face,” Rumlow said calmly even as he thumbed the safety off his pistol. “Just relax and be still for me, ok?”

The asset tipped its head back so its hair slid out of the way, allowing Rumlow to see something shiny around the edges of the mask. He reached out with his free hand and tilted the Soldier’s masked chin to one side and then the other, trying to make out what was wrong. “Let’s get this thing off so I can see,” he said and the asset’s eyes widened frantically. Its metal hand lifted off its lap and Rumlow jammed the barrel of his pistol against its left collarbone, angled so that the bullet would travel into the prosthetic and sever some of the connections that rendered it responsive to the Soldier’s brain. The asset immediately let its hand fall back into its lap and shut its eyes, long lashes brushing its reddened cheeks. Docile, it waited patiently while Rumlow undid the strap at the back of its head and pulled at the mask.

The mask didn’t move.

The mask was fucking glued to the Soldier’s face with some sort of industrial adhesive.

Rumlow closed his eyes briefly and imagined murdering every fucking technician in the building, slowly and with extreme prejudice. Then he straightened up, patted the asset on its flesh shoulder, and exited the cell to go find a scalpel and peel the fucking mask off the Winter Soldier’s fucking mouth.

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #no.3 #talking is overrated #taunting #james buchanan barnes #brock rumlow #captain america (MCU) #fic #amputation tw #htp adjacent #implied/referenced rape and abuse tw #gunshou fic

[a-ghostlight-for-roman]

how to never stop being sad

Summary: Following his brother's acceptance, Roman's life felt like it was falling apart. His family was turning against him, that awful snake was being allowed in their home, and worst of all, he still couldn't seem to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.

How does he choose to deal with it?

Not in a good way, that's for sure.

Warnings: Gore/Death/Violence (none actually occur but it is described), food mention, cursing

AO3 link

Chapter 1

Repeat to yourself that they’re not really gone

Time has proven

That fooling yourself into believing a lie

Is the most effective way

To deal with things you have no control over

Roman was fine. Completely 100% percent, absolutely fine, and he would tolerate no thinking to the contrary. Things were abnormal, sure, but he was coping. Maybe he felt a bit (a lot) guilty for letting things in the Mindscape get so bad, but it’s okay! He’s managing! Maybe he’s surrounded by people that barely tolerate him now, but he’ll fix it!

...eventually.

Right now, though, he’s in his room. Alone, as is usual these days. Usually, he’d ask Patton or Virgil to hang out with him, but after the last video, things were… Tense, to say the least. 

Patton wasn’t mad at him, of course; he wasn’t ever truly mad at any of them. However, Roman would have to be stupid not to notice the disappointed looks Patton gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking or the way that after Roman left the room, he always made a point to talk to Janus afterwards, as if he needed special attention just for enduring Roman’s presence.

Things were a little better with Virgil, but he was frustrated with Roman for tolerating Janus’ presence at all. Despite his obvious vitriol towards him, he still outright refused to talk about what exactly Janus had ever done to him. So Roman was forced to choose between Patton, his father figure who’d never meant to do him wrong (who had acted like Roman was unreasonable for sticking to the very moral rule set that Patton had imposed on him since they were children), or Virgil, who Roman had been wrong in not listening to before, & who was obviously extremely hurt and betrayed by both Janus, and now his own family.

He still hadn’t quite been able to choose, straddling the line between adhering to Patton’s kindness policy towards Janus and respecting Virgil’s feelings. It didn’t really work-- rather, it just seemed to leave them both dissatisfied. Roman could hardly stand it.

...but it’s fine. Really. It’ll blow over eventually. He isn’t quite sure how, exactly, but things always turn out alright in the end, right? There’s always a happy ending.

Except when there isn’t, but… bad endings only happen in Remus’ stories, & he doesn’t have power here in the Mindscape.

...except he sorta does, now. After his video, he’d (albeit reluctantly) been accepted. His ideas were considered, even valued, now. Sometimes, he was even chosen over Roman. Not only by Thomas, but also by the other sides, at times; Logan may think he’s slick, but Roman’s seen him specifically request his brother’s assistance in the Imagination, in the living room, in the archives, in his room- It made Roman sick to think about, and whenever he walked through the house, he could see evidence of his brother’s influence littered throughout. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand the appeal. When had society fallen so far as to value a duke more than a prince?

---

Roman hadn’t thought he’d been in his room for long; he’d only meant to duck in to get a breather after having to endure Remus’ maniacal ramblings for nearly half an hour, but it seemed he’d been brooding long enough to attract Logan’s concern. He heard a knock at his door and broke out of his haze, looking towards it.

“I apologize for bothering you Roman, but I was wanting to inquire whether you were alright. It’s been an hour,” Logan said. Had Roman really been away for that long? No wonder Logan was checking on him.

“Yeah, Specs- Sorry. I’ll be out in a minute, just finishing a project,” he lied. Logan was so cold, calm, rational- Surely he would look down on Roman’s groveling simply because he couldn't deal with his brother for more than a few minutes. As much as Roman was full of himself and proud of his work, he thought if Logan talked down to him, he’d break down and cry.

“We’re currently 'hanging out' in the common room. You’re welcome to join whenever you finish. I look forward to hearing about what you’ve been working on.” Roman could hear his footsteps slowly grow farther from the door.

Shit. Now Logan thought he’d been working on something, so now he had to do something-- he couldn't just show up empty-handed. They’d see through his lies in an instant. He’d be just as bad as Janus, imagine what Virgil would think--

He took a steadying breath. Okay, yeah, he’d lied, but that wasn’t so awful, he just had to make it right. He just had to make something, and that shouldn’t be so hard, right? That’s his job! He’ll just think of something real quick, and it’ll be done in a jiffy, and then it won’t be a lie anymore, and on top of that, he’ll have something to talk about! Talking parts were hard to come by sometimes when you had to find something that would include the two people you hate most, your former-enemy-turned-best-friend, your dad and your colleague (as he insisted to be called), but everyone was always eager to hear his new ideas, so this would be perfect.

---

It was nothing special, but it would do. He hadn’t had the time or energy to think of a concept for a whole scripted video, so instead, he’d written the next Shoutout Sunday. Simple, but it had to be done, and it was already Friday, anyways. He closed his notebook, and stood up, keeping it under his arm. He never knew when inspiration would strike, so he tried to carry it with him whenever possible. He opened his door and stepped out from his room, making his way down the hallway past the multicolored doors of the other sides, pointedly avoiding looking at Janus’ signature black and yellow-colored door. Out of sight, out of mind.

As he walked into the commons, the conversations faltered for a moment, but everyone quickly returned to what they were doing. Remus was noticeably absent; Patton and Virgil were curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket between them and speaking in excited whispers; and Logan and Janus were speaking across the counter separating the living room and the kitchen while Logan made dinner on the stove and Janus leaned with his hands crossed under his chin. 

Roman lingered by the stairs for a moment, caught off guard by the lack of greeting, but continued to the side of the couch not occupied by Patton and Virgil. He’d hoped to share his script with Logan, but he was busy at the moment, and he so rarely was this casual with the others; Roman figured it better to let him be for the time being. He pulled his notebook from under his arm and summoned a pencil from his desk. If he couldn’t share his idea, he might as well get started on the next.

He spent around five minutes doodling a new creature to introduce into the Imagination when Logan finally seemed to notice he was there.

