#granted the shift from “she’s my love interest” to “she’s my sister” will never not be so fucking drastic 💀

[no1ryomafan]

I have said this before but me being self proclaimed number 1 Ryoma fan and that being possibly literal-bc even if this bro had fans before me I might’ve simply done the most for him by talking about him so much + being the first to write fics that are in depth studies on his trauma across canons-I gotta say if there’s one other character I rotate a lot that isn’t him it’s probably Kei. (Shocking it’s not Hayato even if I do think about him too- but it’s usually associated with Ryoma bc gays 🗿)

I’m not even exaggerating when I say Kei would be my favorite and only isn’t because she doesn’t exist in many other canons yet my brain rotates the endless possibilities of how to incorporate her. I’ve already written a fic where she’s in shin vs neo verse which worked surprisingly well but I’ve been thinking how universally she could appear in other things. (Whether it be fitting her into a idea of a possible Go team in New or just a new canon completely) I think what I’ve narrow it down to is that she could be like- in Michirus role? Like she’s the supporting female who isn’t a pilot but helps out the real occasionally which I think would align very well especially with the original manga role she has of being Hayato’s assistant. And even if Hayato isn’t grandpa mode yet he still very much is in Saotomes position at that point. Not sure if she’d Hayato’s biological kid to further parallel Saotome and Michiru given well Hayato already adopts the Go team and his wife is irrelevant LOL.

I have no idea if I’ll ever write this specific idea but I’m still- rotating it cause this is such a easy way to get around “picking between Sho or Kei as the 2nd pilot” since both of them can still exist even if one doesn’t get to pilot, idm my supporting females. (Granted there could always be like- plot line where Sho gets hurt so Kei is temporary pilot but I can’t remember if Getter ever really did this since “once your hurt your ass is basically replaced” lol)

#meg text #getter robo #au rambles #I think I rotate her so much because my friend and I talked about her relationship with Go #like it makes so much sense if among all the universal constants in getter one would be Kei is important to Go #granted the shift from “she’s my love interest” to “she’s my sister” will never not be so fucking drastic 💀 #also I get why in SVN she wasn’t there for time and idk where you’d fit her but man Kei deserves a more significant role #hence why I imagine her in Michirus role because even if she also had it ROUGH some iterations knew how to use her #also Kei already has a established relationship w gai mainly thanks to arma so- Sho deserves to speak with her too #they can be besties who rat out on the boys but still have high respect for hayato #granted I know the real reason why this hasn’t happened is because Kei is a minor character and “no proper go manga adaptation??” #at this point I don’t expect a anime but it be nice if Go team got used in a spin off bc we had a good run of OG team #I’d also want them to use arc in spin offs too but I understand their more- finicky characters to use #given their main thing is their actual descendants of existing characters and one of them is our first boyo (ryoma) #if you took out the bloodline stuff it make them feel redundant because you can just use go team for that #also honestly despite how mixed arc anime is for everyone they really don’t need to be in anything after this #other then wishing they get something with nicer animation but that’s what’s SRW is for #(also back to Kei I’m a bit upset she did not get a cameo in arc even if she’d probably look horrendous it was just salt in the wound) #(GAI LITERALLY SAIDS WHEN HE DIES IN THE MANGA HE SEES KEI WHERE WAS SHE WITH ALL THE GETTER GHOSTS?) #actually Michiru wasn’t there too so it was probably just woman erasure /hj

[upper-sixth-fanclub]

☙✧✿☼

Memie's Memes

EDIT: Alright, it's done! Thank you for your patience, and thanks for the prompt.

CW for disordered eating.

☙ : My muse’s favourite food. (Bonus: A memory, be it good or bad, associated with said food.)

Daki has a taste for beautiful eyes. Specifically, warm-hued eyes. Dark browns, reds, and oranges are her favorites. I may be tipping my hand into my OC x Canon ship a little, but her memories with these sorts of eyes are usually positive: one of her types is girls with dark brown eyes.

✧ : My muse and art. (If they have an artistic side or not and why, favourite artist if they have one, e.t.c.) 

Gyutaro wouldn't admit to having any favorite food. He's not super picky, because he's often eating Daki's leftovers, but if he were pressed to pick a favorite part, it would probably be the cardiovascular and muscular systems. Eating is more of a chore for him, and he associates it with how he would binge eat humans in an attempt to gain weight, since he can't shape-shift.

Daki is the artistic one! She is her own favorite artist, of course, and she prides herself on being the best.

Bringing it back to music, Daki has an interest in learning new songs. When a new girl comes in with new interests and knowledge, Daki takes it personally and competes with it. She's probably written some of her own compositions, but she only shares them with Gyutaro or with humans she's gotten close to-- the same ones she eventually eats.

✿ : My muse and nature. (If they are an ‘outdoorsy type’, like the sound of bird’s singing, if they have never set foot in a forest, e.t.c.) 

Unfortunately, Gyutaro has little respect for the arts. He knows it's work, but to him it's like playtime, so he tends to be dismissive of anything like that. Granted, storytelling is an art of its own, so his contrarian opinion can be easily debated on.

Daki is not outdoorsy at all. She loves the luxury and lavishness her current lifestyle affords her, and she could never be one of the demons roughing it in the wild. She's never been outside of the entertainment district.

Gyutaro, likewise, relies on some society comforts. But he would probably have a better chance at living in rural areas, if out of sheer spite. I think he is more attuned to the city and it's wildlife though, like the 'Shivers' trait from Disco Elysium. He's adaptable and resilient, and he's also the only one of the two who has gotten the furthest from home.

☼ : My muse’s first memory. (Where it was, who was with them, how this memory makes them feel, e.t.c.) 

Daki's memory only extends to waking up as a demon. She remembers Douma, and remembers Gyutaro being introduced to her as her brother. The memory is a neutral/positive one, because it is her earliest memory of her dear family.

Gyutaro, meanwhile, doesn't reflect often. When he does, it's not much further than a few years. He's more likely to focus on the present while anticipating the future. But if he tried, he would have a better chance of uncovering pre-death memories. His anger with society and love for his sister is powerful enough to compel his entire existence, and so there's ample connections for him to uncover things. He just doesn't want to, and nor does Daki.

#gyutaro #daki #gyutaro headcanons #daki headcanons #mod gyutaro

[redahlia-writes]

in paper rings | benedict bridgerton

Abstract: “Would you really settle to marry someone you do not love out of duty only?” he wondered then, eliciting a sigh from her.

“What other option do I have?” she mumbled, shifting a little on her seat. “How long before they start believing there’s a problem with me? I cannot afford to -”

“That does not mean you deserve anything less than utter adoration,” he muttered, and watched as her chest heaved, a sharp inhale in response to his words. “And whoever thought there was something wrong with you would be a nitwit.”

Words: 8.6K (i got a little carried away)

Warnings: unedited —  idiots to lovers/idiots in love, a lot of yearning and pining, some suggestive language but nothing too explicit, some historical inaccuracies, benedict bridgerton being a little bit of a himbo

A/N: while the female character has a full name, i tried to be as vague as possible in the descriptions of the aspect (the only thing is the length of the hair, but given the historical setting it couldn't be otherwise) so as to make it more similar to a reader insert. my brain just does not function if i don't have a name for my own characters. also this is just a whole lot of longing i’m not even gonna lie

also on AO3  - masterlist

Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been rocking on the swing when he heard the snap of a twig that made him recoil, waking him up from his half-waking dream.

“Who’s there?” he called, glancing towards the shadows. After a few moments, clad in dark as if she’d wished to merge with the night, she stepped forward. “Eleanor, it’s you.”

She smiled at him, lowering the hood of her cape and revealing the delicate curls framing her face.

“I was expecting to find Eloise,” she stopped at what could be considered a respectable distance - never mind the fact it was night and it was just the two of them in the Bridgerton garden. “She told me to meet her here, but it seems like she’s forgotten.”

“Even on the occasion she’s to write about you, Miss Honeyfield?” she tilted her head looking at him, stepping forward with a curious gaze in her eyes. It was not often he used her family name - and somehow, he managed to never make it sound serious.

“Are you still keen on finding out who this mysterious Lady Whistledown is?” he grinned, and the young woman scoffed.

“That’s all Eloise, I have no interest in Whistledown nor her gossip.”

“Do you know something I do not - or, Heaven forbid, your sister is unaware of, Lord Bridgerton?” he grinned at the title, a mockery started a few years back when he’d protested she should call him by name - Anthony is Lord Bridgerton, in any case. Glancing back towards the house, crossed the small distance that separated her from the empty swing, effectively sitting down at his side.

“Eloise tells me you have as many suitors as the Diamond of this season,” she turned just slightly in his direction, eyes barely open. “And that each of them is dreadful - but that might just be Eloise,” she chuckled lightly, shaking her head for a moment. She parted her lips with a sharp inhale, eyes wandering to him, then away. “Do not worry, your secrets are safe with me,” he reassured her, and her expression softened.

“It seems she’s aware of everything that’s going on in our society, is she not?” he strained the rope a little as he leaned in her direction, the smile not leaving his face as he lowered his voice in a mock whisper. “Perhaps she’s observing us right at this moment, preparing to make of us her next scandal,” she tried and fail to keep her laughter in check, pressing the back of her gloved hand to her lips - when she laughed, her eyes almost disappeared fully, the brightness of her amusement colouring her face.

“Wouldn’t that be interesting,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Perhaps a scandal is what I need indeed - it’d certainly grant me some respite,” she added, tipping her head back.

“I know,” she hummed, then sighed. Having been friends with Eloise since childhood, Eleanor had grown to know each of the Bridgerton family closely - Benedict perhaps a little more than the others, given the strength of his bond with Eloise. It wasn’t unusual for them to let formalities slip away when in the comfort of a familiar space - at times even during official events, but that had never caused any stir, because until then there had been no Lady Whistledown. No risk to compromise their family’s names.

“What’s bothering you?” he rocked towards her, almost as if to touch her hand but didn’t dare to, the rope creaking with the movement.

“Just… suitors,” she groaned, and Benedict gave another quiet chuckle. “Sometimes I wish my parents were actually after something rather than simply having me married, so they’d make the decision for me without this daily parading of men.”

“It is difficult to picture myself falling for a man when I know the main reason he’s in the room with me is my dowry,” she admitted. “My knowledge of love might be tainted by one too many poems, but isn’t it supposed to simply happen? Shouldn’t he, whoever he might be, expect something more than to be bought, just because he presented me with - what, an expensive ring?” she frowned, then turned towards him, as if suddenly remembering he was there and listening. “My apologies, I should not be talking to you about this,” she whispered, torn between lowering her eyes and holding his gaze.

“You do not wish to marry for love?” he asked, a little perplexed. Unlike Eloise, she’d never bashed marriage, nor love. More often than not, she’d introduced Benedict to art, poetry and literature that showed the subject in the most delightful manner.

Eleanor scoffed, leaning her cheek against the rope and swinging herself gently.

“I believe any man that dares to call himself one considers himself to be extremely lucky just by being in your presence, Eleanor, without any regard to money,” he kept his voice low and even, a gentle smile curving his mouth upwards.

How she hoped the darkness brought enough covers to her blushing cheeks, and the wind hid the hiccuping breath stuck in her throat in response to his words. Benedict Bridgerton was a known flatterer, sometimes as nothing more than a joke, other times as a display of genuine affection. Truly, it wasn’t the first time she’d been paid a compliment by him - and yet the odd intimacy of the night, of sitting side by side without anyone else around, carried a heaviness with his words.

Still, she smiled - a sincere smile, forgetting the lady-like, composed one she’d been taught since she was young - and rose from the swing.

“It is getting late, I better take my leave,” she smoothed her hands over her skirt and turned to face him one last time. “Do tell Eloise I shall remember her forgetfulness in the future,” she added, mocking offence, and Benedict laughed.

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“I will deliver your message, Miss,” he bowed his head, a fake seriousness settling on his face, almost immediately broken by his bashful smile as she nodded.

“Goodnight, Benedict,” her voice was a mere whisper as she turned her back on him, and swiftly vanished into the night.

Eleanor Honeyfield dreaded each gathering a little more than the previous one - most of all, balls. It was one thing to dance when one truly desired to, she thought, another to be passed from hand to hand of this and that man, spending the time in plain conversation and constantly seeking a friendly face amidst the crowd.

Being an only child meant she could not afford to hide in the shadows, unlike Eloise and Penelope, who somehow always found a way to escape the clutches of society’s expectations when needed. Instead, she stood and smiled and danced as required, and pretended to listen when this Lord or his mama paraded grand virtues she knew to be fake.

“Apologies, my lord,” Benedict pushed fully between them, gently guiding her away from Lord Ambrose. “I was promised the next dance!” he exclaimed, his hand coming to rest against her waist as he lead her away, leaning his head towards hers. “Trust me, you do not want to be anywhere near Lord Ambrose, nor his debts,” he whispered, breath hitting the exposed skin of her neck.

“Miss Honeyfield,” Lord Ambrose bowed, though she was not sure she’d even seen him approach her. “You look dashing this evening.”

“Thank you, Lord Ambrose,” she was taught to keep her voice even and pleasant. She was taught to smile politely, and bat her eyelashes.

“May I -” he started after clearing his throat, offering her his hand. Before she could muster r a reply, her vision was obstructed by a large set of shoulders, and a hand that grabbed her own.

“I’d almost start to believe it is your intention to sabotage me, Benedict Bridgerton,” she scoffed in the same low tone, turning to face him.

“I’d rather see you with my brother than any one of the men that approached you tonight,” he retorted, bowing as the music started. She arched her eyebrows, curtsying.

“Which brother?” at the question, Benedict grinned.

“Anthony,” she couldn’t help the laugh blooming in her chest, the sound overwhelmed by the music for all but him. “You said you want someone who isn’t expecting to be bought - Ambrose is exactly the type of man to steer away from.”

“I suppose I should thank you then,” he’d observed her long enough that night to know the smile painted on her lips was nothing more than a formality - and it pained him.

“You paid attention,” she hummed, stepping closer once more, eyes never wavering from his face. His hand rested on the small of her back, applying a little more pressure than needed, so much so she felt the warmth of his skin through the layers of clothing.

“Of course I did,” their steps faltered with the admission, and for an instant they both looked away. Benedict cleared his throat, easing his hold on her. “I’m merely looking out for you.”

It was easier to be with her when she wasn’t constricted by her role - when she could be herself without worrying she’d be judged by mothers or men or a gossip trying to find her next big news.

“You should find someone worthy of you, Nelly,” her eyes widened slightly at the nickname, glancing at their sides. Spinning her so her back brushed his chest, one hand on her side and the other holding hers with her arm extended, he leaned in again, pointing his gaze on Lord Ambrose. With a scoff, the man turned and walked away, abandoning whatever pursuit of her he still held by a fine thread.

“And who might that be?” she wondered, turning her head before she had to face him again, the song drawing to a conclusion. Benedict parted his lips, but before he could muster an answer, she pulled back to clap - she managed two movements before Eloise dawned on her, grabbing her arm and pulling her away, ignoring her soft protests.

“What was all that about?” he hadn’t heard Anthony arrive at his side, and turned towards his playful smirk.

“What do you mean?” he frowned at his brother, who handed him a glass.

“Eleanor - or, shall I say, Nelly?” Benedict scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning towards the room once more. “You’re playing a dangerous game, brother. And it won’t be you paying the price.”

“I’m not playing any game,” he defended himself, hold tightening around the glass. “I’m making sure she finds a proper match - Lord Ambrose is far from being such a thing.”

“On that we agree,” Anthony rested his hand on Benedict’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “But Miss Honeyfield is perfectly capable of holding her own ground and fending for herself - it won’t do her any good if you scare off all her suitors.”

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“I didn’t -” the protest rose in his throat and he turned to look at his brother. “Did I?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Whistledown wrote of your little act in her next issue,” he patted his back. “Perhaps some mama will believe you finally decided it is time to settle down.”

Eloise Bridgerton was perfectly aware of the role her friend Eleanor needed to fulfil - over the years, she’d seen her transform from the beloved child of her parents to the only child of a couple of aristocrats. They’d known each other since she could remember - just a few years older than her, Eleanor had always preferred Eloise’s company to the one of her older sister, Daphne, and the two had been inseparable ever since the first day. Growing together, in spite of the difference in character, they’d always found a common ground between Eloise’s stubbornness and Eleanor’s sense of duty.

Eloise liked to offer her days where she could just be herself, without thinking about her role as the heir to Honeyfield’s fortune. And Eleanor had always liked picnics - basking in the sun, reading to the younger Bridgertons aloud. She’d always been easy to be around, a part of the family in a way shy Penelope could not be.

Following their gazes, she noticed Eleanor and Benedict together by the food supplies. With his sleeves rolled up, Benedict held his stained hands up, looking ruefully at the fresh fruits and pastries exposed.

“What are you all looking at?” Eloise asked, gazing at her family and Lady Danbury. “Seriously, what’s going on? What did I miss?”

“Hush, child,” the dowager chastised her, though she was not looking at her directly.

“Here,” she said, picking one up and holding it to his mouth. With a little grin, he bit down on the berry, bowing his head down with his gaze cast on her face. “You can be worse than a toddler at times, Benedict Bridgerton,” she murmured, her eyes lowered to his mouth. He barely shifted back before she reached for his face, running her thumb over his skin quickly, collecting the dew that trickled down his chin. “And I’d very much like to see these sketches.”

“Will I ever be allowed to see the works that reduce you in these conditions?” Eleanor chuckled, removing one of her gloves as she glanced at Benedict’s hands, spotted with charcoal and paint.

“It’s just sketches,” he retorted, his eyes fixed on the bowl of strawberries with longing. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes and reached for it.

Unbeknownst to them, questions started to rise across the family. An exasperated dowager wondered how young people kept being so oblivious in regard to their feelings.

“You’ll be the first one to view them, I just -” he shook his head, and the young woman tilted her head, looking up to attempt and meet his gaze.

“Whenever you feel like they’re ready,” she reassured him, a tender smile blossoming on her lips as she picked up another strawberry, offering it to him. “As long as you don’t let it consume you.”

Mostly, questions started to rise within Eloise, who all but scrambled to her feet as soon as her brother left her friend’s side.

“What was that?” she asked in something akin to a hiss, standing right behind Eleanor.

“What do you mean?” her friend frowned, slightly turning her head. “My God, Eloise, have you forgotten the existence of personal space?” she protested, stepping aside.

“What happened with my brother?” Eloise asked, ignoring her. “First you’re dancing with him, now you’re feeding him strawberries - Lady Whistledown would have a field day if she saw the two of you!” Eleanor groaned and rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the food.

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned with what Lady Whistledown would say - and even if she were to say something about Benedict and me, it would mean nothing,” she picked up a pastry. “It’s Benedict - here, have one of these,” scowling, Eloise bit down on her offering - right away, Eleanor grinned. “See? I’m feeding you, too. Will Lady Whistledown have something to say about that, too?”

Somehow, something felt amiss.

“So my brother is not courting you?” she asked, voice muffled by her mouthful.

“Jesus, Eloise,” Eleanor sighed, closing her eyes - a delicate rosy flush tinted her cheeks, the result of sitting in the sun uncovered, and perhaps something more. “It’s just Benedict.”

 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Or when her brother dragged her out of the sitting room in something not dissimilar to a frenzy, dishevelled appearance - he’d looked distressed ever since coming back from his classes in the evening, barely able to stand still as he asked his sister to go with him for a moment.

Eloise Bridgerton trusted her intuition a little bit too much for her own good.

Still, at times it turned out to be helpful - like while trying to figure out who Lady Whistledown was.

“Telling me to not freak out is exactly why I’m starting to worry about you, Benedict,” she glanced past her shoulder before they entered her brother’s room. “Do we need a doctor?” she questioned as he let go of her and closed the door behind them. The floor was littered with canvases, the room an overall mess. “Brother -”

“Will you tell me what is going on at once?” she protested, the hold he had on her wrist inescapable. “Brother, did you drink Colin’s tea again? Is that it?”

“I wish,” he mumbled, and Eloise figured he was talking to himself. “I need to show you something, and I need you to be truthful, and not freak out.”

“What do you see?” he questioned, picking up a canvas and holding it up to her. There was an almost worried look in his eyes, and it took her a moment to focus on the picture. Eloise had never taken particular interest in art - she enjoyed words, holding a book up to her eyes and getting lost in the world created within its pages.

Yet, looking at the painting Benedict was presenting to her - and she had no doubt it was his own - she understood his desire to create, and her friend’s appreciation for it a little more. Though the pose recalled an old sculpture of a Goddess-like figure, the shape of the nose, of the lips, of the arch of her brow, was all too familiar.

“My - is that Nelly?” Eloise asked, astonished, taking the painting from her brother’s hands. Without responding - except for a choked, strained noise constricted in his throat - he stepped back and picked up another canvas. Again the pose was a little off, too articulate to be truthful, but the curve of her neck, the smile on her face - “I don’t understand, does she need a portrait? Her mother did compliment a painting of yours a while back, but this seems -”

“Eloise,” he interrupted her, urgently, and stepped aside, gesturing towards the canvases laid out. “Every single one of these.”

“What?”

“I was in class, I was just finishing up my latest work - usually it’s just two, three of us in the room when it’s so late, when Charles,” she tried to not make a point of the fact she had no idea who Charles was, “asked me about my wife.”

“Your wife?” Eloise felt the sudden urge to sit down, the canvas still secured in her grasp.

“That’s what I said!” he exclaimed, and a clear picture - clearer than those reproduced with lines and paint - started to appear in her mind. “He then pointed at my canvas, and said he’s seen her face dozens of times in my pictures. Works. Art,” he frowned as he stumbled on the words, uncertain. “He said he’s never seen someone reproduce a face so often unless they’re in love.”

Eloise’s eyes widened as she glanced back down at the canvas - sure enough, Eleanor looked back at her, the instant right before she laughed immortalised with charcoal.

“You, in love?” she scoffed, disbelief settling in her question. “With her? Nelly?” when Benedict did not respond, she looked up, frowning, lips parted as the amused grin slowly vanished. “Brother? You’re in love with Nelly? Oh, my God, you’re in love with her.”

“Stop saying that!” he exclaimed with a frustrated groan.

“You’re the one who showed me the paintings!” she protested, matching his tone.

“Because I don’t know what to do,” he let himself fall over the armchair closest to the window. “I’d ask Anthony for advice in any other case, but he’s got enough on his plate already and you - she’s - the suitors -”

“Truth be told, she can’t stand any of the suitors,” Eloise muttered, and he sighed.

“I know that,” his sister arched an eyebrow with curiosity.

“Is this why you tried to scare them away? Or were you acting on your unconscious jealousy?”

“I didn’t -” the protest died on his lips, and he closed his eyes with a slow exhale. “I don’t know. Perhaps? I didn’t mean to, I believe.”

“Alright, slow down, I’m not about to have this conversation with you,” the young woman exclaimed, shaking her head. Benedict looked up at her, a pleading gaze in his eyes that had Eloise sigh again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If I were to talk about my friend’s desire to marry, I’d mention how she never talked about being swooned, nor wooed, but to be respected. To be understood, and seen,” she gestured towards the graveyard of canvases and, ever so slowly, he knitted his eyebrows.

“Oh, brother,” Eloise chuckled, getting up from the corner of Benedict’s bed. She reached his side and leaned against the armrest, her hand coming down on his shoulder. He groaned, covering his face with both his hands.

“Don’t you dare pity me, I cannot take it - not from you, Eloise,” his sister stifled a laugh, rubbing his arm. “I cannot do this to her, can I? You’re her friend, you should know, doesn’t she wish to marry for -”

“Sister, are you truly endorsing this?” he wondered, astonished. “We are talking about your best friend, are we not?”

“Yes, we are, so do not test me,” she grumbled, standing up. “Do you wish to marry, Benedict?”

“Good God, this conversation is awful,” he all but cried, hiding his face in his palms again.

“Might I remind you it is you who dragged me in here to show me this - whatever this is?” again she gestured towards Benedict’s work with exaggerated motions. “So? Do you?” she inquired again, crossing her arms.

“I cannot tell whether I should interpret this as a veiled threat,” he mumbled, and his sister gave him a sly grin. “Why, would I have your blessing to court your friend, should that be the case?”

Eloise grimaced, a shiver running up her spine that she theatrically displayed.

“I suppose you’re not half as bad and, though you do not need anybody’s blessing but hers, I might be glad it should be you,” stunned by the admission, Benedict stared at his sister. “Just take the compliment, will you?” she sighed at his expression. “I do believe she could find it easier to return the affections of someone she’s grown to know for a long time, rather than someone she just met,” she muttered then, thoughtful.

“What do you mean?” he frowned, and Eloise parted her lips, as if suddenly realising she’d spoken out of place. “Eloise -”

“She does not wish to spend another season meeting suitors,” she blurted out underneath the suddenly alarmed gaze of her brother. “Pen asked her about it last time we were together, and she let on that she might be accepting a proposal before the season is over. I tried arguing that -”

“Whose?” Benedict interrupted her and truly, how had it taken him so long to recognise the nature of his feelings for her when they stirred so strongly within him?

“Wow, you truly are smitten,” she mumbled, and he choked back an offended noise. “She did not say - I believe she does not know. Perhaps you could ask her yourself once she arrives at Aubrey Hall.”

“Now, Eloise, this was more of a compliment. I thank you.”

“I’m still trying to wrap around the fact you’re not teasing the absolute soul out of me, there’s no need for you to encourage me, sister,” he muttered, watching as Eloise shrugged.

“You look miserable enough as it is - consider it an act of kindness on my part,” she gave him another amused grin. “And I am not encouraging you, I’m merely looking out for my friend.”

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During that last visit, she’d barely had the time to visit the gardens, or the libraries, or spend time with her hosts and friends. Truthfully, she believed Eloise had been trying to avoid her - she wondered, however briefly, if it had anything to do with her decision to settle. Her friend had argued when she’d mentioned her intentions, as Eloise seldom did, but let the subject drop at last. Still, she wouldn’t put it past her to mull over the subject.

Eleanor Honeyfield was utterly enamoured with Aubrey Hall.

She had been ever since the first time she’d been invited there - but she’d been able to enjoy things more when she was young.

The storming night only was able to soothe her thoughts - or perhaps it was the solitude, making her realise that of course her friend was not avoiding her, she’d just been hopping from this family and that other, and at last the darkness had given her respite. It took her all her might to not rattle on Eloise’s door, rather finding shelter in one of the all too familiar libraries. She stood in front of a window with a shawl wrapped around her figure tightly as the thunderstorm raged outside, comforting her as that weather always had.

It took her a moment to realise the door had been opened - perhaps if not for the small cough, she wouldn’t have heard the other person at all, too lost in her own thoughts. She turned with wide eyes and met the gentle smile of Benedict, his hands raised in surrender.

“Just me,” he reassured, calmly.

“Benedict, you startled me,” she sighed, laying a hand over her chest. “What are you doing here?” he stepped forward and, with one glance towards the corridor, he closed the door behind his shoulders. He checked her expression, but she did not seem to be bothered by their being alone so late in the night, nor about their respective appearance - his unbuttoned shirt, her untied hair and flimsy material of her nightdress.

“In my family home, you mean?” she scoffed, shaking her head as she returned her gaze to the window in response to a lightning illuminating the sky. “I could ask the same of you, but I seem to recall you do not have a predisposition to sleep during a storm,” Eleanor chuckled, shifting her weight as she turned to him again.

“There you have your answer, while I still do not have mine,” she commented before tilting her head. “I cannot believe you still remember that, it has been years.”

“It is not teasing,” he defended himself right away, and she blinked up at him with a certain perplexity in her eyes. “Look outside,” he instructed then, clearing his throat. With a small frown still knitting her brow, she obliged, eyes following the movement of her head just a moment later. Benedict stood behind her and carefully placed his hands on her shoulders - he felt her shuddering inhale as he moved right in the middle of the window.

“Ships in a Stormy Sea off a Coast, by Backhuysen, if I recall correctly,” he murmured, stepping closer to her. She smiled, nodding lightly. “You wondered why thunderstorms are always depicted as catastrophes when they fascinate you so.”

“Careful, Lord Bridgerton,” she hummed, fixing the shawl on her shoulders. “I might start to believe I’m particularly worthy of notice if you keep up with your teasing.”

His chest ached - he’d expected the whole day to spend some time with her, and now that they finally stood in the same room with no one else around he couldn’t pluck a single sentence from his reeling mind. He was also particularly aware of what it might look like, should anyone find them there and then.

