#have a nice mug of tea and take a couple nights off

[cowyolks]

TO DULL THE SHOVELS & SMOKE

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: In which Simon Riley doesn’t hear the gunshots and yells when he’s around his next door neighbor.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore, mentions of torture based on the Ghost comics, drinking, major PTSD.

At first, it annoyed him.

The thin walls of his Manchester apartment blocked absolutely no sound. From one end, near his desolate kitchen, he heard the half-arsed sounds of a couple at all hours of the night. At the other end, nearly midnight on the dot, a bow would pull over strings.

He thought it to be a violin, but the sound was so horrendous and screeching that he couldn’t quite figure it out. Never less, he couldn’t find it in himself to move from the spot on his hard mattress.

It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways.

Gunshots bled into his ears warm and sticky, curses and cries of civilians slammed against his chest and made his eyes feel like sinking weights. Bombs screeched and blinded him, even though he could see the shadows of his wardrobes and chipped wallpaper.

He was there. On the battlefield.

That was until a particularly awful note would catch his ears, digging through all the horrible sounds of war.

It would make the corners of his lips perk up, especially when he heard the gentle curse of the “musician.” He figured horrible orchestral music would do rather than gunshots. He even managed to acquire at least an hour of sleep before he was stirred awake again by the sounds of death.

He’d wake up as he always did. A horrific grunt and a call for his teammates. It was pathetic, but the usual. Simon couldn’t recall the last time he woke up refreshed. He hadn’t slept well in decades, even his childhood was thrashed with harassment from his father who kept him up. He maybe had a couple good nights of rest as a recruit, while his brother and mother were still alive and his father was long gone festering in the hospital with cancer.

Still he was used to the dark circles under his eyes and the constant urge to yawn.

He’d gone about his civilian life as he usually did. Wake up in a sweat, take a cold shower, drink some breakfast tea, and watch the news. That was until three knocks sounded from his door chipping green paint. He had half the mind to ignore it, Simon didn’t know anyone around the area— After all, he was a Ghost. He chewed on his lip, If it was a threat they wouldn’t have knocked. He settled on placing his steaming mug on the wooden side table and huffing to stand. Curiosity won him over as his creaky joints shuffled its way over to the door.

He creaked it open only a couple inches, cautiously glancing around to see no one in the hallway. Scratching his five o’clock shadow, he blinked, feeling slightly paranoid that maybe he was imaging the knocking. That was until his dark eyes settled upon a half open box of what looked to be tea bags.

A note lay scotch taped to the front, written in the most interesting handwriting Simon had seen.

Heard the screams, I won’t pretend to know what it’s like. I figured you wouldn’t want me to pester you, so I’ll save you from the awkward small talk and leave these here. Not sure if you’re a tea person, but they help me sleep.

-your next door neighbor

He couldn’t find himself to move for a short while. His brain clashed in conflicts, as if he couldn’t settle on a single emotion to feel. It swarmed him at once— annoyance, embarrassment, gratitude.

His neighbor had took time out of their day to drop tea off at his door. He tried to think back to when the last time someone had done something genuinely nice for him. Besides his makeshift family of broken soldiers, he couldn’t think of a single occurrence. Zeroing in on the box, a twitch in his nose gave away his reluctance of the flavor. Lavender and Chamomile. So different than his simple breakfast tea.

But, it wouldn’t hurt to try it. Maybe then he’d be able to silently thank the mysterious neighbor for a good night of sleep.

He figured out who you were when he’d exited the shaky and completely unsafe lift onto his floor. In the crook of his arm he carried a brown paper sack full of his weekly groceries. It wasn’t the most fanciful of ingredients, the most extravagant being simple cuts of chicken breasts. He’d shoved the bag further into his grasp, reaching into his dark colored jeans for his room key when he heard your muffled curse.

You were hunched over your doorknob, pulling helplessly on the metal to unlock it. Hurriedly he changed his footfalls, switching from silent to knowingly hitting the creaks in the aged carpet. Your head tilted at the unpleasant noise, eyes widening in embarrassing anticipation.

It took Simon a moment to truly access the situation. It was as if his brain had slammed into a wall, colliding and knocking all of his thoughts astray. When he finally did come to his senses, the only thought he could repeat was— pretty.

Simon would be the first to admit that he had not been around many women in his life. Therefore, he didn’t have much to draw comparisons to—regardless you had to be the most beautifully unique person he had ever seen.

You wore a knitted sweater, likely homemade by the barely noticeable tears of threads and flaws. His eyes filtered down to your jeans, then his attention drew to the absolutely ridiculous socks clad to your feet and ankles. Bright purple, decorated with pink polka dots. He’d glanced up, embarrassingly distracted enough to not be able to listen to your moving lips.

“Hmm?” He grunted, thankful for his black surgical mask that covered half of his face. He felt secure being covered, as if all the bad things couldn’t penetrate through the flimsy material.

“Oh! Sorry for mumbling,” you apologized, which made Simon’s head tilt to the side. Why apologize for his lack of hearing?

You cleared your throat, releasing the doorknob from your hands and instead twisting them together in a nervous habit. It seemed you could hardly sit still, all in the span of thirty seconds Simon caught on to your spastic fingers and tapping foot.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pick a lock?” You squeaked, instantly cringing at the horribly put together question.

“Excuse me?” Simon spoke, a hint of surprised amusement coating his tongue. Of course he knew how to break into buildings and pick locks, but you didn’t need to know that.

“I uh, locked myself out of my apartment. I forgot my purse and I keep my keys in there. I was just in a rush for food before my favorite place closes, and well— I’m rambling.” You sputtered, looking like it would be a better option to break through your door than stand under his burning stare.

He didn’t expect himself to extend towards you, settling his bag of groceries on the floor near his door. You slid out the way as he approached, not before he caught a pleasant whiff of lavender and something floral.

Simon shuffled in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a floss pick from the material. Call it his nagging habit, but he hated having shit in his teeth. He wasn’t used to eating or drinking with his balaclava on at work, so on the rare occasions he ate, it absolutely irritated him. Now the floss pick came in handy as he bent the hard plastic to fit into the lock of your door.

He was aware of your stare as he lay crouched, catching the puzzled yet intrigued look from his peripherals.

“Are you some type of cop?” You blurted, making Simon’s lips peek up in a half arsed amusement. A cop? This girl was funny.

“No,”

With a final click, your door creaked open with a whine of its hinges. He rose off the old carpet with a sigh, immediately going back to his groceries so he could be left in his solitude. Then before he could reach down and pick up the bag, your words cut him short.

“Thank you. Um… did you like the tea?” It was a simple question, but not one he was expecting. “It was alright.” He lied, the untouched box still rested on his cold countertops.

“You didn’t like it did you?” You chuckled, reading right through him. All he gave was a shrug of his shoulders, not confirming nor denying. “I knew it. You probably drink your tea black and food bland.” You teased lightheartedly, making an equally playful offended sound fall from Simon’s lips. It occurred to him that he’d smiled more in these last five minutes than he had in a whole year.

“It’s only for mature palates.” He heard himself joke, nearly shocked at his own behavior.

“Sure…” You introduced yourself at last, finally able to have a name to your face. “Simon,” he only thought it fair to state his own. Although it sounded weird coming off his lips instead of the usual introductory Ghost.