“Ah, Roman! Apologies, I hadn’t noticed you were here. What was the idea you were working on?” he asked. He turned off the stove and fully turned to Roman, looking past Janus. Roman was almost ashamed to say he felt a certain degree of satisfaction that Logan had put aside his conversation with Janus in favor of speaking with him. Keyword being "almost."

“Well, it is a most illustrious, melodic creation--” Roman sunk down from the living room and rose into the kitchen, laid his now open notebook on the counter, and gestured towards it with a bow-- “Behold, the newest Shoutout Sunday!” He smiled and rose from his position, bouncing on his feet a bit as Logan rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful, and read it. Logan gave a slight, satisfied smile.

“So you’ve worked ahead of schedule, then. Wonderful! Good work, Roman."

“I know,” Roman replied, beaming, “I shall have a new idea by the morn-- perhaps I can even start the next video script!”

“So long as you do not burn yourself out, Roman. Otherwise, I look forward to your next contribution.” Logan closed Roman’s notebook, handed it back to him, and then opened a cabinet, gathering bowls for… Whatever healthy monstrosity was in the pot on the stove. Roman could only guess what it was. Some sort of soup, maybe? “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Roman?”

“I’m afraid there are simply too many ideas and too little time, I must return to my work!” Roman replied. Janus narrowed his eyes at him from across the counter.

“I wouldn’t be witnessing any self-neglect right now, would I, Roman?” his voice dripped, cool and patronizing. It carried a lilt of care, but it was clearly faked-- Patton would have scolded him if he’d been listening. Roman rolled his eyes.

“No, I am simply dedicated to my craft! Creations don’t come from thin air, do they?” he replied. Logan tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“...They do,” he said. He raised his palm, and atop it, a paper appeared. “As you can clearly see, I’ve just summoned this piece of paper- Now, it’s not on par with many of your creations, of course, but I’m sure you understand my point. Just last week, you summoned me a new Rubik’s Cube. Don’t you remember?”

Virgil snorted from across the room, and Roman sighed. “Yes, Specs, I- I remember. I meant that metaphorically.”

“That was not a metaphor. According to Oxford Languages Dictionary, a metaphor is 'a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.' Would you like an example?”

“Not now, Logan. I’ll be taking my leave-”

“Aw,” Patton interrupted, “why not stay? You’ve spent so much time up in your room- Now, I know sometimes we need our alone time, but spending some time with your famILY won’t kill ya!”

“Did someone say kill?” came Remus’ shrill, excited voice from by the lamp where he’d just appeared.

“Not that kind of kill!” Patton rushed, “there will be absolutely no killing on my watch, mister!” Remus put his hands on his hips and blew a raspberry at that, exaggeratedly pouting at him.

“You’re no fun,” he replied. “Nothing wrong with a little casual murder to pass the time! Everyone dies sometime, might as well make it exciting.” Patton grimaced as Virgil’s eyes went wide and he groaned.

“...Everyone dies sometime. We are going to die. Thomas is going to die. Death is inevitable,” Virgil mumbled shakily, though it was still quite loud once the tempest tongue kicked in. He put his hands in his hair, but before he could pull at it, Patton led his hands away.

“Now Remus, that may be true, but there’s no need to dwell on it, especially when you know it will upset Virgil,” Logan said with a strict tone.

“Oh oh, I wonder who’ll go first when Thomas dies? Think it’ll be all at once, or one by one? I vote Roman-”

“Won’t you just shut up?” Roman spoke up, voice raised. “You’re harming Virgil and you know it. Keep your ideas in your side of the Mindscape; We don’t want them here.” His fists balled up as he glared at his brother. Oh, what he’d give to be able to walk up to him, to punch him square in the jaw. He’d love to unsheathe his sword and bury it right in his fucking stomach, to watch the emotions flicker through his eyes as they slowly went glassy and he collapsed to his knees, the blade continuing up through his skin like it was paper, the blood leaking through his clothing and pooling around him on the floor-

Roman blinked hard, brows furrowed. No one had responded to him yet, because it had only been a moment. What kind of thought was that? Certainly not one becoming of a prince. Was Remus messing with him somehow? Roman knew he could project thoughts into Thomas and the others’ heads, but Roman had never experienced it himself-- Why would Remus give him an intrusive thought right now, especially one so gruesome as to include his own gory death by Roman’s hands? He didn’t look like he had done anything, but he had to have, right? Roman didn’t come up with ideas like that. He was light creativity, he was good creativity!

Patton must’ve noticed his distress, as he quickly looked between the two. “Oooookay,” he began, “Remus is being a little inconsiderate of Virgil. And that isn’t okay! But that doesn’t mean we don’t want him at all. Everyone messes up from time to time!”

“But he’s doing it on purpose!” Roman exclaimed. He gestured his arms towards Remus and waved them incredulously. “I mean, look at him! He doesn’t even care!” 

Remus didn’t respond, continuing to stand in his spot, smiling and unblinking. Janus cleared his throat, gathering their attention. 

“I’m sure Remus just loves being talked about as if he isn’t here. Regardless, it’s hardly fair to criticize him for one incident that’s a result of his function as intrusive thoughts, especially considering that you’ve shown a pattern of worse behavior over the past… What, three years?” He looked towards Logan for confirmation.

“Yes, approximately that long, although that’s a misleading usage of the information. He’s improved over time,” Logan responded.

“Only if you consider his treatment of Virgil exclusively. Regardless, you've proved my point,” Janus said, sounding satisfied. “If it took Roman three years to warm up to Virgil, why does Remus only get a few months? Not to mention that he’s just being told that he’s unwanted and to leave, you've never experienced despite your actions, and which is preposterous notwithstanding.”

Virgil finally ripped his hands from Patton and covered his ears, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” he said frantically. Patton bit his lip and looked around the room.

“Listen, usually I’d encourage a healthy family discussion, but now’s really not the time to be doing this-- Roman, please go to your room. Remus, I’m not mad at you, but I’d really appreciate it if you would go ahead and leave for the night, too.”

Roman stared at Patton for a moment, mouth agape and brows furrowed. “My room- Patton, I’m not five! This isn’t even my fault-”

“Don’t argue, Roman,” Logan cut him off, “Do as Patton said. We’ll discuss this more in-depth later.”

Roman gave a loud scoff as he trudged across the room and began making his way up the stairs. He gave one last glare to Remus, who’d finally begun to move, and then continued to his room, where he fell backwards onto his bed. He closed the door with a flick of his hand, and stared at the ceiling, letting out a resigned sigh as he reminisced. Why was everything so backwards nowadays, he wondered? When had the dastardly acts of his brother become the new norm, overshadowing his own heroism and creativity?

It wasn’t as if Roman could even do anything about it, either; Patton’s decisions on what was right and wrong was like the word of law in the Mindscape. Sure, Roman could challenge his thinking, but he hardly wanted a repeat of his… Frog incident. He couldn’t bear it if he distressed him that much again. All Roman could hope for was that one day, sooner rather than later, someone would either talk some sense into him, or he’d come to the realization himself that Remus was merely a parasite to their famILY.

For now, at least, Roman could dream. 

‘Patton loves me just as much as the others. He’s a dad! Dads love all their children equally.‘

‘Even if it seems like it sometimes, no one really hates me- Well, besides Remus.’

‘...And even if they do, I can fix it.’

Even if it meant lying to himself.

#Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Logan Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Sanders Sides #Angst #Fanfiction #gore TW #death TW #weapon TW #sword TW #blood TW #food mention TW #cursing TW #Please tell me if I've missed any warnings! #MyWriting #oh writing tag.. you've been so neglected for so long. #lmao #I'm getting back into writing it seems! It's nice #I have many many WIPs

[coveredinsweetpea]

Can you a Steve x reader where you meet "his kids" for the first time ?

A/n: I hope this is good. I loved writing it. It's time for sweet pea now! Also,

Warring: this contains a spoiler for season 2!! (+ its unedited but I'm half asleep, sorry, love you ❤)

-

"Oh" you gasped, "What are you, ah-"

You burst into laughter, which caused Steve to do the exact same, mere moments later. He hid his face into the crook of your neck, chuckling, as he wrapped his arms around your middle, and laid down on top of you on the couch.

"If you tickle me again" you warned, placing your hands on his elbows but he was quick to object.

"Not gonna" Steve said, "This is much better"

His lips lingered up and down the side of your neck, his breath fanning over your skin, causing goosebumps to appear along your spine. Allowing your fingers to get lost in his hair, you lifted his head up just a tiny bit so you could place a kiss on his forehead.

"What was that for?" he laughed, "You never do that". He frowned slightly as he spoke, shaking his head with confusion.

"I'm just glad finals are over" you sighed, looking at the ceiling, "I don't have to go to bed anymore scared that I might fail an exam the next day and I don't feel biochemistry breathing down my neck anymore"

"So you're not happy we finally have more time together?" Steve joked.

"Shut up" you giggled, placing your palms on the sides of his face. Your right thumb traced along his cheekbone, and the second his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into your touch, you couldn't help it anymore. You leaned down and pressed your lips against his. Steve responded instantly, deepening the kiss with building passion. His whole body moved slowly against yours as he pushed himself up on his knees, and struggling not to break the kiss, you managed to wrap your legs around his middle, they way, not allowing any space between the two of you.

His hands roamed up and down your thighs, and the kiss was starting to turn into something just a tad bit more raunchy and less PG-13 rated.

"Fuck, I missed this" Steve groaned, as he was now treating the skin of your neck with hungry kisses and tender bites.

"Me too" you whispered, bringing him closer to you, "Me too"

He slowly dragged his hands up your body, passing the waist band of your jeans. His hands roamed your sides, under your shirt as his lips worked on some rosy spots on your neck that would soon turn into some more than obvious claim marks. Just when you curled your fingers into the material of his blouse, loud bangs started echoing through the house.

Steve jumped off of you in an instant, working on fixing his hair, "If that's my dad-" he panted, but you cut him off.

"Why would your dad bang on the door? Doesn't he have a key?" you asked.

Steve looked at you, completely baffled. He nodded faintly, looking at the floor, "Yeah, yeah, makes sense". As you smiled, he took off towards the door and swung it open, "What the- Henderson? what why-"

"He's back" you heard someone say. As you approached them, you saw five, no six kids bust inside the house. Now, the same person began yelling, "He's back and he's out for blood and we're-"

"Um, who are you?" another one of the kids asked, which caused silence to settle as everyone turned to look at you.

"Um..." you mumbled, looking back and forth between the boy who asked the question and Steve, "I'm-"

"Dude!" the one first kid yelled, "Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?"

"I-" Steve mumbled, completely dumbfounded.

"Excuse him" the kid said, walking over to you, and taking your hand in his to place a kiss to your knuckles, "Dustin Henderson is my name"

"Hi" you laughed, "Nice to meet you? I'm Y/n"

"Shit, I actually heard about you!" Dustin yelled, turning to Steve, "She's the girl in your history class who-"

"Aaaadadaaap" Steve screamed, covering up the kid's words. "Enough of that. Why are you here, what happened?"

As all the kids burst into laugher and you were close to cracking up too. They could not care less at this point about whatever problem they had, they we're just enjoying seeing Steve all flustered and activated. And it would be a lie to say you weren't fond of that sigh too.

One by one, you shook everyone's hand, finally meeting the kids you've heard so much about. El was nothing like you imagined her, and neither was Lucas. Steve obviously wasn't good at describing anything other than the brands of hair spray he now knew by heart.

It didn't take much convincing for them to trust you, but it did take a lot of time for them to fill you in on all that had happened in the last 2 years.

"So... El closed the gate?" you asked again, and they all nodded, "Which was under some top secret military base?"

"Yep" they said in unison.

"And that's also the place where Bob died?" you questioned further and as they all agreed, you sighed, "Who was Bob again?"

"My mom's boyfriend" Will, (if you remembered correctly) said, "Well, ex boyfriend...."

"Wait-" you pouted, "Wasn't the guy that took El in your mom's boyfriend?"

"What?" Mike yelled, "No! Ew! Why would you think that?"

"Yeah, why would you-" El mumbled too.

"But I thought..." you cringed, "Steve didn't you-?"

"No!" your boyfriend shook his head defensively. He stood up and waved his hands around trying to prove his point, "No, I never said they were together... I just said they should be"

As everyone gave him confused looks and made weird faces at him, Steve belted, annoyed, "You know what? I'm just gonna shut up and never say anything else ever again!"

"That's probably for the best" Mike chuckled, and instantly Lucas and Will joined in.

"Hey, watch it, dipshits!" Steve yelled, "You came to me for help remember?"

"Steve!" you called, widening your eyes at the name he just called them.

"It's ok" Dustin reassured you, nodding proudly, "He always calls us that. But he loves us. He saved our asses many times" he said with a wide smile.

"You did?" you gasped, looking at your boyfriend, "You never told me that!"

"Man, he didn't brag?" Lucas gasped, "He sure loves you!"

"Look at that" Max smiled, "You made a humble man out of him"

"Ok, ok, enough" Steve cut everyone off, "That's none of your business"

Soon, you disbanded and spread throughout the house. You sat down with El and Max who were telling you some of the things they've experienced in the past few days, but as they spoke, you couldn't help but peak behind them and see Steve and Dustin walk into the kitchen. A smile appeared on your lips as you managed to hear just a tiny part of their conversation.

"So do you?" Dustin asked, "Love her, I mean"

"Man" Steve sighed, "I think I do. I mean, I'm sure I do, I just wanna take things slow...."

.. and that was all you heard, but frankly, it was more than enough.

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #stave harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 3 #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[azerothpeacecouncil]

During the Remembrance of Undercity, we had a segment titled The Ceremony of Embers and Spirit in which Forsaken (and allies) were welcome to toss that which they want left behind to burn in a symbolic fire and help them move forward in their unlife or life. Anything from mementos from long past, banners or tabards or anything that they feel no longer belongs with them and no longer represents them. All were allowed to do this, but focus was put on Forsaken first. We had all who wanted their items showcased fill out a doc so we can share and forever view these small, but impactful, character moments. Down below is everyone who chose to have their moment showcased and what their feelings are that went with it as well as the item itself.

Due to the length of this post, please hit the Read More to view all items that have been tossed into the flames.