“Almost like a painting,” she murmured, her gaze towards the yard - despite the thick rain, the large tree they’d spent hours beneath across the years was still visible, and almost on cue lightning lit up the world in a purple-ish hue. He smiled, lowering his gaze towards her. “Ah, I see, Mr artiste. A little nightly inspiration?”

“Something like that,” he humoured, hands lingering on her shoulders a moment longer.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she cleared her throat suddenly, turning to face him. The undone curls framed her face, and she seemed to realise their closeness all at once, breath catching in her throat. Her gaze darted from his face to his throat, the exposed area of his chest and then back up to his eyes. “Good night, Benedict.”

“Will you pose for me?” he blurted out - it was not what he meant to ask, but he hadn’t been able to help himself, reaching for the sketchbook and charcoal hidden in the pockets of his trousers. “I won’t be able to go back to sleep now, and I know you’ll remain awake until the storm dies down,” she scoffed, amusement twisting her flushed face.

“Wait,” he called, a little too urgently. “May I ask you something?” she lingered, unsure, eyeing the door for a split second. “I’ll understand should you wish to run from me, still - may I?”

“Well, now I’m surely intrigued,” she chuckled, reaching up to tighten yet again the shawl around her neck. “If not a little worried,” she added, tilting her head to one side.

“You better show me this one,” she warned, a little breathlessly. “And make it comfortable,” she added in mock threat and, grinning, Benedict nodded.

“I believe there are models for that - not anyone can do it,” she responded in a murmur, a delicate smile making its way across her lips. His hand twitched at his side as he felt the sudden urge to run his thumb over her mouth, and cheeks, and jaw.

“If that’s your only argument, you ought not to worry,” he whispered, settling for a gentle brush of his knuckles across her forearm. “I’ve worked with rather awful models, I believe you couldn’t possibly be worse than them,” he added with an amused chuckle. “Please, Nelly?”

Benedict reached up, easing her towards the backrest of the chair. With a butterfly touch, he fixed the shawl over her shoulders and chest, eyes following the shape of her as he shifted back, sitting on his heels as he took gingerly hold of one of her legs, warm hands resting against her calf as he fixed her pose. Eleanor’s breath hitched in her throat, eyes fluttering shut for a moment - just until she felt the loss of his touch.

He escorted her to the chair by the window, his hands barely touching her shoulders. Eleanor allowed him to guide her, following his movements as he kneeled at her side, lifting his hands before halting mid-way.

“May I?” he checked in, and she nodded with a quiet hum, lost within the rumble of thunder.

“Benedict,” she called him gently, bumping his side with her knee before regaining the position he’d shaped her in. “Allow me to believe, for tonight only, that I do not have a role to fulfil,” she tilted her head, and the flashing thought of how the picture had improved with her gesture ran through his mind. “That I might be a little bit more like you, and attend these events and classes you seem to enjoy so much.”

“Tell me something,” she managed to maintain her voice steady, gaze cast down towards him as he moved again, facing her. “Are all artists always this forthcoming? Or am I to have a special treatment?”

“Worse,” he chuckled, his hands on the armrests at her sides, head tilted. “You ought to consider yourself lucky it’s just me, many others wouldn’t have my same restraint when looking at you,” he said with a smile, but as her neck flushed red he suddenly realised his overstep, moving his hand away from her vicinity. “My apologies, I didn’t mean -”

“Still, I shouldn’t have -”

“I trust you,” she whispered in a trembling voice, reaching up towards his face. Her soft fingers followed the line of his jaw, reaching his chin before trailing down his throat - Benedict was unsure where his self-restraint came from. He felt torn between the urge to take her in his arms right there and then and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her until the storm disappeared, and so did the entire house, the entire room, until they were the only ones still existing, and the knowledge that he couldn’t possibly ruin her.

So he cleared his throat, and she pulled her hand back as he reached up to her face.

“Relax back,” he instructed and, if a little flustered, she obliged. “You could come - to the events, and evenings, I mean,” he angled her head just slightly, allowing himself one single indulgence by ghosting his thumb across her bottom lip as she smiled mildly at his words. “Stand as still as you can.”

“I highly doubt I’d secure my future should I roam your circles unwedded,” she chuckled, following his movements just with her eyes as he sat on the chair across from her.

“There are couples, too,” he admitted, absent-mindedly, picking up the sketchbook and charcoal - she watched with a certain rapture as he started tracing the first gentle lines of her figure, brow knitting in concentration. “More than you’d expect, truth be told.”

“Not really,” he admitted with a quiet chuckle. “She said she just wishes to look out for you,” a half-truth that had the smile on her lips grow a little. “Would you really settle to marry someone you do not love out of duty only?” he wondered then, eliciting a sigh from her.

“And where am I to find a husband open to these liberties?” she questioned, still amused. Benedict froze for a moment, glancing at her with his lips parted. “Benedict, you should know -”

“Stand still,” he said, gently but quickly, cutting her off before resuming his work. “I do - Eloise mentioned.”

“Of course she did,” she scoffed, lowering her gaze. “I believe she’s quite displeased with my decision, is she not?” she inhaled as another thunder sounded outside, a small smile playing across her lips.

“Benedict,” she chastised, turning her head to look at him directly. He stopped the motions of his hands, glancing up at her. The thread of his self-control was thinning with each of her looks, and he started to believe it best if he got up and left her to her own devices.

“What other option do I have?” she mumbled, shifting a little on her seat. “How long before they start believing there’s a problem with me? I cannot afford to -”

“That does not mean you deserve anything less than utter adoration,” he muttered, and watched as her chest heaved, a sharp inhale in response to his words. “And whoever thought there was something wrong with you would be a nitwit.”

For a few moments, they simply looked at each other - what would happen, he wondered, if he were to stand and walk up to her, if he were to settle in between her legs and bury his hands in her hair, would she allow him? Would she let him? Would she stay?  So he lowered the sketchbook onto his lap and sighed.

“I did not believe you to be capable of finding your own limits, Bridgerton,” she murmured, slowly getting up from her chair. The shawl remained behind in her seat as she reached his side. Instead of looking at him, she turned to glance down at the sketchbook - he reached for it quickly, attempting to cover the half-hazarded lines with his hand, but she stopped him, her fingers wrapping around his wrist, bright eyes not leaving the page. “I think I should like to see what you can do with more time,” her voice remained steady.

“I should take my leave, I believe I exaggerated this once,” he admitted, quietly.

In spite of everything, Eleanor gave a quiet laugh, lowering her gaze.

She bowed a little, closer to the page, and her hair fell past her shoulders, brushing the back of his free hand - with her gaze focused on the lines of his drawing, she did not notice him lean in, eyes fluttering shut as her scent enveloped him. He lifted one finger, brushing the silky lock that tickled his skin before she straightened again, moving out of his touch, letting go of him.

“Alright,” he muttered, unable to move, to form a coherent sentence.

“Nelly, I’m -” he paused, voice catching in his throat.

“The rain has stopped,” she announced, though she wasn’t looking at the window at all. A moment longer went by, then she sighed, stepping backwards. “I shall go to sleep.”

She said nothing else, stalking out of the room with quiet steps - Benedict stayed looking at the shawl crumpled on the seat of the armchair, cursing himself until the sun rose.

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Benedict Bridgerton had been avoiding his sister for the whole day.

Eloise had been pestering him since she’d found him asleep in the library, the shawl wrapped around his hand, held close to his face, and recognised it right away as Eleanor’s.

So he did his best to not cross her path again - it should’ve been easy with the number of people present at Aubrey Hall, but every now and then he’d turn around and see her charge toward him.

This once, he stepped behind the large tree he’d had as view for the night and early morning, leaning his back against the trunk and holding his breath. When, after a long moment, he realised Eloise had not found him - else she would already have been yelling his name - he sighed with relief.

“Who are you running away from?” Eleanor’s voice made him turn around quickly, eyes widening. She grinned, pressing herself against the tree, too. She looked so utterly different from the woman in the library form that night - her hair was tied up, leaving her neck uncovered, and her dress had a lilac hue, a faint imitation of the lighting from the storm that had come and gone, nothing like the white, flimsy nightgown he’d tried to cast out of his mind.

“Eloise,” he admitted, turning towards her. She looked up at him, still smiling. “What about you?” that made her expression falter a bit - the amusement did not vanish, but a light grimace made its way across her face.

“Byron,” she groaned, and he chuckled lightly. “If someone else starts belting out She walks in beauty as soon as poetry is mentioned, I shall learn how to pretend to faint,” she scoffed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. Benedict’s eyes fell to her throat, and he crossed his arms.

“You taught me that poem, shall I be offended?” slowly, he leaned in. With a low laugh, she turned her head and looked up at him - he knew the image of her that previous night would not leave him, yet he couldn’t help but run his gaze over her sun-lit face.

“And has it ever worked?” she teased, and her smile returned - bright, bashful.

“It did,” he admitted, stepping closer. “When you first read it to me, it did,” Eleanor laughed, shaking her head.

“Meet me in the library in, say, 20 minutes?” he reached for his pocket watch, unhooking it from its chain and placing it into her palm. “And, please, steer clear of Eloise,” he pleaded and, without giving her time to argue, dashed away.

“Are you so easily wooed, Lord Bridgerton?” her eyes flickered across his face as she turned fully to face him, chin tipped upwards.

“Only by you, Miss Honeyfield,” it was ironic, Benedict thought, how the daylight gave him more courage than the night ever had. He felt bolder out there, more ready - perhaps more honest, too. She looked at him, her cheeks tinted in a brighter shade of pink, and took a steadying breath. “May I show you something?”

“Certainly,” she nodded, brows knitted just slightly at the shift of his tone.

“Bridgerton?” Eleanor’s whisper came from behind the door - she didn’t knock, rather poked her head inside, carefully. “Benedict, are you here?” she glanced around the room quickly and, at last, her gaze settled on the desk, a canvas laid out on its surface.

Carefully, clutching Benedict’s watch in her hand, she tiptoed inside, and walked up to the painting. Her eyebrows knitted close as she took in the shape of the depicted figure’s face, the arch of her nose and tilt of her mouth, the look in her eyes. It was her, and somehow it wasn’t - that woman was tranquil. She was at ease, relaxed, something she could allow herself to be rarely. Something few people had seen, let alone recognise in her eyes only.

“You’re here,” Benedict startled her for the second time in a few hours, in the same room as well. He was holding his sketchbook and, with one glance past his shoulder, much like the previous night, he closed the door behind him.

“What’s this?” she frowned, picking it up lightly. When he did not reply right away, she flipped it open to the first page - and there she was. Despite the rough lines, she could tell it was one of the picnics the Bridgertons had invited her to, and she had been reading to Gregory and Hyacinth; there was a tainia wrapped around her hair, in imitation of Ancient Greek hairstyles.

“You made this,” she declared, gesturing towards the painting and glancing down at it once more. Benedict could not decipher the tone in her voice, and stepped toward her.

“I did,” he cleared his throat, then moved the sketchbook in front of her. “Here.”

“That is my heart,” he said, slowly, as she turned the page - and she was there again, sitting next to what she believed to be Eloise, though the second figure was practically non-existent. Her head was bent towards her, a light smile tugging on her lips, and her eyes were almost closed as she relaxed at her friend’s side.

She turned the page once more, and again, and between a tree and Anthony’s profile, a statue and grinning Hyacinth, she was there, over and over again, instants captured right until the previous night. He’d gone over the drawing, fixing what she’d already deemed to be perfectly executed, and she almost felt her heart burst upon seeing how he viewed her. How he saw her.

“You are worthy of notice, Eleanor,” he stepped closer to her, hand coming to rest on her shoulder - he brushed his thumb across the back of her exposed neck, and she drew a quick breath in, eyes fluttering shut. “You deserve more than to simply settle for someone - you deserve to be understood. You deserve the love that is talked about in poems,” he moved his hand up to the back of her head, resisting the urge to bury his fingers in her hair, silk beneath his palm. “I am no poet, but I can offer you my art, my world. And my love.”

Eleanor stilled, eyes opening as she registered his words. Then, she stepped back, reaching toward the desk to steady herself.

“We’ve known each other for years,” she pointed out, soft, almost fearful.

“Do not condescend me, Benedict,” she clutched the sketchbook tightly, hands trembling. “I was not seeking anything from you with what I told you last night, I do not need rescuing.”

“I know,” slowly, he reached for the book. She held onto it a little longer before he pried it from her grasp - then stepped right in front of her. “I am not trying to play knight. If anything, I’m the one in need of rescuing,” his eyes darted to the painting, then again to her face. He moved carefully, his touch across the line of her jaw so gentle it made her breath shudder. “There’s a gallery of you hidden in my room. You’ve consumed my art - you’ve consumed me.”

Almost like she did not dare to hope.

“And I admired you for each of them,” he admitted, gently, eyes following the trail of his ring finger as it traced the shell of her ear, playing for an instant with her earring before continuing down towards her neck, her pulse. “I do not know when, I cannot pinpoint the moment I fell utterly in love with you - it simply happened, my every waking moment spent with thoughts of you,” as he reached her collarbones, she inhaled sharply, rocking forward.

“Then why did you not say anything last night?” she whispered, voice cracking. “When I gave you every chance to - why did you not -” a flush rose from her chest to her neck, the loveliest shade of pink painting her skin, the images of him on his knees at her side, the feeling of his hands on her, of his eyes following the shape of her body cluttering her mind.

Despite his hand still tracing lazy figures across her skin, he’d kept enough distance from her to make it seem respectable. To allow her space should she want to step away. Instead, she closed the gap, looking up at him with eyes so sweet it melted his heart.

“I couldn’t. How could I?” he met her eyes, wide and soft, offering her a quick smile. “If I allowed my desires to move me, my feelings to roam free, I would not have stopped. I would not have stopped until I knew how every part of you felt,” the revelation had her heart quicken under his touch. “Say something,” he pleaded at her silence.

“I fear speech fails me,” her voice was still unsteady. “I spent most of my life feeding on words, but now that I need them the most, they elude me and I cannot - I do not -” she sighed, the sound somewhere between frustration and resignation.

Her ungloved hands, that until that moment had been resting at her sides playing an invisible instrument, rose to his face, and she skimmed her knuckles up across his cheeks before cupping his jaw, warm palms cradling his face - the whole world could melt away as he lost himself in the feeling of her touch, of her breath kissing his lips before she kissed him with such devotion he believed he’d never experienced tenderness before.

He did not allow her respite - as she started to draw back, his arms locked around her with an urgency that brought a surprised cry to her throat. Yet she did not fight him, she did not push him away, melting in his embrace as her hands moved through his hair and he deepened the kiss, effectively stealing the air from both their lungs.

And then, she started laughing. He felt it ripple through her chest, up her throat, until the crystalline, familiar sound filled his senses. He pried himself away from her, looking down on her with a puzzled expression as her laughter grew, eyes crinkling as she leaned most of her weight against him.

“Ben,” she called his name in a breathy murmur, a relieved exhale that left her mouth as soon as they parted, invoking him to lock the moment on her lips.

“My dearest,” he kissed her cheek, “most beloved,” her neck, “Eleanor,” her shoulder. “How I wish I hadn’t been so blind for so long.”

“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, gasping, her shoulders shaking. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, leaning in and kissing him again, kissing him breathless. “It is not you I’m laughing at, my love,” she hummed, and Benedict could’ve sworn the room had started spinning as soon as the endearment left her swollen lips. “There is just a certain irony in this.”

“How so?” nudging the tip of her nose with his, he wrapped his finger around the ribbon at the back of her dress, resisting the urge to undo it. Eleanor cleared her throat and tipped her chin up, a smile brighter than he could ever imagine on her blushing face.

“Hyacinth told me about the paintings, Ben,” a frown knit his brow, and she quickly reached up to smooth it down. “She thought us to be engaged, what with those and your mother’s teasing.”

“My mother spends too much time with Lady Danbury, I believe,” he grumbled, and she chuckled lightly.

“She just hopes to see you happy - all of you,” with one last caress against his cheek, she dropped her hands to her sides - he still did not let go of her, one hand firmly on her side, the other still toying with the ribbon absent-mindedly.

“I know,” he mumbled with a nod, then met her eyes. “I have found my happiness - in you. And whatever you might want in the future, I wish to be the one to give it to you.”

“You,” she rested one hand on his chest, right above his heart. “It is you that I want, Benedict, just as you are. Just as I’ve always known you,” her gentle voice lured him closer, head bent to brush his lips on hers as she whispered, “my Ben, my love.”

Before he could close the gap once more, the door flew open and, in the split second it took them to detangle themselves, a groan rose from the threshold.

“Oh, spare me,” Eloise called, screwing her eyes shut. “Brother, have some sense!”

“Wait, what money?” he called after her, stepping towards the door as his sister all but ran away. “Eloise, what money? Did you bet with Anthony - ah, Hell,” Eleanor couldn’t help herself any longer, letting out the laugh she’d been fighting against. “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Miss Honeyfield,” he scoffed, turning towards her. She gave him a defiant, bright-eyed look, the smile never diminishing. “This is the family you’re marrying into, are you aware of that?”

“Why are you blaming me?” Benedict protested, and glanced towards Eleanor - she was covering her mouth, trying her best to hide her growing amused smile.

“Because I like her more than I do you,” she retorted, looking in Eleanor’s direction. Her eyes fell on the desk, the canvas and sketchbook, and a grin split her face. “Ah! I told Anthony you would do it, he owes me money!” she clapped, and turned on her heels as Benedict’s face fell.

“Perfectly aware, Lord Bridgerton,” she retorted, taking one step in his direction with her head slightly tilted. “Though I do not seem to recall a proposal actually leaving your mouth, am I mistaken?”

“My apologies,” he placed a hand above his heart and bowed mockingly before heading back to the desk. After flipping open the sketchbook, he reached an empty page and ripped out a long strip along the corner. Eleanor observed him, an amused glint in her eyes as he folded and twisted the paper until it was shaped in something reminiscent of a circlet. Clearing his throat, he stood in front of her and then, ever so slowly, got down on one knee while holding her gaze. “Miss Eleanor Honeyfield, will you marry me?”

“In paper rings,” she chuckled. Benedict slipped the ring on her finger and, before she could move back, pulled her closer, his lips brushing her knuckles, the back of her hand. He turned it slowly, and pressed a kiss on her palm, her wrist. “Benedict -”

“I’m not going to stop until I hear you say yes,” he hummed, kissing her forearm.

“Then I might never say it,” she said breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as he reached the inner part of her elbow. He rose to kiss her upper arm, right under the hem of her sleeve.

“My family will be waiting. So will yours.”

“Say you’ll marry me,” his voice was low, warm against the skin of her shoulder. “Say it,” when his teeth grazed her neck, she gasped softly, reaching out to hold onto him.

“Yes,” she tilted her head with a choked cry. Grinning, he repeated the motion, nibbling underneath her ear. “Ben,” she called, squeezing his arm - he hummed in response, not moving from his position nestled in the crook of her neck. “I’d like to see the other paintings,” she whispered, her voice like velvet across his skin.

“I know,” she nodded, and turned her head to search for his gaze. “They can wait a little longer, can’t they?” placing her hand on the side of his face, she pulled back to meet his eyes fully, unabashedly. “Show me your heart, Benedict Bridgerton.”

notes to the text:

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yes the title is inspired by miss swift’s song

- Ships in a Stormy Sea off a Coast, by Ludolf Backhuysen (or Bakhuizen), 1700-1705 circa, is an oil on canvas belonging to the Baroque and Dutch Golden Age periods

- A tainia in ancient Greek costume was a ribbon, headband or fillet.

#redahlia #in paper rings #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x ofc #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton one shot #benedict bridgerton fic #paper rings

[messers-moony]

So Perfect 2 | J.P

Paring: Young!James Potter X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: James falls in love with a bookstore called, Lupin’s Library, and can’t believe what they’re going through. 

Preparing for a date seemed easy enough, except when it’s with a twenty-five-year-old man that already has a child. Granted, the twenty-five-year-old man was handsome, very handsome; maybe that’s what made this so hard. Every dress that she tried on didn’t seem to fit or didn’t seem to look right. 

Y/n was looking at her appearance in the mirror when a light knock was heard on her door, “Come in!”

Remus almost dropped the tea he was holding for her, “You look spiffing.”

“Spiffing?” Y/n crossed her arms with a stupid smile, “That’s all you could come up with?”

“Dashing, beautiful, gorgeous?” Remus shrugged, “I'm not good at this whole thing. ‘S why I’m into blokes, remember?”

Y/n hummed, reaching for the tea he was holding for her, “Thanks, Remmy.”

“No problem.” He replied, taking a seat on her twin bed, “So, are you excited?”

“Nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s already got a child, Rem!” Y/n said exasperated, “If this goes well, then he’ll expect me to be Harry’s stepmother, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

Remus placed two hands on his shorter sister's shoulders, “You’re going to be fine. No one is more prepared for that than you are.”

“I’m regretting this.”

“If you don’t go on this date, then I’ll never call Sirius.” 

“That’s not fair!”

“It is.” Remus replied, “How about this-”

“Oh no, you only do this when you know you’ll win.” She murmured. 

Remus smirked, “If you go on this date and have fun, I’ll ask Sirius out. If you don’t go on this date at all, I’ll block his number.”

“But you and Sirius are perfect for each other.” Y/n whined, “And so are you and James.” Remus countered. 

Y/n pouted, and Remus smiled, “Now go have fun on this date. James is waiting outside.”

“Are you shitting me?!” 

Remus laughed, “Nope!”

Y/n scrambled to grab her things, and Remus watched amusedly, “You’re the worst, Rem!” She yelled as she began to leave the bookstore. 

“Love you too, sis!”

The door closed behind her, and she was releasing breaths of air. James turned to see her out of breath and a flush on her cheeks. It made him smile. She looked absolutely breathtaking too. Y/n’s hair was styled, and her dress looked dashing on her. James offered her his hand, and Y/n took it with a gentle smile. 

“Sorry for making you wait.” Y/n apologized, “Rem was no help.”

James chuckled, “It’s fine.”

James opened the car door for her, and she got in. Instantly she felt out of place. Y/n hadn’t been in a car since high school and ever since then had taken public transportation or walked. She and Remus didn’t have money for a vehicle, so they made do with what they had. The seats were black leather, and the car didn’t have a spec of dirt on it. 

He got into the driver's side of the car smoothly and took notice of Y/n’s awestruck expression, “I take it you like my car?”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression turned sheepish, “It’s been a minute since I’ve been in a car.”

James quirked an eyebrow, “Remus and I walk or ride buses to get by.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be with you for your first experience back.” They both laughed. 

It was so easy with James. Conversation flowed like water, and the air was light like clouds. His hand went from the shift to intertwine his fingers with hers. Y/n’s face flushed, and James smiled genuinely. James couldn’t remember a time when a girl made his heart race and butterflies fill his stomach like this before. 

When they arrived, Y/n was starstruck. It was fancier than she thought. Her heart pounded, and insecurity filled her body. James made his way to her side of the car and opening the door for her again. He helped her out of the car and felt her hand tremble just the slightest bit. 

“You look beautiful.” James assured, “No need to be worried.”

Y/n swallowed thickly, “Hey,” James turned her face to his, “If I thought you were underdressed, I would’ve told you. You’re gorgeous, and I think you’ll be the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her another one of those beautiful smiles before walking up to the hostess, “Name?”

“Should be under Potter.”

The hostess smiled, “Right this way.”

James motioned for Y/n to go first, so she followed the hostess to the table. Y/n sat down, and James sat across from her as the woman set down two menus. Maybe it was a force of habit, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes travel to everything around her. 

He smiled, slightly amused by her way of checking everything around her. It wasn’t the fanciest place that he could’ve taken her - there was much better - but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. It wasn’t pitying that drew him toward her, though. There was something about her that made him feel like a teenager again. 

The place was made of what appeared to be a dark wooden material. The lights were a dim yellow, and the tables were polished beautifully. The booths were comfy and with red cushioning. The atmosphere was cooling and dry. 

Y/n had opened her menu and began to survey it, “Pick whatever you want.” 

“Are you sure?” Y/n asked, “I really don’t mind-“

“This is a date.” James reminded as he held her hands from across the table, “Let me treat you so well that you a second date.”

Y/n blushed, “You’ve already done that.” 

“I have?”

“Shut up.”

James chuckled, kissing her knuckles, “Whatever you want, love.”

Half of the food on the menu Y/n hadn’t even heard of. Granted, she and Remus never really ate out much as kids. Usually, their mother - Hope - would cook them dinner as their father - Lyall - got home from work. Dinner was generally around seven-thirty or eight o’clock. 

The dinner went by gracefully, with lots of banter and getting to know each other. It wasn’t until the end of the date where James had paid despite Y/n’s efforts, and they got into the car where he had asked the dreadful question. They both sat in the parking spot when James had turned to her. 

“How do you feel about children?” James asked and quickly added, “I know that you’re good with them because of the reading on Saturdays but, I mean, about having children?”

Y/n wrung her hands, “I never really thought about it.”

“Why?”

“I have two jobs and a sick brother to take care of.”

Y/n replied, “Kids don’t really fit in. I’d also have to have a significant other to have children. Which I don’t have.”

James nodded, “Okay, but if you were to have a significant other.”

“I mean, I’d like to.” Y/n shrugged, “My life is just hectic right now. Bringing a child into this life wouldn’t be fair.”

Okay, so this isn’t going anywhere, James thought; I need to be blunt, “How would you feel about being Harry’s stepmother?”

She swallowed, “James….”

“I know that’s a hard thing to answer right now. Especially with us just getting started.” James added, “But if you aren’t interested, then this isn’t worth starting.”

“No, I know and understand.” Y/n said, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, “I’m sure it’s hard to find someone, you know, already having a kid and all.”

James nodded. 

“I’d love to be Harry’s stepmother.” Y/n replied as James’ face lit up, “But I still have the bookstore, the bar, and Remus to take care of as well. It’ll be stressful.” 

“I’m not asking you to be a stay-at-home mother.” James chuckled, “I’m just asking that at the end of the day, you come home to us.”

“And hopefully,” James smiled sheepishly, “Sirius can knock Remus off your list.”

Y/n chuckled, “Hopefully. Remus is a handful.”

“He seems nice.” 

She snorted, “Until you officially meet him.”

“Well then,” James smiled, taking her hand in his as he began moving the car, “Looks like we’ll be having double dates.”

Y/n squeezed his hand as he began to drive. The car drove effortlessly over the unpaved roads. Light music played in the background. The sky was a beautiful blue littered with sparkling white specks. The moon was crescent and barely a sliver. James had gotten to a stoplight when he spoke up again. 

“My house or yours?”

“Whichever.” 

James smiled and turned the wheel to the left, “Okay.”

It didn’t take long to realize that they were going to his house. His neighborhood was much different than hers. Granted, she lived on top of a bookshop, but it was still different. James lived in the suburbs. The houses were breathtaking, and the streets looked clean. Asphalt roads were freshly paved, and sidewalks looked new. The homes were family-sized, but they looked ginormous compared to her and Remus’ studio apartment only suited for one. 

James pulled into the driveway, and Y/n was flabbergasted. It was a two-story house, mostly white concrete, and the accents were a dark brown color. The grass was freshly cut, and the vegetation was trimmed. The backyard appeared to have a pool and a patio area, but Y/n could barely tell over the solid fence. 

His keys jingled as he placed the key into the slot and the door opened with ease. Gently, he motioned her to go first. The floors were dark oak wood, seemingly similar to the dark paint on the accents of the house. Everything was so clean, exactly like the car, not a spec of dust laid on the surfaces. 

A movie was playing on the television in the room on the right. The kitchen was on the left, and the sitting table was in the room beside it. James shut the door behind him, locking it. He took off his coat and shoes, placing them at the front door. He smiled. 

“I take it you like the house?”

“It’s beautiful.”

James smiled, walking to the kitchen, and Y/n took off her shoes before following him. He sighed when he opened the fridge, and Y/n had taken a seat at the barstool in front of the island. James picked up an empty bottle of wine that was still residing in the fridge. 

“You keep empty bottles of wine in the fridge?” Y/n questioned as James rubbed his face with his hands. 

“No. Bad habit of Sirius’.”

Y/n quirked an eyebrow, “He lives here?”

“He acts as he does.” James muttered as he recycled the empty bottle, “But no, Sirius lives a couple of doors down. But I feel like he should be paying rent here.”

Y/n laughed, “Regardless, I’ve known him since elementary school, so he’s like my brother. Harry calls him uncle and everything.”

“That’s adorable.” Y/n said, “Do you have any actual siblings?”