“Well Simon, if you’re ever on Bakers Street, there’s a Korean Barbecue place that is delicious. Now that’s real food. I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow since I pulled this stunt. And thanks again!” You smiled, an awkward wave marking your goodbye.

Simon nodded and entered his dark flat, once again drawn into his own mind and the sound of warfare.

He made sure, a few days later to pay you back for your kind words and the disgusting tea. He knocked on your door, hurriedly rushing back to his own and out of sight, hoping the white takeout box of barbecue would make your evening.

He had a particularly rough morning on an autumn rainy day. The chill of the air and racket of raindrops on the window was enough to startle him awake. He was reminded of the cold chill of Russia, as well as the raindrops hitting way too similar to the sound of bullets. It nerved him, nearly taking him several minutes to be able to breathe properly again.

He’d done what his therapist had mentioned, pinpointing colors, sounds, and textures.

Yellowing wallpaper, humming ventilation, scratchy blanket.

Gray clouds, rattling ceiling fan, his own warm skin.

With a sigh, he curled his palm over his eyes, rubbing away the awful reoccurring night terrors, and settling for getting dressed. He wore the simple clothes he always did, black hoodie, jeans, and boots. Simple, yet effective.

He grew rather sick of the walls of his apartment. The plaster suffocated him, the air suddenly too stuffy. For a short moment he was stuck in that coffin again, maggots wriggling at his flesh and the scent of rotten meat flooding his nostrils.

He stood suddenly, attempting to calm himself. He was in Manchester, he was standing. Something he couldn’t do in a coffin. It was a shitty autumn day with rain battering his window sill. He wasn’t in the desert, he wasn’t half dead. He was here.

He let his body lead him out the door with no destination. All his mind happened to scream was out, out, out.

He’d barely been able to grab the door handle and twist, fingers shaking in such a pathetic way it had him wrinkling his nose. He was underwater, shoved into the bucket as they held him under, making him lose his breath and weakly fight.

No he was here. Manchester! In Manchester.

“Simon?”

He was suddenly lifted up, finally able to push the freezing water out of his lungs and suck down oxygen. His head swiveled weakly to you, eyes likely looking dead and cold.

You were dressed warm. A coffee-colored sweater swaddling your form and a burnt orange cardigan hanging from your shoulders as well. You wore typical jeans and slip-ons, but bright orange knitted socks peaked from your jeans. They were even littered with pumpkins and leaves designs. 

He hummed in your acknowledgment, letting himself worry about his breathing once again. Colors, sounds, textures.

Orange Cardigan, your slow breathing, soft knitted socks.

“Are you okay?” You’d squeaked, barely audible over his massive heaving breathes. He instinctively nodded his head, knowing that if he showed any sign of weakness he’d be terminated. That’s how it’s been since he was four years old, being terrified of his father but not being able to express such fear.

“You know, it’s okay to not be okay.” You read right through him. Taking an inching step towards him. He said nothing, still shocked that you hadn’t left in a disgusted manner. He was weak and terrifyingly broken, and yet your sweet gaze never broke into pity.

Orange cardigan, quiet steps, smooth skin against his wrist.

He’d instantly felt relief from the lack of stinging pressure against his palm. Not realizing he’d been digging his nails into the calloused flesh, causing angry red crescents to print into his skin.

“Would you like a tea? I was about to go to the place across the street?”

His mind screeched no. He wanted so badly to be alone. To break something, to laugh as he bloodied his knuckles. He also wanted to shield his too pleasant neighbor from his violent tendencies. To keep her from him, to protect her. But his cold and dead heart managed to thaw and break all in one. The vile organ spoke for him as he found his head bobbing, lungs sucking in a big breath.

“M’kay.” He mumbled, following after your sweet lavender perfume down the lift like a sickly bloodhound.

He’d followed like a shell, hardly memorizing the turns and passing civilians until he was blasted with warm air from a cozy little cafe. He was slammed with comfort instantly, thrown back into the present world instead of the bloodied one he was used to seeing in his mind.

String lights hung above your head, illuminating your warm skin and kind smile. You’d ushered him to sit in the far corner, the leather booth squishy and comfortable. Simon had tuned into the fluttering orchestra of some jazz band, relaxing his bones and tired muscles only slightly.

Golden lights, swaying music, brewing coffee.

He startled when a thick paper cup slid in front of him, the fresh scent of breakfast tea relaxing him further, among with the smiling face blinking at him.

“Got your favorite, bland breakfast tea.” You quipped, taking a sip of your own lavender fruity tea. He let a soft grin cross his lips, pushing the invasive thoughts away while you were with him. “I told you it was an exquisite taste, you drink tea for a child.”

A bubbly laugh escaped you, making Simon freeze in pure awe. He’d never heard something so beautiful, a real authentic laugh. One that he caused.

“You should try it.” You eased, pushing your cup towards him with amusement. Simon’s eyes managed to squint in disgust, glancing down at the odd beverage.

His hand fit around the paper material, warmth meeting his fingers as he brought it carefully up to his scarred lips. The taste was sugary, but floral and rich at the same time. His tongue retreated away, and instantly he swallowed it like it was burning alcohol.

“I don’t like it.”

This tea perfectly matched your personality. Bubbly, overly sweet, and calming like the essence of lavender under his tongue. He’d rather have you than the tea.

“Well what do you like, oh mysterious neighbor?” You chuckled, taking back your tea with a happy grin. His dislike hadn’t irked you at all, instead you seemed more intrigued than before. As if he was enough to quirk your interest.

“Football.”

“Man United?”

He nodded.

“I’m a Liverpool fan.” You sighed, a guilty and mischievous grin passing over your lips.

“That’s more disgusting than that tea!” He growled out, a chuckle breaking through his chest at your lit up face.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite food or drink then? If you’re so quick to bash my tea!” You bickered back, happily noticing his shoulders relaxing and eyes softening.

“One of my Sergeants lives in Glasgow, he frequents at this pub with the best fry up you’d ever eat.”

“Breakfast in a pub?” You questioned, taking a sip of your tea again.

“Best hangover medicine.”

You’d scoffed, hiding your smile between your empty cup. Simon was surprised just how easy it was to talk to you. Here he was, just a man having a tea with a woman. Perhaps even a date? He didn’t have to worry about following orders or barking protocol to privates. Here he could be Simon, the man under the mask and war paint. It was… nice.

“So you’re in the military. That makes sense why I haven’t seen you over the last couple months.” You observed, but didn’t push. You were hanging the metaphorical bait, but he didn’t have to bite it if he didn’t want to.

He nodded, simple enough to confirm, but not enough to feel exposed.

“Well Simon, I have a train to catch. I’m going into Liverpool to see my Mum.” You explained, offering a polite smile.

“Sure.” He mumbled, watching you shuffle to leave the booth. “We should do this again sometime, it was nice to talk to someone besides my cat.” You urged, a laugh encasing your words.

His heart threatened to bounce out of his chest, but he pulled himself together with a subtle pinch to his thigh.

“Sounds nice.”

Dried blood coated his mask and stained his gloves to the point that he had to pull extremely hard to take them off. His shoulders slouched significantly and his eyes grew such large bags under them he could feel his skin sink into his skull. He was tired, exhausted, and needing a warm, long shower.