Caleb Mcswain Item: A blue star moss boutonnière. This item represented resentment, hatred for Caleb's undeath, and fear of the Horde. Shandras Korpus Item: A stuffed animal "...I can't possibly atone for the murderous rage my Dark Lady once inspired, but I can surely commit to do better." Silffred Queen Item: A patched and beaded Undercity tabard. Silffred leaves his spot, a ratty, patched tabard of the Undercity draped in his hands. He tries to steel himself, and fails. From the crowd, a death knight comes to his side; a -Night Elf- death knight. She whispers something to him and, together, they drop the tabard onto the smoldering bonfire. The Knight puts her hand on his shoulder, and Silffred raises his head to address the crowd. "I cast off my tabard for the final time, and with it... The piece of me that could end up no where else... But the flames." Jarisold Acridwell Item: Wedding ring Jarisold steps up quietly and pulls out a ring. He looks at it with a solemn expression, signing slowly with his free hand. "I have little to say here except I'm sorry. I wish I could have protected you." He grips it one last time, looking over it as he casts it into the fire. Nicolai Wyther Item: A Leatherbound notebook full of old alchemical research. Nicolai looked down at his old leatherbound book. Inside were a mix of notes, research and alchemical studies he had done many years ago for the Forsaken cause. Some were helpful, but many used for harming those who dared to mess with the Forsaken. "I was naive. I didn't know any better." he muttered under his breath as his veil covered his sorrowful face. "Years of my life were written down in this book I used to be proud of it...but when I see this book on my mantle, I don't think of the time I spent with my old Order or the happy memories." his voice trembled. "I only see regret. Anguish!" He opened the book to take out a dried out Arthas Tear, holding it between his skeletal fingers "And I must...move on." As he tossed the book into the fire. Donovan Morris Wightborn Item: A Forsaken insignia of excellence and a medallion with a red soulstone in it. Donovan pulls up a faded insignia from his bags. "Today, I burn two pages of history from my present so they may join the ashes of the past. First, an insignia of excellence given to me by the Dark Lady during the Gilneas campaign. With this, I burn what little respect I had for the Banshee... Along with a deep resentment for the people of Gilneas." He drops his insignia into the flames "And then..." he grasps at a silver necklace with a cracked red gem around his neck and pulls, snapping the chain as he removes it. He stares at it for a moment, in his hand, and holds it up "A soulstone medallion which was once used to twist my soul into undeath, and that I then used to imprison and punish the necromanceress responsible. With this, I let go of an old bitterness and drive: Vengeance. I slew her and her soul is long gone. No need for this to remain and remind me of her. I am Forsaken, driven by the glory and growth of our people, not unfocused hatred of an old witch." with that, he tosses it into the fire and watches it burn. He thought 'Donovan Morris died for Lordaeron. Donovan Wightborn claimed vengeance for him. Now we both live, in this glorious dark rebirth, as Forsaken.' Nettie Ka'an Item: Insignia of a Forsaken soldier Nettie steps foward and takes out a small, shiny object. "This insignia represents my time as a soldier on the Gilnean-Forsaken front. I had just been raised, and unlike many of you, felt little loyalty to the Banshee Queen."She pauses. "I joined to try to preserve my home, Gilneas, despite the Forsaken's onslaught. Since then, I have met and bonded with more Forsaken than I had thought I ever would. This insignia is a reminder of a past era, of distrust towards my own people." She continues. "We have all lost our homes, in one or way another. It is time to move forward." She gently drops the insignia into the fire, where it glows, and rejoins the circle. Geniya Zigzy Item: Old Undercity military ID card Geniya tosses the card into the fire, and it quickly flares up and away. "I used this only once since the fall of Undercity, as a way to pass myself off as the officer in Sylvanas' forces that I once was, for the purpose of sneaking some dissenters to safety. We are now ALL safe. We are free to be whoever we are, with no one watching over us from above. I will never need to use this card again." Benemus Crungey Item: Wedding Ring & Silver Dagger Benemus steps up, twisting a tarnished ring off of his finger and dropping it into the fire. "The last trappings of when I was alive," He said simply. "Attachment to someone who has spoken of her hatred for what I have become. I do not need this reminder that only makes me upset." Then he removes a dagger from his pack, and drops it in as well. "Be well on your journey into the shadows." Édouard Chaudron Item: Old Academy Frying Pan Anger at his Father who didn't support his culinary pursuits nor his soup kitchen for the poor of Lordaeron. His father would be the ghoul that sent him to his unlife, something which he clung to in anger prior to this event. Tossing it was to help let go of his difficult feelings in regards to his relationship with his father and to move past the guilt, doubt and other painful emotions that had him second-guessing his chosen path in life + unlife. Canthar Item: Remains preserved in jars. "I no longer have need for these. That competitive abomination assembly were a thing is disgusting. That I got caught up in it... Regardless. Dead should only be raised willing. These morbid cadavers no longer fascinate me..." Hylden Caspian Levanthorpe Item: An amethyst sphere (a speakstone) Hylden holds in his hand a stone. A beautiful amethyst sphere. Staring down at the thing, the storm of emotions that brewed on his features, in his eyes spoke to something deeper than he could express in words. He closed his fingers around it, and took a breath, staring down at the flames. “This was a gift, from a man I loved more than anythin’. Anythin’ I ever could have described, anythin’ I thought I could have felt. In that awful darkness, he called me a sweet thing. A mouse. That man would have had us believe that he was a snake. A serpent. Clever and connivin’. ...but snakes kill their prey quickly. No.” His eyes flicked upward, burning brightly, focusing directly on the man. “That man was a glue trap. Unfortunately for him, this mouse didn’t stay stuck. His grip was far too weak.” He glanced back down to the fire, opening his hand and staring back into the depths of that sphere, glowing with a life all its own. As his eyes turned from the fire, he lifted his hand and tilted it to the side, letting it roll from his palm as he said, “Goodbye. I’ll always love you. Though I’ll never know if it was my choice or not, will I?”