“Nope. Jus’ me.” He answered, motioning to himself, “Sirius has a younger brother named Regulus.”

“His parents obsessed with constellations or something?”

“Supposedly.”

“Where is Harry now?” 

“With Sirius.” James replied, taking out a full bottle of wine, “Told him I might get him tonight or might not.”

Y/n took the glass of wine he offered her with a smile, “Mind if I ask why the tv was left on?”

“My cat.”

“Cat?”

“Technically, not mine.” James explained, “It’s my ex-fiancées, but she left him here, so he’s mine now.”

“And your cat likes the tv?”

James nodded, “What's his name?”

“Moony.”

“Moony?”

“Yeah. Harry named him actually.”

Y/n smiled. They continued to talk, and the night kept going on by. It was well past midnight when James drove her back home to her shared apartment. The car ride was silent, primarily with music playing lightly in the background once again. He walked her to the door of the bookstore before bidding her goodnight. 

Gently James pressed his lips to her forehead, “Goodnight, get some sleep.”

“You too…” Y/n muttered, blushing as she walked into the bookstore. 

She hadn’t even made it up the steps when Remus began talking, “Had a good night, I presume?”

“You’re a dick, ya know?”

He smirked and closed his book with a thud, “Runs in the family.”

Y/n gasped playfully, “You ass!”

Remus chuckled as they both walked up the steps, “Seriously though, good night?”

“Yeah, really good night.”

#James x you #James x y/n #James x reader #James Potter x you #James Potter x reader #James Potter x y/n #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #sirius black #brother remus lupin #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders fluff #marauders x reader #marauder #muggle au #harry potter #child harry potter #lily evans #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ACOK: Sansa VIII (Chapter 65)

My little kumquat! 😘

King Joffrey sat above them all, amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was in crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head his heavy golden crown.

Joffrey is dressed like a Targaryen. Remember this, we'll circle back.

+.+.+

The Lord of Casterly Rock made such an impressive figure that it was a shock when his destrier dropped a load of dung right at the base of the throne. Joffrey had to step gingerly around it as he descended to embrace his grandfather and proclaim him Savior of the City.

✨ metaphors ✨

+.+.+

Pride of place was given to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, a once-powerful man gone to fat, yet still handsome. His sons followed him in; Ser Loras and his older brother Ser Garlan the Gallant. The three dressed alike, in green velvet trimmed with sable.

[...]

Ser Garlan Tyrell, five years senior to Ser Loras, was a taller bearded version of his more famous younger brother. He was thicker about the chest and broader at the shoulders, and though his face was comely enough, he lacked Ser Loras's startling beauty.

Kind of interesting, kind of not: at the end of the last Sansa chapter we learn Renly Baratheon saved the city. Fast-forward to this chapter, where they're recognizing all heroes and their deeds during the battle, and Renly is never once mentioned.

Extremely confusing for the reader, and I don't think we get any clarification until the next book. The only clue is the Tyrells dressed in green, and a description of Garlan's body type.

George loves being a little shit.

+.+.+

"The roses support the lion, as the might of Highgarden supports the realm," proclaimed Joffrey. "If there is any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."

And now it comes, thought Sansa.

[...]

"Your Grace," Garlan said when the king approached him, "I have a maiden sister, Margaery, the delight of our House. She was wed to Renly Baratheon, as you know, but Lord Renly went to war before the marriage could be consummated, so she remains innocent. Margaery has heard tales of your wisdom, courage, and chivalry, and has come to love you from afar. I beseech you to send for her, to take her hand in marriage, and to wed your House to mine for all time."

King Joffrey made a show of looking surprised. "Ser Garlan, your sister's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."

Queen Cersei got to her feet in a rustle of skirts. "Your Grace, in the judgment of your small council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne even now. Sire, your councillors beg you, for the good of your realm, set Sansa Stark aside. The Lady Margaery will make you a far more suitable queen."

[...]

Joffrey raised a hand. "I would like to heed the wishes of my people, Mother, but I took a holy vow."

The High Septon stepped forward. "Your Grace, the gods hold bethrothal solemn, but your father, King Robert of blessed memory, made this pact before the Starks of Winterfell had revealed their falseness. Their crimes against the realm have freed you from any promise you might have made. So far as the Faith is concerned, there is no valid marriage contract 'twixt you and Sansa Stark."

[...]

Sansa leaned forward, her hands tight around the gallery's wooden rail. She knew what came next, but she was still frightened of what Joffrey might say, afraid that he would refuse to release her even now, when his whole kingdom depended upon it. She felt as if she were back again on the marble steps outside the Great Sept of Baelor, waiting for her prince to grant her father mercy, and instead hearing him command Ilyn Payne to strike off his head. Please, she prayed fervently, make him say it, make him say it.

Lord Tywin was looking at his grandson. Joff gave him a sullen glance, shifted his feet, and helped Ser Garlan Tyrell to rise. "The gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. I will wed your sweet sister, and gladly, ser."

This whole scene is scripted, but the author reminds us Joffrey doesn't always follow the plan. I would not be surprised to learn George meant to convey Joffrey was waffling, and that look from Tywin was necessary.

Side note, we have betrothals being broken by Kings in back-to-back chapters. Sadly, one side is more crafty about it.

+.+.+

"Yes. But if I'm not to be queen, what will become of me?"

We don't have to worry about that.

+.+.+

The queen was irritated by that. "You should have learned by now, none of us get the things we want."

Oh, but Sansa does. We already know that.

+.+.+

Next came four of lesser birth who had distinguished themselves in the fighting: the one-eyed knight Ser Philip Foote, who had slain Lord Bryce Caron in single combat; the freerider Lothor Brune, who'd cut his way through half a hundred Fossoway men-at-arms to capture Ser Jon of the green apple and kill Ser Bryan and Ser Edwyd of the red, thereby winning himself the name Lothor Apple-Eater; Willit, a grizzled man-at-arms in the service of Ser Harys Swyft, who'd pulled his master from beneath his dying horse and defended him against a dozen attackers; and a downy-cheeked squire named Josmyn Peckledon, who had killed two knights, wounded a third, and captured two more, though he could not have been more than fourteen. Willit was borne in on a litter, so grievous were his wounds.

Ser Kevan had taken a seat beside his brother Lord Tywin. When the heralds had finished telling of each hero's deeds, he rose. "It is His Grace's wish that these good men be rewarded for their valor. By his decree, Ser Philip shall henceforth be Lord Philip of House Foote, and to him shall go all the lands, rights, and incomes of House Caron. Lothor Brune to be raised to the estate of knighthood, and granted land and keep in the riverlands at war's end. To Josmyn Peckledon, a sword and suit of plate, his choice of any warhorse in the royal stables, and knighthood as soon as he shall come of age. And lastly, for Goodman Willit, a spear with a silver-banded haft, a hauberk of new-forged ringmail, and a full helm with visor. Further, the goodman's sons shall be taken into the service of House Lannister at Casterly Rock, the elder as a squire and the younger as a page, with the chance to advance to knighthood if they serve loyally and well. To all this, the King's Hand and the small council consent."

Sorry for making you read that, but I get super paranoid when we spend this much time on four random nobodies.

Ser Philip Foote is a one-eyed knight who is given Lord Bryce Caron's lands after he kills him. In ADWD, Philip's claim to those lands will be challenged by Lord Bryce Caron's bastard half-brother.

Lothor Brune enters the service of Littlefinger. He will eventually protect Sansa from Marillion, and develop a crush on Mya Stone. He has been promised land and keep in the riverlands when the war is finished.

Nothing noteworthy about Goodman Willit, but the man he serves, Ser Harys Swyft, is trapped under a horse during the battle.

Josmyn Peckledon, or Peck, shares commonalities with Podrick Payne. He'll later become Jaime Lannister's squire, and frequently sleep with Pia. He burns Cersei's letter to Jaime.

There might be something here, but I feel like I have to bend myself in a pretzel to get there.

+.+.+

A more significant lordship by far was granted to Ser Lancel Lannister. Joffrey awarded him the lands, castle, and rights of House Darry, whose last child lord had perished during the fighting in the riverlands, "leaving no trueborn heirs of lawful Darry blood, but only a bastard cousin."

Oh yeah? A Lannister is going to claim the lands and castle of a decimated family with no trueborn heirs, with the exception of a bastard cousin?

Is Kevan Lannister going to marry his son Lancel to Amerei Frey, the eldest daughter of the female heir to Darry, to strengthen his claim over the Darry lands?

Stealth jonsa. Pretty sure that bastard is still alive too.

+.+.+

The Imp was said to be dying as well, from a terrible cut to the head.

As if I'm that lucky.

+.+.+

Sansa had not heard of Littlefinger doing anything especially heroic during the battle, but it seemed he was to be rewarded all the same.

Ser Kevan got back to his feet. "It is the wish of the King's Grace that his loyal councillor Petyr Baelish be rewarded for faithful service to crown and realm. Be it known that Lord Baelish is granted the castle of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, there to make his seat and rule henceforth as Lord Paramount of the Trident. Petyr Baelish and his sons and grandsons shall hold and enjoy these honors until the end of time, and all the lords of the Trident shall do him homage as their rightful liege. The King's Hand and the small council consent."

On his knees, Littlefinger raised his eyes to King Joffrey. "I thank you humbly, Your Grace. I suppose this means I'll need to see about getting some sons and grandsons."

He does not mean with Lysa.

I can't tell if this is sloppy writing, or if Roose and Tywin are already fully allied, and Littlefinger knows everything.

We'll learn at the end of this chapter that the plot to kill Joffrey is in full motion, and only a month away. Killing Joffrey, when Robb is still alive, is a great way to turn the tides in favour of House Stark and ensure you never get your castle.

Either Littlefinger already knows Robb is a dead man (Impressive, given the marriage alliance with House Frey was just broken), or George didn't think the timeline of this one through.

Or maybe he really is an agent of chaos.

+.+.+

Lord Paramount of the Trident, Sansa thought, and Lord of Harrenhal as well. She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed.

Arya can't figure out what princess is betrothed to a Frey, meanwhile Sansa's over here piecing together the plot of ASOS.

I'm SORRY, it's funny!

+.+.+

Robb has beaten them every time. He'll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must.

Sorry hun, your brother can't be relied upon, you're going to have to defeat him yourself. We believe in you.

+.+.+

More than six hundred new knights were made that day. They had held their vigil in the Great Sept of Baelor all through the night and crossed the city barefoot that morning to prove their humble hearts.

[...]

Some had bloody feet from their walk through the city, but they stood tall and proud all the same, it seemed to Sansa.

+.+.+

But no sooner had that one been dragged away than a knight of solemn mien with a fiery heart on his surcoat shouted out, "Stannis is the true king! A monster sits the Iron Throne, an abomination born of incest!"

"Be silent," Ser Kevan Lannister bellowed.

The knight raised his voice instead. "Joffrey is the black worm eating the heart of the realm! Darkness was his father, and death his mother! Destroy him before he corrupts you all! Destroy them all, queen whore and king worm, vile dwarf and whispering spider, the false flowers. Save yourselves!" One of the gold cloaks knocked the man off his feet, but he continued to shout. "The scouring fire will come! King Stannis will return!"

Are we sure this is about Joffrey?

+.+.+

Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture . . . and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it. "Mother!" he wailed.

With every eye on the king, somehow the man on the floor wrested a spear away from one of the gold cloaks, and used it to push himself back to his feet. "The throne denies him!" he cried. "He is no king!"

[...]

They say the Iron Throne can be perilous cruel to those who were not meant to sit it.

Hey, remember how Joffrey is dressed like a Targaryen? :)

+.+.+

"The queen will never let you go, never. You are too valuable a hostage. And Joffrey . . . sweetling, he is still king. If he wants you in his bed, he will have you, only now it will be bastards he plants in your womb instead of trueborn sons."

My stance is there will be no bastards in Sansa's womb.

+.+.+

"When?" Sansa asked. "When will we go?"

"The night of Joffrey's wedding. After the feast. All the necessary arrangements have been made. The Red Keep will be full of strangers. Half the court will be drunk and the other half will be helping Joffrey bed his bride. For a little while, you will be forgotten, and the confusion will be our friend."

"The wedding won't be for a moon's turn yet. Margaery Tyrell is at Highgarden, they've only now sent for her."

"You've waited so long, be patient awhile longer. Here, I have something for you." Ser Dontos fumbled in his pouch and drew out a silvery spiderweb, dangling it between his thick fingers.

It was a hair net of fine-spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. "What stones are these?"

"Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight."

"It's very lovely," Sansa said, thinking, It is a ship I need, not a net for my hair.

"Lovelier than you know, sweet child. It's magic, you see. It's justice you hold. It's vengeance for your father." Dontos leaned close and kissed her again. "It's home."

Tiny clues already hiding in the text.

Dany's tight silver collar was chafing against her throat. She unfastened it and flung it aside. The collar was set with an enchanted amethyst that Xaro swore would ward her against all poisons. - Daenerys III, ACOK

Anyway, more sloppy writing:

Littlefinger and Lady Olenna have already planned Joffrey's murder at this point (Great job sending Littlefinger, Tyrion), so how come Lady Olenna interrogates Sansa over Joffrey's character in the next book?

Are you telling me she's on the fence? Sansa has to convince her to go through with it? Because I don't think Littlefinger would accept her backing out of something like that, nor do I think he requires her participation.

Am I missing something? Usually I am.

Final thoughts:

Tyrion is never once mentioned or thanked during their wank fest in the throne room, and I was smiling about it the entire time. Loser.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #acok #sansa viii

[ulalumewitch]

I’ve had this Elucien fic rolling around my brain for a while and decided to put it out there. No warnings with this one. Just angst and bits of hope for possible futures (I swear I write things other than angst all the time - haha).

Happy Sunday everyone!

Word count: 2,807

Themes: Angst/Hope

Choices

Lucien couldn’t believe it. He could not believe that another Winter Solstice ended in utter ruins because of his mate. Because of his godsdamned mate and he’d had enough. He would end it, and end it now.

“Elain!” He shouted at her retreating figure.

But she pulled the ruby red cloak tighter around her shoulders and quickened her steps. Fresh snow remained mostly untouched on small front lawns and sidewalks of Velaris as he ran from the front door of the Riverside Estate after Elain. Most families and friends likely hunkered down in their homes enjoying fires and brandies and gifts and laughter with no cause to go out walking as the last hours of Solstice crept by entering the darkest hours of night before the dawn.

The longest night of the year. The longest three years of his life. Three years of being both rejected and not rejected by his mate. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you stop,” he growled as they reached the gate, “You owe me one conversation.”

Elain stopped. Her spine snapped straight. She turned and glared at him, her eyes molten with pure hatred.

Lucien had chosen his words carefully. Tempers he could handle, he’d had enough practice over the centuries with a hot headed High Lord. He could handle master manipulators and sweet talkers. He could handle battle worn generals and courtiers of the most delicate constitution. He could handle gossipers and those genuinely interested in friendship.

But what he could not handle was nothing. He could not handle the looks that went right through him. The unanswered questions. The blank stares. The Solstice presents delicately placed to the side and left alone as if they didn’t exist at all.

“I owe you nothing. Leave me alone.”

“I won’t. You are my mate -“

“I don’t want to be your mate!”

“Then reject me and reject he bond!” Lucien yelled, his voice echoing through the silent night.

The stars glittered in the black sky, now completely clear after the fast moving snow clouds from earlier in the evening had dissipated. It brought just enough snow to coat the city white before moving on. As if the Mother heard every prayer from the younglings of Night Court for a white Solstice, and then granted their wish.

Elain’s nostrils flared and for a moment, the briefest moment, her eyes flashed an emotion he couldn’t quite place but had seen before. And it hit him. She’d possessed the same look of bewilderment when she’d still been sopping wet from the Cauldron’s waters, Nesta clawing at her sobbing. The look of knowing but not knowing.

“Reject it,” he rasped, the fight and fire receding slightly, “Reject it so that I can move on. You think I enjoy this? You think that any of this has made me feel good over the last three years?”

“I didn’t choose you. I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t want any of this,” she cried.

Lucien took a breath. It was rare he lost control like this. He’d spent centuries honing his reactions and temperament to be the Fox and mold his features and behaviors into whatever he’d needed in order to ferret out information, or to keep his own secrets safe. But he couldn’t do that around her, his mate.

“I didn’t choose you either,” Lucien said.

She flinched, and looked away down the street. She crossed her arms and shivered. Her cheeks flushed a pink as if kissed by two rose petals and once again her beauty struck him like a slap across the face.

“I know you were in love with another male -“

“Stop it -“

“I know you hate being Fae. I know what you did to try and turn yourself human again -“

“I said stop it,” Elain growled through clenched teeth, “Stop it. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t take it anymore,” Lucien stated, willing himself to be calm, to stop shouting.

He needed this conversation. They both did.

“You wouldn’t know this because you refuse to ever speak to me but I was in love once too,” Lucien said and took a step closer to her, “I was in love with a female and planned to marry her. And my - And the High Lord of Autumn had her killed in front of me and I couldn’t save her.”

Elain’s lips parted in a silent gasp. Her brow furrowed. For a moment he thought she might ask a question, but instead she closed her lips and looked down at he ground.

“I didn’t choose to live without her. I didn’t choose to run away to another Court and make a home there. I didn’t choose a life of intelligence work, books, sparring, warring, and everything in between. But we don’t always get a choice, Elain. What we can choose is what we do with the things that happen to us.”

Lucien paused but she remained silent. Because of course she would stay silent. Fine. Maybe it would be easier this way.

“I chose to deepen my friendship with Tamlin and to truly be a part of his Court and I made the best of it. I chose to continue my education of Courts and history and everything in between so that I could help keep the peace as much as possible. I chose to become trained as a warrior so that I could be as strong and prepared as possible for any situation. I chose those things to make the best of my life. I chose not to wallow in the what-could-have-beens for centuries because no one can survive that way.”

Lucien took another step towards her so that they were only a few inches apart. He could see Elain’s breathing had increased slightly. Her arms tightened across her chest. But she did not move away.

“I did not choose to be your mate, no one gets that choice,” Lucien whispered, “But we can choose, together, whether we want to reject this mating bond to try to lessen its effects as much as possible. It will never go away completely, but if we officially reject it then we can at least bury it and move on separately and away from each other.”

“Is that what you want?” Elain whispered, and she glanced up at him, her eyes somehow still sparkling as if the sun reflected in them.

Lucien’s heart ached. It was the first question she’d asked him since asking if he could hear her beat those years ago. And she’d been so broken then, he could barely breathe around the memory of seeing her in such a state. So he told her the truth.

“What I want is for you to talk with me and be honest with me,” he began carefully, “I want to know why the Cauldron and Mother saw fit to pair us together. Do you know that mates are equally matched and often so is their magic, their power?”

Elain glanced away and nodded. She shifted on her feet slightly.

“I’ve done some research on it.”

Lucien leaned closer to her and clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t need her or those obnoxious bats, whom he knew lurked in the shadows, to think he would touch her. Overbearing babysitters the lot of them, even if their hearts were in the right place.

“No one knows what I’m about to tell you Elain. You could use the information against me and spread it to the Inner Circle, or anyone who might wish me harm, or you could tuck it away for private reflection. But I have much more magic and power than anyone thinks. I only let a very little bit show in the company of others. And since we are mates, I have a theory that you are the same. You only show a small bit of what you are actually capable of and have hidden the rest away. Your sisters are powerful, Elain, and I find it very hard to believe that you would be different. I also think that one of the reasons you are so unhappy is because it scares you. I could help you discover what you’re capable of - learn about it, grow with it, strengthen it, control it, and use it. You were not given a choice to become Fae and I am sorry that neither Tamlin nor I realized what was happening until it was too late. You have no idea how sorry I am. And I am sorry that you lost the love of your life in the process. I’m sorry.”

Elain stared at him. Stared and stared.

Lucien could scarcely breathe. His heart lurched forward in his chest, begging him to tug on the bond, to bring her nearer. To touch her. Kiss her. Love her.

But he forced the instinct down. Even though every beat of his heart echoed, my mate, he shut all of it down.

“There are options other than rejection,” he began slowly, “If you would like, Elain, we could discuss it, but it can’t only be me talking. And if I’m being honest, it kills me that I don’t know you. Feyre used to talk about you all the time at Spring Court when she lived there. And over the past three years I’ve gotten bits from her and Nesta, on the rare occasion I speak with her. But those are their perspectives. I would like to know first hand, about you.”

Elain looked away and cleared her throat, “What is it you want to know?”

Hope sparked in Lucien’s chest. He tightened his hands behind his back. Carefully. He had to tread so, so carefully.

“Well, for starters, I’ve always wondered if there is anything other than gardening you enjoy? What do you like? What are your passions? Your dreams? What makes you happy? Upset? Do you have any religious or spiritual beliefs? Do you enjoy sports? Do you have a favorite season? Hobbies? Preferred genre of music? Books? I want to know about you, Elain, and not from anyone else. I want to experience you. I want to know why the godsdamned universe decided why you and I should be together.”

Elain let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a huff of annoyance. He wasn’t sure which, and it killed him that he didn’t know his mate well enough to know which it was.

“I hate winter,” she whispered and looked up at the sky, “I hate the cold. I never want to be cold again. I’ve had enough of it after living in that godforsaken hovel all those years. Spring has always been my favorite season. Is … how is it there?”

Lucien frowned slightly, “Improving at a glacial pace.”

“I remember the night Azriel and Feyre came to rescue me at Hybern’s camp,” she whispered, her arms tightening around her, “And I remember Azriel holding on to me as I held on to that poor girl and watching in horror as those beast things closed in on my sister. I thought she was dead. And then Tamlin came out of no where and saved her. Saved us. I think of that quite a bit actually.”

Lucien stared at her. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“If he needs assistance with his gardens, I could help. I’m bored to tears in winter here and I don’t think the High Lord of Spring should have flagging gardens, do you?” Elain asked and met his eyes then.

Strength shone in them. Her chin tipped up slightly and Lucien lost his breath. A shiver ran along his spine as he realized his assumption on her untapped and hidden power had likely been correct. He did not stare into the eyes of a doe but a Wolf. Of course a godsdamned Wolf would would lurk under her skin. She was an Archeron sister after all.

“No, I don’t think so either. It might help Tam, to have his estate restored a bit,” Lucien suggested carefully, “If you ever wanted to get away from the cold of Velaris during winter, I could arrange it.”

Elain looked away again and whispered, “I’ve been so lonely. I don’t know what to do.”

Lucien frowned as pain wrapped around his heart, and realized with utter horror, it was not his pain but hers. Gods, had she been living with this?

“Elain,” Lucien murmured, “All I’m asking for is to share one meal. One conversation. I’m not suggesting we get mated or married or any of it. Hell, I’m not even asking for a date. I’m only asking for one conversation so that we can both maybe decide if rejecting the bond really is the best thing or if maybe, maybe, there might be something here worth exploring, growing, tending like one of your gardens. No expectations. Just …”

“Just time to decide what kind of choice we want to make with what the Cauldron gave us?” Elain offered quietly.

A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rasped through his lips. His gold eye whirred. He blinked and golden light swirled around Elain hedged with blush pink and warm vermillion. She looked like a goddess inside the sun, and gods did he want to worship her. But was she worth worshiping? He desperately wanted to find out.

He blinked and his eye showed her as any one would see her once again. Lucien nodded his agreement.

Elain cleared her throat and looked down the street, “I didn’t eat. Did you?”

“Not much, those fools love their drink on holidays,” Lucien offered with a small laugh, “They’re a happy lot though aren’t they?”

Elain shrugged, “I suppose. Are you hungry?”

Warmth spread through his chest. Lucien allowed a smile to touch his lips.

“I could eat.”

“Do you think any of the restaurants are open?” Elain asked.

“You want to have this conversation now?” Lucien asked incredulously.

A smile bloomed across her face. Her rosy cheeks pinked further and he’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life before.

Elain released her arms and crooked an elbow to him. He stared at the offered arm. Was he dreaming?

“Well, Fox?” Elain asked, “Shall we?”

Lucien’s heart leapt in his chest. He closed the last few inches between them and looped his arm through hers. Suddenly, the weight of a thousand stones of grief and dejection lifted from his shoulders. His heart felt so light he could have wept.

“I know of one restaurant that will be open. It’s not the best, but it’s decent and within walking distance,” Lucien began, “And after this conversation, if you would like to have another - if we would both like to have another - then I can take you to my favorite restaurant. It is in the middle of the largest botanical gardens in all of Prythian.”

Elain raised an eyebrow, “In the middle of winter?”

Lucien grinned at her and winked, “It’s in Summer Court.”

She nodded, “I would like that, if,” and softly cleared her throat, “If we both decide we would like another conversation after tonight that is.”

Lucien nodded, “Very well, Lady Light. Are you cold?”

A small smile. An even smaller snicker.

“A little.”

“Give me your hand,” Lucien offered his free hand to her, palm up.

Elain stared at his open palm. Lucien felt a small lick of pride at how still she became, like a true Immortal creature, she’d mastered the art of preternatural stillness.

Then, she lightly rested her hand against his. Lucien maintained eye contact with her as he closed his fingers around her hand and touched the spark of fire within him. Elain gasped and her eyes widened.

“How did you do that?” She murmured, and a small laugh escaped her, “I’m positively toasty.”

Lucien’s heart fluttered but kept his tone airy, almost bored, “A small bit of magic for me. It’s a gift not everyone possesses. Not many know I can do it. Shall we eat? I’m rather hungry myself.”

Elain nodded, “I would like that, thank you.”

Lucien nodded and let go of her hand but tightened his arm still hooked around hers slightly. He didn’t bother to hide the widening of his smile as she gently squeezed back.

He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as they walked arm in arm down the street, their tracks the only pair as they made their way away from the High Lord and Lady’s Riverside estate and into Velaris.

Lucien didn’t know what choice she would make in the end. He didn’t know what choice he would make in the end. But at least, for now, there was a sun dawning to end the longest night of the year. And he’d never been happier to see its light.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#elucien #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien #angst #possibility

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hello, can I request a Wanda x Female Reader? Where R shifts to date Wanda and everything is all fluffy until Wanda asks why R has thoughts about a person that looks like her (Elizabeth O.) but she doesn’t recall ever doing these memories?

Break Up and Break Through

Pairings | Elizabeth Olsen x reader, Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary | shifting to date the renowned and well loved scarlet witch comes with troubles, when the avenger reads your mind.

Warnings | angst, mention of a breakup,

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Wanda laid upon the well made bed, eating a packet of salt and vinegar crisps as she stared at you. She was waiting for the light to illuminate the room, as she watched you with a soft smile, down on your knees, cleaning the old disc that you had kept all through your youth.

It was one of her favourites too, it was one of the things the pair of your shared. The fact that you knew that she loved Bewitched when she was younger almost scared her for a second, but she realised that she must have let that detail slip in one of your many conversations before the pair of your had gotten this comfortable around one another.

The one thing that she would not allow herself to do around you however, was read your mind. She thought that as pushing boundaries, though, sometimes, the ability could not be helped. The avenger tried her best to respect your privacy, only looming in the corners of your mind when she was worried with how you felt about her.

It was no secret that the public had a formed opinion about her, they simply thought that she was not in control enough to save lives, all because of the ones that she has taken via incarnated accidents. But you, you accepted her just the way she was, and that gave her much comfort. And whilst you were sorting out putting the television on with the chosen agenda of what to watch, Wanda decided to go against her usual promise, and look into your mind.

The aura within it was sweet, and she found everything that she loved about you within the mental realm, however, she didn’t disrupt your own recollection locked away in your mind so that she could envision you in your child, chasing butterflies and sneaking an extra cookie against your parents’ orders, as nice as the character building of you was.

Her aim was to discover the folder that had inclusivity of her, she wanted to gather the thoughts that you had around her, and use them to keep herself content with being who she was. And then, she saw herself, though, she looked a little different. She had dirty blonde hair, and you kept referring to her as ‘LIzzie’.

Never in her life had she wore such a light hair colour, her roots were naturally dark, and had changed to hold a reddish tone as she had gotten older, and staked out during the split of the avengers. But all that ruckus was over now, was it not, or was somebody else creating illusions to trick your mind into seeing her as someone other than the scarlet witch?

It left her in a state of concern, hardly noticing how the beginning credits rolled onto the screen, and you dived quite goofily onto the bed beside her, for all that she could think about was how you had the incorrect image of her in your pretty and confusing mind. This Elizabeth that you harboured memories of was certainly not her, she had had a brother, whom was now deceased all thanks to Ultron, not two twin sisters that had lead her into the lifestyle of being... an actress?