“Good te’ be back, yeah, L.t.?” Soap threw himself against a bench, groaning as he bent down to untie the laces of his boots. The Scot likely had the same idea as Simon, to shower all this blood off their bodies.

“Sure. Back to morning drills and bland Mess Hall food.” He added in monotone, eyes twinkling in amusement as Soap let out another dramatic groan.

“Oh don’t be like that.” He teased again, constantly pushing Simon out of his dramatic and lone atmosphere. It was nice in ways, how Soap managed to brighten up his day and keep him on his toes.

Speaking of toes, a frown worked its way onto his face as he caught the state of his freshly knitted socks. Dark mud and seeping blood rubbed uncomfortably against his toes, soaking the material of all its purity.

Soap followed his eye line, latching onto the pattern of white ghosts against black knitted material. A chortle escaped him, “Where the bloody hell did ye’ get those?”

“My Neighbor.” He answered shortly, taking note of the crimson color bleeding into the white ghosts.

“D’aw, little gran’ made ye’ some socks?” Soap teased, making the wrong assumption that you were some sweet elderly lady. Simon shook his head, peeling off the socks begrudgingly as he looked forward to his hot shower to warm his bones.

“She’s my age.”

His mind travelled to you. How you’d begged and begged for him to tell you his callsign, bringing up Top Gun of all things.

“Oh my gosh! You need to watch more movies. I can’t believe you don’t know who Tom Cruise is. Top Gun!” Your ecstatic voice carried as you sat in the now familiar booth the two of you shared.

It’s become a common occurrence for him to go out with you on Saturday mornings, sometimes you’d bring your laptop and study for an upcoming test in uni, other times you’d ask him any question under the sun, just to get to know him better. He was comforted by your mindless chatter, even more so when you’d avoid certain topics that made him uncomfortable.

You’d hardly pushed on his childhood or career, that was until you’d thought him traitorous that he’d never seen either of the Top Gun movies.

“Maverick and Goose? Never heard of them?”

“No.” Simon shrugged, sipping on his tea as your eyes sparkled again. “Do you have a callsign?”

His teeth grit at the question as his airway slightly closed. It was dangerous to identify himself off the clock, even more so in a public area. He studied your antsy form, noticing your hips hanging off the booth in curiosity, as well as the soft flesh of your lips pulled between your teeth. How could he ever say no to a creature so effortlessly beautiful?

“Ghost.”

A few days later, a knock on his door startled him from his routine of watching the local broadcasting. He’d approached the door, only to find a black pair of socks with little white ghosts knitted against the seams.

“Is she fit?” Soap found himself asking, a happy grin shining through. Simon was glad for his mask, for when he pictured your smooth skin, beautiful eyes, and stunning frame he could picture no flaws. Fit? That didn’t even begin to describe you.

“You have no idea, mate.”

He’d returned home Christmas Eve, tired and worn from all the flights and jet lagged beyond belief. His muscles were stiff and his heart was heavy. This was always his least favorite time of year.

Horror flashed before his very eyes, usually he’d get away with spending the holidays on base, catching up with his paperwork and training privates a little more to reduce his thoughts of his late family. Instead, Price all but forced him to go home, after a certain Scot let slip that his Lieutenant fancied his own neighbor.

He had nowhere to hide this time. He was home, and at the worst time of the year. Near instantly his nostrils filled with the smell of burnt Christmas ham, charred and ashes by the time he’d opened the front door. But that wasn’t the worst smell, not even close. Coppery tinges of blood clouded his nostrils as his eyes glazed over.

Hidden and reflected off the ornaments on the tree was his family. His poor sweet mother, who’d done so much and tried so hard to raise two boys with an abusive husband— she lay face first on the festive rugs. He’d rushed to her, only to nearly trip over his brother. Tommy’s hand was outstretched, blood trailing as he’d likely tried to crawl to his dead wife.

He couldn’t breathe, sheer panic and despair crawling on him like millions of slippery bugs. He’d vomited all the contents of his stomach as he caught the crib in the corner. Not his little nephew, not little Joseph.

Loud honking from below drew him out of his mind. He’d been standing idly in front of his door, duffel clutched so tightly in his hand he was sure he’d had punctured skin.

White snow, soft violin, warm coat.

Violin?

His feet had already carried him to your door, hand cautiously rapping against the thin wooden material. He knew it was late— hell, it was likely already midnight and Christmas Day. Yet he needed something, he needed to hear your voice and smell the lavender and floral ofyour perfume. He even wanted to see the orange fur of your pet tabby cat.

“Who is it?” Your soft voice carried through the door, successfully halting some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Simon.”

The door cracked open almost immediately, revealing you in red flannel pajamas and sleepy eyes. He’d never felt such a relief as he had just now. Seeing you, your warm smile peeking through all the tiredness.

“You just get back?” You asked, slippered feet already sliding to the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle.

“Yes.” He replied, bending low to pat the orange ball of fur dubbed Garfield. The cat mewed happily, even going as far as letting his belly be scratched. He’d missed your eyes curiously glancing at him from behind a cabinet, two mugs clinking as you pulled them out. He’d had the same cloudy eyes and sagged shoulders he always did when he was plagued by bad memories and PTSD.

“I was just about to put on a movie, if you want to sit on the sofa.” You’d suggested, seeping the leaves of his breakfast tea in a fluid motion. Your warm and inviting voice broke him away from thinking of his family, especially when the steaming scent of tea crept up his nose.

“What movie?”

“I was thinking Home Alone, or maybe even The Grinch. Tis’ the season and all that.” You bubbled, taking your own seat against him. He’d stiffened slightly at the mention of the holidays, but his thoughts quickly vanished at the subtle brush of warm skin against his side.

He wasn’t able to breathe properly as you laid your cheek upon his shoulder, right in the dip between his neck and clavicle. But no, it wasn’t the suffocating and violent loss of breath like before, when he thought of war and bloodshed. No, this was a dull ache of his heart, as if telling him that yes, this is where I want to be.

Red Flannel, shifting bodies, soft lips.

“How about we watch Top Gun?” He asked in a whisper, still feeling the absolute sweetness of your lips, the pleasure and love that was you.

You’d single-handedly dulled his pain, silenced the noise, and picked him up on the darkest of his days.

He loved you.

Tag list: @mykneeshurt



#simon ghost riley #cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you

[azullumi]

“and they were roommates” ; ayato & baizhu

summary — what is he like as your roommate? in correlation, how does he often act around his home shared with you?

includes — ayato and baizhu (w/ gender-neutral reader) ; separate

tags — fluff, modern au, domestic fluff if you squint so hard, no established relationship, some sprinkle of smau ; headcanons

note — i srsly dont know what ayato will take in college ; masterlist

ayato, your rich and sweet roommate

nice, sweet, caring, and gentle, he’s one of the best roommate you’ll ever ask for. it’s a wonder that he doesn’t have a ring on his finger and it’s no wonder that you two are mistaken as a couple from how you act around each other—having matching mugs and items, doing a lot of things together, and most likely choosing to spend time with one another even if there will just be silence.

despite the fact that he’s often busy and holed up in his own room, he still looks after you and as well as himself and you also do the same for him. he tells you if he won’t be able to come home or will be late, reminding you to keep the door locked and closed every time, and he worries for you if you’re nowhere to be found in your home. he opts for eating together with you and would even take you out.