Vynaendra Highwood Blood Elf Item: Insignia of Sylvanas Vyn feels anger seeing the image of her face. Anger and disgust and sadness. Bagorpagork Mok’nathal A very old tome containing warlock spells and rituals Gork was clutching onto an old tattered book. A black cover with fel green demonic lettering and symbols. He held it out, giving it one last look before tossing it into the flames. "As time passes, sometimes you learn that the things that made you strong, the things that help you win, come at a price. The Alliance may have essentially lost that day. But it cost a great price for the Forsaken. I think uh, Mr Eralos put it quite really... I have begun to question my own power, the price I may someday come to pay. I have decided I do not need this power anymore. It is time to move on" he ended with a small smile. Lembri Vulpiana Shal’dorei Item: Menagerie Insignia Lembri removes an insignia from her satchel, bearing the mark of Suramar's Royal Menagerie. It's been battered with age, and no longer shines like the rest of the silver that adorns her. "I used to be afraid... I thought that I had to help protect the creatures of the outside from their own h-home... I'll never be able to forgive myself fully for the animals still trapped in that sick circus but... T-This is the start of redemption." The nightborne tosses the medal into the fire, feeling great relief as it disappears amongst the flames. Sorrel Silverblade Kaldorei Item: A rosary; an innumerable amount of red strings Sorrel approaches the fire, holding a rosary befitting a priest or priestess of the Church of the Holy Light. Its beads are made of dark, worn wood and yellowed ivory, the strand of silk they're strung on yellowed and brittle. At the end is a truesilver holy symbol, tarnished with age. He opens his other hand, filled with tiny red strands of string, curled and folded as if they'd been tied into position for a long time. He clears his throat a bit. "...you deserved better. A better life. A better son. I killed in your name, as if death or life were a game I could succeed in." He lowers his eyes and ears, gritting his teeth. "...I know better now. Life and death mean much more to me, in each of their forms. To the Light I pray you find solace." He lets the rosary fall into the fire. Sorrel stares intently into the flame. "To the Shadows I pray that they may guide my hand so that I may serve my fellows honourably. To learn from the mistakes of my youth." He lets the red strands fall. "To move past my sins." With that, he returns to his friends. Geniya, on behalf of Gornagh Starcrusher Undead Orc Item: Ebon Blade Warbanner Gornagh gave Geniya the banner to toss into the flames as a way of finally severing himself from the Ebon Blade, an organization he left very abruptly after realizing that his morals no longer aligned with theirs. He wishes to feel free of reminders that make him angry, for a group that he believes is no longer worth his energy to think on. Kuyr Driftwood Tauren Death Knight Item: Decaying old Saronite gauntlet Said: "Watching time pass me by...I should let go of this and work on my bonds. What it will bring with my new tribe. I don't know. But it's better then being alone." Thought's: *The pain and suffering is still unbearable. I can't break free fully. Maybe this will help me fight more to be myself. But I still wish at times just...release.* Litharial Solstar Sin’dorei Item: A single, grey arrow with raven fletching. Approached the bonfire that blazed with the ashes and memories of those that fed it before her. She drew a single, grey arrow with raven fletching, so unlike her golden ones. Examining the arrow a moment, she spoke quietly, "This belonged to my sister, Asarial. We fought together at the battle for Lordaeron when the Alliance broke through the gate, she told me to go first to make sure the wounded were well cared for. Her selflessness cost her her life. And it nearly broke me. Fast forward to the relevancy of this story, I found myself before the city of Ogrimmar, ready to liberate the city. However, it became apparent that loyalists were sabotaging the weaponry." Takes a moment to sniffle, a lone tear falling down her cheek. "It was then that I found the thing of my nightmares. My sister, who was raised as a Dark Ranger to serve the Banshee Queen. It was my duty to defend Saurfang's army and I did so, quickly slaying the two other Dark Rangers with her, and after a terrible duel...her." Her eyes grew ever luminescent as they reflected the warm light of the bonfire. "She lost..." Looking at the arrow once again, she turned it over in her hands, "I understand this ceremony is to honor our Forsaken brothers and sisters. But I can never truly hate the Dark Rangers, for what became of them. I cannot even hate Sylvanas, for she will always be remembered as a hero to Silvermoon for her sacrifice. So it is my hope, that the Dark Rangers and Sylvanaas find their way into this pyre. My sister, at least, shall find hers." Litharial placed the arrow gently, almost reverently, in the consuming fire. The flashed quickly licked the arrow, turning a dark purple where the arrow touched the flames, before blazing a righteous orange again. "Al diel shala, Asarial. Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor, Belore'dorei. Shorel'aran, sister." Dragway Orc Item: An old royal crest banner of the Rally family, it's dark blue banner with a falcon holding a mason hammer and pickaxe in its talons Dragway said this about the banner "This was the crest of Baron Danton Rally, who was a warden to many internment camps for the orcs, I spent my childhood as a slave under him, he was slain when Thrall came to liberate us. I toss my grieve for the child who was living in dirt and mud, and give hope to the adult still standing here. May the orcs...no...no other races, never be put into chains ever again!” Gotosh, on behalf of Katamar Orc Item: A red hair ribbon Gotosh clutched the red hair ribbon in his palm, looking down to it. He thought of what it meant to his friend, a connection to people who are long gone and their souls lost. Part of him didn’t want to toss it into the fire, feeling the weight it carried. But he promised to do this and with one toss the ribbon joined the other items to be burned away. May they rest, he thinks, may he rest too.

#Undercity Remembrance #APC events #Items of Ashes #IC events

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Happy Thirteenth Birthday” || YEAR 3 – Ch.1 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

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Day posted: 7/10/2020

Word count: 3,409

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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It was blazing hot inside and outside the house, under every tree and bush, and sometimes even the cold tap water came out warm. There was no escaping the summer heat and the best Heather could do to cool off, was shower with one of Dudley’s old shirts – the stupid ones with the sleeves torn off – and sit in the empty tub waiting for the water to evaporate off her body.

Her arm and head hung off the tub’s rim as she waited a bit longer to dry off. Her wand sat on the counter next to the sink, and her old toothbrush a few feet away on Aunt Petunia’s nice lime green bath rug. Heather extended her arm and curled her fingers, willing the toothbrush over to her.

She used the same techniques as she would moving a spider from one place to another without touching it. She thought and thought and imagined the toothbrush sliding over to her. There was a jiggle, but that was all.

She wasn’t sure if she plainly couldn’t do it or if she was just too afraid to. Moving spiders was one thing, after all she had been moving spider without touching them since first year, and she suspected that when she was younger and saw them crawling above her head, they did not actually jump to Harry’s side on their own.

She dried off and put the toothbrush under the sink, in the only area her and Harry were allowed to keep their things. She walked into her shared room and fell onto the mattress on the floor, listening to Harry groan and complain about their history of magic homework.

“This is taking forever and it’s so boring,” he poked his head over the edge, “Let me read yours.”

She flicked his ear, “Do. Your. Work.”

He rubbed his ear and went back to reading, “You know the longer I take on my homework, the higher the chance they’ll catch us with our books.”

Heather sat up, “Then do your work faster.”

She was afraid Harry was developing a nasty habit of having Hermione do his work for him. They had picked the locks and gotten their books within the first week of being back, which by now would have been plenty of time to finish most essays, but Harry had only managed to finish their potions one and only out of pure fear.

It was late now, passed late dinners for most normal families, and they prepared for their nightly inspection before sleep. Heather helped Harry pop a floorboard out and stuffed all their magical everything inside it before patting it shut. It was the only place they could hide their things without the Dursleys snooping around – especially Dudley who loved getting them into trouble.

They stood up and leaned against the wall as Uncle Vernon’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs, thunderous and slow. Without knocking – as if trying to catch them by surprise – he swung the door open and gave them disappointed looks when he saw they were already in their places. He stepped in, looked around the room for anything out of place and ‘odd’, eyed them carefully, and stepped back out, locking them in for the night.

They groaned and sat back down on the bed hearing the Durley’s nightly routine of saying goodnight to Dudley. Uncle Vernon always gave him the usual one-time goodnight, while Aunt Petunia kept coming back to say goodnight every time she crossed his bedroom door. Heather wasn’t sure how Dudley could stand constantly being interrupted by her as he tried to get settled into bed.

Her footsteps sounded closer as she approached their bedroom door, banging on it hard with the palm of her hand, “BREAKFAST NEEDS TO BE DONE BY EIGHT TOMORROW,” and walked back, giving Dudley her final goodnight and shut her bedroom door closed.

That was their cue to let Hedwig out of her cage for the night. There weren’t any bars on their bedroom window this time and they had promised not to do any magic in the house – not that they’d be willing to risk getting expelled – so for five weeks now, things were only slightly better than their last summer.

“I’m calling her,” Harry got off the bed and took out his parchment and quill again from the floorboard.

“Do you want them punishing us AGAIN for calling wizards? I like our window just fine without bars up and – ” Heather tapped her foot, knowing Harry’s ankle was still hurting from all the extra yard work they had to do the last time Ron called. “You’ll get caught and I’ll make you do MY HALF of the punishment.”