Wanda was pulled from her invasion of your thoughts, as you reached beside her, stuffing it inside of the green chip packet, pulling out a few altered potatoes, and put them mindlessly into your mouth, as your eyes shon towards the screen. And so, the avenger cleared her throat, grabbing the grey remote and pausing the show, so that you would pay her some attention.

“Y/n...” She spoke your name, her accent peeking through as you tentatively listened, your ears perked for her only. “Who is Elizabeth Olsen?” The question was innocent enough, but the way that your eyes went wide was anything but. It had not been something that you had expected, but yo had been caught out, considering that your current, and girlfriend from another reality had the ability to read minds.

It should have been something that you had expected, though, it had been the last thing from your mind, and Wanda reeled that thought through her head as you listened to you mull over your possible answers that would grant her, and perhaps yourself, some clarity on the situation.

“Um, she’s my ex.” You reached your hand back to play with the roots of your hair, as you nervously admitted the fact aloud. It had been hard to let her go, it was stupid, you couldn’t even remember the fight that had caused the pair of you to break up, but in the end, the pair of you had still gone your different ways, and kept distance between you.

The memory had you gulping, there had been tears falling like faucets from your eyes, you had laid in your bed that night, immobile as she packed her things to stay with a friend. You wished that things could have worked out, but instead, you had opted to shift, and find another her, and whilst Wanda was an amazing woman, she wasn’t Lizzie.

Gulping, you registered what to say next, but Wanda placed her finger upon your lips, stopping them from moving. “It’s okay, I understand.” Wanda smiled, shrugging softly. “This isn’t real for you, and when you wake up, this will all be a very realistic dream. And that is fine, but you should go to her as soon as you open your eyes, if there’s another me there, there has to be another you here for me.”

You weren’t sure how to thank her, and so, you relaxed in her arms, and watched Bewitched, until your damned alarm interrupted your vivid senses, and brought you back to your reality, where you were in bed alone, but didn’t want to be. There was only one thing that you could do, and that was throw a pair of shoes onto your feet, caring not to change out of your pyjamas, and rush to your car.

You knew exactly where your destination was, and whilst remaining within the speed limit, you went as fast as you could to said place. When you reached there, you parked your car, and went straight to her new address, rapidly knocking upon the door, feeling urgent to see her.

It took a moment until there was an answer, and when you were met with her green eyes, it was clear that Lizzie was in shock of your presence. “Can I help you?” Her fingers nervously picked at the skin of her arm as she awaited for you to say something, but instead of speaking, you acted.

Reaching your arms forward, you tugged Lizzie closer, pulling her lips down upon your own, like a lovesick fool. “I think you can.” You confirmed, feeling proud that you had listened to Wanda, and done what she had suggested. Lizzie tucked her hair behind her ear as she opened the door further, inviting you inside.

“I’m watching Bewitched, care to join?” Accepting the invite, you entered her new place, looking around for only a second, until Liz tugged you onto the sofa with her, and rested in your arms, the pair of you having missed each other equally.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader fluff #wanda x you #elizabeth olsen oneshot #elizabeth olsen imagine #Elizabeth x reader #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen #imagines #imagine #xreader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fluff #wanda imagine #mcu requests #marvel reader insert #marvel request

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

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There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

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

" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

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

The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

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

Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

#werewolf namjoon drabbles

[fawnandshadows]

After the Ceremony - Chapter 3

I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I could not be more excited to share it! Please let me know what you guys think, and I also wanted to thank everyone for their support because I was so convinced that no one was going to read this, and I am so incredibly flattered at the response I have received. This story is also available on AO3

Summary: Elain and Azriel after Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony.

Words: 2,938

Story Rating: M

Elain was giddy. She couldn’t remember the last time she woke up and was excited about the day ahead of her. Well, before the solstice she used to wake up and be content and hopeful. She would tend to her garden and try to make the world a more beautiful place; gardening was something that she was good at, something that she enjoyed, and it was something that was just hers. There were many times, before Feyre had been taken, that she wished she could have done something more substantial for her family, but they couldn’t afford the seeds to grow any food, and she didn’t even know how to grow food. So, once Elain settled into her fae life enough, she decided to learn a valuable skill - one that almost anyone would approve of.

She learned how to bake, and then she learned how to cook. The twins were surprisingly gracious and they were more than welcoming and patient with her, and before long Elain started to think of Nuala and Cerridwen as friends. The first friends she ever made that were hers, and hers alone. She knew they worked for Feyre, Rhysand, and Azriel, but the twins weren’t friends with them.

It was during this time that Elain started to hope to see Azriel every day when she woke up. Whenever she was with the twins there was always a part of her that wanted Az to show up and ask for a report, he almost never did, but she imagined it just the same. He would come in after a long day, and she would offer him the chocolate chip cookies she baked herself - Elain made those cookies at least once a week after learning they were his favorite- and they would simply enjoy each other’s company. She dreamed that he would open up to her, because the Mother knew he needed someone to talk to, and Elain would give him a lovely, cozy space where he would forget about his spy business for a bit. A space that he could think of as home.

And then there were the daydreams where Elain imagined they did a little bit more than talk. On many occasions, when Elain was alone in the kitchen baking bread and covered in flour, she thought of Azriel storming into the kitchen in a flurry of emotion - sometimes it was anger, but it could have been passion, or even an overwhelming lust - and he would take her into his arms and kiss her as if his life depended on it. They almost always ended up covered in flour, or whatever Elain was cooking, and right when her imagination was starting to get interesting somebody inevitably walked into the kitchen, and it was almost never the person she wanted it to be. Sometimes her family could be such busy bodies.

None of her fantasies lived up to the real thing.

The real Azriel, the one crafted from flesh and blood and bone, was so exquisite that her dirtiest most intense fantasy seemed childish.

Her heart pounded wildly just thinking about it.

A soft knock sounded from the door, disrupting Elain from the memories she was reliving over and over again, and Elain told whoever was knocking to come in. She briefly entertained the idea of feigning sleep, but she had already lazed in bed for almost an hour. A small indulgence she allowed herself - normally she would rise with the sun and immediately throw herself into the garden, or help with breakfast, or do something to show she was useful.

Feyre, to Elains surprise, entered the room and shut the door behind her.

“Good morning.” Elain raised herself up and smiled at her sister.

Feyre had not yet dressed for the day, she still wore her navy silk nightgown and robe, and it warmed Elains heart to see her sister in such finery. She was happy that Feyre found herself a mate that treated her like a queen - she deserved it after everything she did for their family. There were times when Elain felt the crushing urge to hug her sister, and she decided after last night to grant herself those small kindnesses - she had come to learn that it was never a bad thing to show someone you loved them, even if you couldn’t say it.

Elain had opened her arms and said, “Doesn’t it seem like a fine morning for a cuddle?”

Feyre laughed and walked over to her sister before plopping herself into the bed and into Elain’s open arms.

“We haven’t done this in forever,” Feyre said with a sigh - as if she were remembering the last time it happened and how everything had changed since then. “As much as I love Rhys he tends to hog the bed. He kicks off all the covers and then has the audacity to accuse me of stealing them, can you believe that,” Even though Feyre’s voice held a hint of exasperation Elain knew there was a smile on her face, probably one that found its twin on Elains face. “I barely got any sleep last night. Nyx woke up crying and I had to search the entire house for his favorite toy, you know the one - the stuffed bat that Cassian got him. Somehow it ended up downstairs in the ballroom.”

Elain felt tears start to well in her eyes. She was just so happy for Feyre, and her joy was only amplified knowing that Feyre was happy. Feyre was completely, utterly, and divinely happy.

“Is that why you decided to join me this morning? To get some peace and quiet?” Elain asked.

It was Feyre that almost stumbled upon her and Azriel last night. Her cheeks warmed not only at the memory, but at the fact that Feyre almost saw them. Elain was almost certain that Feyre didn’t know about the scene she interrupted, but still she wanted to make sure.

“Yes and no,” Feyre said, and Elain could tell from her voice that she wasn’t going to like what her sister said. Feyre shifted on the bed to face Elain. “Were you downstairs last night. I thought I smelled you, and you know how not great I am at distinguishing scents,” It was true. For all of her power and abilities, a keen sense of smell wasn’t one of them. “But I thought I smelled you downstairs when I was looking for Nyx’s bat. Of course when I actually got into the room you weren’t there, and I know my nose has been sensitive ever since I was pregnant, so I could have just been smelling you from earlier.”

A small smile tugged at Elains lips, and the delightful urge to share with her sister moved through her.

“Can I tell you something?” She asked shyly.

Feyre’s eyebrows raised as she said, “Of course.”

“I need you to be my sister. Not High Lady.”

At Feyre’s nod Elain couldn’t hold back. In excited whispers she told her sister everything that she felt, and most of what transpired last night, Elain kept some of the more private details to herself.

“That explains the torn nightgown.” Feyre commented at one point, and Elain couldn’t contain the giggle that burst out of her. It had never really been like this between her and Feyre, Elain had always drifted more towards Nesta, but she was glad to have this moment with her younger sister.

“Feyre,” Elaid started with a bit of hesitation. “Has Rhysand ever talked to you about me?”

Feyre’s brow furrowed a bit as she thought.

“He adores you, and he thinks of you as his own sister, but I can’t think of anything recently.” The two sat in silence for a moment before Feyre exclaimed, “Oh! He loved the tarts you made the other day, the apple ones, he was rather put out that you saved the last one for Az,” Feyre nudged her with her shoulder. “Although that makes sense now.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything else?”

“No, why? Should he have?”

Elain debated whether or not she should share this part, that part of Rhys being a meddlesome mother hen, with Feyre. She thought that her sister would be on her side, but Elain didn’t want to be responsible for a rift between her sister and her mate.

She shook her head and said, “No reason. He just stepped on my toes a little harshly last night, but it wasn’t his fault. Cassian was practically falling on him, and when Rhys tried to get out of the way he landed on my foot. I was hoping to tease him about it today, but I’m afraid he might have been a little too tipsy to remember it.”

Before Feyre had the chance to respond, Nyx's cry filled the air.

“I suppose the day has to start at some point,” Feyre said and she rolled out of bed. “Starting it with my sister and son seems like a pretty good way.”

Elain nearly tripped over her cobalt dress as she rushed down stairs. She couldn’t help it. She was just too excited to start the day and to see Azriel again. She wanted to see him in the light of day, not that she minded seeing him in the shadows of the night when it was only them and the Mother, but Elain wanted to see his face blush with unobstructed vision, and she wanted his hazel eyes warm in the light of the sun.

It had been too long since they allowed themselves to be together in the light of day.

When she reached the kitchen Elain wasn’t surprised to see it was only Nuala and Cerridwen in the kitchen. Her friends gave her sly smiles as they took in her goofy grin and red cheeks before saying good morning to her.

“Good morning,” Elain replied, eyeing the cinnamon rolls that just came out of the oven. The rest of her family must have been waiting in the living room before breakfast, and a thought popped into Elain’s head. “Did you guys use the recipe we just came up with?”

“Yes.” They said in unison.

Elain didn’t stop herself from piling three rolls onto a plate and filling up a mug with coffee. She bit her lip to contain her excitement as she made her way to the swinging door, saying a quick goodbye to her friends before leaving the kitchen.

The trek to the living room was short, but the anticipation made butterflies flutter in her stomach. She knew what she was about to do, she was going to offer food to another male while her mate was in the room, but Elain was determined she wasn’t going to hide her feelings anymore. She brought Rhysand and Cassian food all the time whenever she wanted to surprise them. Elain even went out of her way to bring Amren the croissants she liked because Elain remembered how Amren was the only one who thought her strong enough to look for the Dread Trove objects, and Elain wanted to show her appreciation.

When Elain stepped into the living room no one noticed her. No one but Azriel that is, and even though he didn’t show it she was certain he was aware of her presence.

Azriel was on the far side of the room, in front of a big bay window, smiling down at More. Hesitation and fear threatened to break her resolve, but Elain moved before she could talk herself out of it. She suddenly remembered the one burning question she had forgotten to ask.

She had to trust Azriel.

As she approached them Elain was suddenly overwhelmed by Azriels beauty. She spent so long avoiding him that it almost felt indecent to look at him freely and openly in the light of day. The morning sun illuminated his tan skin and set his hazel eyes aflame. She could even make out a hint of blue in his inky hair. Hair that she had just found out was as soft as it looked.

“Good morning,” Elain said as she stopped a few feet away from them. “I brought you something. I know you love to have sweets in the morning, but you’re too disciplined to indulge yourself.”

His face was unreadable, but there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes as he looked at her. Elain was sure he noted that her cobalt dress matched his siphons which caused his eyes to go molten. Elain heard the conversations turn dull, just for a moment, before returning back to normal - and she was certain that a pair of violet eyes were watching their every move.

Elain could also feel vexation radiating off of Lucien as he watched them from his place next to the fireplace. Feyre, Elain noticed on her way in, planted herself firmly between Lucien and the group Elain was with.

Azriel took one step towards her, and Elain inhaled deeply his scent of night chilled mist and cedar. A small thrill skittered down her spine as his scent intertwined her own. Az let out a raspy thank you before taking the plate and the mug. He took a deep sip on coffee, his bright eyes maintaining contact with hers over the lip of the mug, and Elain would have sworn that the entire room disappeared.

Her eyes left his for a moment as they watched his tongue trace over his lips. Elains hands fisted in her dress to stop herself from grabbing his face and kissing the coffee away.

Elain watched as he set the coffee on the windowsill before picking up a cinnamon roll and taking a bite. A small groan emitted from the back of Azriels throat.

“Good morning.” A chipper voice broke Elain’s connection to Az.

Elain mentally shook herself as she looked at the blond standing with them. She had completely forgotten Mor was here standing with them, and Elain recognized the amusement in Mor’s tone.

“Good morning,” Elain managed a small smile as a furious blush overtook her face. From the knowing grin on Mor’s face Elain knew she had witnessed everything that just happened between her and Az. “You’re a lovely dancer. I saw you last night.” Elain had hoped to distract Mor with conversation.

“I think you might have been more interested in my partner.” Mor winked at her, and her face somehow turned warmer. She was blushing more than she ever had before. Elain noted the satisfied, and proud grin, that formed if Azriel’s beautiful lips. She wanted to kiss that grin off his face.

Mor looked between the two of them, as if she could see something that they couldn’t, and a frown appeared between her eyebrows. She quickly excused herself and left the room.

“Was it something I said?” Elain asked as she watched the blonde leave. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Of course not,” Az said quickly. His hand reaching out to touch her, she shivered at the feel of his calloused hands on her skin. He quickly dropped her hand and reached for his mug, took a sip, and then thought for a moment before offering it to her. “You are never an interruption.”

Elain didn’t hesitate before taking a drink of his coffee, she had brought it to him black because he liked it that way, and Elain almost always dumped way too much sugar in her own coffee. It thrilled her to know they were sharing a drink, and that they were doing it in front of everybody. They were done hiding. It moved her, and made her insides turn to gooey, as she realized that this was a giant step for them - that it was Azriel that initiated it. They could write off her bringing him breakfast, but sharing a drink was as intimate as they have been in front of everyone else.

Her eyes widened as she felt a damn break inside of her. Before her eyes, a silvery blue chord appeared and flowed towards Azriel, who just looked at it in complete surprise. It looked like a river flowing from her heart into his and after a moment or two it dissipated.

They looked at each other without saying a word, but somehow they were more aware of each other. She swore if she concentrated hard enough she would be able to feel his heart beating in his chest.

No one else seemed to be aware of what had passed between them. The conversation still raging around them, and Elain knew that if Lucien had seen what happened he wouldn’t have stayed put on the opposite side of the room.

“Do you know-” Elain cut herself off at the shake of Azriels head.

Elain opened her mouth to say something, she didn’t know what, but stopped at the appearance of the twins and the announcement that breakfast was served. She brought her hand to his tentatively, giving him the option of pulling away, and gasped at the jolt that went through her as their skin touched.

What every passed between them felt electric, and Elain noticed the warmth that was pooling between her legs and the need to rip her dress off to feel more of Azriel’s skin on her.

“Ready for breakfast,” A friendly voice asked her and a heavy arm landed on her shoulder. Elain looked up to see Cassian smiling down at her, looking a little too fresh considering how drunk he was last night. “Not everyone got special cinnamon rolls this morning.” Cassian winked over his shoulder as he steered her out of the room.

#elain archeron #elain acotar #elriel fanfic #pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elriel #after the ceremony #after the ceremony chapter 3 #my work #my fanfiction #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

[thornedrose44]

It's Funny Right Up Until It's Not

Read on AO3

It's funny because it's harmless…

It's funny because it's never a big deal…

It's funny because it's forgotten by the next day…

It's funny because she's fine.

She's always fine…

Until… she’s not...

It's funny right up until there's a growing pool of blood.

It's funny right up until Kara's hands just can't seem to stem the flow.

It's funny right up until Kara can't get her to open her eyes no matter how much she screams.

It's funny right up until the moment Kara realises Lena might actually die this time…

*****

Lena always said she would start to worry if she didn't have an assassination attempt at least once a week, claiming she would phone her enemies to check that they were all still kicking - concerned they might have passed away or even worse… lost interest.

Lena was the one that joked about it from the start, her dark-edged humour and flair for the dramatic finding their niche with the topic of the failed attempts on her life.

Alex jumped in next - her humour similar to the youngest Luthor and her affection for Lena not high enough for her to find the subject of Lena’s death off putting like she would with anyone else. Her amusement at the failed attempts taking a harsher edge towards Lena than necessary. "You know why they keep missing you? You run so stupidly that logical aiming no longer applies."

Kara could chart Alex and Lena’s friendship by how the jokes changed. How Lena was no longer the punchline but the assassins, how they were idiotic for daring to take on Lena, "I mean seriously! What sane being in the known universe would think: 'I know that Lena Luthor stopped an alien invasion, is probably the smartest person on the planet and is practically a sharpshooter but me and my crappy store bought pistol will be more than enough to take her on'."

Alex's shift into more positive banter led the way for the rest of the Superfriends to get in on the action. They placed bets on when the next attempt would come. They would reminisce about the most ridiculous attempts so far - the spiderman impersonator that had used suction cup gloves to slowly climb the side of L-Corp was a particular favourite, exhausting themselves halfway up and crying for Supergirl to save him.

It became one of the most regular jokes amongst them, an old and familiar friend that they could fall back on and break the ice with when the need arrived.

Kara had hated it to start with. Had hated Lena's nonchalance and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes after her latest would-be assassin was carted away in handcuffs. Had hated Lena’s morbid humour. Had hated the bullying disguised as playful banter that Alex had inflicted on her best friend who always shook it off far too lightly. Had hated how it became a comfortable staple amongst her friends.

But… with every failed attempt that Lena walked away from without a scratch… Kara's hatred reduced. She started to laugh at the jokes and appreciate the compliments that Alex now tucked into her banter (each one an apology for those that had cruelly come before). She started to engage in the bets and fondly roll her eyes in faux exasperation when she would find Lena working away even as they swept up the glass from the latest attacker.

And once the Supergirl secret was out, their friendship more solid than ever, Kara finally poked fun as well.

It was funny because Lena was never hurt.

It was funny because Supergirl would always, always, always be there to save her in the nick of time.

It was funny right up until Supergirl was too late.

*****

Kara had been in the training room at the time, her powers dampened by the green suffused walls. She hadn’t heard the ringing from the watch calling - screaming out - for help. She hadn’t heard the gunshots. The skyrocketing heartbeat.

She hadn’t heard any of it.

Alex had insisted, after assessing Kara’s technique to be a little lazy in a fight the day prior, that they re-sharpen her skills in the training room. The sisters had spent the morning laughing between thrown punches; exhausting themselves and bickering good-naturedly. Kara had made Alex swear that they would be finished before eleven, not wanting to be late to her standing brunch with Lena that she always looked forward to.

It should be noted that it takes Kara a minute to somewhat recharge in the morning light streaming through the DEO’s windows on the mezzanine balcony after her training sessions. It was something Alex and Lena had spent a significant amount of time working out, taking into consideration the kryptonite strength in the training room and Kara’s typical sunlight absorption rate - neither liking the idea of Kara powerless for an extended amount of time.

So... it took a minute.

A full minute spent talking to Alex about… Kara wouldn’t even remember after everything that happened next.

She would, however, remember the moment when her super-hearing kicked back in and she was overwhelmed by the high pitched warble from Lena’s watch, followed by the sound of Lena’s barely there breath and thready heartbeat.

Kara won’t remember taking off so violently that Alex was thrown back several feet. She won’t remember smashing through the DEO’s ceiling nor the sonic boom that accompanied her flight and shattered hundreds of windows.

She won’t remember landing with such ferocity the entirety of L-Corp shook, matching the tremble running through her body.

She will, however, always remember the growing pool of blood and how she dissociated at the sight of it. Some strange voice in her head whispering that it must simply be red wine that had slipped through Lena’s fingers. She’d always liked wine, the voice would soothe, a particular cabernet with a price tag that would make Kara’s eyes water, that’s all it was.

She needed it to be wine.

It didn’t matter that the puddle - lake, ocean - was more than a single bottle’s worth.

It didn’t matter that Lena only drank wine with others, her solitary drink of preference being whiskey.

It didn’t matter that Kara had never seen Lena’s elegant fingers ever let a single drop fall from her glass, let alone an entire bottle.

It didn’t matter because it could not be blood.

Lena doesn’t bleed, not that much, not ever.

Because Lena was always fine. Kara was always there on time.

Always.

The next thing that would be forever ingrained in Kara’s memory, seared into her mind’s eye like burnt pixels exposed to the same image endlessly - a ghost overlapping everything else - was Lena’s body taking centre stage on the red carpet of her own creation.

Lena, pale beyond comparison, curled into a small ball, single arm stretched out and stained crimson. She was wearing Kara’s favourite dress - green with a white printed flower design - she had worn it to their first brunch after they had reconciled. It was associated with hope, reunion and new starts. It complemented Lena’s green eyes making them sparkle and twinkle even more when the light streaming through the little restaurant’s window had hit them at just the right angle.

Lena’s cheeks had flushed a pleased pink, ears burning a warm red when Kara had stuttered out a compliment that day. That brunch had settled something between them, ensured they walked with linked hands towards their new future rather than struggling on different paths that occasionally converged.

Now it was stained red. Splattered almost beyond recognition.

Kara won’t remember crying or screaming for Lena to wake up. She only knows she must have done it when she looked in the mirror hours later to find her cheeks marked with semi-permanent tear tracks whilst her throat ached from overuse.

She won’t remember flying Lena so carefully and tenderly to the DEO.

She won’t remember landing.

She won’t remember the expressions of utter devastation on Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn’s faces.

She won’t remember Alex having to shove her away so that she and the medical team can get to Lena.

She won’t remember Brainy and J’onn forcibly restraining her.

She will remember the sound of Lena’s heart stopping for thirty seconds and feeling like the whole world had ended.

*****

The space was filled to the brim with loved ones that couldn’t bear the idea of leaving whilst the medical staff fought to save Lena’s life

Brainy and Nia were sat huddled together against one wall, Nia running a calm hand down Brainy’s ramrod straight back. J'onn stood in the corner, observant gaze sweeping protectively over everyone, ready to swing into action at the slightest indication someone required him. Sam and Ruby - who had flown over using the L-Corp jet the second they had heard - were curled up on one of the two benches, Ruby’s soft cries muffled against Sam’s curled shoulder. Kelly, meanwhile, was hovering nearby, flitting between people, providing endless comfort and support.

It was Kelly that had gently tugged Kara to the bathroom and washed away the crimson marking her skin and brought her a change of clothes, telling her in gentle tones that she didn’t need to be Supergirl in this situation.

It was permission to fall apart, to just be the best friend and not the hero.

Kara didn’t know she needed that until she finally realised no one had touched her since she had brought Lena in, that she hadn’t sat down or rested either. Her stiff posture and clenched jaw warding off all those that wished to provide comfort.

The second permission was granted to her, Kara immediately sought out her adoptive mother, who had just arrived, and collapsed into her arms, willingly breaking down and begging between sobs for Lena to be okay.

Kara and Eliza took up the other bench - mirror images of Sam and Ruby - Eliza, intermittently, pressing reassuring kisses to Kara’s head as they waited and waited and waited.

“She’s stable.” Alex announced with little ceremony as she stepped into the room, cutting right to the chase knowing a delay of any kind would not be appreciated by those sitting in the makeshift waiting room/DEO hallway. There was an instant audible expulsion of air that accompanied the sheer relief of the room's occupants.

Kara, however, didn’t sigh in relief, didn’t whisper a thank you to any deity listening, instead she got to her feet and approached Alex, desperation clear in her eyes and in the shake of her hands. “Can I see her?”

Alex blinked taken aback by the suddenness of the request but not the request itself, “Kara, she’s-”

“Please.” Kara begged, blue eyes pleading, legs shaking, ready to drop to her knees in supplication if need be.

“Kara, I don’t-” Alex murmured, looking quickly over at Eliza for support.

“Take her.” Eliza interrupted, tone serious and grave after spending hours holding her daughter who hadn't cried this much since the destruction of her entire planet. “Take her to Lena.”

“Okay, come on…”, Alex shook her head in wary acceptance, moving to hold open the door to Lena’s room.

*****

“She’s in a medically induced coma.” Alex explained quietly, her voice only just audible over all the whirring machines that Lena was hooked up to.

“Will she...” Kara asked, trailing off unable to finish the question.

Unable to imagine the still, pale mannequin laid out on the bed before her being all that Lena will ever be.

“Her body needs time to heal.” Alex explained carefully, not directly answering Kara’s question, “Once we’re more confident that she…” Alex cleared her throat, trying for tact and simplicity, “That she’s improved, we’ll back off the medication and gradually encourage her out of the coma.”

“Okay.” Kara accepted, sliding into the seat beside the bed, fingers reaching out tentatively to wrap around Lena’s limp ones.

“Okay?” Alex repeated, confused by Kara’s lack of pressing questions.

“She’ll wake up.” Kara murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Lena’s knuckles. “She’ll be fine. She’s always fine, isn’t she?”

“Uh…” Alex mumbled, uncertainty twisting her insides as she approached her sister who seemed so… lost.

“How many attempts has she survived now, huh?” Kara asked, her tone light but so dreadfully wrong and out of place like an easy-going dinner with friends jarred from its natural rhythm by the sharp squeak of a fork against a plate.

“Kara?” Alex whispered, stepping towards her sister like she would a wounded animal. "She's really hurt and I don't-"

"She’ll be fine, Alex. She’s always fine!" Kara hissed, blue eyes turning fierce with an ethereal red glow that had Alex stopping dead in her tracks. "It happens every week like clockwork and Lena is always fine!"

"This… this isn't like those other times…" Alex said slowly.

"YES, IT IS!" Kara screeched, the embers in her eyes sparking dangerously.

Alex swallowed thickly, a genuine trickle of fear running down her spine at the disturbing mish-mash of emotions flickering across Kara’s shadowed face. The only thing that made Alex see her sister in the dark swirl of emotions was the tender way she continued to cradle Lena’s hand as she ranted so loudly it shook the walls, every word undoubtedly audible to those seated just outside.

"They're all the same, Alex. It doesn't matter if they are professional or amateurs.” Kara snarled. “It doesn't matter if the plan is simple or complex. They've all tried to kill her and failed! It’s the same fucking thing as all the others! It’s not different."

"I-" Alex began in a futile attempt to soothe her sister’s heartbreak and loathing, but she might as well have tried to turn the tide.

"It's a joke, right?!” Kara laughed darkly, “That's how certain we are that they will always fail. That she will always be okay! We wouldn't joke about it if there was any actual risk, right?!” Kara asked, not waiting to hear the answer as the question itself was enough to punch a hole in Alex’s chest and leave her gasping for breath. “Because how fucked up would that be? That I laugh about my best friend… the woman I… my Lena, dying nearly every week." Kara’s voice cracked with true despair.

"Kara, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did and so did you. So did everyone.” Kara accused, laying out their crimes that they were all undeniably guilty of. “We laughed. We placed bets. We minimised it but didn't actually do anything. There is an assassination attempt on her life every week and yes, we stop it when it happens. But have we ever actually done anything to prevent it in the first place? Or did we just like the joke too fucking much?" Kara sobbed, finally turning away from her sister to gently lay her head atop of Lena’s frail hand.

"Kara…" Alex croaked; hot tears spilling from her own eyes at the sight of her sister becoming undone and knowing that any comfort she could offer was limited.

Lena’s state was precarious, her life still in the balance.