he loves coffee—strong ones—in the morning and occasionally during the night when he’s busy working on something, perhaps some projects and paperworks. he appreciates it whenever you come knocking on his door and bringing him with a cup of it. however, nothing can beat his love for boba and milk tea, he often comes home sipping one on his hand and another one on the other hand that is for you.

is a messy but organized type of person and his room is a great example of that. it’s messy and things are everywhere the place but not displeasing messy—the papers are all compiled yet cluttered on his desk, his laundry isn’t folded but they’re all in his basket, his blanket is unfolded or wrinkled but that’s the only disorderly thing on his bed, and more.

but despite the untidiness of his space, it’s never dirty. he doesn’t keep plates and such in his room and will always eat at the dining area (he also washes the dishes if he’s done), he disposes of his garbage in the proper place, and he cleans after himself every time.

baizhu, your caring roommate, also a medicine student

extremely caring and attentive but not to the point that it’s suffocating. he’s helpful with the chores and is even patient when guiding or teaching you when you’re not used to some things. although the burden of all of the tasks doesn’t just rest on his shoulders as the two of you have schedules to specific ones and often take turns such as in cooking—it’s no problem, however, if one of you are unable to accomplish the task assigned.

he’s always the one to prepare breakfast and will be willing to pack you something, he cares for your wellbeing a lot and is not afraid to show it. although you wonder how he’s able to work so hard despite his busy schedule. he wakes up early, makes breakfast, does whatever he has planned for that day, and always comes home on time if ever he goes out. he also goes out for groceries, usually asking you if ever you want to accompany him or if you need something so that he can get you it.

you notice how he gets tired easily and avoids straining himself, would opt for asking for help from you if ever he needs to carry something heavy such as grocery bags. on that note, you sometimes find him passed out on the couch on a random afternoon but he wakes up easily, however—even if it’s just the smallest noise.

he organizes everything, food goes into the pantry or the refrigerator if needed, kitchen items and equipment will stay in the kitchen (absolutely no knives anywhere outside that area), personal belongings are not to be littered and mixed up with the other’s (he’ll lightly tell you off if you leave your things scattered), and the medicine should be stored in the proper place—he puts labels on some of it so that it’s not mixed with another one and to avoid confusion.

random facts about him: he prefers tea as its much healthier, doesn’t walk around the home barefoot, and he remembers where everything is placed—he has quite an incredible memory.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #baizhu #baizhu x you #baizhu x reader #baizhu headcanons #baizhu fluff #genshin baizhu #ayato x you #ayato x reader #ayato fluff #genshin ayato #ayato headcanons #azul.writes

[dokiyeom]

2:33 AM  .  K. SOONYOUNG

PAIRING: idol! soonyoung/hoshi x gn! reader

GENRE: fluff! 

WORD COUNT: 1.1k!

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption

NOTE: i haven’t finished a wip or posted a written fic in forever i am so sorry <//3

SOONYOUNG SPORADICALLY CALLING YOU  DURING ODD HOURS IN THE NIGHT wasn’t particularly unusual, given his odd work schedule, but tonight was different. from what you were aware, he shouldn’t have much time to call while he’s away filming something for his group’s variety show. nonetheless, it's 2 am and your phone is ringing because your precious boyfriend wants to talk.

“hello? babe, is everything okay?” you ask once you pick up.

“hi yn!” soonyoung whisper yells, “we’re playing hide and seek so i have to keep quiet,”

“do you want to text instead then? so your voice doesn’t give you away?” you offer, smiling inwardly as you envision your boyfriend tucked away somewhere undetected. he’s always had an exceptional knack for hiding, having been distinguished as the reigning king of every variation of hide-and-seek that his group seems to conjure up.

“no, no, i want to hear your voice,” soonyoung insists, “and we took off our mics so it’s okay!”

“alright then,” you smile, “so, how’s everything going? what’d you guys do?”

“mm, things are nice! we had a few snacks earlier and we’re going to cook dinner soon,” soonyoung eagerly reports, his smile falters a bit suddenly as his tone drops, “i wish you were here with us though. i want to be hiding with you right now,”

“so we could play speed and you could rest on my shoulder?” you muse, resting your chin on one hand.

“so this wouldn’t have to happen! yn! your chin should be on MY shoulder, not your hand!” soonyoung objects quietly, “and hiding with you is so fun, don’t you think? we could have fun conversations and discuss a game plan for whatever we end up playing next,”

“and most importantly, we could play anything as a team!” soonyoung proudly proclaims

“even if your members decide to split into a 2 v 12 game?” you giggle, recalling some of the retreats you tagged along to that concluded with you and soonyoung being less than functional due to jeonghan and joshua  pushing for the two of you to team up against the rest of the group because in their words, not yours, ‘being a truly good couple means that no obstacles can stand in your way’.

apparently to soonyoung, that signified you two would win every game because he thoroughly believed you and him were the ultimate couple and team.

“especially if we end up in a 2 v 12 game yn! babe we are the dream team. you’re the brain and i’m the tiger. together we’re going unstoppable! as long as you can convince jeonghan and joshua to not cheat, we’re good!” soonyoung gives you a thumbs up to accentuate his resolve, making you burst into a fit of laughter.

“of course, of course, but soon, babe, don’t you think you have a bit too much faith in me? i’m not sure that i, or anyone, could convince jeonghan and joshua to ease up on us,” you hum. your smile widens to incomprehensible lengths as you watch soonyoung’s eyes illuminate.

“babe, you’re one of the smartest people i know, of course, you can!” soonyoung bobs vigorously.

“oh! i almost forgot!” soonyoung stiffens suddenly before easing, “we were supposed to all take a shot earlier together before we started playing hide and seek, but i hid mine so we could take it together,”

“aw soonyoung,” you melt and position your hand over your heart, “you’re too cute,”

soonyoung giggles softly over your remarks, his eyes morphing into charming upturned crescents, “you can just drink whatever drink you have nearby! it can even be water! anything’s fine, i just want to take my first shot of the night with you,”

you nod and hold up your mug of tea to the screen as soonyoung swiftly produces his hidden shot glass. the two of you tap your glasses to the screen as soonyoung dubs a faint little “clink!” before he gulps down his shot of soju and you sip your tea.

“so, how was your day?” soonyoung sings, hugging his legs closer to himself as he lays his head atop his knees.

“very quiet, not as eventful as yours,” you reply, “i got a bit of a rest day, so i mostly just read and got some work done,”

your phone buzzes with a text notification and its abruptness momentarily takes your attention away from your boyfriend, which instantly sets off lighthearted protests from him.

“oh! seungkwan texted,” you inform him.

“noo yn, can you ignore him so we can keep talking?” soonyoung helpfully suggests as you laugh and click on the notification.

boo 🍊: hi yn, sorry to bother, but can u tell hoshi to come out? we found him already but we didn’t want to interrupt and we’re gonna cook shin ramyeon now

yn 🍙: okok sorry to keep him away from u guys!! ill let him know and enjoy urselves !! pls take lots of pics and send them over :)

boo 🍊: ok!! sorry we couldn’t invite u to come :(((( and ik hoshi wants u here and so do we

yn 🍙: no need to apologize at all!!! u guys are there for going sev! we can hang out together next time when u guys have time :))

boo 🍊: for sure!!!! also dokyeomie says hi yn i miss u :)))))

yn 🍙: hi kyeom !!!! miss u && everyone else tooooo

“yn? ynnn!” soonyoung hums, waiting for your attention.