Harry shook his head and pushed past her, kneeling down and picking the locks to their bedroom door, freeing them from their enclosure. They crept down the stairs together – recently she had started to feel she should be keeping a closer eye on him – and sat down at the counter’s swivel stools next to the phone.

Harry picked up the phone quietly and dialed Hermione’s number from memory. He waited a few minutes and then, “Hermione? Yeah, will you read me your history of magic essay? …Well don’t you have any time before you leave?”

Heather rolled her eyes, “Harry you need to do the essay yourself. She isn’t gonna – ”

“Oh, hold on,” he dipped his quill in ink and held it to the parchment, “Can you start from the beginning again?”

Heather smacked her face quietly.

“Oh?” Harry looked up at the time, “Thanks. Hold on,” he handed the phone to Heather.

“Hermione?”

“I CAN’T believe you’ve forgotten your own birthday! Happy birthday!” Hermione clapped into the phone.

“Oh?” Heather squinted at the glowing time on the stove.

It was ten minutes after twelve which meant they were officially thirteen now.

“Thanks for remembering. No one else did,” she laughed quietly.

“That’s not true! Go hang up right now and be at your window. They should be arriving by now. Happy birthday and talk to you soon! Oh and tell Harry if he calls I won’t be here. Bye!” Hermione hung up.

She handed the phone back and dragged Harry away, who still needed eleven more inches to his essay. They crept back up the stairs and relocked the door behind them. The window was open and a nice cool breeze was drifting in but there was still not one sign of Hedwig, who had been gone for three days now.

“D’you see anything?” Harry leaned further out the window, looking in all directions over the roofs of the other houses.

Heather squinted up at the moon, noticing a weird lumpy flying spec, “Uh, what’s that?”

Harry pulled her back away from the window as the lumpy object got closer and closer, heading right in their direction. Whatever creature it was, it must be magical, there was no doubt in Heather’s mind about that. No muggle bird was that jittery in the sky. It swooped in through the window and crashed on the bed.

Heather snorted and covered her mouth, afraid to have laughed too loud, “I thought it was some beast.”

Hedwig, Errol, and a third owl stood on their parcels – Errol was collapsed over his – and gave small hoots of triumph. Heather thought it was funny that the other two owls had to help Errol with his parcel and even funnier because Errol’s was given the largest package of the three.

They took the packages and the new owl stretched and flew out the window. Hedwig and Errol left to rest in Hedwig’s cage, watching Heather and Harry sit on the bed to read what was from who. They opened the larger parcel, reading that it was from the Weasleys.

There were several birthday cards, one from each Weasley member and for each of them. To Heather, Percy wrote that he hoped her studying was going well while to Harry he wrote that he hoped he was studying. Fred and George sent over stinky leaves for the both of them to put under Dudley’s pillows, Ginny had written a very neat “Happy Birthday, Harry. From, Ginny Weasley” and to Heather she wrote:

‘To: Happy Birthday

From: Ginny

Heather.’

Heather laughed and tucked the card under her pillow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had sent them a birthday card as well with several pieces of Egyptian candy stuck on somehow, and two newspaper clippings, one of a family picture of them in Egypt – Ron was now taller than Mrs. Weasley, and was holding up Scabbers, and Ginny was just as tall as her, though to be fair all the Weasleys were much taller than the average student at Hogwarts – and the other clipping Harry took.

He scanned it, “Lucky them. I guess Mr. Weasley won the Daily Prophet Galleon Draw.”

Heather took the clipping, “Wow… Oh I didn’t know Bill was a curse breaker… is that… Dark Arts stuff?”

Harry shrugged, “You know… We have all that money sitting in our vault – ”

Heather shushed him, “I know what you’re thinking and NO. Absolutely not we aren’t spending that money for anything other than school! And that’s final.”

Harry scoffed but didn’t argue. They read the last two cards from Ron, which they could barely read with his scribbly handwriting.

Heather took it and tried her best, “‘Happy Birthday’ … ‘ Sorry I shouted when I called and got you guys in trouble’ … ‘Getting a new wand in London last week of summer, hope to see you two there’ … ‘Percy’s Head Boy’ … ‘ Enjoy your gift. Sorry I could only get one’ … and then I think it says ‘Pocket Sneakoscope. If there’s anyone untrustworthy around, it’ll spin and glow.’”

Harry unwrapped the last Weasley gift from Ron and pulled out the Pocket Sneakoscope. It didn’t glow or spin, which they supposed was good and hoped it wasn’t just broken or anything. Next, they moved on to the parcel Hedwig had brought in, reading that it was from Hermione.

Heather opened the letter, “She says… She’ll be in France soon and won’t be able to answer the phone for a month.” Heather ignored Harry’s groans, “And that the presents are by ‘owl-order’ and… That she hopes to see us last week of holidays too.”

They opened the presents which were two Broomstick Servicing Kits and gasped.

“Ok, we need to get Hermione a good birthday present this year. These are – ”

“Wow,” Harry opened it up and started going through it.

“We still have this one.” Heather cut the twine holding two rectangle packages and a note from Hagrid. “‘Happy Birthdays! You’ll be needing this for next year, you’ll see. Your friend, Hagrid.’”

Harry took a package and dropped it as soon as it growled, “Heather… Hagrid knows not to send us anything dangerous… right?”

Heather shook her head. She picked up the other package and felt it move slightly and growl like the other one had, “Harry you open yours. We shouldn’t open them both.”

Harry nodded and tore at the top, ripping the brown paper apart and sliding the object out. It was a book, with fur all around it, except for the shiny green letters spelling ‘The Monster Book of Monsters’. Heather and Harry tilted their heads to read the title when two eyes on the front popped up and stared at them evil-y.

It lunged at Heather’s knees and she jumped from the bed, allowing the book to scuttle under the pillowcase. Harry picked their pillow up and swatted the book creature off the bed, hearing it growl and bite at something under the dresser.

“Surround it with boxes!” Heather pointed at Aunt Petunia’s storage boxes taking up part of their room.

Together they pushed and trapped it under the drawer where it would stay until they could write to Hagrid to ask him what on earth he was thinking sending them that thing. She couldn’t imagine what people could actually read it without having their fingers and noses bit clean off.

They sat on the bed panting and gathering up their things. They shoved all the scrap paper in their drawer and opened up the floorboard again to put their presents in where Uncle Vernon would never look.

“Well, happy birthday and goodnight,” Heather collapsed on the mattress.

“Happy thirteenth and night.”

She yawned and went straight to sleep, dreaming of going back to Hogwarts where she could practice all the magic she wanted, far away from the Dursleys. That night not even the owl’s hoots woke them up and they slept soundly until Aunt Petunia unlocked the door in the morning and told them to get going on breakfast while she showered.

They took out all the normal stuff the Dursleys liked to eat: eggs, bacon, sausage links, waffles, and toast. She didn’t know why or how they could manage to eat so much for breakfast, even Harry and her didn’t have an appetite so early in the morning and they were always hungry when they were here. One or two sausages went missing from the pan to the table but overall, they managed to stack several plates high for Uncle Vernon and Dudley – Petunia liked just toast.

There was tapping on the kitchen window and Harry pulled back the curtains to greet an owl with two letters in its beak. Harry took them and handed one to Heather, seeing it was addressed to each of them with a Hogwarts seal.

Heather opened hers, eagerly anticipating the class materials list, and took out a permission slip of some sort with a letter from Professor McGonagall. “We can visit Hogsmeade this year?”