And with regards to the source of Kara’s anguish and the failings she had thrown at all of their doorsteps… well, Alex couldn't refute them especially knowing she had been the worst of them. The guilt was like that of a thousand blades slicing her up from the inside out, and she barely staggered to the door where Kelly was waiting with sympathy and love that Alex had never felt so unworthy of.

"She's going to be okay." Alex called out over her shoulder as she fell into Kelly’s arms, knowing Kara couldn’t hear her over the sounds of her grief and pain… but needing to say it nonetheless. Needing the words to be out there in the universe.

Needing them to be true.

*****

Kara stayed by Lena’s bedside for the entire week that Lena remained unconscious - an ever present sentinel that barely slept and only ate when Eliza forced the food onto her. The tumultuous swirl of fear and guilt that had become her constant companion, weighing heavier than the two worlds she already carried on her shoulders, kept her ever-vigilant and on a hair-trigger for even the smallest of threats to the young Luthor’s life.

Alex stopped by once a day to check in but she kept her distance, neither sister ready to address the crimes Kara held them both accountable for. The older Danvers looked almost as wrecked as Kara, dark circles under her eyes revealing deep-levels of exhaustion and stress - Kara wanted to ask how she was and check that she was looking after herself but the words just wouldn’t come. When Alex stopped by, Kara huddled even closer to Lena’s bedside and kept her gaze fixed and purposefully away from her sister’s.

Brainy and Nia, on the other hand, more than made up for Alex’s short visitations, setting up shop in Lena’s room whenever they could free themselves from the responsibilities Kara had unwittingly dumped on them - Brainy had stepped up to cover for Supergirl’s sudden disappearance in much the same way Nia was covering for Kara at work. Both had heard Kara’s distraught cries when she had seen Lena in the hospital bed and both were shouldering their own fair share of blame and guilt.

Brainy wasn’t very good at showing how distraught Lena’s near death had made him, hiding behind a tablet screen as he sat in the corner of Lena’s hospital room, but Kara was more than aware of the grief-stricken glances Brainy would send to his intellectual equal when he believed no one was looking. Kara didn’t call him out on it, merely gave his shoulder a squeeze every now and again before giving the Coluan some privacy - trusting Brainy above everyone to not let anything happen to Lena.

Whilst Nia hadn’t known Lena as long as everyone else, she was a gentle soul with the kindest heart that Kara had ever seen, her loyalty and love was firm and sincere regardless of how short a time she had known someone as was the case with the CEO. Lena was the person that Nia went to for support about sibling drama because Lena, unlike Kara, knew what it was like to truly doubt family love and how to cope when that support which everyone expects to be unconditional vanishes without a trace. Lena was the person that Nia had started to go shopping with, their appreciation for designer and statement fashion providing them bonding time that no one else could easily (or willingly) provide.

Eliza stuck around, the temporary dissolution of the sisterly bond that the two sisters’ typically depended on forcing the Danvers matriarch to step in and pick up the disjointed pieces of her family. She was the one that compelled Kara to shower, eat and nap. She was the one that dragged Alex by her ear into Lena’s room for her flying visits. She was the one that took point on Lena’s care, Alex too emotionally spent and frazzled to lead, and Kara untrusting of anyone else when it came to treating her best friend.

The medication was steadily backed off on the fifth day, Lena’s tests showing promise that she was improving. Lena groaned intermittently on the sixth day, groggy and confused - utterly unaware of Kara who flitted constantly over her with every sound like a worried mother hen. It was the seventh day - Kara’s mind fleetingly linking it with something holy and divine - when Lena awoke.

“Lena?” Kara whispered as Lena’s eyes fluttered open, green eyes slowly focusing and showing awareness that had been lacking whenever they flashed open a day prior.

“Kar-” Lena began, her voice fading out after the first syllable, her mouth so dry that her tongue barely managed to apply any moisture to her cracked lips. Kara responded immediately to her needs, her every nerve tuned in exclusively to Lena after days at her side.

“Here, small sips…” Kara encouraged, holding out a cup of water and straw which she pressed gently against the other woman’s lips.

After Lena had drunk her fill, Kara placed the cup back on the side before retaking Lena’s hand tenderly in her own.

“Better?” Kara checked.

“Hmm…” Lena hummed affirmatively, green eyes greedily moving over Kara’s face causing the blonde to flush and wish for the first time in the last few days that she had spent a bit more time on her appearance.

“I-” Kara began, her voice cracking with emotion as her lower lip trembled with barely suppressed sobs.

Kara had so much to say. So much.

The words had come endlessly whilst Lena had been asleep, thousands upon thousands of conversations she was desperate to have with her best friend playing on endless repeat in her mind’s eye scripted to perfection. She had promised herself she would have them all, would say them all the second Lena was awake and listening. She had memorised them and mouthed them to herself as she sat by the bedside, pressing kisses to Lena’s knuckles to mark the end of each sentence.

But now… her signature ramble had deserted her. There was so much to say and Kara was already overwhelmed at simply being able to stare into intelligent green that she so adored.

“Kara?” Lena called out soothingly.

And much to Kara’s embarrassment, the kryptonian promptly burst into tears upon hearing her name.

“Kara, it’s okay…” Lena rushed to reassure, squeezing Kara’s hand and tugging her closer so that Kara could bury her face into the pillow Lena was resting her head on - even in her broken down state Kara was so careful of Lena’s injured body. “I’m okay.” Lena repeated until Kara’s cries began to quieten and her shoulders stopped shaking, reducing down to a mere tremble.

“No, you’re not…” Kara hiccupped, turning her head to peer into concerned green eyes.

“Of course I am.” Lena reassured with a light, dismissive chuckle that made Kara tense up and her jaw clench. “That idiot couldn’t aim for shit.” Lena scoffed with an amused roll of her eyes that meant she was blind to the rage visibly brewing in her best friend’s countenance. “I’m thinking of turning the corridor leading into my office into a target range. Only those that can hit three out of five targets can gain access. That should stop like eighty percent of the assassins and then those that do make it through will at least be worthy of-”

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Kara demanded, throwing herself from the bed, hands clamped tight over her ears as she paced the room with such heavy footsteps that visible cracks in the tiles marked her every move.

The sudden silence that followed would have been suffocating if it were not for the familiar beeps of the machines that monitored Lena’s precious heartbeat. Slowly, Kara pulled her shaky hands away from her ears and glanced at her best friend with her peripheral vision, not ready to face those green eyes after her outburst. Lena was watching her curiously, no hint of fear in her expression or body language, eyebrow raised and lips pursed.

“Kara?” Lena encouraged, inviting an explanation with that single word.

Kara inhaled roughly, rubbing at her creased forehead with tightly wound fists. “It’s not funny, Lena…”

Lena cleared her throat and began with a tone that always accompanied her dry, snarky wit, “Well, maybe not right now but by the third attempt after this one-”

“NO!” Kara bellowed in total disbelief that Lena completely failed to get it. “YOU NEARLY FUCKING DIED.”

Lena yet again rolled her eyes and waved a hand as if to sweep it aside like it was a meaningless report that she had made a minor grammatical error in. “Kara, you’re over-reacting.”

“I AM REACTING THE RIGHT FUCKING AMOUNT TO SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL THE WOMAN I-” Kara’s voice cut out sudden and sharp.

Finally, Lena’s mask of nonchalance and indifference cracked. Round green eyes, slack jaw and hands tightly fisted in the bed’s blanket. A deer in the headlight that had never believed a car would ever come and had just been forced to watch it swerve erratically by, missing her by an inch.

Kara sucked in her lips, holding in the single word with all of her mighty strength before deflating and stating for the record, “It’s not funny. It was never funny. Never.”

*****

Kara didn’t keep her distance after that but that didn’t prevent a sizable chasm from opening up between them. It was nowhere near as bad as the fallout from Supergirl-gate, but it was ten times more awkward. The confession that almost happened, the assassination attempt and Lena’s near-death were swept momentarily under a rug but they loomed over them both regardless.

The Superfriends served as a suitable buffer, all of them (except for Alex) coming in on rotation to catch up with Lena throughout the day, keeping her occupied (though, Kara’s stony silence and brooding glare was definitely the elephant in the room) until exhaustion pushed Lena into a deep slumber.

It lasted two days which is more than Kara thought Lena would let her get away with but she hadn’t taken into consideration how fragile Lena was from her injuries. Kara hated herself just that little bit more for always assuming everything was fine, that Lena was unbreakable and failing to see what was really going on below the surface.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment for?” Lena questioned, peering over at the blonde who was sat in the corner of the room typing up a fluff piece article to keep Andrea’s wrath at bay as she kept herself sequestered in Lena’s hospital room. Kara pointedly ignored the question, shoulders curving forward to keep her tightly locked towards her laptop screen.

“Come on Kara, talk to me, please?” Lena whined, sounding like a child denied her favourite toy and not someone that had gone through an incredibly traumatic event.

Kara’s jaw clenched, self-awareness making her realise that if she hadn’t of been the one to find Lena, hadn’t watched the grim bruises littered across pale skin lighten to murky blues and greens… she wouldn’t be able to tell that Lena had only just escaped the sweep of death’s scythe.

“I hate it when we are not talking.” Lena declared soft and earnest, finally pulling the kryptonian’s gaze away from her computer screen to the woman that Kara knew with absolute certainty would always make her breath catch no matter how much time passed. “I know my humour is a bit insensitive but I genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. Kara, just-”

“I’m in love with you.” Kara interrupted, the words slipping out easily after being held onto so tightly for years.

She was so drained of emotion, of thought, of strength, her heart battered and bruised by everything she had gone through, but the core of her loved Lena without end. With nothing else in her, there was nothing to hold back that limitless source which had been begging to be released.

“I have been for a long time,” Kara admitted gently, fingers shifting away from her keyboard to gently interlace - her gaze dropping down to focus on their interaction, “so much so that I don’t even really remember a time where I wasn’t in love with you.” Kara shook her head ruefully. “I should have told you earlier but I just… I was so scared of losing you, in even a small way… What if I told you and we hung out a little less? What if I told you and you stopped hugging me as hard as you do? I know I should have… I know it's the exact same reason - excuse - as why I kept Supergirl a secret and I know how…” Kara swallowed thickly, the crinkle between her brow deepening even further. “I should have learnt but you mean so much to me. I didn’t know… I’ve never loved like this before. When I heard… your heart stop. It was Krypton all over again and I just…”

“Kara.” Lena breathed in awe.

“I am so in love with you,” Kara repeated, practically begging for Lena to accept it as the truth; she didn’t care in that moment if Lena returned her feelings, it wasn’t about that, it was about Lena knowing she was loved. Truly and deeply loved. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you.” Lena whispered causing Kara’s head to jerk upwards to find Lena looking so small and vulnerable. The youngest Luthor timidly tapped the empty space next to her, “Come here.”

“I…” Kara hesitated, afraid of getting close again - so utterly afraid of destroying this beautiful moment between them.

“Come here.” Lena beseeched and Kara was on her feet and settling next to her best friend in an instant unable to deny her anything. Immediately, Lena reached out for her, directing Kara to lie down and rest her head on the uninjured side of her chest. “Just listen.” Lena requested; Kara did as she was told - though her super hearing and the beeping of the monitor in the corner told Kara that Lena’s heart was beating strong and steady, it was nothing compared to feeling it hum under her cheek. “It’s beating for you,” Lena revealed, her voice little more than a whisper muffled by how she pressed her lips to Kara’s forehead, “it's always been beating for you.”

*****

Lena fell asleep not long after but Kara stayed awake until the early hours of the morning… just listening to Lena’s heart and experiencing the regular rise and fall of Lena’s chest with every breath. She slipped out of Lena’s room before dawn, going to shower in the changing rooms before the early morning shift change.

Freshly clean and dressed in clothes that Eliza had brought by, Kara watched the sunrise from the balcony that she had initially heard Lena’s watch calling to her for help. She had returned to the spot whenever she had managed to pull herself away from Lena’s room - her self-flagellation tendency making itself apparent.

“She uses humour to cope.” Alex muttered, moving to stand by Kara’s side as they watched the first peeks of orange appear on the horizon, both blatantly ignoring how the glass was new and that there was a patched up hole in the ceiling above them.

“I know that.” Kara replied.

Alex sighed, resting her forearms on the balcony guard, “There are worse coping methods.”

“I know that too.” Kara acknowledged, pursing her lips and shaking her head. “It’s not about that… not really anyway…”

“Then what’s it about?” Alex inquired.

Kara loved Alex best when she was like this. Encouraging but not overbearing. Guiding but not directing. When she was just her big sister and not her over-burdened protector. She was easy to talk to like this and this version of her had been coming to the forefront more and more with Kelly’s gentle love and care.

“She’s laughing to deal with incredible trauma.” Kara summarised before turning to look at her sister and asking the question that had been plaguing her the most, “But why are we laughing?”

“Because she wanted us to.” Alex answered simply.

“Yeah,” Kara agreed, mouth twisting into a bitter smile, “she wanted us to but she needed us not to more… she needed us to help her… and we just laughed.” Alex cringed at that but she fully flinched at the question that came next. “If it was me that was getting assassination attempts every week… what would you have done?”

Alex closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, fortifying herself for the truth she was about to announce, “I would have taken the world apart to find and stop whoever was doing it.”

“Yeah…” Kara said quietly, there wasn’t much else to say. “I’m not going to apologise for yelling.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We need to do something.”

“I know…” Alex agreed, turning her back to the sun that was halfway to fully risen, “whilst you were watching over Lena, I may have started on something that might help.”

“So that’s where you’ve been,” Kara hummed thoughtfully, “I figured you were avoiding me.”

“I was.” Alex admitted readily, much to Kara’s surprise. “Well, not you. Lena.” Alex corrected, “I couldn’t face her until I had something… done something.”

“She misses you.” Kara revealed.

“Why?” Alex murmured sadly, “I was a terrible friend.”

“You’ve made up for it.” Kara refuted, nudging her sister’s side comfortingly.

“Have I?” Alex scoffed, unconvinced but happily leaning into her sister now that the gap between them had been bridged.

“That’s not for me or you to decide. It’s for Lena. And she misses you.” Kara asserted, giving Alex a moment to consider what she had said before dropping her own truth-bomb, “I told her I was in love with her.”

Alex whirled round to face her, loudly and joyfully exclaiming, “You did?”

“Yeah.” Kara winced, shyly rubbing the back of her neck, “You knew?”

“Not until recently.” Alex tutting at her own blindness, “I should have seen it earlier.”

“I didn’t want you to. I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet and you’ve always made me brave.”

Alex smiled at that, “How did it go?”

“Good.” Kare coughed, blushing profusely, “She… uh… loves me too.”

“That I’d known for a while.” Alex chuckled. “Are you two-”

“Uh… kind of? We’re acknowledging it but not acting on it.”

Alex’s brow creased at the lack of certainty to her answer, “What? Why?”

“Lena needs time to recover. And after everything,” Kara frowned, “I don’t think a little time to do that is too much to ask.”

“Responsible decision.” Alex complimented.

“Kelly’s advice.” Kara divulged.

Alex’s smile expanded to a proud grin. “Unsurprising.”

“Come on,” Kara ordered, clapping her hands together before slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulders, “show me what you’ve been working on, then you better go see Lena.”

*****

Two gunshot wounds, one to the torso and one to the right thigh, as well as two broken ribs, a black eye, stitches to her lip and her skin turned into an homage to Jackson Pollock by different shaded bruising. Lena catalogued the injury rundown given to her by the doctor with little interest; she paid even less attention to her treatment plan, the medication schedule and the intensive physiotherapy her leg would require.

All she really wanted was to get back to work; if Kara wasn’t there shooting her stern glares everytime Lena’s gaze wandered, the CEO would have happily been replying to emails on her phone as the Doctor lectured away.

“Did you even listen to any of that?” Kara asked once the doctor had taken his leave.

“I heard his name…” Lena grumbled, phone already in hand and frown settling in as she reviewed the most recent email from her marketing head who still hadn’t quite got it through their thick skull that weapons were no longer their main focus.

“And what was it?” Kara questioned, her phone vanishing from her hands with a flash of superspeed.

Lena huffed out a disgruntled breath. “It was...”

“It was?” Kara prompted, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping the floor angrily whilst her nostrils flared.

Lena pursed her lips, schooling her expression to hide just how attractive she found a stern Kara to be. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Lena said slowly, playing desperately for time. “Doctor…” Kara merely arched an eyebrow at her. “Smith?”

“Not even close.”

“Damn…” Lena muttered with a pout.

“Lena,” Kara began with a sad shake of her head as she moved to sit on the edge of Lena’s bed.

“Ugh, you’re about to lecture me too, aren’t you?” Lena groaned.

“Lena, this is important.” Kara stressed. “Your treatment is important. Your health is important.” Kara’s blue eyes shone with love and Lena couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You are important.”

Their confession of love still hung heavy between them despite Lena not explicitly saying the words in return. It should have marked a huge change in their relationship but it was lost amongst the tidal wave that had come before it, put on pause until the wake from the assassination attempt had dissipated enough for Lena to catch her breath.

“Fine…” Lena relented, reaching out to take Kara’s hand, gaze still shy and ducked. “I assume you were listening then?”

“Of course, I was. It was about you.” Kara replied so honest and sincere that Lena’s heart audibly fluttered on the heart monitor producing a smug smirk on the blonde’s face.

“Go on then, tell me.”

“Will you actually listen to me?” Kara checked, tilting her head to the side.

Lena lifted her head and met Kara’s eyes with a steady gaze of her own, “Of course, I will. It’s you talking.”

*****

The strangest thing about it all was the attention.

And for once it wasn’t negative media attention.

It was Kara and the Superfriends, they were being attentive. Lena hadn’t spent a single minute alone since she had woken up in the DEO hospital bed. Kara had been there the most to start with, her time in Lena’s room decreasing significantly a couple of days after the kind-of-confession (Lena assumed Kara was giving her some breathing room) but she was always present for any appointments and back for dinner, sleeping by her side in the decent-sized hospital bed. As Kara’s time decreased, the other Superfriends tagged in to fill the gap.

Brainy joined her most mornings for games of chess and to talk through some of the sticking points in Lena’s inventions. Nia covered the afternoons, filling the room with light and happy conversation, regaling her with stories of silly work disputes and helping her with her hair and make-up, teasing her like a little sister would when she mentioned wanting to look nicer for Kara.

Kelly would slot in every now and again but she made Lena uneasy, she looked at Lena like she could see right through her armour and it unsettled her. Her usual attempts to crack through awkwardness with a dry comment didn’t seem to faze Kelly and Lena’s obvious discomfort resulted in Kelly staying away for the most part; whenever, she did leave though she always made it clear that Lena could call her if she ever wanted to talk.

Lena pretended she didn’t know what Kelly was hinting at.

Eliza was the biggest surprise. Ever since Lena failed to listen to any of her doctors, Kara had clearly ratted her out to the oldest Danvers prompting the Doctor to personally take over Lena’s care, somehow innately knowing that Lena wouldn’t be able to ignore her like she did all the others. Eliza was a near constant presence in Lena’s room, reading through a pile of medical journals and historical romance fiction that Lena was slowly becoming tempted to borrow as time passed.

Alex was still a complete no-show.

Lena tried not to let it bother her.

Her and Alex had always had a tumultuous relationship - built on distrust and dislike at first sight. Kara had been their bridge and mediator. They had grown past it, grown to trust and like one another as time passed. It had been hard-fought compared to the easiness (Supergirl secret fallout notwithstanding) of their individual relationships with Kara. It was precious because of that.

Alex coming to see her with a bottle of whiskey, after defeating Leviathan and Lex being thrown back in jail, ready to fight to rebuild their friendship all over again was one of Lena’s dearest memories. Alex was the only one to reach out to her first after everything. Lena had to make the first move with Kara, Brainy and Nia. She had been too afraid of Alex to reach out, thinking their friendship would never recover… Alex had proved her wrong.

But now… Alex was avoiding her.

And Lena didn’t really know why, though a small voice in her head told her that Alex just simply didn’t care about her enough to visit…

“Did you have a good day?” Kara asked, stepping out of the ensuite bathroom dressed in cosy pyjamas, shuffling over to the side of Lena’s bed that had become her own.

“You don’t already know with your litany of spies?” Lena remarked, turning the page of her book with a single accusing finger.

“What-” Kara began, brow creased with confusion.

“I don’t think there is a single minute of my day that is not covered by one of your friends.” Lena revealed, snapping her book shut and shooting the blonde an arched eyebrow. “I can’t sneeze without someone already on hand holding out a handkerchief.”

“They’re worried about you.” Kara reminded her softly as she settled next to Lena, arm immediately finding its place around Lena’s waist and gently encouraging her to lie down beside her. “And they’re your friends, Lena.”

“Sure.” Lena tutted unconvinced.

Kara’s pliant body that Lena had become used to snuggling into became stiff and tense. “Do you think they are only here because I asked them to be?”

Lena rolled her eyes, perking her head up to look into sharp, unamused blue eyes, “Are you seriously telling me they’re not?”

“Lena,” Kara said, slow and serious, “they’re here because they care about you. Because they nearly lost you and they… they don’t want to be away from you.”

Lena stared into the deep blue eyes she adored and saw only earnestness reflected in them.

“Oh…” Lena breathed, her heart squeezing tight in her chest desperately trying to contain the swell of emotion that had just flooded it. “I didn’t realise...”

“We love you, Lena.” Kara whispered, her free hand reaching out to tuck stray locks of raven hair behind Lena’s ear. “You’re going to have to get used to us being around.”

“Hmm…” Lena hummed, cheeks blushing a pretty pink at Kara’s tender touch and the realisation that came with finding you have family. Lena buried her face in Kara’s shoulder, suddenly shy and embarrassed - Kara didn’t tease her for it, simply gave Lena the comfort and sanctity she craved.

They were quiet for a long time, the hum of the machines and welcome darkness of the room lulling them both to sleep. It wasn’t until Kara’s breath had started to deepen that Lena found the courage to ask about what had been weighing heavy on her.

“And Alex?” Lena murmured, breaking the silence and calm with those two words.

Kara’s deep, even breaths faltered. “She’s still not been by?” Kara asked carefully; Lena shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice to remain steady. “Well… ummm… she’s busy…”

“Yeah… of course…” Lena replied, letting out a sad sigh before falling into another troubled sleep.

*****

“You look like shit.”

Not exactly the first words she was expecting to hear from the older Danvers after a three week absence but Lena had known it would be something along those lines.

It was Lena’s last day in the DEO hospital room that had been her resting place since she woke up from the attempt on her life. Kara and Eliza were taking her back to her apartment that afternoon - both of whom were going to be taking up residence in Lena’s apartment alongside Sam and Ruby who were already staying there to support Lena’s long-term recovery.

Lena folded her hands carefully in her lap as she studied the redhead leaning against the doorway. “You don’t look much better.” Lena said after a long pause, arching a curious eyebrow at the dark shadows beneath Alex’s eyes.

“Touche.” Alex acknowledged with a dip of her head that gave her an excuse to keep her gaze directed to the floor when she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Alex, you…” Lena stopped, grinding her teeth together in frustration before shaking her head, “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” Lena answered simply, shooting the hesitant agent a melancholic smile. “Force yourself to be here. I assume Kara guilt-tripped you into being here.”

“Kara didn’t-” Alex began only to stop abruptly at the sight of the unimpressed glare directed her way. “Okay, she might have encouraged me.” Alex admitted, scuffing her toes against the floor in the exact same way Kara did whenever she was guilty of eating the last bit of Lena’s ice cream. “She can be pretty intimidating when it comes to you.” Alex’s eyes twinkled in a blatant attempt to get them to bond, to seal over the cracks between them with cellophane.

Normally, Lena would accept it. Would laugh and blush knowingly, giving Alex the free pass she was angling for.

That was before she nearly died and her second closest friend after Kara couldn’t be bothered to stop by for five minutes until the day she would be allowed to leave the only place they shared.

“Well, I’ll tell her you came by, so don’t worry.” Lena replied politely with a single nod of her head.

Alex flinched at the coolness of Lena’s response, “Lena… I…”

“Alex, I nearly died.” Lena stated bluntly, the truth of it like the swing of a reaper’s blade between them. “If what I overheard from some of the agents is true… I did die.” Lena chuckled darkly to herself at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I nearly die once a week, sometimes more. My life expectancy is incredibly short - don’t tell Kara that, though.” Lena quickly requested, she’d seen how much all of this had affected the blonde and she didn’t want to pile onto her pain. “I don’t think about it because if I do…” Lena trailed off, her gaze turning distant as she whispered, “I don’t think about it. What I’m trying to say is…” Lena exhaled deeply, letting go of her charged emotions and in a far more real way letting go of all expectations of friendship when it came to the older Danvers. “I don’t need to be around people that don’t want to be around me.”

“Lena.” Alex croaked from the door.

Lena didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the effect of her honesty.

So, instead, Lena reached out for the book on the bedside table, flipped it open and promised with a brusque business tone, “I’ll tell Kara you stopped by.”

*****

The return back to her apartment was a welcome shift, having grown sick of the sight of her hospital room’s four walls after the first day of waking up there. Lena was happy to be back in her own space but after a day that’s where the joy ended.

Being back in her apartment acutely reminded her of her current lack of independence.

She was no longer awake at six for work like she used to be, her injuries and medication making her sleep long and late into the day. Then when she was awake she found herself groggy and fatigued.

She couldn’t get up and make breakfast for herself, she couldn’t shower without support, she couldn’t focus for long without her attention drifting. Her penthouse was abuzz with life and activity in a way that it had never been before but she found she couldn’t quite enjoy it to its fullest with how she jumped at every loud sound and struggled to keep herself awake for the length of a film.

That wasn’t the worst part though...

There had been a certain safety and security that had come with being at the DEO: surrounded by armed agents that were there to keep her safe, her super-powered friends just a couple of corridors away at all times.

That’s not to say her apartment wasn’t secure.

It was probably more secure than the DEO with biometric locks, bulletproof glass and a panic room that could probably survive armageddon. And if that wasn’t enough, she currently went to sleep with one of the most highly regarded Doctors in the country as well as one of her best friends who would fight tooth and nail for her staying in her guest rooms and to top it off, she had Supergirl curled up around her every night.

The panic attacks started when she had returned to the apartment and her medication dosage had been decreased enough to lift the fog on her mind and allow the dark thoughts and fears to seep in under the cover of darkness.

She managed to hide it, mostly due to luck more than anything else.

Kara was out for most of the day still, off doing who knew what - the kryptonian had been particularly secretive about her recent activities - and Lena had managed to request privacy when she felt an attack starting that Sam and Ruby were always quick to acquiesce to.

She just needed to get past this, she just needed to push the fear, that she had kept tightly sealed in a little box in some far-flung corner of her mind, back into the abyss it belonged in.

If she could do that…

She just didn’t want to be afraid anymore, not when she had so many good things in her life, like her new bedtime routine...

“And anyway long story short…” Kara grinned, as she lifted Lena gently into the bed, tucking the sheets lovingly around her, “he gave me a camel.”

Lena chuckled, pressing a quick appreciative kiss to Kara’s cheek that had the blonde ducking her head bashfully. “I’m assuming you didn’t keep it.”

Kara winced, admitting weakly, “I kept it for like a week. It destroyed my apartment. Destroyed.” Kara stressed with a horror-struck expression.

“Really?” Lena prompted as Kara supersped to turn out the lights, change into her pyjamas and get into bed by Lena’s side.

“You remember when you popped round to my apartment for lunch one day and you thought there was a gas leak because of the smell?” Kara asked, holding out an arm for Lena to curl herself up under.

“Yeah?”

“Camel.”

“Huh.” Lena muttered thoughtfully, “I thought you were just having really bad flatulence.”

Kara gasped in shock and disbelief, “And you still wanted to hang out with me?”

Lena shrugged, licking her lips before declaring simply, “I’m in love with you.”

It was the first time she had properly said the words.

“I… umm… I…” Kara stammered incoherently, her entire face turning a lovely shade of tomato. “You like making me all flustered, don’t you?” Kara groaned.

“Yes.” Lena answered honestly, “Until I can…” Lena’s smile dimmed momentarily at the reminder that she was still not quite ready for that next step, “it’s the only thing I can do right now.”

“There’s no rush.” Kara assured, even as Lena heard a small clock ticking in her mind, counting down to the next inevitable bullet she would have to dodge.

*****

Lena had learned to be quiet from a young age.

She was told firmly that screams and cries and whimpers were not acceptable. That her nightmares did not warrant waking the house, did not warrant shaming the Luthor name with her tears and her petty fears.