“yes, soon?” you match his singsong tone.

“do you think they’re ever going to find me?” soonyoung marvels, “i’ve been hiding here for a while,”

“they have, babe,” you reply, laughing a little as soonyoung’s eyes widen in shock, “seungkwan just texted to let you know that they found you earlier and now they’re going to start cooking ramen,”

“aw i don’t want to leave you though,” soonyoung pouts, clearly conflicted about what he should do, despite knowing that only one option will prevail.

“i’ll be here when you come back, okay babe? just go enjoy your snacks and drinking games. but don’t get too drunk please! take care of yourself,” you reassure him, wishing you could reach through the screen to ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek.

“okay fine,” soonyoung sighs, wavering before speaking again, “but when i come back, we’re going to have a game night with everyone! you and me versus them, okay?”

“anything you want,” you promise, “now go before they get mad!”

“okay bye yn! send me photos of whatever you eat for breakfast tomorrow please!”

“will do,” you beam, “i love you soonie!”

hoshi waves at the screen and holds it close to his face until the background is completely obscured by his radiant eyes, “i love you too yn! goodbye!”

#aya's fics ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ #hoshi x reader #hoshi fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #hoshi #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x you #hoshi x yn #seventeen oneshots #seventeen fics #seventeen oneshot #seventeen x you #seventeen comfort #hoshi comfort #hoshi scenarios #seventeen scenarios #hoshi imagines #hoshi oneshot #soonyoung x you #svt soonyoung #soonyoung scenarios #soonyoung imagines

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 3

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

You login for the day with your usual set up. A mug of peppermint tea, your favourite sweater, and your gaming chair set to the most ergonomic setting. You connect to the company's shared server and go through the verification. It's tedious but necessary. You're certain there will be many tedious tasks to come as the merger looms heavy over the newly absorbed startup.

As your Teams pops up, you scroll through your tasks and prepare to start your usual squinting hunch at the screen. You grab your glasses and put them on. You really need to start wearing those.

Bing! You have a message. Oh, jeez, it's Jensen. Your manager, at least for the time being. You don't know what his new job will be in the unified structure. So many questions but you're more concerned with the backend.

'Morning, how's it going?'

He's casual and approachable. At least, from what you can tell over virtual text and the occasional video call. He checks in now and then so you assume this is just the same.

'Alright. Getting started for the day.'

The three dots pop up then disappear, then a new message appears.

'Did you enjoy last night? Didn't get to say hi, you looked like you had fun tho.'

'Oh. I guess.'

'It was nice to see everyone. Anyway, business. Meeting at nine for coders. Invite coming.'

You stare at the screen. Great. You hate team meetings. You always have to give and update but you don't have much to say. You do your work and it's right there for them to see. Why do you need to explain it?

'Got it.'

You send your response and ignore his reaction; a thumbs up. You put a timer on, knowing better than to trust yourself. You go back to your usual, trying to settle in with your minty brew. Last night has put everything off-balance.

Slightly agitated by the spontaneity of the event, you join the Teams meeting and try not to look at yourself among the five rectangles on the screen. Jensen's glasses glare in the camera and you take your own off, hoping to escape behind the blur of your vision. G is there too, the only other coder you've worked with in the company. He's a strange guy, quiet, and no one knows his full name. The other two, Marc and Dharshi round out the group. All of you sit silent, waiting.

"Oh, uh," Jensen unmutes as he seems to remember he's on a call, "alright, guys, I'll try to keep this short. There's a lot to do but I really didn't think that this message should come through an email."

You check your mug, cold and empty. You have a bad feeling about whatever message he's referring to.

"So, I know we've been doing work from home for a while, but, uh, with the new company, we're being asked to consider a more hybrid model. No decision has been made yet but next week, you are all required to report to the new headquarters so that we can meet our new coworkers."

"What?" Dharshi exclaims as Marc scowls. G just stares blankly, you think, it's hard to make out clearly. You probably look just as dull.

"I know, I know, I'm trying to get us down to only a couple days a week in office," Jensen explains, "right now, there's no decision made but we do have to try. There's a different culture with Blue Forest but I think we'll be okay."

G hangs up and Jensen sputters. Dharshi and Marc let out odd noises and you just sit there.

"Oh, must be a bad connection," Jensen laughs nervously, "so... uh, I'll follow-up with G and see you all Monday."

No response. Jensen fills the void with his usual managerial spiel; let me know if you need anything, yada yada. The call ends and you're left deflating in fractured safehold of your home office. Maybe you will all be too awkward and they'll just decide to keep you hidden away. You can only hope.

Oh and don't forget, you still have to go get your car after work.

🐞

Monday comes too fast, your weekend fading into a marathon of Fortnight and nature documentaries. You pull out your most acceptable outfit. Another long skirt and a turtle neck with oxford boots. Hmm, it's more Anne Shirley than business casual.

You drive into the heart of the city, the GPS guiding you to the modern office building with its transparent walls and sleek black structure. You grab your laptop bag, a messenger with butterfly patches sewn onto it. At the door, you're stopped and let in after verifying your Employee ID. You're told to go to the front desk to get your new credentials.

After you get sorted, you're sent down the hall to a conference room. You pass several offices and people you don't know. Your new coworkers. You grip the strap of your bag as a woman pops out of Room 1161B, the very one you were told to go to. You stop short as she smiles at you, her frilly blouse tucked into a sleek white skirt.

"Oh, you must be a new one, I'm Catarina," she offers her hand and you just stare at it. "You'll be in here for the Tech Orientation. There's tea and coffee, some pastries, and full catering will be available at lunch."

"Thanks," you mutter and peek into the empty room.

"You're so early," she praises, "sorry, I didn't catch your name. I need to check you off the list."

You enunciate the syllables clearly so you won't have to repeat yourself then turn into the room. You look around at the tables. Not the traditional long intimidating tabletop but several throughout the space. You don't know where to sit, if you should choose a particular seat, so you go to the waiting urns by the far wall.

You peruse the collection of tea bags. Chamomile, green, Earl Gray...

"Ah, pardon, could I trouble you for English Breakfast if they have it?" A voice nears before the footsteps reach you. The shadow stops beside you, the voice frighteningly familiar. You grab a bag of the English Breakfast and hold it out without looking over. It can't be, what are the odds? "Oh..." he says your name. The accent, the recognition, he knows you and you vaguely know him. Jonathan.

"You work here?" You wonder as you continue to shuffle through the packets.

"Yes, and I assume... you do too. Now. You are among the newly acquired?"

You nod and put down the box of teas.

"Is there something wrong? You don't like the selection?"

"No peppermint," you shrug.

You sidle along and grab a paper cup, instead pressing the spout for the large jug of cold water. The man fills his cup with hot water before tugging on the string of the tea bag, steeping it as he nears you again.

"It's rather a coincidence," he preens, "are you excited to start?"

You know you shouldn't be honest so you do your best to lie, "yeah."

"You certainly sound it," he laughs, "well, please, have a dessert... and a seat. We'll be all out before you know it."

"Thanks," you surpass the plate of tarts and croissants. You sit at the table nearest the corner and stare at the cup of clear water. You should've known to bring your own tea.