Harry groaned, “But only if we get Vernon or Petunia to sign this… How’re we going to get them to do that?”

“We can fake their signatures?” Heather leaned in closer to whisper, “I don’t think the teachers would be able to tell, do you?”

He shook his head. Aunt Petunia came down and they both hid the letters under their clothes, having to keep up the pretenses that Hogwarts and all things magical never existed. They would never sign a permission slip form for them to go to a wizards only village, not in a million years would they allow it. Heather sat down next to Harry to share a plate of their pre-cooked breakfast that Aunt Petunia always makes for them the night before.

Uncle Vernon came down next, sitting in his usual seat, followed by Dudley who went straight to turning on his new tv that sat on the counter. None of them looked at the twins, nor acknowledged their existence, let alone the fact that they were now technically thirteen years old.

Heather began eating the terribly cooked oatmeal and joined Harry in taking some toast since all three Dursleys were transfixed on the morning news reports on the tv. The reporter was sitting at his desk, shuffling papers, and pointing at a picture of a deranged man.

“A convict has escaped, believed to be armed and dangerous, last week. If you have any information, please call this number,” the numbers flashed on the screen and the reporter went on with other news.

“He should be fairly easy to spot,” Uncle Vernon laughed, “A filthy criminal with a rat’s nest on his head walking around town,” he chuckled, “Yes, I should think they’ll catch him in no time.”

“That’s what happens to lazy good-for-nothings who never bothered to even go to school,” Aunt Petunia scooped out some grapefruit and made a face, “They have nowhere else to turn to but petty crime. They’re useless to society – ”

“I couldn’t agree more, dear,” Uncle Vernon eyed Heather and Harry over his newspaper.

“Where did he escape from?” Heather risked the question, seeing as it was her and Harry always tasked with taking out the trash at night and early mornings.

Uncle Vernon rolled his eyes at her and opened his mouth but nothing came out. He looked at his wife who was looking wide-eyed at him and Dudley. “Son, did you hear where that lunatic escaped from?”

Dudley shoved a whole bacon slice in his mouth and shook his head, his eyes still transfixed on the television.

“Vernon! He could be anywhere!”

“Maybe he’s hiding on our street,” Harry hid a smile.

Heather kicked him under the table, seeing how nastily Uncle Vernon looked at him. Aunt Petunia looked over out the window, as if the man really could be walking up their street that second, not that she’d mind calling the number herself. She’d finally make it on the news and have gossip for all her neighborhood friends.

Uncle Vernon looked at his watch and finished his tea, folding up the newspaper and stood. “Well, I’ll be back with Marge in thirty minutes.”

Heather and Harry looked at each other suddenly.

“Aunt Marge? She’s-She’s staying? Here?” Harry tried to keep his face looking as unemotional as possible, but his bouncing leg gave him away.

“For a week or is that a problem?” he growled. “Think you have a say on what goes on around in my house, do you?”

Aunt Petunia put her hands to her hips and Dudley finally looked away from the tv, hoping to see the twins get yelled at. Heather and Harry shook they heads and looked away.

“Let me remind you both,” he pointed his finger at them, “You will not talk to Marge unless spoken to. And WHEN speaking to her, you will be nothing short of civilized!” He came closer, “And no funny business, understand?”

Heather nodded and expected Harry to do the same, but he didn’t.

Instead he looked back at Uncle Vernon, “I’ll be civil if she is.”

If it hadn’t been for the time, Harry would have had an earful. Uncle Vernon huffed and continued, “You go to St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys,” he said to Harry, “and you go to St. Mary’s Etiquette Academy for Disorderly Girls,” he said to Heather.

She bit back her tongue and nodded, pushing oatmeal with her spoon. She wanted nothing more than to leave this house and go straight to Hogwarts. Why couldn’t they stay summers there? Surely Hogwarts would be able to accommodate two students and Hagrid would be happy for the company.

Uncle Vernon walked to the door and looked for the correct car keys. Harry had been glaring at his food when he suddenly looked at Heather and bolted out of his chair, running to the door. Heather turned and watched with dread at what Harry was attempting.

“There’s a permission slip Heather and I need signed,” he motioned for Heather to approach. “To visit a village near our school.”

Uncle Vernon laughed, “Why would I sign that?”

“To make sure we follow your rules.”

Uncle Vernon was about to yell at Harry’s audacity to take control when Heather quickly interjected.

“What he means is… It can get hard for us to remember so many details… Maybe with this incentive… What was the name of my school again?”

“St. Brutus’s and St. Mary’s,” he snarled.

“We might accidently let something slip,” Harry shrugged.

Heather almost smacked her head, thinking Harry was laying it on too thick for their good.

“Then you might accidently get the stuffing knocked out of you both!” he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open.

“And hope Aunt Marge just forgets what we say?”

Heather gave him wide eyes, warning him to quit and abort mission while he could.

Uncle Vernon closed the door slowly, “If you two act like normal children for ONCE… I will sign your ruddy slips. But,” he growled, “I will be monitoring your behavior and if ANYTHING odd happens even slightly, no matter how miniscule, you’ll BOTH be sleeping outside for the rest of summer AND your slips won’t be signed.” He opened the door once more and slammed it shut behind him.

Harry smiled at Heather, “Well that solves it.”

She frowned at him, “Yeah, and now if anything happens we’ll be camping outside until school starts!”

“What could happen,” he grinned and ran upstairs.

She couldn’t believe he had already forgotten last summer with Dobby, or the one before that with the snake. His optimism was dangerous… but contagious. She sighed and ran after him, sparing him a much needed lecture on life and unfortunate events.

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[hystericalweenie]

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New Experiences

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Five: Breakfast, Lunch, and Drama

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n had found herself stuck in a scenario she’d never thought she’d ever have to face: she’d been catching feelings for a coworker. While she attempted to adapt to her new job and work load, she also had to get used to these new feelings and figure out what the fuck to do with them. George made her want to take risks, she didn’t care about the potentiality of a broken heart with him, because falling in love with him made it seem worth it. Is George falling for Y/n too? Will he be able to reciprocate her feelings?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! 

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck�� and there’s some sexual! tension! up! in! here!

I watched as he shuffled the pan, tossing the pancake in the air and flipping it perfectly. My chin rested in the palm of my hand as I watched him in awe. We’d found a dusty box of forgotten pancake mix deep inside one of the cabinets in the kitchen, which sparked an idea inside of George’s handsome head. Bree was nowhere to be seen, probably getting coffee with one of our friends to give George and I some privacy. I felt bad, realizing that she'd listened to George and I pleasure ourselves in the room over from her own. Maybe that was the payback she’d deserved for the night she had kicked me out of the apartment.

He brought the pan over to me, plopping one onto my plate with a wink. He returned to the stovetop, pouring a pancake of his own onto the pan. I used a knife to chop a square from a butter stick, swirling it on top of the fluffy cake before cutting a piece off and shoveling it into my mouth. I moaned, chewing and swallowing the breakfast dessert.

“It tastes amazing, George,” I complimented, quickly shoveling another bite into my mouth.

“Can’t taste better than you, love.” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

My cheeks burned scarlet and I ignored his comment, returning to the deliciousness on my plate. Soon enough, he plopped his own cake onto his plate and turned the stove top off, making himself a seat across from me at my tiny kitchen table. His eyelids were still swollen with sleep and he’d been wearing the clothes from the day before, absorbed in his faint cologne. The sounds of silverware against our plates filled the room as we continued to eat, occasionally sipping at the mugs of coffee we’d made prior to the pancakes.