Lena taught herself to wake with a mere sigh whilst her throat clenched tightly to hold in the shout of desperation that wished to escape.

Lena taught herself to sleep motionlessly, to not toss and turn as her dreamed body clawed and swam through a syrupy atmosphere whilst shadowy figures relentlessly hunted her down.

Lena taught herself to hide her nightmares from a young age - it was easy enough to do, she got a lot of practice in the Luthor Mansion and she had regularly brushed up on these skills since she started dodging bullets every other day.

No one would ever know the horrors that plagued her at night as long as Lena had her way.

What she didn’t count on was that the horrors could grow and mutate into terrors far worse than anything she had ever experienced.

For the first time since she was child, Lena awoke with a blood-curdling scream, her entire body trembling and skin clammy with cold sweat.

“Lena, you’re okay. You’re okay.” A soft voice soothed, warm arms wrapping gently around Lena to prevent her from causing harm to herself with her frantic movements. “Shh… you’re okay.”

“I… I…” Lena cried, shaking her head to clear the nightmare veil still shrouding her mind.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Kara repeated endlessly, each utterance just as soft and gentle as all the others.

“Kara…” Lena croaked, burying herself in Kara’s warmth and forcing the kryptonian’s arms to wrap even more around her. It was the fear that made her honest whilst the pain of her constantly aching body made the words tumble out even easier, “I’m… scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t…”

The pliable cocoon made of Kryptonian muscle hardened to steel in an instant at the confession. The murmured words of comfort ceased and Kara’s breath went from light and even to deep and irregular.

“Lena, you’re not going to die.” Kara whispered harshly, the words cold and vicious - but not towards Lena, never towards Lena - as if she could intimidate away any and all threats just by speaking it into existence. “You’re not.”

“This time.” Lena muttered, timidly reaching out to hold Kara with her own hands as she ducked her head under Kara’s chin.

“Lena?”

“I’m not going to die this time.” Lena breathed, “What about the next one? And the one after that and after that and… It never stops. And I don’t- I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be scared all the time. I want to be excited and happy because you love me.” Lena’s hands clutch handfuls of Kara’s pyjama shirt with white knuckles. “But all I’m thinking about is: how little time we have. How stupid it is to get into a relationship when I know the odds - because they offer them on a number of mainstream betting sites - of me making it to the next year is slim to none.”

Silence followed Lena’s speech, heavy and suffocating. Lena held her breath waiting for the kryptonian to reply.

The lightest touch of lips to Lena’s forehead allowed her to breathe out slow and steady.

“You are not dying.” Kara declared sternly.

“I’m just scared…” Lena sighed, snuggling closer to the blonde encouraging the lips to press repeatedly against her brow until the lines creasing it eased away, “all the time, Kara. All the time.”

They fell asleep entangled together - if Lena had been more with it she would have tried to get Kara to re-position herself into a more comfortable position, not that Kara would have been persuaded, unwilling to move an inch if it distanced her in any way from the youngest Luthor.

Lena awoke the next day to gentle fingers brushing through her hair, enticing her back to the real world that was illuminated by the bright morning sun. Kara was up and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed, running one hand through Lena’s hair and intermittently stroking her cheek whilst her other hand balanced a tray loaded up with pancakes, strawberries and orange juice.

“Mmmm…” Lena hummed happily, turning her head to press a quick kiss to Kara’s palm.

“Breakfast.” Kara announced cheerily, helping Lena sit up before placing the tray carefully on her lap and pressing a kiss to Lena’s blushing cheek.

Lena took a deep breath, taking time to appreciate the sheer beauty of this singular moment: the woman she loved sat next to her with an adoring look having made her favourite for breakfast. She wanted to be able to enjoy this without feeling like damocles’ sword was looming above her at all times.

“Kara?” Lena murmured, reaching out to interlace their fingers, seeking support.

“Yeah?”

Lena swallowed thickly, squeezed Kara’s hand once, and asked, “Can you ask Kelly to pop by? When she has a chance that is.”

“Of course.” Kara beamed, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of Lena’s hand, her blue eyes shining with pride.

“I want to be excited. I don’t want to live in fear.”

*****

It was a few days later when Lena found herself alone for the first time in over a month. Kara was out during the day as usual, Sam and Ruby were out at the cinema enjoying some mother-daughter time whilst Eliza had left for a walk five minutes ago. Lena was working through some calculations at the dining room table - Eliza had positioned her wheelchair at the table and left her a warm cup of coffee to tide her over until she got back.

Admittedly, Lena probably should’ve realised that it was all a ploy because barely ten minutes had passed before the front door swung open and in strode one Agent Danvers.

Lena placed her pen back onto the table and quirked a perplexed eyebrow at the redhead, “Alex? What are you doing here?”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Alex declared with a smirk and cocked hip.

Lena pursed her lips, musing thoughtfully, “And here I thought if you ever did kidnap me, you wouldn’t be so open about it…”

Alex frowned, “You’ve thought about me kidnapping you?”

“Not you per se.” Lena explained with a wave of her hand before rolling her temporary wheelchair out from the table and over to her intruder, “The DEO or some other covert government agency grabbing me and hiding me away in some dark cell.”

“That…” Alex began, her intent to deny the possibility of such a scenario occurring dying after a single moment’s consideration. Lena chuckled sadly at the guilty brown eyes that dipped away from her gaze. “Nevermind.” Alex murmured, shaking her head and forcing back her usual confident swagger. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Alex-” Lena sighed, not really in the mood for whatever Alex had planned.

Suddenly Alex was in front of her, knelt down - not to patronise but to easily reach out for Lena’s hands.

“You’re probably my best friend,” Alex announced, firm and beautifully honest (a signature Danvers trait), “not counting Kara or Kelly. But Kara loves me as a sister above everything else. Kelly loves me as a romantic partner above everything else. You are my friend with no other requirements, no other levels… nothing else.”

“Alex, I…” Lena blinked, utterly taken aback.

“You are my friend and I love you.” Alex assured, her expression turning pained and remorseful, “You are my best friend and you nearly died and I realised that I… I haven’t been a very good friend. I was so mean to you to start with. For no fair reason.” Lena bit her lip and stared down at their joined hands, unable to hide how the constant hatred for crimes she did not commit (actively stopped) had left deep and everlasting wounds that she would probably never recover from. “And then when I finally started to pull my head out of my ass… I never apologised, I never… I just smoothed over it.”

Alex cringed with the memories but pushed onwards regardless - admirably brave and stubborn to a fault.

“When the Supergirl fallout happened, I knew you were suffering.” Alex admitted causing Lena to flinch in surprise and nearly pull away but Alex’s hold gently followed after her. “If it was me in your position, I would have… I would have destroyed so much and I was raised in a family filled with support and love and… I knew you were suffering but I… I just didn’t think. You’re always so strong and unbreakable that I just didn’t think. You’re my best friend and I have not treated you like that.”

“Alex,” Lena swallowed thickly, hanging her head in shame, “what I did during that time… I’m so ashamed.”

“You’re missing the point, Lena.” Alex murmured, “I didn’t mean to-” Alex exhaled shakily, rapidly blinking away tears on the cusp of falling. “You’ve made up for it. Now it's my turn.”

“You have nothing to make up for.” Lena rushed to reassure as Alex stood back up, chin held high and determined.

“Yes, I do.” Alex insisted. “Assassination attempts every week, Lena. That is not okay. A short life expectancy for my best friend is not okay.” Alex’s hands clenched into tight fists by her sides. “I should have done something.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

Alex grinned bright and defiant, “It is now.”

*****

“Alex, what’s going on?” Lena said slowly, not really sure what she was watching play out on the screens in the DEO command centre.

Alex merely winked at the CEO as she stepped up to the console and called out, “Supergirl, how are things going?”

“Good.” Kara replied, her voice coming through loud and clear through the speakers. Lena watched in awe - as always - of Kara flying through the air, swerving around traffic like it was nothing. “Rounding up the last few stragglers; they thought they could outrun me in a van which has a max speed of like sixty.” Lena laughed at the stupidity of the escape attempt which immediately alerted the superhero to her presence. “Is Lena there?”

“Yep,” Alex replied with a broad grin, wiggling her eyebrows at the youngest Luthor making her blush a bright red, “so you better put on a good show for your girl.”

“Will do.” Kara promised instantly, accelerating and performing aerial aerobatic maneuvers with the sole purpose of impressing only one person.

Lena shook her head, her heart swelling with affection, as she rolled her eyes at Alex’s smug smile. “What’s the mission?” Lena asked, trying to regain some of her composure.

Alex’s smugness faded to be replaced with something far softer at the question.

“Shutting down the final CADMUS outpost.” Alex answered, crossing her arms and nodding over to Brainy who brought a map of the world covered in hundreds of red dots. “We took down any and all remaining Leviathan supporters last week. Lex supporters the week before that.” The red dots flashed to highlight the different groupings as Alex listed them off. “We’ve also finished gathering evidence on Edge, he’s going to be arrested alongside his allies first thing in the morning.”

Lena’s mouth had dropped open at some point and there was a light buzzing in her ears as stared blankly at the crossed off red dots. “I don’t understand.”

“CADMUS took a little longer just because of the sheer number of bases and how they decentralised after Lex was taken down, each working independently.” Alex continued unperturbed.

“Then how-”

“Lillian. She told us where all the bases are.” Alex answered without needing to hear the whole question.

That cut through Lena’s stupor in an instant and wrenched an almighty gasp from her. “What? Why?”

Alex’s expression turned melancholic yet again, clearly upset that the answer wasn’t obvious to Lena, that there had to be a more-than-love-reason. “Because you’re her daughter and you nearly died.”

“I don’t…”

Alex turned so her back was to the wall of red dots, hands on hips and unfaltering in the face of adversity. “No more assassination attempts. No more short life expectancy.” Alex asserted, waving a hand towards the screen. “This. All of this. You deserve this. You deserve to grow old. You deserve to not live in a constant state of fear. You deserve to be happy in love.” Alex’s jaw clenched noticeably as brown eyes shone with a watery film, “We should have done this years ago. We should have protected you years ago. We should never have laughed, Lena.”

“Alex…” Lena exhaled roughly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to keep in the sobs, feeling so overwhelmed with love and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Alex didn’t acknowledge the words, she merely walked over to Lena and pulled her into a tight hug, providing her a much needed shoulder to cry on.

*****

“Did I mention how much I hate physical therapy?” Lena huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh you know…” Alex replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “just about every minute or so.”

Lena hummed, somewhat pleased at the answer, “I thought it was more than that.”

“Suck it up, Luthor.” Alex teased even as she got a bottle of water ready for Lena once she’d finished the exercises.

“Remind me again-...” Lena panted, “why I agreed that you could accompany me to PT instead of Kara?”

“You need tough love.” Alex answered, repeating the words Lena had used a week prior when she had requested Alex’s help. “You’d never finish a single exercise if Kara was helping you.”

Lena pursed her lips but didn’t argue.

Kara was loving, affectionate and probably the best support system Lena had ever had. She cared for Lena in a thousand and one ways that Lena had never believed she was worthy of. Unfortunately, all this made Kara the absolutely worst person to accompany her to physical therapy. At the first wince or sign of discomfort, Kara insisted Lena rest and take it easy. She barely made it five minutes through the session before Kara was escorting her back to the apartment to give her a bath and massage - Lena loved every second of it but accepted Kara would not be going with her to the next appointment.

“Not really seeing that as a downside at present.” Lena admitted, her muscles burning as they were steadily rebuilt and restrengthened.

“The sooner you finish PT, the sooner you can get around by yourself.” Alex reminded her knowing it was the single best incentive to get the CEO through this.

“Good point.” Lena acknowledged groaning as she pushed herself through the last rep. As soon as she finished, Alex talked her through recovery, handing her water to sip slowly from before checking her recovered injuries and scars.

“Hey Alex…” Lena began, shifting nervously as her breathing returned to normal.

“Yeah?” Alex prompted, arching an eyebrow having picked up on Lena’s odd tone.

Lena opened her mouth to speak before snapping it decisively shut, “Nevermind.”

“Don’t go shy on me now, Luthor.” Alex remarked, helping Lena unsteadily to her feet and guiding her over to a bench in the DEO training hall where they had been working out.

Lena nibbled on her bottom lip, and glanced at Alex’s profile. “I want to ask Kara out on a date.”

“That’s great.” Alex cheered immediately before quirking her head to the side, “What’s the problem?”

“I know I’ve been…” Lena winced, “hesitant.”

“Lena,” Alex said softly, “you’re recovering from serious physical, emotional and mental trauma.”

“But-”

“And despite all that…” Alex continued, settling into her role as cheerleader and confidant with ease, “you’re still taking Kara’s feelings into consideration. Despite everything you’ve been through you’re still being sensible and thoughtful. You’re not kickstarting a relationship until you’re sure you can give it the best chance.”

“You and Kelly have been talking about this.” Lena guessed.

“A little.” Alex answered only slightly rueful, “You’re my best friend and Kara’s my sister. It comes up in conversation.”

Lena chuckled at that, nudging Alex’s side playfully before announcing, “I think I’m ready.”

“That’s great.” Alex said just as enthusiastically as before, “So I’ll repeat, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t…” Lena sighed before confessing “I don’t know where to take her. I want to do something special.”

“Are you seriously asking for dating advice with my sister?” Alex questioned.

“You’re my best friend,” Lena shot back, “who else am I going to ask? You saw how Brainy handled dating Nia and well… Nia is dating Brainy...”

“Okay, I see your point.” Alex relented, “Though, when we talk about your dating life, Kara is not my sister.” Alex requested, “Just some random person called Kara.”

“Deal.” Lena accepted. “So…?”

“You don’t need to do anything special, she already loves you.”

“That’s exactly why I want to do something special.” Lena whined, “But I’m kind of limited by the aforementioned trauma…”

“Let’s get a coffee and strategise.” Alex declared, patting Lena’s back supportively. “Come on, you’re buying.”

*****

Lena adjusted the green dress that Nia had taken her shopping for earlier that afternoon, hating how it clashed with the cane she was using to move around with. A small candle lit table was set up on the balcony - Sam and Ruby having kindly moved it earlier - with one of Kara’s favourite homemade dinners, courtesy of Eliza, steaming in the early evening light.

Lena paced, awkwardly awaiting the blonde’s arrival; Alex’s words of advice and support on repeat in her mind to drown out her anxieties.

Kara, for all her patented Kara Danvers clumsiness, was the epitome of gracefulness when it came to flying allowing her to land almost inaudibly on the balcony by Lena’s side taking her by surprise. Lena jerked back at the sudden appearance but a familiar gentle touch to her elbow settled her in an instant.

“Lena? What’s all this?” Kara breathed, eyes darting from Lena’s green dress to the set table as her super suit vanished to be replaced by her standard shirt and chinos,

“Dinner.” Lena replied, swallowing thickly as she reached for Kara’s hand and mumbled shyly. “I mean a… date-dinner-thing. If you want, that is?”

Kara inhaled sharply, blue eyes wide with shock and barely restrained excitement. “I want. I really, really want.” The blonde dashed to the table, pulling out a chair for Lena clearly not keen for any kind of delay.

“Alright then.” Lena chuckled, walking towards Kara’s dazzling smile and everything it offered.

*****

“An hour.” Brainy said, laying down his opening gambit.

“Pfft… an hour, are you serious?” Nia scoffed, “Thirty minutes max.”

“Twenty.” Alex shot back with a challenging lift of her chin.

Nia pursed her lips as she considered Alex’s suggestion. “You’re on.”

The two women shook firmly on it, much to Kelly and Briany’s amusement, just as Kara and Lena walked back from the kitchen loaded up with snacks and drinks.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kara inquired, narrowing her gaze accusingly at her gathered group of friends who had set up shop in her and Lena’s joint apartment for their weekly games night.

Kara had moved in formally two weeks ago following six months of dating during which they had practically lived together for the entirety of it but had been wise enough to keep themselves places that could be just theirs until they were officially ready.

“Nothing.” Nia and Alex answered quickly and in-sync.

“We’re gambling.” Brainy answered guilelessly at the same time.

“On?” Kara asked, dumping the load of snacks in her arms onto the coffee table before crossing her arms whilst Lena laughed lightly as she settled on the couch next to Alex.

“Leave them be, darling.” Lena soothed, tugging gently on Kara’s pocket encouraging her to sit down and lean against Lena’s legs.

“Okay.” The kryptonian muttered, immediately acquiescing to the suggestion, all the fight going out of her as soon as Lena tenderly ran her fingers through blonde locks.

“Whipped.” Alex instantly coughed.

“And proud.” Kara accepted with a shrug, tilting her head to look up at Lena with adoring blue eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lena replied without hesitation.

“Ugh.” Nia groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Alex held out a hand to the youngest reporter, wiggling her fingers in demand, “Pay up.”

“She didn’t even make it a minute.” Nia exclaimed in disbelief.

Kara’s brow creased in a cross of confusion and outrage, “You were betting on me?”

“Yep.” Alex answered without the slightest sign of guilt. “On how long it takes for you to say ‘I love you’ to Lena.”

“That’s… I…” Kara squawked, mouth flapping open and closed before snapping shut in defeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s because Lena removes you of all verbal reasoning skills.” Brainy remarked drily.

All eyes swiveled to look at the genius in surprise.

“Did Brainy just make a joke?” Lena asked quietly to no one in particular.

“I think he did.” Nia said slowly.

“Nice one, Brainy.” Alex laughed, lifting her beer bottle up in respect and effectively setting everyone else in the room off with their own chuckles and giggles.

“Laugh as much as you like.” Kara rolled her eyes in amusement, “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?” Lena checked, bending down to whisper privately into Kara’s ear, “I can ask them to stop.”

Kara turned to look up at the love of her life, reaching out to tenderly stroke her cheek and ease away the flicker of unnecessary concern.

“I’m sure.” Kara asserted honestly, her smile widening as she leaned up to kiss Lena slow and deep. When they pulled back, foreheads resting against one another, Kara whispered into the shared space between them. “It is kind of funny.”

It’s funny because Kara loves Lena.

It’s funny because Kara will always, always, always love Lena.

#supercorp #supercorp ao3 #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor

[yuzukult]

from home 05 || jjk & reader

title: from home  pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in later chapters word count: 7.5k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: i was really excited to write this chapter and i still couldn’t get myself to make it longer... :( i suck...

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2 @taestannie @teresaisla @drumsofheaven @vampgguk @christiandosworld @madjammil @jungkookieyoongs @bananagguknim @shuttheelleup​ @yobroitsjayden​

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Stating that Jungkook was 'on edge' is an understatement.

His palms and armpits were sweaty from the moment he arrived at your apartment to grab you before going to meet your parents, despite the amount of layers of deodorant he has on. He's never had a real relationship before, let alone met any girl's parents, and he can't help but feel something churning in his gut. "Good to go?" You ask, and he merely nods, suddenly bashful because he feels like he is definitely not ‘good to go.’ "Alright, let's head out."

The ride on the bus to your family home is only 30 minutes away, and truthfully, he has never ridden on one before. Walking to yours, Hoseok, and his home were less than 15 minutes, the thought of taking the bus being the absolute last thing on his mind. 

Jungkook isn't exactly sure how he feels about the bus. The constant starting and stopping makes him nauseous; then the unsteadiness of having to hold the bars and handles throughout the vehicle all around seems unsafe. When there's an available seat, you sense his fear, nudging him cautiously, gesturing him to take the seat. "Sit," and granting he wants to offer it to you instead, Jungkook complies to the demand because he swears he's going to vomit. 

After getting off the public transportation that he vows to never take again, you guide Jungkook through a narrow road, he notices the neighborhood here was more concentrated than the ones in Busan; tightly knitted with homes that stacked on top of one another, side to side, and back to back. People hung their clothes on lines that stretch from apartment to apartment, piles of boxes stored on balconies, and plants resting on the borders with owners sitting idle on their porches, fixated on their hobby of people watching. 

Jungkook is known to be popular to the public, from magazines, gossip TV channels, social media posts, and the types continue on to the point that you couldn’t name them all on your own ten fingers. People don't often recognize him on the streets anymore because he's unrecognizable in regular everyday clothes but today, he learns that you're the celebrity.

The people in their homes say their greetings, making comments here and there as you entertain them with a response back, laughter dispersing in the air. There's an old lady that lounges on the steps of her home, a smile stretched so wide that her eyes disappear, all with a blanket laying across her lap, knitting away. "I haven't seen you around, I assume your mother is having a dinner party for the kids? I see you brought a friend!"

"Something along those lines," you retort indirectly, nose snug into your scarf. "You're not staying indoors? It's cold out."

"My husband keeps the heater on the home too high, I sweat like I'm going through menopause like I’m forty all over again, so I much rather be outside here. Anyways, I don't want to hold you up too long, but please come by for Christmas, I do have a sweater I knitted for you as well!"

Then there's a grandfather, another grandmother, and a couple who seems just a bit older than the two of you, and the list just goes on. Despite the whisper exchanges at the supermarket mentioning that you're intimidating, mean, and scary, it's obvious that you aren't or else you wouldn't be swooning the hearts of these strangers.

But there will always be an exception. Especially when the two of you run into a girl who looks close in age, hair dyed blonde with her lips painted fusion red. He could tell how curvy she was with how tight the winter coat hugs her frame, swaying her hips toward your direction as she eyes you both suspicious. "I see our town loser brought a friend."

"Mm," You nod, attempting your best not to amuse her, or else you’d be pouncing on her back by now. "Jungkook, this is Somin. A classmate of mine when I was in grade school." He bows in politeness, zipping up his jacket further while stepping closer to you. "Nice to meet you, Somin."

"Oh, no!" She gasps, a hand on her chest in exaggeration, completely flabbergasted by something he said. "Don't call me that. I go by Bella, since... you know, I am an American now. Being an American deserves the right name."

"You got your citizenship there?"

"No, but, I spent enough time there to know." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. Spent enough time there—you want to call out on her bullshit yet again, knowing she barely spent a month there before dropping out of school and coming back, but it'd be humiliating to mention that with Jungkook standing by, a stranger that she had only met a mere few seconds ago. "You said Jungkook... Are you perhaps, Jeon Jungkook of the Jeon Corporation?"

You furrow your brows. "How do you even know that?"

"Well, daddy invests in their stocks, of course." Fluttering her lashes, she manages to make her presence known to Jungkook as she moves in his direction. "And I saw his pretty little face in a magazine and couldn't help but admire."

Possessively, your hand slips into his pocket, intertwining your fingers together, causing warmth to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "Well, great to see you, Somin. Jungkook and I have dinner plans with my parents."

"Whoa, wait, dinner plans?" Somin nearly exclaims, shifting aside to block your way. "Also, it's Bella, get that straight, will you? And why is Jeon Jungkook with you anyway?"

"We're dating," Jungkook interjects, clearing his throat. The words are still unfamiliar on his tongue yet he loves to flaunt them anyway. "I'm her boyfriend." He adds, tightening the grip on your hand as if Somin could see it. Her mouth drops open, unable to grasp onto the fact that you were able to land on a hunk like him. If only she knew how much knowledge of basic life skills he didn't have... actually, she might still have the same perspective. "There's no way. This is fake, right? You realize how rude she is, don't you?"

"No, it’s not fake, and well, kind of," Jungkook admits, scrunching up his nose at the thought. "But it's endearing. Wouldn't be as exciting if she wasn't always trying to banter with me, so I don't think I'd have it any other way. People mistake it for her honesty. I love a woman who can be true to herself and genuine with her words."

Just then, your mother peeks out of the front door of your childhood home, waving her arm eagerly, calling out your name. "Well, that's our cue. Thanks, Somin, for congratulating us on our new relationship. Hope you find someone yourself soon!"

"What—" Somin barely finishes her sentence before you're zooming past her, tugging Jungkook along. 

"I didn't know you had so many enemies," Jungkook says jokingly, a playful smile upon his lips. You roll your eyes before squinting them at him, squeezing his hand hard as he winces. "Now you know how little I care for them, watch out because you might become one."

Upon entering the home, Jungkook observes too many things at once. Your mother is in the kitchen, frantically maneuvering through the junk that your family has hoarded over the years, searching for whatever it is she needs for the task at hand. Your father sits comfortably on the couch, feet on the coffee table with a controller in hand, dozing off with a combination of quiet and loud snores escaping from him. As a family home, Jungkook believes it's small considering that you had mentioned previously that you had two other siblings. To think that your parents are still living in the same home they grew up in is amazing to him, knowing that his parents moved at least five times within his youth while you only stayed in one home.

"Uh, hello," He greets your mom, bowing as she places her hands onto his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. She looks almost like a replica of you, except older and much brighter. "You must be Jungkook! It's so great to meet you, I'm so happy that my daughter found someone. She's known to be a bit... cold, so knowing that you were able to warm her up means that you're definitely special!"

"You make me sound like a bad guy." You hiss before your little sister walks in, in the midst of tying her hair up into a ponytail. She resembled your mother than you did, a delighted expression that matched exactly the one your mother had on. "That's because you are, and any guy who dates you seem to run away once they find out." She halts in her steps when she notices Jungkook's face. "Oh my god, you're that model."

"Model?" Your mother reiterates, glancing back at Jungkook and then your sister. "Yeah, yeah, that model in the new edition of Elle. He was in it—he's listed as one of the 10 most desirable men under 30. No flipping way, how'd you even get him to even date you?" She pauses before pointing at Jungkook with a suspicious look on her face as his eyes widened. "Unless... you need her for something. What's she offering? It can't be her body, she's not sexy... is it her brains? You heard about her—"

"Miyoung." Your mother says sternly, interrupting your sister. "Just because Jungkook is a model, it doesn't mean that your sister is incapable of being loved by a man like that."

"Actually—"

"Oh, hey. You must be the boyfriend." A taller male enters the room, his hair messy and lids hooded from waking up barely minutes before. He's still in his pajamas, a loose grey shirt and red checkered pants, but from the outline of his shirt, Jungkook could tell this guy was built. "I'm Daehyun, also known as their big brother. It's nice to meet you." Jungkook is in awe, hand extending to shake with Daehyun's. He knows he's straight, but even as a straight guy he knows a pretty man when he sees one. 

Jungkook was starting to pick up as to why your exterior was so tough. With a younger sister who didn't have a filter to an incredibly handsome older brother, of course as the middle child you had to protect yourself. "Uh, yeah. And that's my little sister, Miyoung, who basically just attacked me for all of my insecurities within a minute. Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem, Unnie." She grins cheekily, seated on the high stool. "Did mom tell you I was back home from college for the weekend? That's why you're here?"

"Something like that," you respond ominously, hanging up your jacket along with Jungkook’s. Despite her preceding interrogation, she’s chewing on her bottom lip skittishly. "More like she forced me to come. Well, she didn't say anything yet but I felt a guilt trip coming so I just decided that I would come instead."

"Typical," Daehyun scoffs, leaning against the wall beside Miyoung. He sneaks a glimpse into the kitchen where your mother secretly runs back into, resuming in her work. "She's been desperate to get us all back together since the two of you moved out. Remind me again why I'm the only one stuck here?"

"Because you can't find a job." Miyoung and you remind him in unison and he frowns. The interaction between the three of you is crystal clear evidence that you guys are related. "Well, geez, hurt a guy, why don't you? See what I have to deal with, Jungkook?"

With some time left until dinner, the four of you crowd at your small dining table, conversing away about updates in your lives. Miyoung is in University an hour away from home, residing there for an easier commute, and Daehyun stays at home with an ambition to find a job that fits his degree. Daehyun still dates from time to time but he admits that he can’t tend to his needs because well, his mother is a room away, and oddly enough, albeit Miyoung babbles on about other things, she’s silent about her love life. Neither Miyoung and Daehyun are able to hold a steady job, he observes, and he’s starting to pick up as to why you’re so adamant about keeping both of yours. Jungkook learns that everything seems to gravitate toward one of the two phrases from your siblings when it comes to finances and they are: “Mom can handle it,” or “I’m going to let Dad do it so I don’t have to.”

From what Jungkook can gather, your siblings seemed to have different outlooks on life compared to you—they still depended on their parents whilst you were already hunting for opportunities of your own before Miyoung’s age so you didn’t have to ask for money.

“Are you still upset with me about what happened a year ago?” Miyoung finally asks you, chewing on her nails nervously. It seems to be something she’s been holding back from you, Jungkook takes a note of the way her eyes were filled with worry. “Of course,” You reply nonchalantly, leaning back against your seat with your arms crossed. “How could I not be? But you’re my sister, so I can’t actually be mad at you.”