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #drabble #au #if you can't dance #series #the club #the night manager

[darubyprincx]

Pix was up late again as he often was, especially when the seasons changed to spring. The night flowers that bloomed in the Capital were especially nice, and perfumed the air gently while he shined his flashlight on a bit of dirt near the Catacombs.

Nearby, gravel crunched.

Pix kept poking around in the dirt. There were a lot of night creatures around here after all, and Winchester, who he was letting roam about tonight. He didn't have any meetings planned, after all. The gravel crunched again.

"Hello?"

Pix looked up at the sound of his own voice.

"Oh, hello," he said automatically, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his jeans. "Uh, can I help you?"

"You have my voice," said the other man in a tone that was a good mix of suspicion, wariness, and wonder. Well as he might.

"And you have mine," said Pix. "Please don't tell me your name is also Pixlriffs and you're an archaeologist."

"Well, you got the name right," said the other Riffs, scratching the back of his head. "Not an archaeologist, though."

"Thank the gods," said Pix. "Well, I was working on something, but if you need a place to stay for the night-"

"Oh, no," said Riffs hastily. "I don't want to bother whatever you've got going on here. I just sort of wandered in, and I'd like directions."

"Bother?" asked Pix, looking a bit closer. "Dude, you have no idea how rare it is to just randomly be met with another version of..." he waved one hand vaguely, "whatever this is. Besides, trust me, I have had much bigger bothers than whatever you may be. I can get you a map, but most of the server is incredibly dangerous at night. You can stay out here if you want, but I'm making some tea."

Pix turned around and walked towards the entrance to the Catacombs, half hoping that this Pix would follow him, half hoping he wouldn't. This was definitely not something they taught you how to manage in college. Something was definitely a bit off about this guy, but Pix figured that if he was anything like him (which he probably was), he'd like some tea at least.

In the lower levels of the Catacombs, Pix had a small electric kettle/coffee maker and a modest but well-kept kitchen. He may be sleeping in a literal crypt, but he preferred to have power for simple things like this. Putting some water in from a sink nearby and humming as he filled in the kettle and grabbed a teabag from the cabinet, he heard quiet tentative footsteps coming down the stone steps.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said without turning around. "I have a few extra cups- if you're fine with a mug, all my teacups are dirty. I have a couple small containers of instant coffee, some chamomile tea, Earl Grey, black tea..."

"I mean, if you insist," said Riffs from behind him, sitting in one of the chairs surrounding a small wooden table. "I don't plan on staying for long." His voice was tinged with something strange, maybe guilt, maybe grief, and that was a tone so strange to hear in his own voice that Pix finally turned around to get a good look at his doppelgänger.

Pix didn't look in the mirror a lot, but he knew enough about his own face to see that this man had basically the exact same one as his, albeit a bit thinner in the cheekbones. Actually, he was a lot thinner everywhere. He wore a long sand-covered cloak embroidered carefully with- was that copper thread? alongside simple brown khakis, a light blue shirt and a set of wayworn brown leather sandals.

Riffs was looking at the table despite sitting sideways in his chair, and Pix figured it wasn't worth the trouble to try and make eye contact.

"So," he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter as the water behind began to steam. "What brings you here?"

Riffs shrugged, a small, embarrassed thing. "I wander around a lot," he replied. "Sometimes I end up in some... strange places."

"Well, clearly," said Pix. "It'd take a lot of strangeness for you to end up here of all places. Caffeinated or non-caffeinated tea?"

"Either works," said Riffs, looking up for the first time during the conversation. "I'm used to staying up late anyways." His eyes were a dark, stormy grey. Pix nodded and turned back to his tea, wondering if this was all some elaborate prank. Joel's work, probably.

Then again, Pix wasn't sure that Joel had the power to bring dead men back from the history books.

"My map's somewhere in the other room, but I can give you a brief," he said as he dropped the teabags into the cups. "Sugar?"

"No thanks."

Pix nodded. "You're currently in the Ancient Capital, which is essentially where I poke around in the dirt for fun and store a bunch of old artifacts in crumbling buildings. To the east is Gobland, headed by Emperor Fwhip-"

"Fwhip?" asked Riffs.

"Yeah," said Pix. He sighed. "And I have a feeling you might recognize some of the other names here as well, although most of them don't really care for history."

"Thank the sands," muttered Riffs under his breath. Pix, ignoring that, took the teabags out of the cups. Walking over to the table, he set them down- one for him, one for Riffs.

"Thank you," said Riffs, nodding before taking a sip. Pix nodded back and took a sip himself. There was a quite awkward silence of about 20 seconds as both men clearly tried to figure out how to start what was sure to be a mortifying conversation.

"So," started Riffs slowly. "You're obviously me, but also not me. You're different somehow."

"I've noticed," said Pix, taking another sip.

Riffs sighed and ran his fingers through his (rather short) hair. "How do you even talk about things like this?" he asked with a short laugh. "It's like, 12am. I'm not entirely convinced this isn't a fever dream of some sort."

"I think both of us are awake," said Pix, pinching his own arm lightly just to make sure. "I do have a question for you, though."

"Go ahead."

"Care to explain how the Copper King of Pixandria ended up 12,000 miles from this location in the dead of night when he's been dead in this world for over two thousand years?"

Riffs raised his eyebrows, but managed to keep his drink down. Impressive. "How did you figure me out so fast?"

"How about we exchange answers. I'm curious."

Riffs laughed again, a quieter thing this time. "Alright. When I said I was wandering, I meant the desert. I uh, did a thing I'm not too proud of, so I decided to go on a hike to think things over."

This sounded familiar. "A very long hike, hmm?" answered Pix.

"Okay, you answer me now."

"Well," started Pix, putting his cup down, "I've been studying you for roughly fifteen years now. There are records, you know, and I've translated them. I know about the demon. I know about the ancient emperors. I'm not sure if it's just some cosmic coincidence that the guy who ruled the Desert Empire happens to share my name and face, but I do think this may have happened for a reason."

"You, my good sir, are terrifying," said Riffs matter-of-factly.

Pix shrugged. "I try not to be. I call it being direct. I'm sorry if I'm pressing too hard," he said with a small laugh of his own. "It's just not every day that you meet the Copper King in the flesh. It goes against my nature to not ask you a bajillion questions."

"I mean, that's fair," said Riffs with a shrug. "But, fill me in a little. What do your books tell you?"

"Records are scarce and often very damaged," said Pix, "but those that exist say that the Copper King mysteriously vanished from his empire about 5 years after its height."

"And after that?" Riffs asked quietly.

"It faded completely into oblivion," said Pix. "All mentions of it had completely ceased by the time the Fall rolled around."

There was a silence of about a minute then, in which Riffs looked at the countertop, then the ceiling, then the countertop again, then the mug, wearing the expression of a man who had been wrestling with something very large for very long. Pix kept his eyes down.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"No," said Riffs, looking up and looking him clearly in the eye. "I'm the one who asked. Would you like to know the real meaning behind that 'mysterious dissapearance'?"

"Fill me in," said Pix, leaning back.

"The Copper King," said Riffs in a grandiose but unfathomably bitter tone, "exiled himself 5 years after his kingdom entered its golden age for the harm he'd done to his people and his Vigil, deeming himself unfit to walk in its light, and never once looked back." He drained his cup of tea.

So that was it.