“You have anything planned for today?” I interrogated, interrupting the silence of the room, attempting to make conversation.

“I was hoping to visit Andrew sometime today with Dean, but that’s about it,” he shrugged, bringing his fork to his mouth. “What about you?”

I took my last bite, chewing and swallowing it down with a gulp of coffee that had turned cold, abandoned for too long. 

“I was hoping I could come up with an idea for a pitch, I have to come up with something else by Monday,” I informed him. “Maybe we could have dinner tonight?” I suggested.

He smiled softly. 

“That sounds wonderful,” he grinned, biting the last of his pancake.

I turned my head to the pile of dirty dishes, excess pancake batter blobs scattered on the counter. George had noticed my expression, his hand reaching out across from the table onto mine. 

“Go take a shower, get ready for the day. I’ll take care of the dishes,” he reassured me.

My eyes widened at his offer in shock, wondering who the hell would want to do dishes.

“A-are you sure?” I asked uneasily, not entirely believing him.

“Yes, love,” he drummed his fingers over my knuckles, my cheeks blushing at my beloved nickname. 

I sighed, removing my hand from his and standing up from the chair. 

“Fine, but don't use up all of the hot water,” I chimed, biting back a smile as I made my way to the bathroom.

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure to come in and flush the toilet at least three times!” he joked back, causing me to roll my eyes and shake my head.

I turned the knob of the shower, shutting the door behind me and stripping myself from the pajama shorts and old shirt I’d thrown on after George and I’s late night festivities. 

I did my best to take a fast–but–thorough shower, wrapping myself in a towel afterward. I brushed through the wet tangles, not bothering to dry it as I made my way to my bedroom, clutching the towel against my body. As I made my way to my bedroom, I could see his back turned toward me and the sound of water running, causing me to smile at the sight. The simplicity of him washing dishes gave my imagination the thought of living with him. Obviously, it’d be too soon at this time of our relationship, but I wondered what it’d be like. 

I slipped a pair of comfy shorts on and a hoodie, not really caring about my appearance. My barefoot padded against the floor as I approached the kitchen, watching as he dried the final object, being the pan. I couldn’t help myself as I strode toward his figure, wrapping my arms around his torso as I rested my cheek against his back. I felt his hands go to mine, gently stroking up my wrists and back down to my fingertips. He turned around, wrapping his arms firmly around me and engulfing me, allowing me to inhale his scent. I hummed in bliss, my arms going around him as well, as I felt his lips press to the top of my head.

His hands rubbed my back soothingly, as I closed my eyes in contentment, absorbing the moment and wishing it’d never end. I wanted to stay like this with George, with no interruptions, no issues or concerns; just complete, utter bliss.

“I have to go home and shower, Dean wants to go to the rehabilitation place this morning,” he informed me, his lips mumbling against my head.

I pulled away enough so that I could look up at him, watching as his eyes observed my facial features. 

“Okay, just text me when you can,” I answered softly, my own eyes scanning the freckles along his nose. 

He pressed his lips firmly to my forehead, my lips curling into a smile at the action. He then dipped down to meet my own lips, the faint taste of coffee and pancakes still present on his lips. Our lips lingered for a moment before he pulled away, giving a quick peck to conclude the kiss. He grabbed his belongings, which had only consisted of his phone and wallet which he was able to shove into his pockets, and I followed him to the apartment door. I opened it for him, leaning against the side of it as I watched him exit. Once he was out of sight, I closed the door, smiling to myself as my brain replayed all of the memories we’d shared. 

A knock on the door startled me, causing me to approach it with confusion. I slowly opened it, welcoming George’s figure. His lips curled into a smile.

“I just wanted to see you one last time before I left,” he notified me.

His words made me smile from ear to ear, my eyes softening at the weight of his words. It was so affectionate, so loving, I’d never heard a man say such a thing to me, desiring to see my face one last time before exiting.

I bit my lip, grabbing his collar and smashing his lips to mine, an involuntary response to his romantic words. Our lips moved gently against each other, contrasting my needy action I’d just performed. We pulled away, foreheads against each other, as my eyes bore into his, my smile beaming at him. I gave him one last peck on his lips, savoring his taste. He pulled away, stopping at the doorway with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, sighing blissfully before sending me a wink and leaving again.

I closed the door, leaning against it and slipping down to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest, eyes closing as my brain played the events that had just happened like a film. I licked my lips in search of his taste, satisfied as the taste of his lips still lingered on mine. My chin rested on my knees as I reminisced on the events of the night before, feeling his thigh against my core, feeling his cock against his briefs as his hips moved against mine. To waking up next to him, our skin flush against each other, comforting our dreams and giving me possibly the best sleep I’d had in years. Watching him make me breakfast, hearing him softly humming to the music he’s used to playing whilst in his own kitchen. 

My feelings for George were slowly absorbing me and it scared me. George and I’s relationship was inevitable–we had no label, therefore he could just leave, or he could be dating other women. 

I hoped that this was just my tendency to overthink, but a small part of me worried if I wasn’t.

“Fucking Christ, Y/n, you’re lucky I was drunk enough to sleep through most of last night,” Bree groaned, as we sat across from each other in the booth at our favorite restaurant.

Taking a bite of my huge sandwich, almost too big to fit in my mouth, my cheeks flushed and I rolled my eyes at her.

“That was payback for you kicking me out of the apartment,” I notified her, my words muffled with the food I attempted to chew.

She sighed, sipping on her cup of tap water she’d ordered.

“You’re right,” she agreed, lowering her eyes at me. “But, next time, tell me you’re going to make a booty call rather than telling me you’re sick and can't go out.”

“Noted,” I informed her, nodding my head as I went to take another bite of my sandwich.

She took a bite of her own sandwich, chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

“Are you guys going to hang out later?” she asked, diving back into her food.

I nodded, taking a sip of my own water.

“Yeah, I think we’re going to do something at his house,” I explained.

She raised her eyebrows at me, smirking.

“Has he asked you out yet?”

There it was; the question I’d been dreading, because I, myself, had been wondering when he’d ask me to be his girlfriend too.

My short silence gave her an answer to her question, as I watched her roll her hazel eyes in annoyance.

“I’ll beat this guys ass if he breaks your heart, Y/n,” she cautioned, her eyes boring protectively into mine.

“I know, Bree,” I swirled my straw into my cup, playing with the ice cubes that were almost entirely melted. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point.”

The sound of the deteriorated ice cubes clinging against the glass with my straw helped distract me from my anxious thoughts at the subject. I watched as they danced together, all completely different shapes as they were all at different stages of melting.

“Speak of the devil and he doth appear,” she announced.

I looked up from my cup to look at her with wide and confused eyes. She pointed towards the entrance of the restaurant, as I turned my head to follow her finger. 

“That’s him, right?”

It was. His perfectly styled locks laid on his head, as his lips wore his perfect smile. Beside him was my brunette editor, his own chocolate locks styled in waves, his gentle blue eyes lighting up at something they’d been talking about. I could see another figure, though, and my curiosity got the best of me. My arms pushed down at my seat, giving me leverage and just enough sight to see that there was a ginger haired woman standing on George’s other side.

I immediately recognized the woman as Faith, my fellow print journalist. 

What was she doing with George, and why the hell were they so close to each other?

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