Miyoung begins to tear up— glassy gaze with her bottom lip quivering, in spite of the previous aggressiveness she presented when you first entered the house. Before Miyoung could get another word in, your mom comes in with a guilty expression on her face. She calls your name faintly, a pout upon her lips. “Can you and Jungkook go out and grab me a couple things before dinner?”

Jungkook can’t get the question that Miyoung brings up out of his mind. In the middle of an aisle at another one of his mother’s grocery stores, your lips are pursed in thought at which brand of soy sauce would your mom like more. 

“What was Miyoung going on about?” He eventually asks, but he holds his breath in case you decide to sock him for querying you about something so personal. Strangely enough, you open up. “Miyoung fell in love with my ex. He told me they didn’t do anything but he was in love with her, so we broke up. I thought I was going to settle with him but— guess not.”

Jungkook’s eyes expand like a deer in headlights. “Your little sister is dating your ex-boyfriend? And they were in love with each other during your relationship? I would’ve given her an uppercut if I were you— are you seriously still buying the banana milk she asked for?” He’s trailing behind you as you lead him toward the drinks; your face brightening from the lights from the fridges. How could someone who lost their boyfriend to their little sister seem so put together in the first place? Was this was Hoseok was talking about that your men streak was horrendous? 

“Because she’s my little sister. At the end of the day, I want her to be happy.” Throwing a pack into the cart, Jungkook continues to push it while following you, mind still foggy and angry about the situation. Here you were, with a guy who you’d fallen in love with to the point of considering settling down, then finding out he’s been in love with your sister... he feels like this is all a fever dream and isn’t an ounce real. “You’re fucking with me right?”

You look at him with perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“This sounds crazy. You’re serious? Miyoung stole a guy from you and you’re just going to be the bigger person here and not do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Throw a tantrum? Get in the way of their relationship that is obviously blossoming in a good way?”

Jungkook pauses. Was this what it was like in another family? Or at least yours?

In comparison, he perceives that within his family, outbursts were everything. Getting attention and being recognized for any wrongdoing was immensely important— he knew that if he stole a girl away from one of his brothers, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. His mother, including father, would never forget it. The chattering would be heard through the grapevine amongst the housemaids, drivers, and employees of the company. Even news media outlets would dabble a bit into the family drama, adding fuel to the fire. He could never react the way you did, at least, he hopes he would, but realistically speaking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Yet, with you, it seemed simple enough. Sure, your heart was broken, but how were you going to be with someone who didn’t love you back?

“If you love someone, you let them go.” You say calmly when Jungkook doesn’t respond back. “Keeping them around for your benefit doesn’t solve anything. If he wasn’t truly happy with me, I want him to be happier with someone else. And if that person so happens to be with Miyoung, what am I supposed to do?”

“But... you’re not happy.” Jungkook declares with no hesitation. He recalls the time where you felt bad for him for not having the best upbringing, and he’s starting to understand the emotion that ran through you. “I’m happier now,” You concede, placing the last ingredient your mom has on the list for you to purchase, turning your back at Jungkook. “Now that I met you.”

His heart flutters at the comments, and he’s desirous about bringing up the topic of the kiss again. Jungkook resists the urge to because he could tell from the way your silhouette begins to quicken its pace toward the checkout line that you really didn’t want to talk about it. 

When the two of you arrive back at your house, your father is jolted awake. Jungkook greets himself to the elder man who only grins brighter than the sun—something Jungkook is trying to grasp where your grumpiness comes from— and instantaneously directs him to the dinner table where your mom has a ton of side dishes laid out with six place settings for you all.

During the meal, there was nothing but exchanging stories, laughter, and elation that swarms the room. If this was what family meant, Jungkook wanted it. And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it to be with you.

Nothing is working out for Jungkook.

This week, the pipe in his apartment burst. Something about— it’s winter and when it’s cold, the water freezes within the pipe and it expands the material, causing the pipe itself to burst, he doesn’t quite understand how the whole plumbing system works, but he knows that he can’t use the water in his apartment and has to go to yours and Hoseok’s for the week for a shower until the landlord can get it fixed.

Then, one of the deli guys called off because he apparently had the runs which meant that there was a shift change— Jungkook having to cover since whomever was working that day didn’t have the skills to do it.

Skills? Jungkook curses underneath his breath when he recites that word in his head repeatedly because he cuts his finger on the meat slicer as he winces, calling out your name. Coming to his side, you pull out the first aid kit and force him to sit down on one of the stools, tying elastic on a higher point of his finger to stop the blood from gushing out. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t need to be put here, right? Someone else could’ve done this, I have no idea how to use a slicer.”

“I know,” You coo, wiping some of the antiseptic on the wound as he whimpers at the sudden sting. “The new shift manager panicked, she wasn’t sure what to do since the guy with the actual food preparation license is going to be here a bit late so she put you here. Not exactly the best plan.” After bandaging him up, you wash your hands underneath the faucet as Jungkook slouches in the seat.

Nothing really was going his way.

It doesn’t even stop there. Unexpectedly, his mother calls for dinner but you’re on shift, therefore you wouldn’t be able to attend. He’s tempted to down a glass of whiskey on ice, his signature drink, but when he opens the cabinet in his kitchen, he falters at the image of your face. Would you be disappointed if you saw what he was doing? And Hoseok? What would he say?

Retracting his hand back, he immediately slams the door shut at the thought of the consequences.

Dinner is the usual at the Jeon residence. Father sits at the end of the dining table, the typical beige cloth napkin spread across on his lap while in his usual work attire, glasses rested on the tip of his nose as he’s ready to dive in with a fork and spoon in hand. Mother is settled beside him, pretty as ever and calm in comparison to the hell that’s going to let loose in a couple minutes. The unknown? Who is going to blow up this time and who will they be comparing themselves to?

The answer? Jongseok and Jungkook.

Jongseok is upset to the point that he articulates every word with spit nearly projecting from his mouth to the opposite side of the room. The vein on his temple is stressed to the point that all Jungkook can think about is when it’s going to pop. “Why are you guys always babying Jungkook? You realize the kid is fucking working at a grocery store right? And not just any grocery store, either, but it’s mother’s chain.”

“Okay?” Father retorts, forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. “Isn’t he trying to prove himself worthwhile? Didn’t he find that job himself, despite it being your mother’s chain? He’s paying for his mistakes, learning basic life skills along the way, and even landed himself a serious girlfriend who can hold his hand through these tough times, since, after all, you’re the one who suggested we cut him off. If I’m being honest, I think we should give him access to our funds again.”

A scoff of incredulity comes from Jongseok. He’s a ticking time bomb in this moment; jaw twitching in frustration with the tips of his ears heated red. Even though he’s the target yet again, Jungkook is sober now, mind clear of the fog and the ability to defend himself for once. “I don’t get it. Why are you even mad at me? I’m trying here, right? You’re the one who wanted me to get cut off so desperately— and congrats, by the way, because I did. I had to find a job myself, one I’m not a fan of, and I’m barely making it by. I lost water in my apartment this week, cut my hand on one of those deli slicers, sprained my ankle on my way to work— and that’s only a portion of my bad week. Yet here I am, sitting at the dinner table with people who claim that they love me when you’re here flipping shit at father. What do you want from me?”

“For your name to be completely off the will.” Jongseok finally says what he has been actually feeling unperturbedly, not an ounce of affection in his tone with a gaze that could pierce through Jungkook. “You have nothing to offer to this family. Why we keep you around— I don’t know. Why should you have any portion of our estate and company assets when all you’re doing right now is working at the supermarket. Tell me, Jungkook, why do you deserve to be part of any of this?”

Jungkook hates how childish he’s being, but he feels like he has the right to. The flickering colorful lights and music booming through the speakers of the club are tuning out the words his brother exclaims at his parents, and the amount of alcohol passing through his lips are numbing the pain that tears through his chest. Your face pops up in his head; your laugh, your smile, and the comfort in the underlying messages through your tough love— he wishes that all of that was enough to heal the sting in his heart and fill the hollowness that his family left.

He doesn’t remember any of these people sitting at this table with him, even though they’re hollering in excitement that “Jungkook is back again!” The girl placing a hand on his chest with his arm around her shoulder isn’t you, but he knows that if it was, you’d be so displeased at how wasted he is. Honestly, this feels wrong. Nothing sits right in his stomach and when another pretty gal with her dress hiked up to the point he could see her thong from where he’s on the couch, he’s not even attracted to her. All he could think about was you, and that scowl on your face when he tells you about this night. He could hide it from you but he’s not going to lie to himself— if he wanted to improve for the better, it meant being straightforward and authentic. Jungkook came here to let loose because the events that occurred at the estate tonight was something he wants to forget.

Turning to the girl beside him, his eyes are hooded and vision is blurry when he asks, “What’s your name again?”

When her rosy plump lips open, she says her name but the voice that comes out of it is deep and oddly familiar. “Hyeri?” Why does she say it like a question, and why is her voice so low? Just then, a hand clenches the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up and he meets the proprietor of the response. Hoseok.

Hoseok drags Jungkook’s weak and frail frame out into the alleyway behind the club, fuming to the point that smoke could’ve been whistling out of his ears. “What the fuck are you doing here? And with Hyeri, of all people! I thought I told you to stop fucking around, dude! I-I thought you knew how much she means to me. Out of the people I’ve partied with— you were my actual friend.” He clenches his jaw before Jungkook could even answer, a fist tightening in his hand. “You’re such a fuck up, Jungkook. So much for a friend.” 

Then everything blacks out.

His entire body hurts. His head is pounding, he can barely open one of his eyes, and his legs are so sore he can hardly shift on the bed— on a bed? He doesn’t have a bed. He has a futon but not a bed. Startled, he attempts to sit up against the bed frame, the other eye opening to skim through the room. 

He’s never been in your bedroom before, but the pictures of you graduating college hanging on the corkboard above your desk, concert tickets, Polaroids, and holiday cards thumbtacked beside them is all the evidence he needs to know it’s yours. Jungkook wants a closer look at them, he can scarcely make out the cute little smile on your face with your family in attendance in the picture, but when he puts weight onto his arms, he groans. Seconds later, you’re bursting through the door, out of breath and worry in your eyes. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Voice hoarse, he realizes how dry his throat is and you lean over to the bedside table to hand him the glass of water you had there originally. “Don’t move, idiot. You’re actually really torn up if you didn’t feel it with all that alcohol in your system.” Inviting yourself onto the foot of the bed, Jungkook frowns after he finishes the entire glass, much more dehydrated than he initially thought. “Trust me, it’s gone now. I feel every ounce of pain. What happened? I blacked out.”

“No shit,” you retort harshly, rolling your eyes at him. “You were drunk as hell, but you didn’t black out from that. Hoseok saw you getting all cozy with Hyeri and knocked the shit out of you. What happened, Jungkook? Why were you there in the first place? Did something happen?”

Reading the expression on your face, he fears for the worse but he doesn’t see any hint of dissatisfaction anywhere. There’s no anger, no resentment, no frustration— none of that. Just curiosity smeared across, genuinely worried about his well-being. “Are you upset that you found out I was there?”

“I was mad that Hoseok called me to come grab you, at first, so kind of, yeah. But if you’re trying to figure out if I’m disappointed in you, then no, I’m not. Old habits are hard to kill, so I understand that you’re trying to cope with something. I just want to know why you were there in the first place and why were you getting all lovey dovey with Hyeri—“

“I wasn’t getting lovey-dovey with Hyeri,” Jungkook exasperates, head falling back against the headboard, closing his eyes shut, interrupting before you lead the conversation into a lecture. “She was just some girl that sat down and claimed a spot next to me. I didn’t even know she was Hoseok’s girl.” There’s a pregnant pause in his explanation, and you don’t break off his train of thought. “I... I went because Jongseok called me useless tonight, yet again. It didn’t bother me as much as it did before, you know, before I met you, and it’s probably because I wasn’t intoxicated or the fact that I’m actually trying now and he still thinks I’m useless. He wants me out of the will.”

“He’s jealous that he’s the problematic child now, not you.” Making your way up the bed, you’re seated on top of the covers, settled adjacent to Jungkook. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re way more useful than you had been initially. I usually do the dishes at my parents’ house, mostly because I’m the middle child, but you did it for me instead. I consider that a huge accomplishment from who you were before.”

As much as he hates to admit how warm and fuzzy he feels inside just from that small achievement, it’s a resemblance of the time when he was younger and won an award for being most creative in his kindergarten class. How are you able to lift up his mood so easily by just saying a few words?

“I… is Hoseok really pissed?”

“A bit,” you reply sincerely and apologetically, even though none of this had been your fault. “He’s been in love with her even before I met him. She was all he could talk about, and I guess she finally gave him a shot, only to drop him a month later. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s a gold digger from the stories he shared.”

Jungkooks face drops when his gaze meets yours. “Have you ever told him that?” You laugh—the melody that practically heals his wounds on the spot. “No, are you crazy? He’s blinded by love, Jeon, and any interference with that, I’m done for, probably cut out entirely from his life. Have you never been in love before?” 

He wants to say that he hasn’t, not until he met you, but you continue without expecting a response from him anyway. “Well, that’s just how he is. You could tell him a billion times that this girl isn’t for him but he’s never going to care about what I say until something actually happens.”

“I really care about Hoseok, though, and I want the best for him.” His doe-brown eyes are glossy, full of cherish for his friend. “And he cares for you too, Jeon. Just give him some time.” Quickly, Jungkook twists away, gaze avoiding yours as he clears his throat a couple times.

“Are you... okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He says, choking up on his own words. “Hurts a little. Hoseok is strong.”

You furrow your brows. “Hey, look at me.” He doesn’t react. “Jeon,”

“Can... you give me some space?” 

Pulling your lips into a straight line, you contemplate whether or not to listen to his words or go against him. He’s been living in a home full of people yet still feeling alone, with no one to listen to his perspective on things. Maybe it’s time you change that.

Abruptly, you swing your leg over his thighs, hands cupping his cheeks just like you did that fateful night. He swore his heart stopped beating. “What are you—” There’s tears brimming in his eyes, you realize, with some escaping, trailing down his cheek. He sniffles. “You’re crying?” You’re stating the obvious, yet somehow it comes out as a question. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“I’ve never had a friend love me before, a friend who actually liked me for me and only wanted to spend time with me because of who I was, not who my family was. Did I really fuck up with Hoseok?” You frown, thumb rubbing against his cheek to wipe away his tears. Truthfully, you never really knew how to react when someone fell apart like this, but with Jungkook, it felt natural, the comforting. It might’ve been the sunlight peering through the windows of your room that made everything toasty, thawing out your cold heart, or it was just Jungkook. “Maybe. But I doubt he wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself though. I mean, yeah, you’re bruised all over because he really beat you up... but, I’m sure this evens things out. Plus, I’m your friend and I love you too.”

He sighs, shoulders plunging with his hands creeping up to your waist unconsciously, tenderly steering you to sit on his thighs. Swallowing at the feeling of his body flattened against yours, you’re attempting to shake your head from the dirty thoughts. Jungkook feels at ease, detecting the words come from your mouth, yet he wants more. He craves for more, especially since that night in Busan and he isn’t sure he can hold himself back anymore.

“I... What happened that night in Busan?” Lifting your weight off him, he only stops you by putting down more pressure to stop your escape. Despite being in an awful lot of pain, he still manages to overpower you in strength. “Please don’t avoid this. If Jongseok didn’t come to our door that night, it would’ve led to something more. I want to know, please, what does it mean?” Cheeks burning, you stare at the wooden headboard behind him, except Jungkook knows your next steps before you do because his finger is already on your chin, guiding your view back onto him. He doesn’t need to say anything because the look he gives you says it all, tell me.

“Okay, okay,” You cringe, the idea of talking about this makes your stomach feel queasy and want to recoil in dread. “White flag. I’ll talk.”

“Enough of this white flag nonsense, just tell me.”

Belatedly gathering enough courage, you spill. Although your heart feels like it’s jumping through hoops from suspense, you realize that you can’t hold yourself back any longer anyway. “I’m... attracted to you, alright? I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about you 100% emotionally, because I still feel like we’re on different pages here, but I feel like I kind of like you? If this goes any further, I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”

That’s... it? Admittedly so, Jungkook was hoping for more of a confession, something along the lines of, ‘I really like you, Jungkook’ but he’d have to settle for this. This was definitely a step closer to where he wants to be. “So... you’d date me, that is. There’s still an opening somewhere.”

“I-I mean, I guess so... why?”

“Because well, I can’t stop thinking about that night, and I know that for sure that I like you.” He discloses. “And if there’s even a bit of an opening, I want a shot at it.”

You scoff. “With me? You want an actual shot with me? After spending time with my family, you want to still try to swoon me?” There’s a smile tugging on Jungkook’s lips; there’s a blackish-bluish bruise underneath his eye, the side of his lips red and blotchy and the entirety of his body is either swollen or bruised, and yet, he still endures the pain to be beaming brighter than the stars. “Of course, you met my family, right? Yours is nothing complicated in comparison... well, maybe your sister. But for once, I feel like I belong here, with you, I feel like I’m home. So, will you give me a chance to win you over?”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing this whole thing? This... you thinking you like me kind of thing.”

“Are you going to keep wasting your time?” He blurts, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You wasted how long with some guy only for him to ditch you for your sister. What about your happiness, and what you want? None of this is fair to you. What if I could possibly give that to you, that happiness? Would you actually give me a chance?”

Sincerely, you didn’t know what the relationship with Jungkook held and what it would mean in the future. But what he asserts is right with the things he repeats in Busan about being selfish for once replays in your head again, and you finally decide to take a shot at it.

Was it the high of saying ‘yes, okay’ to Jungkook or the painkillers he took earlier because when your lips meet with his, he feels like he’s floating in mid-air. Your tongue is wet and soft when it fights with his, and when his hands on your waist pull you in closer, the bulge in his pants isn’t discreet, raging for attention, twitching against your thigh while your fingers knots through his hair tightens in response to your bottom lip suddenly tucked in between his teeth. The room feels steaming hot, especially when your hips start to move against his, emitting a groan from him as hand trails down to your ass to give it a harsh squeeze in consequence. His jeans from last night are still on and they’re straining in his crotch uncomfortably.

This is escalating so fast—just as quickly as his heart is beating in his chest, almost popping out of his chest cavity. Your natural scent is intoxicating, clouding up his mind to the point that he doesn’t think he needs the alcohol to forget the pain his family has caused him anymore, because you’re mending the pieces of him together. Your hands trail down to his neck, tugging him closer before they wander down to his biceps, giving him a gentle squeeze that releases a wince from him. 

Just as abrupt as the kiss, you pull away with a concerned and panic expression, with your mouth open in aghast. “Oh my god— I forgot you were still injured—” As you’re trying to move back, you stumble on his legs and collapse onto the floor.

“What— hey, are you okay?” He says, breathless as he leans over to check on you sprawled on the floor. Swiftly hopping back on your feet, he observes you clearly with your hair disheveled, cheeks tinted pink, and swollen lips. There’s a look of achievement on his face from the sight of a disoriented you. “Uh, um, yeah. I-I’m good,” Flustered, you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m... I’m going to get dinner ready for the both of us, uh, I’m going to leave you to it,” you’re awkwardly gesturing his crotch before rushing out the room and slamming the door shut.

He can only laugh at your reaction. At least his week wasn’t that bad after that kiss, right?

Jungkook stirs awake from the sound of chatter in the living room, voices familiar that he can associate them as yours and Hoseok’s. Unexpectedly, he sounds melancholic, the muffled sounds from your walls, almost to the point of whimpering mixed with your soft assuring words. He figures he should get a closer perspective of this, maybe enough where he can make out what the two of you are conversing about.

He’s not far off from shrieking when he angles his leg too far, but he bites his bottom lip in prevention of any sound, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the torment. Careful, he reiterates like a mantra in his head, chanting it until it’s engraved in his brain. When he reaches the door, he opens it slowly and just barely, to peek out and see the scene unfold before him.

“She told me that they didn’t do anything,” Hoseok exclaims, face in his hands as his elbows are resting on his knees. “That she chose to be there, and Jungkook was just lounging on the couch. That if anything, she wanted him to fuck her. Isn’t that ridiculous? How could she say that?”

You’re seated on the armrest of the loveseat, hand rubbing against Hoseok’s back soothingly. “I know, Hobi, I know. You might’ve been the right one for her, but at the end, she wasn’t the right one for you.”

“I could’ve changed,” He emphasizes, spinning his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are crimson and swollen from his tears, restlessness fills in those orbs. “I love her so much.”

“Well, and you love Jungkook. He’s in the other room, beat up and crying because he thought he lost you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you tore him to shreds! Earlier when we were making—“ You pause, clearing your throat when you realize where you were leading the conversation, Hoseok raising a brow in confusion at the action. “Earlier, I mean, I went to check on him and he was whining in pain. You really hurt him, Hoseok, and not just physically either. He’s both hurt emotionally and physically.”

He frowns. “I mean, I guess... I guess it wasn’t his fault.”

“There’s no guessing, idiot. It wasn’t. He was honestly too wasted to even realize that she was sitting beside him. Poor kid reeked of alcohol that I almost made him sleep on the porch. But he would’ve gotten robbed so... I let him stay in my room and I slept on the couch.” Jungkook glowers at the thought of you struggling to find comfort on the small sofa, wishing you would’ve chosen to sleep by him instead.

“Can I... talk to him?” Hoseok finally asks, looking down at his hands in embarrassment. His knuckles were red, contused from the one-sided fight he had with Jungkook the night before. “I fucked up, and I’m sure he thinks that he really fucked up.”

You hum for a moment before an idea pops into mind. “How about... you go out and get takeout? I’ll check on him, prep him for your appearance, and then you guys can hash it out?”

You don’t take no for an answer, pushing Hoseok out the door shortly, and a soft smile tugs on the edges of Jungkook’s lips before he lightly shuts the door and tip toes back into bed, pretending to be deep in slumber.

When you come into the room afterwards with a wet rag in hand and a bucket of warm water, his heart swells. Patting the towel against his wounds while seated at the edge of the bed, he hastily has a hand wrapped around your wrist, shocking you in the midst of your activity. “Oh— you’re awake?” He gingerly kisses the palm of your hand, heat clogging your face . “Yeah. And, thank you. For everything. I owe you a lot.”

“I—uh, maybe you’ll reciprocate this for me as well, one day?” You respond dubiously. “But... you also might not know how to do it so—“

“Are you still trying to make jabs at me after I made such a sweet comment?”

“Well, I’m just being honest, do you even know how to take care of another person?” You shoot back. “You couldn��t even get yourself back home, I had to be called and drag you back here myself, and my god, you’re heavy—“ He hauls your arm closer, dragging you along with it until your nose is inches away from his. “Can I kiss you again? I miss the way your lips feel with mine.” Even when he says the words in a volume that’s barely a whisper, his breath fans against your skin harshly, causing goosebumps to crawl up your spine.

The door pounds shut and before you can tear away from Jungkook’s hold, Hoseok is already standing in the threshold of the bedroom, mouth wide open in shock before it immediately fades into a mischievous grin. “What did I tell you, Kook? Which one was it first? You or her?”

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #bts smut #jungkook x reader #gyukult fics

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #narcos #javi x you #javi x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos netflix #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #pedro fandom #the rules of engagement #better love #angst #slow burn #friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #smut

[flowerzchild]

WHY I BELIEVE ELRIEL IS ACOTAR 5

DISCLAIMER: As you have read from the title, this post is strictly pro-elriel and my personal opinion. If you don't agree or don't ship them then kindly move along no need to be mean to people on the internet over their personal preferences and opinions.

THE CASE OF THE BONUS CHAPTERS

In my opinion, if you base your argument that Elain and Azriel will not be together by only using his bonus chapter alone then it is very unwise.

As it stands, Azriel’s bonus chapter is only extra content that can be not read by the readers. This is proven by its accessibility only extends for US readers, even then the book that contains the chapter is only sold by one bookstore chain so many US readers don't have the chapter unless they are engaging in the fandom.

The same goes for Feysand’s bonus chapter. Granted, there is nothing altering in Feysand’s bonus chapter except to give us a little insight into how they came to name Nyx and them discussing Elain and her potential. However, there is one major line that makes it clear Elain’s book is next.

“Let’s focus on helping one sister before we start on the other”. (FEYRE’S BONUS CHAPTER IN ACOSF)

The line above had no business to be in Feysand’s bonus chapter if Elain’s book is not next.

Why? Well, the bonus chapters are placed at the end of the book and by the time we arrive at that chapter Nesta’s story is very much told.

Like, Sarah has said, I don’t think Nesta’s journey is finished, what I am saying is that her story is been told then it will go to the other sister, Elain.

Thus, for me, those two chapters only intend to be a confirmation of Elain’s book and Azriel as her love interest.

Now, if you want to argue that Azriel’s POV is a confirmation that he and Gwyn are mates then it should’ve been included in the actual book.

What I mean by included is his apparent ‘mate behavior’ toward her or hell anything resembling romantic interactions.

Why? So that casual reader also notices there is something going on between them.

Now, what is the purpose of Gwyn being in the bonus chapter? When you look back at the actual book, you will notice one thing that is mysterious about her: her singing/voice.

Nesta reacted to her singing and so did Azriel’s shadows. No, I am not saying she is 100% a lightsinger, I am saying that her presence in the bonus is meant to give us a little clue of her power not her and Az as mates. Like I said, there should've been something romantic between them that is included in the actual book. Their interactions in ACOSF are incomparable with Elriel's interaction.

But again, we shouldn’t base our argument on chapters that many may think not exist. The main evidence of the next book should be from ACOSF itself.

ELAIN AND ELRIEL’S BOOK CONFIRMATION IN ACOSF

Elain who seemed to be very compliant and passive suddenly show the other side of herself in ACOSF that take everyone by surprise.

Elain who everyone thinks is a people pleaser suddenly talked back to Nesta when she was about to be coddled.

Elain who has been passive since the original series suddenly volunteered to help find the dread troves or anything to help resolve the Koschei situation.

Now that Nesta couldn’t find the missing trove because she lost her powers and Feyre bound by the death bargain with Rhysand, who else the inner circle turned to?

Now, that Koschei is still a threat, which female character that was from the original series side character that had a connection with him and that’s been highlighted the glimpse of change in character throughout ACOSF?

You may argue that Elain showed little development in ACOSF, however, she is set to be the main character.

If she is not set to be the main character then it would make sense for her development to be in the background of another character’s story.

A main character’s character development is a part of their narrative journey to become a developed character at the end of the story (as we’ve seen with Nesta and Feyre). Therefore, we need to read it from their inner thoughts to witness and make sense of the scenes that make them a changed character.

Also, may I add that Nesta’s development was regressing not developing in ACOFAS but her book is next, isn’t it?

Now, when we have established that Elain is the next main character based on ACOSF alone, we must now analyze who will be her love interest.

It is either to be Lucien and Azriel (Tamlin never in the equation just because they are associated with flowers and no Elain doesn’t want to be coddled she literally talked bak to Nesta when Nesta doesn’t let her scry, where do you get that Tamlain shipper?).

Let’s compare their last interactions in ACOSF, shall we?

“Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.” (ACOSF, CHAPTER 58)

vs

“...Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly...” (ACOSF, CHAPTER 58)

We have these two interactions between Elucien and Elriel in the same chapter as if Sarah herself wants to point out the obvious where Elain’s feelings truly lay.

I know Elriel's confirmation is probably not very convincing for some people. However, we must take into account both characters’ personalities.

If you have read Azriel's bonus then you will notice that Elain is very shy around Azriel (she was shaking and nervous when she gave his present remember?) and Azriel tends to mask his emotion when he is in the presence of others (Nesta is the one narrated their charged glance).

So yes, that scene is enough confirmation for their attraction, they are naturally quiet and shy. I expect no less from them as a confirmation especially when we don't have their POVs when we initially reach that part in ACOSF.

A POSSIBILITY OF GWYNRIEL/ELUCIEN BOOK IS NEXT?

The only way I could see Gwynriel getting a book is if their book is a novella.

As I have made a post here, Azriel and Gwyn do not have a direct (read: major) relation to the main plot that can carry it to its peak in ACOTAR 6.

Because of that their book should be a novella since nothing major happen in their book except that maybe they got together.

However, we know that the novella’s release date has been pushed back and forth and Sarah herself admitted in her March Instagram live that she doesn’t know what the novella is going to be.

So it safe to assume that the next installment will not be the novella, rather, the full book or the actual book which inherently will be Elain's and by default Elriel's.

The next book could be about Elucien if only they have interactions at all in ACOSF so that it will build up their unresolved conflict. I’m basing this argument on Nesta and Cassian’s interaction in ACOFAS.