"Well, I'd need a citation for that," said Pix, "but that'd look great in a thesis paper."

"We even have the same humor," said Riffs, exasperated. "How did we turn out so differently?"

Pix took a good, long look at the man sitting across from him at the table, perpendicular to the counter. His voice was indeed filled with both shame and grief, but another thing now too- loathing. That was a question Pix could not answer over one cup of tea, anyways, but he did have an inkling.

"Records also say," he said softly, "that the people of Pixandria looked for their king years after his dissapearance, right up until the collapse of the government. Since official records end there, there's a good chance they kept going later than that."

"Did they ever say why?" asked Riffs, staring at the ceiling.

"Every year, it is told, they added another candle to his pile in the Vigil."

Riffs continued looking at the ceiling.

"If you're looking for closure, you won't find it here," said Pix. "I've got my own life going on. I can point you in the right direction, but not much more than that. Seldom do the annals of the past give satisfying conclusions to present problems, but sometimes they can give people ideas."

Riffs sighed and sat back up in his chair, hunching forwards a bit now. "Wise words," he said. "I'm glad you've found your peace here. I, in the meanwhile, am still looking for mine. Maybe I'm destined to wander forever, who knows?"

"If you end up popping up back here in another 20 or so years, me and my kettle will be waiting for you," said Pix. Riffs nodded.

"The uh, the map's in the room one level up and to the left in an item frame," said Pix. "You can keep it. I can always make another one."

Riffs nodded and stood up, looking up the stairs then back at Pix. "Well, this is goodbye then."

"Yep."

"See you around, maybe?"

"See you around perhaps, and may the stars light your journey well."

Riffs gave him a smile, the first one Pix had seen from him all evening and, with a rustle of fabric up the stairs, he was gone.

#mcyt #empires smp #empires smp s2 #pixlriffs #empires smp s1 #ray's tag #writing #hi #this got long lol

[viviartsy]

Dubz fic snippet.

Please forgive me for any grammar mistake, English is not my first language.

“Dubz-“

He shushed her, holding her impossibly close to his body as his profile was flushed against her cheek. With one hand he held the back of her head, with the other the small of her back.

Inhaling softly he took in the smell of her. Her skin mixed with the smell of makeup. He didn’t care. It was her, all over, intoxicating, never ending.

“Not now” He mumbled against her cheek. “You can nag me all you want. Just not now. Later”

She mumbled something, all he could tell was the vibration against his nose and lips. His brow was furrowed and his lips pursed in a silent kiss against her cheek. Whatever she had said, she didn’t repeat it again, not that he cared.

They stayed like that for a while. Minutes probably passed, people probably crossed the street and looked at them, in the front porch, door wide open, as he just towered over her frame. Her hands perched at either side of his jacket, without saying a word until she shivered.

Dubz realised she was in her pjs, that she was probably cold, and he wasn’t exactly that much of a heat source given all the time he had spent out that night. His hands were cold, his toes felt numb, so she must’ve been double that cold.

“Sorry” He let go of her, looking at the ground before he could manage to look her in the eye. “It’s kinda cold tonight, huh”

“Kinda” She answered with a small nod. Then she looked behind her to the open door and pointed to it with her thumb. “We can go in, if you want”.

He thought about it for a second, but finally nodded, putting both hands in his pockets and following her inside. “Your aunt’s not home?”

She closed the door behind him, and he took off his shoes without much thought. Left them to the side so he wouldn’t stain the carpeted floors.

“Not now, no” She quickly went and grabbed some slippers, handing them to him. “The kids have this function thing going on at school so they went to see them. They said they’ll eat dinner with their son as well so they won’t be back for a while”

“How are they?” He looked around, as if he had never seen the house before. There were some new frames with family pictures. And a couple of Noa’s as well.

“They’re good, you know. I’m afraid I give them too much trouble” She went to the kitchen and he stopped at the door. “Tea? I have a blend of lime tree, chamomile, valerian and passionflower drops- that’s if you want them”

She showed him the container with the blend and he couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head while pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief.

“Of course you do” He extended his hand towards her, still finding it funny. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Thank you”

She made a face and said something between her teeth. He didn’t understand, but he was sure it had something to do with him and he probably didn’t want to know.

“You can wait for me on the other room” She pointed at the sitting room, while turning on the kettle. “Sit down and take a moment to relax and… all that”

“I’m good” He simply observed, leaning against the doorframe as she was now putting the blend on a teabag.

Dubz preferred keeping an eye on her as she moved around the wooden kitchen. The light was warm, almost too much. Orange and made her look kind of weird. But it was a nice weird, he supposed, she looked sort of funny in her pink pj pants and that silly top of hers.

Not that the top was particularly funny. It was more about what it did for him than what it did for her, he supposed. Something like that.

“There we go” She said when the alarm went off. Grabbing the kettle and pouring the steaming water on a mug. Then she grabbed a small plate, a honey jar and a spoon and put it all in a tray before ushering him out of the way.

“Go, go!” She waved her hand in the direction of the door at the end of the hall. “It’s gonna get cold before we get there”

Dubz laughed and in a couple of steps he was already sitting down in the flowery pink and cream couch.

She sat down on an armchair and prepared the whole thing without a word, offering the mug once she felt it was done. She remained sitting forward, both elbows on her knees while she looked at him.

He could tell she was dying to know what happened. But, for whatever reason, perhaps out of compassion or manners, she didn’t say anything. Just waited for him to drink his tea in silence.

#taz skylar x reader #taz skylar #tarek yassin skylar #Dubz #gassed up #Dubz x reader #snippet #this is going to be one long fic #but i’m so excited #hadn’t written in so long #this man inspires me so much

[blueraineshadows]

Brothers Part 15

Garreth Weasley 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Oscar Weasley

A love rivalry between two Weasley brothers. Oscar is an OC created by @eternalremorse and used with her permission.

Chapter Master List (including Ao3 link)

Tags: NSFW, pregnancy, injury, fluff

Chapter 15 - Epilogue

Four years later…

Morning sunlight filtered through the window, the sky clear with barely a cloud. The summer breeze was warm and light, teasing at the curtains that Oscar had recently opened. He hummed to himself, a smile tugging at his lips as he found eggs and bread, gathering items to make breakfast. Shirtless, his pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips, his eyes glanced across to where two mugs sat ready for the tea that was brewing in the pot. 

His smile widened. It was lovely to have a few days off from the season tour. Coach had been pushing the team really hard, but Oscar was thriving on it. He had never played better, and the team was doing well. A break in Quidditch matches meant he could spend some quality time in his own home, a small flat he rented close to the Montrose Magpies stadium, a well earned rest before getting back to the adrenaline rush. 

Still humming a little tune, he poured the tea into the mugs, adding some milk before carrying them towards his bedroom. Nudging the door open with his bare foot, he crept in, smiling at the little mop of brunette hair that poked out the top of the blankets. Avoiding the items of clothing strewn about his bedroom floor, thrown there in a hurry last night in their eagerness to get their hands on each other, Oscar placed the mugs on the bedside table. 

“Wakey, wakey, sweetheart,” he said softly, reaching to grip the edge of the blanket. He tugged it back, grinning as the mop of hair slid further under, a low groan sounding from the warm cavern beneath. “Come on, Poppy. You can't lay in bed all day. MC will be waiting for you.” 