In ACOFAS, despite the fact that Nesta and Cassian were fighting there were indeed interactions between them that must be resolved. Instead, in ACOSF the only interactions that actually happen and need to be solved are between Elain and Azriel.

“He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.” (ACOSF, CHAPTER 59)

The thing that needs to be resolved between them is explained by their misunderstanding that happened in his bonus chapter.

Yes, I am aware that I said we shouldn’t base our argument on his bonus chapter, however, the line above is a direct callback and outcome to what happens between Elain and Azriel as well as Rhysand’s warning in his bonus chapter.

How else you’re going to explain why Azriel became more aloof than usual if not resorting back to that particular fight between him and Rhysand because of Elain? How else you're going to explain why Elain and Azriel suddenly stop interacting after they are confirmed to be attracted toward one another?

Regardless of our contrasting opinions and interpretation of Azriel’s POV, we must remember that it is a bonus chapter and those scenes in his bonus might not be canon for those who have not read it or learned of its existence.

Also, in order to speculate the next book's main character, we need to get past the barrier of romantic interactions and actually think about what the next main character will contribute to the main plot of the story.

As it stands, only Elain can carry a book by herself regardless of any romantic subplot. And because Elain’s book is next and we’ve seen close to zero interactions between her and Lucien then her love interest will be Azriel.

Elucien and Elriel have been built up alongside each other since ACOMAF, and yet only one of them that’s progressed and is being set up when it comes to the plotline. So yes, Elriel is the endgame.

#elriel #pro elain #elain archeron #pro elriel #anti elucien #anti gwynriel #azriel

[ohmightydevviepuu]

the part of a swan

for @cshistfic​ (an extension of one of my august prompts)

--

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination.  She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was--he's interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

AO3 part 1/? ~2.6k

--

Emma was twenty-eight years old when she stepped into a ballroom for the first time since she was ruined.  The first time she was present for the judging stares, the awkward silences.  For the public shaming and the elaborate ritual that surrounded it.

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination.  She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

Lady Emma Nolan—for that was who she was, though she barely deserved the descriptor and never claimed the surname—delighted in her ruination, and had done for years.  It had given her freedom.

It had given her Henry.

Emma had faded into the background as she was expected to after her fall, after her scandal—watched the man she thought she loved continue to live his life as the toast of the ton, the darling of his father, the scion of a powerful family—and swore to herself it was the last time she would do what society expected her to do.

Until tonight.

Emma stood before the crowd, acutely aware of all of the eyes upon her, assessing her, from the style of her coiffure—a ridiculous confection of curls and white feathers—to the tips of her shoes.  Surely, they were saying to themselves, surely it is her brother’s money that supports her.

Emma could read them as easily as if they were speaking.

But they were wrong, and that was her secret.

Still, they whispered to each other, muttered remarks hidden discreetly behind fans and glasses of Champagne, and their eyes followed her.  Judged her for her past.

And for her presence.

They knew why she was here, and they hated it.

(So did she.)

“Lady Emma.”

The voice was lush and warm with roughness at its edges.  Dry—acerbic—the syllables drawn out.  He seemed to appear out of nowhere and Emma could do nothing but hold his stare, watching him as he watched her.  Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones unfashionably marred by unshaven shadows.

It suited him.

“Sir,” she said.  “We have not been introduced.”  It was both a rebuke and a lie, for she knew who he was.  Killian Jones, the son of no one of name, who had made his career in the navy, nearly cashiered out of the service but not before making his fortune in captured prizes; now the writer of several prominent newspapers.

More importantly, a broker in the most potent currency of all—information.

“And you are lurking in the dark.”

“Then do allow me to rectify that on both counts,” he said, stepped forward and bending low over her hand.  His breath tickled her skin even through the elbow-length gloves as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

She pulled away.  “What need has Killian Jones for an introduction?”

His eyes glittered.  Blue, like the place on the horizon where the sky met the sea, made brilliant by sunlight; Emma held her breath and prayed he would not notice her slip.

Lady Emma Nolan was not the kind of woman who should know—or recognize—Killian Jones.

Finally, he said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Emma exhaled.  “Why should mine be the only one?”

He laughed, a short bark that seemed to escape him unwillingly, and Emma smiled.  It was a small, tight smile.  She gestured at the ballroom and said, “I should return to my sister-in-law.”  “How is the Duchess?”  His tone was conversational, his eyebrow raised.  “Not dancing, I hope?  In her condition?”

Emma’s smile tightened.  She shifted, uncomfortable in the ill-fitting corset her sister-in-law had pressed upon her, and started to walk away.

He followed her movement, his gaze traveling from her neck to her navel, and Emma blushed.

“Let’s not play games, Lady Emma,” he said.  “You’re here for a husband.  You’re here for your son.”

He leaned in, coming closer, and Emma held her breath.  Anywhere but here—now—she might have welcomed this battle, this back-and-forth—welcomed him, for he was devastatingly handsome—

But she had felt that way before, and fallen for it; left broken, and alone, though it had not been Neal who had destroyed her.  She had never said his name aloud since the day he’d left, never told anyone the identity of the man who had, however unwittingly, given her freedom.

Fathers’ sins, after all, never stuck.

It had been them—the gaggle, the gossips, the matrons.  The glittering ballrooms of the beau monde.  She had chosen not to play by their rules, and paid the price for it.  Emma’s scandal became both entertainment and a cautionary tale.  She’d been exiled by all save her brother and sister-in-law, the duke and duchess married in a scandal of their own, the stars of a different tale.

Love.

But even that had come at a cost:  The respect of their late father, and of the ton.

And now, ten years later, here she stood.  “Do not,” Emma said, stepping forward and nearly baring her teeth at him, “mention my son.”

He stepped back, slowly.  His eyes did not move, and neither did hers.  His tone did not change when he said, “Lady Emma, I understand your urgency.  With the duchess increasing—”

Emma did not answer, but she made no move to leave this time.

Because he was right, the perceptive bastard.

All of the joy she felt for her brother and sister-in-law did not assuage her suddenly urgent need to see that Henry was properly taken care of—by a father.  Someone with a title—someone who needed an heir, now that her brother no longer did.

“There are other dowries, Lady Emma,” he said.  “Why yours?”

Emma’s eyes widened.  Perceptive, and too clever by half.  Maybe that was she answered him honestly.  “There are none so large as mine.  And none that come with as much freedom.”

“Freedom?”  For an instant only he looked confused.  Then he spoke, softly.  “Ah.  You have no expectations.  No dreams of a convenient husband turning into a love match.  You’re awfully young to be so cynical.”  He chuckled, a sound utterly devoid of humor; his eyes once more took her measure.  “But then again, wounds made when you’re young do tend to linger.”

He, too, spoke honestly, as if he knew.  As if he, too, had wounds.  He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her again—and if he touched her, she was going to like it.

“No one has ever done what you’re about to do,” he said, his hand falling.  “And I wish for you to succeed.  In fact, I want to help you.”

Their eyes locked.

“You do?” Emma challenged him.  “Why?”

Some of the scandal sheets that had delighted in her fall had, after all, been his.

“My reasons are my own,” he said.  “There is little love between me and Society.”

She should end this conversation, Emma knew.  She’d been away from the crowd, and from Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law, long enough to be noticed.  Another black mark for the record-keepers.

But Emma stayed.  Said, “You keep them entertained.”

He smirked.  “And you, Lady Emma, are the entertainment in question.”

—

Killian Jones stood on the edge of the ballroom and watched them.  Watched her.

Emma Nolan was every inch an aristocrat, born and bred into this world; a true diamond of the first water.  Everyone in this room should be on their knees at her feet and instead they whispered, waiting to pounce—waiting to destroy her all over again.

He shouldn’t care.  He should stay focused.  

“You should not have flirted with the girl.”

Killian did not turn.  “What do you want with her?”

The answering chuckle was dry and unpleasant. “Let’s just say I’m keeping my eye on young Miss Nolan.”

“Lady Emma,” Killian corrected, only to be granted with another chuckle that had him biting back a curse.

“Of course.”  Robert Gold’s words were soft, delicate—silk wrapped around a knife.  

“What do you want with her?” Killian asked again.

Gold tutted.  “So cold a greeting from my oldest friend.”

Killian had known Gold—now Lord Boyle, Baron Ross, Earl of Glasgow—for almost fifteen years, and hated him for every moment of it; one of the King’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres that earned him close to thirty thousand pounds per annum.

The man was as rich as a fictional king, but that was never enough for him.

No amount of power was enough for him.

“I could kill you right here,” Killian said.

“You could,” Gold agreed.  “And you would hang for it.”

“At least it would be for a crime I actually committed.”

“Big words, Captain.  You and I both know that you are not in any position to move against me.”

Killian finally turned to face him, ignoring the shiver of fear that went through him as he did so; hating it.  “I won’t ask again.”

“And I won’t answer.  Your only concern is that she interests me.  It is so tiresome, having to threaten you.  You would do better to just accept our arrangement.  I command, you act.”

As though Killian could ever forget.

But Killian was not the only one with secrets—Gold had them, and deeper and darker than any one man should.  Secrets that would see Gold, not Killian, at the end of a rope.

If only Killian had proof.

Snarling, Killian backed away from the earl and made his way through the ballroom for the exit.

And found—

“We meet again, Mr. Jones,” said Lady Emma Nolan.  Her bright green eyes sparkled and her voice—somehow it brought light with it.  Killian was helpless to do naught but smile back as he inclined his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, and enjoyed the surprise in her eyes at the honorific.

The night was still young and they were the only two preparing to leave.  Emma’s maid stood discreetly behind and the duchess, her chaperone, was nowhere to be seen.  “Are you for home already?”

Her nod made the feathers in her coiffure tremble.  “Believe it or not, Mr. Jones, I am unaccustomed to this sort of evening.  I find myself quite exhausted.”

“I noticed you found the energy to dance,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

She had stood up for every dance, had played her part brilliantly; Killian had noticed several of her brother’s titled friends called in to do a set with her in the hopes that all of their combined wealth and power might blind Society to the lady’s sins.

She was all anyone talked about, but it was neither her brother’s chosen champions nor her beauty that fueled the whispers in the ballroom.

If Gold wanted her—

“Did you?” She adjusted her wrap around her shoulders but could not hide her smile.  “And yet you never thought to ask me?”

“Lady Emma,” he said, affecting shock, “when we have not even been introduced?”

Her laugh seemed to reverberate; as if the street lamps themselves would dance to her tune, and for a long moment there was silence between them, neither of them moving to break the moment.  The sound of approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels emerging from the neighboring mews was both an irritation and a welcome distraction as she made to leave him.

“The duchess does not accompany you?”

The feathers trembled again as she shook her head, still smiling.  “I’m for home, Mr. Jones.  I wonder, what shall you write about this evening for your Scandal Sheet?”

She meant the words to amuse, he was sure—a perfect combination of wit and boredom—but underneath it all, Killian heard something else.  Something, he thought, no one was meant to hear:  Sadness.  Loss.  Frustration.

“You don’t want it, do you?”

She watched him, weighing, calculating, as the carriage waited before them to take her away from this place and this life, if only for an evening.  If she was surprised by how easily he read her, she gave no sign of it.  “This is my bed, Mr. Jones.  I must lie in it.  And to do that—it seems I need you.”

The words landed, harder than she ever could have intended, his silly promise of social redemption echoing hollow.  It was cold comfort to know that the earl was already married and could have no designs on Emma’s dowry.

The man had a terrible track record when it came to his wives.

Killian thought that it must be her family—her brother—that interested him.  The young, golden-haired duke had clawed his way back from his sister’s scandal and his own marriage based, as best Killian could ascertain, solely on his charm.

“Lady Emma—” he began, but he did not know what else to say.

“Good night, Mr. Jones.”  She was already moving, down the steps to the waiting carriage.  

He watched her, the way she moved, fascinated by the way the pale fabric of her skirts seemed to swirl in the night air, the way her arm balanced as she smiled at the footman handing her in, a glimpse of ankle in a silver slipper before the door slammed shut and her outrider climbed onto his perch.

He imagined what he might write about her as his curricle pulled up to the mounting block and he took the reins, so lost in his thoughts of her that he did not realize he still followed the lady’s coach until they were well past the turn out of Mayfair and toward her brother’s town house.

He followed her down Bond Street toward Piccadilly and then St. James before he allowed his curricle to fall back, watching the lanterns on the carriage as they navigated the back alleyways behind Duke Street toward the men’s clubs of London.

Lady Emma Nolan, sister of a duke, with a dowry big enough to buy a palace, desperate for a restored reputation and a father for her son—that he had determined to secure for her—was in a parked curricle behind the most exclusive men’s club in Britain.  More than a club—the most expensive, high-class gaming hell in London.

Lady Emma Nolan, behind Killian’s own destination, behind his club, The Swan.  A club run by some of London’s darkest men on behalf of the club’s owner, who went only by the name Swan.  Killian had never seen nor spoken to Swan in spite of their years-long profitable relationship in the trade of information.

Of secrets.

Just the person, Killian had decided, to turn to in order to free himself from Gold’s yoke once and for all.  If anyone could access Gold’s secrets, it would be Swan, and Killian was willing to pay any price for what he desired.

Emma’s outrider—a giant of a man, Killian suddenly realized—was stood in front of the heavy steel door that marked The Swan’s back entrance, banging in a specific pattern to gain entry.

He should stop her.  He moved to, just as the carriage door opened and Killian strained for a glimpse of her pale slipper, her white skirts.

But that was not what he saw.

The slipper was high-heeled and dark—the skirts a silk the color of the purest red rose—a corseted bodice that put on display a décolletage of perfect proportions.  Painted lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a dark wig that hid every golden hair.

Killian Jones watched her disappear into the club’s back entrance and he smiled.

Here was a story.

And—just maybe—an answer to all of his problems.

--

@katie-dub @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @pirateherokillian @stahlop @onceratheart18 @kmomof4 @mariakov81 

#cs fic #cshistfic #regency AU

[plant-flwrs]

i just read house unity and i am in tears!! it's so beautifully written, you must be an author bc that is pure TALENT 😭✨ if you don't mind can i request george x soft hufflepuff reader? she's kinda pure and george is like ily let's be together. thx!!

budding romance // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: um UR TOO NICE!!! thank you so much!!! I do not mind in the slightest, so I hope you like it hehe! um i also love hufflepuffs so much they are like the best house (coming from a ravenclaw) my sister is a hufflepuff and like three of my good friends are hufflepuffs so y’all are the best and i have a major soft spot for u. 

i’ve always found something about botany and plants incredibly romantic, so if this just sounds like a fanfiction for plants, you know why lol. I also made George a bit soft in this so i hope you don’t mind that either <3 n e ways, i hope you enjoy this! thanks for requesting! also sorry this took so long :( i had a bit of a hard time finding a solid idea but i think it worked out :) like, reblog, or leave any feedback if you’d like!

summary: George needs a tutor for Herbology, but has no plans on learning.

(3k)

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The back of your neck was particularly warm, and you hadn’t decided if it was because of the blazing sun shining through the Herbology classroom glass ceiling, or the fact that George Weasley was staring at the back of your head.

Your delicate fingers traced the back of the Dittany plant, feeling the bumps and lines of the veins that trailed to the stem. You wrote down some observations in your worn notebook, before glancing back at the plant. You picked up a pair of garden scissors, prepared to cut the plant at the stem.

“George Weasley is looking over here,” your friend whispered to you, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“I know, he does it often,” you replied, using a pair of tweezers to pull apart the Dittany.

“Do you think he needs something?” she asked, returning back to her own plant.

“I just figured he was copying what I was doing,” you wiped a bit of moisture off of your hand and onto your apron, taking the opportunity to look over your shoulder.

George’s eyes met yours, and his face flushed with an embarrassed blush. You offered him a kind smile, your eyes falling down to his mangled Dittany plant. You looked back up to his eyes, this time sympathetically smiling at him.

You returned to your own plant, jotting down a few more notes in the stained journal next to you.

Herbology was a strong suit of yours, you had always found it relaxing and simple. The plants offered so much to people, and all you had to do was understand how to care for them properly.

After your eventual dismissal, you rubbed the back of your neck and felt a sunburn, cursing yourself for not bringing some sort of sunscreen in your bag.

You heard an awkward cough from behind you, followed by a weak “hello”. You turned to face the noise and was a little surprised to see the tall redhead it came from.

“Hello,” you said kindly, closing your bag.

“Hi,” he repeated, and you waited for him to continue.

An awkward amount of time passed before he realized he had already said hello.

“Oh, right, um” he coughed again, clearing his throat, “well, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

He paused, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“I know who you are, George,” you replied before he had the chance, smiling at his sentiment, “we’ve gone to school together for 6 years.”

“Yeah, I just usually say it formally,” he retracted his hand after he held onto yours for what he felt was too long, “you know, with an identical brother and all.”

You nodded your head, still smiling at the nervous boy.

“Well, I wanted to ask you something,” he said, his hands gripping the leather straps of his bag nervously.

“In addition to the introduction?” you said, trying to make him less nervous.

He laughed lightly, shifting from one leg to the other.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” you pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, finding it impossible to wipe the smile off your face.

“I was wondering, since you seem so good at it, if you would help me out in Herbology?” he spoke fast, and you nearly missed what he said.

“Oh,” you were surprised by his question. He and his brother had a bit of a reputation at this school, and tutoring didn’t seem to align with it.

“I get if you can’t or something, I know you must be busy with your own studies,” he began, but you waved your hands, cutting him off.

“No, no, I don’t mind,” your smile widened as he let out a relieved breath of air, his chest deflating.

“So you’ll tutor me?” he asked, a crooked smile dawning upon his lips.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” you replied easily, nodding your head.

There were many reasons not to tutor George, you found later. For one, you fell in love with him. Not that you could be blamed, he was incredibly charming and adorable. The other reason was that he actually had very little interest in the plants, and his efforts seemed more geared towards you.

You had asked Professor Sprout if you and George could meet in the Herbology room every Wednesday after her classes. She was skeptical, but she trusted you and allowed you access as long as you promised to keep George in line.

This particular Wednesday seemed no different than the others, besides the growing crush you had formed on George. You waited for him at a stool by the door, a textbook open in front of you, along with your Herbology journal, a few quills, your apron, your gardening equipment, and a dying Dittany plant you planned on showing George how to save. You had been waiting for a while, but George was usually late. You had pulled some Arithmancy homework from your bag and worked on it in the meantime.

“Sorry!” George burst through the door of the greenhouse, a book falling from his fumbling hands, “Sorry, I got caught up with Fred, I’m sorry I’m late.”

More and more apologies flooded from his mouth, like they did most days, as he made his way to the stool next to you.

“It’s alright,” you put away your homework and pulled your textbook to rest on the table between the two of you.

You stood from your stool and began putting on your apron, and moved over to the cabinet with the spare aprons. You got one for George and his hands fumbled behind his back, his focus on you. He watched the side of your face as you peered into the textbook, your fingers tracing the words as you read. You lightly tapped it, pointing it out to George.

“We’ll start here,” you said, sitting back down in your stool.

Your wand hovered over a watering jug on the table, and you cast the Aguamenti charm. Water poured from your wand, filling the jug.

George watched you, nervously turning his fingers over in his lap. He glanced down, noticing the habit, and smoothed his hands over his legs. He brought his hands to his hair and raked them through the red locks, rolling his shoulders back, trying to relax in your presence. He never was able to, and he knew this, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

George couldn’t care any less than he already did about Herbology. He thought it was boring and useless. Not many of his pranks required extensive knowledge about plants, and when they did, the plants were already in use. But, when he saw you from across the room, your glasses teetering on the edge of your nose, your fingers tracing over the lettering in the textbook, hair falling into your face, and that wonderfully sweet smile etched onto your beautiful face, he had to talk to you.

It took him a week or two of staring at the back of your head before you even noticed him. The first time that beautiful smile was for him, he could only think of you for the rest of the day. Fred was tired of it, honestly, George was desperately infatuated with you. George had worked up the tutoring plan with Fred, with the promise that he wouldn’t actually study anything. “We have a reputation to uphold, Georgie!”

“Okay,” your sweet voice pulled George from his thoughts, and his eyes flickered from your face to your hands on the book, “so this is a Dittany.”

Your hands moved from the book to the dying plant. Its previously green leaves were now brown and wilting. Your fingertips moved over the delicate leaves, to the stems, and you raked your fingers through the dry dirt.

George leaned forward on the table, putting his chin to rest in his palm. He listened to you talk about the plant, describing just about everything there was to know. He wondered how you knew all of this from memory, and admired you even more than he thought possible.

You reached over the table to grab the garden scissors, but they were just out of your grasp. George leaned forwards and picked them up, turning them to you. You hadn’t retracted your hand, so when he pulled them from the table, they slid open and you felt a sharp pain on your fingertip.

You pulled your hand away and nursed it in your lap. A red stain appeared on your apron, and soon it spread as your fingertip was flowing with blood. You heard the scissors clatter on the table and George turned to you, already spouting apologies.

“Shit!” he cursed, his body turning towards you and he slouched to become eye level with you in your seat, “I’m so sorry!”

You whimpered involuntarily, bringing your finger to your mouth to suck away some of the blood. You removed your finger and wiped it on your apron, only for the blood to continue flowing.

George was panicking, he felt absolutely awful.

“Can I see it?” you looked up to see his creased brow and guilt- flooded eyes.

You swallowed hard and nodded, offering him your hand timidly.

He gently placed his hands over yours, they were so large they nearly covered them completely. His hands were warm and calloused on the palms from years of gripping his Beater bat. He brought your hand to him, holding it close to his chest as he looked at the small cut.

“I am so sorry,” he repeated, and he rubbed his thumb soothingly on our palm.

He pulled out his wand and looked at you for wordless permission, which you granted him curiously. He hovered over your finger and mumbled a spell you hadn’t heard before. The broken skin on your finger began to mend together, and the stinging had been replaced with an odd numbness. There was still the remains of blood, but George brought his apron to your finger and wiped it away. He still held your hand, looking at your face.

“How did you know that spell?” you asked, surprised when your voice came out as a whisper.

“You learn a lot when you have siblings like mine,” George responded in a whisper, looking at you sheepishly.

His hand was tightening around yours, and his palm rested against the back of your hand. You wrapped your fingers around his thumb, squeezing it lightly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

George’s eyes flickered down to your lips, and it was so fast you had thought you might have imagined it. Your eyes moved to his lips, noticing that his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth.

“Well, it’s the least I could do,” he responded coolly, dropping your hand back into your lap and straightening his tie as if it had become too tight.

You looked down at your aprons, each stained with small drops of your blood.

“Ew,” you said, trying to wipe off the dried red stain, “Sprout will kill me!”

Pulling his wand back out, he placed it on the table.

“Here,” he moved close to you and wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened, breathing in deeply as his mouth was inches away from your ear. You felt him fumbling with the bow that tied your apron, and his hands grazed your lower back.

Soon the bow was untied, and George hovered for a moment, and he couldn’t help but smile as he smelled your wonderful perfume.

Your apron became lose and he pulled back, his hands moving to your neck as he pulled it off. He did the same with his own and laid them both on the table.

“Tergeo,” he said, pointing his wand at the aprons.

Your apron was as good as new, and so was his, all the dirt and blood removed from the cloth.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the moment of intimacy from your brain. You forced a smile at him, thanking him as you took the apron from him.

“You’re a much better student than you let on, George,” you said, holding the apron loosely in your lap.

He made a scoffing noise, but a genuine and flushed smile fell on his face.

Neither of you felt inclined to nurse a dead plant back to life, in fact, you had no idea what to do. George just stared at you, as if he were waiting for something.

“Um-” George spoke at the same time as you, and you closed your lips.

“No, you go ahead,” he said, bowing his head to you slightly.

You laughed and insisted that you weren’t going to say anything important.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to take a walk around the grounds,” he said, already standing from his stool, “it’s awfully warm in here.”

George was right, the greenhouses seemed to be particularly warm. You thought some fresh air would be nice.

“Not very interested in the Dittany?” you teased, standing from your stool and moving to clear the table.

“Oh no!” George said nervously, hoping he didn’t offend you, “No, its wonderful-”

“I’m only teasing George, I know Herbology can be boring,” you smiled at him and laughed to yourself when you saw him visibly relax.

He was always so nervous around you, no matter how hard you tried to make him comfortable.

The two of you put away all the supplies, cleaning the table off for Professor Sprout. You had used the water left in the watering jug on any dry looking plants. George watched you going around the greenhouse, the sunshine making you seem like you were glowing. You held your hair behind your shoulder, peering into each pot.

“Alright,” you dusted your hands and tucked away your apron, “let’s go.”

George held the door open for you, and you ducked beneath his outstretched arm as you crossed the threshold. You followed his lead as he led you down a hallway.

“So you like Herbology a lot, right?” George asked you, casting a glance down at your side profile.

“Yeah, I do,” you replied.

“There’s a boy in my house, Neville, he’s great at Herbology,” George spoke fondly, his eyes turning to look out the tall windows.

“Sprout has talked about him,” you said, looking at George’s side profile, “says he’s quite talented.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” George said awkwardly, feeling quite uncertain in your presence.

“What’s your favorite class?” you asked, still trying to make some conversation.

George raked his mind, trying to decide if he should make up an answer to sound smart or be honest. He decided to be honest.

“I quite like lunch,” he said, casting a smile down at you.

You giggled, rolling your eyes playfully. He bumped his shoulder against yours, and you giggled even more.

You were eventually able to fall into a comfortable conversation, walking around the castle with ease. His hands tucked themselves into his pockets, and you crossed your arms over your chest. You eventually stopped in the courtyard, and George led you over to a bench under a large tree.

You sat close to each other, and he was painfully aware of the way your leg rubbed against his. He looked down at the spot where your skirt ended and your tights began, a lump forming in his throat. He looked at the side of your face, you seemed wonderfully content. Your eyes scanned the array of plants in front of you, looking at each of the vibrant flowers that were beginning to bloom.

“I really am sorry about your hand,” he said, partly as an excuse to pick up your hand and pretend to look at the healed cut.

Your felt tingles shoot down your arm at the unexpected touch. You looked at the hair that fell over his forehead as he peered down at your hand, holding it delicately.

“Oh, it’s alright,” you said reassuringly, “accidents happen.”

He smiled at your kindness, your eyes meeting. This time, you were sure he was looking at your lips. Your eyes danced around his face, and you felt your lips curling into a smile as he watched them.

“Would you mind if-” he croaked out, but the words seemed to be caught in his throat.

You giggled, and he dropped your hand, his head rolling back as a bought of laughter came from him. He suddenly seemed the most relaxed he had ever been.

Suddenly, when his head came to face yours again, his hands snaked up to hold your cheeks. Your eyes widened, and your smile did too. He brought your face to his, and you had realized what he was going to ask you just a second ago.

His hands were warm, and the callouses felt nice against your soft cheeks. His kiss was soft and gentle, and he waited for you to reciprocate. Your hands traveled up to wrap around his neck, and the second your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, his kiss intensified.

One of his hands traveled down to your neck, and his thumb grazed your jaw. The other slithered to your hair, and he lightly pushed your face even closer to his. Your nose pressed into his cheek and you leaned closer, your shoulder bumping into his. His tongue trailed over your bottom lip, and you sighed, opening your mouth to his.

“Ew! Get a room!”

You heard two voices shouting towards you. You pulled away, much to George’s dismay, who stayed in the same place with his eyes closed.

You looked over George’s shoulder and saw his brother and his friend.

“George,” you nudged him, casting your blushing cheeks and sheepish smile down at your lap, “I think you’re needed.”

George groaned, opening his eyes slowly. His hand was still tangled in your hair, and he slowly removed it. You felt chills as his hand raked over your neck and down your yellow tie, attempting to keep your close.

“What?” he said so poisonously, that your eyes widened.

“Keep it in your pants!” the younger redhead called out, shoving his shoulder against his friends, laughing.

“I swear to-” you heard George mumbled, already moving from his seat next to you and off to his brother.

The smaller redhead shoved his books into Harry’s chest, setting off in a run. Harry laughed loudly as George chased after his younger brother. George pulled his wand from his waistband, pointing it at Ron and easily casting a spell that bound a rope at Ron’s feet. Ron fell to the ground with a thud and George stood over him, smiling evilly.

He looked back at you, watching as you covered an entertained laugh with your hand. His face melted into pure admiration, and he abandoned Ron, leaving him tied up in the grass. George broke out in a jog, determined to hear your sweet laugh.

#george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #request #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #fanfic #weasley fic