“It's not my fault someone kept me awake most of the night,” Poppy grumbled, shifting under the blanket. 

Oscar chuckled, his hand sliding underneath the blanket to seek out warm, soft flesh. His fingers found a thigh, and he squeezed. “I didn't hear any complaints at the time.” 

Poppy squeaked and squirmed, her head appearing out of the blanket, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed with sleep. She smirked, her eyes darkening with mischief as she held up the blanket, offering a teasing glimpse of curves he knew so well. She quirked an eyebrow. 

“I have a couple of hours before I need to meet MC. I suggest you get yourself back under this blanket and wake me up properly.” 

Oscar didn't need to be told twice. Breakfast could wait. He dived under the blanket, his hands roaming over warm curves, fingers tickling at soft flesh as he relished the sound of her delighted giggles. 

….*....

The bell above the shop door chimed and the sound of heavy boots on wood drifted through to the brewing room where Garreth was bent over a cauldron, studying the contents carefully whilst checking the notes in an open book on the bench beside him. 

“I'm back!” 

Garreth didn't lift his gaze from the potion as he stirred carefully. “I'm in here,” he called out. 

Sebastian appeared beside him, the scent of fresh summer air mingling with the aroma of his cologne, the skin of his face sun-kissed with colour and freckles. He put his sales case down on a table and pushed a hand through his wild brunette locks, peering over Garreth’s shoulder with a grin. 

“This looks promising,” he said. He gave Garreth a pat on the shoulder before moving to grab up the little black kettle from a stove. “I sold the last of those energy restoration potions this morning. I stopped off at Diagon Alley and saw Prewett in The Leaky Cauldron. He put me in touch with a few of his colleagues at the Ministry, and I sold the lot.”

“Nice one,” Garreth said, glancing over his shoulder with a smile and spotting the kettle going on. “I'll take a brew seeing as you're making. How is Lee? I've not seen him for a while.”

Sebastian set the kettle to boil and began to hunt for some clean cups. “He doesn't change, still impossibly neat and full of himself,” he chuckled. He paused and shook his head. “But he did have a girl with him, a proper little fox as well. She had a lovely set of boobs. I don't know how he does it.”

Garreth laughed, lowering the heat under his cauldron and setting the ladle aside. “He's a charming bloke, Seb. Why wouldn't he get some tail? Don't tell me you're jealous.” 

Wiping his hands on a tatty rag, Garreth turned and leaned his hips back against the workbench, the sunlight streaming through the window glinting on his curling, red hair. His shirt sleeves were rolled back, his collar open, and his cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room. 

Sebastian's sleeves were rolled back too, but his shirt and waistcoat were smart, his trousers were well cut, and his boots were well polished. As the travelling sales rep for their little potion business, he had to look the part. Combined with his handsome looks and never-ending charm, he had their customers eating from the palm of his hand. 

For the last three years they had worked long hours to get this little shop off the ground, a tiny wreck of a place on the edge of Hogsmeade that they had renovated and scrubbed up into a charming little business. Garreth’s dream of being a potioneer was a reality, and it had come with determination and the help from those closest to him. 

Sebastian was his partner, both of them sinking every coin they had into the business, selling potions on the sly during their last year of school before scouting out a premises right after graduation. Despite the concern of his brothers and some words of warning about his Slytherin friend, Garreth had no regrets trusting Sebastian. 

His friend was chuckling and shaking his head as he found some milk and a bowl of sugar. “Of course I'm not jealous,” Sebastian said, his smile turned devilish. “I'm doing just fine with the lovely Emma from the tea shop. Thank you very much.”

“Is this one going to last?” Garreth quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the biscuit tin down from the shelf and popping the lid. “She seems to be keeping you amused. You could bring her to the wedding.” 

Sebastian held up a hand. “Easy now, Garreth. There's no need to rush into anything. If I escort her to your wedding, MC will be whispering in my ears about putting a ring on Emma's finger before you two even get to say I do.” 

“She just wants to see you settled and happy, mate” Garreth said, offering the biscuit tin out towards him as he popped one into his own mouth, speaking around it. “She worries about you.” 

“And I love her for it, but I'm not unhappy,” Sebastian said, grabbing a cookie. “Life is chugging along nicely. I'm not saying marriage is off the table, I just haven't found that one girl that makes me want to jump in yet. We are not all as lucky as you, Weasley.” 

Garreth smiled and took the steaming mug that Sebastian was holding out to him. He knew he was lucky. MC was his whole heart. He lived and breathed her, their lives woven around each other so tightly that he had forgotten how he had managed without her. 

In two weeks, she would be his wife. His heart thudded madly at the thought of it, a smile curving his mouth every time he caught sight of the ring on her finger, a symbol that told the world she was his, and would be forever. 

“Emma is a darling, though, mate,” he said, leaning back against the workbench. “I think you should escort her to the wedding. What if Lee brings his fox with the lovely knockers?” 

Sebastian grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Then I shall ask the little fox for a dance.” 

They both laughed, Garreth shaking his head. 

“You're never going to stop winding Leander up, are you?” 

“Never,” Sebastian smirked. He waved his hand and shrugged. “It's all in good sport, though. I mean, if he was to get down on one knee and snag himself a lovely wife, I would be one of the first to shake his hand and congratulate him. He's a good sport. It's just so easy to get him all flustered and blushing.” 

“We should organise another card game night,” Garreth said, thoughtfully. “Get all the boys together again.” 

“Good idea,” Sebastian said, raising his mug. “We could do it just before the wedding and call it your stag. Your last foray into social gatherings as an unmarried man.” 

“No funny business,” Garreth said, wagging his finger. 

Sebastian grinned. “Pfft, says the King of Mischief.” 

Garreth's look of mock innocence would fool nobody, and they both chuckled into their tea mugs. 

….*....

The sun was hot, the sky a clear and endless blue, but under the canopy of the forest, it was cooler, shadows stretching deeply into the undergrowth. A world apart from the lazy summer outside of the trees. 

MC was crouched low in some bushes, her eyes trained on a lone unicorn that was snuffling into the scattered leaves that lay on the forest floor. There was a wound on her flank, her blood glittering in the low light. 

“At least it doesn't look too deep,” Poppy whispered, creeping closer towards MC and peering through the branches. “Shall we try and get a bit closer? I have some snacks that will distract her while we check the wound.” 

MC chewed at her lower lip, her gaze drifting towards her friend beside her. Poppy wore her hair cut level with her chin, her nose and cheeks dusted with freckles brought out by the summer sun. In the years since they had left school, they had remained close, venturing out to check on various beasts from time to time. 

Her gaze wandered down towards the collar of Poppy’s blouse, the fabric gaping slightly and revealing a love bruise on her lower neck. MC arched a brow, intrigued. 

“A snack?” MC asked quietly. “Looks to me like someone has been snacking on you, Poppy.” 

MC hooked a finger into the collar of Poppy’s blouse and tugged it aside, the bruising continued on towards her collar bone. Poppy sucked in a breath, her cheeks flooding with colour as she hastily brushed MC’s hand away and smoothed her blouse closer towards her skin. 

“You weren't supposed to see that,” Poppy mumbled, her gaze dipping away. Even her ears were flushed pink. 

MC’s mouth twisted in amusement. “It's not like you to get all shy about something like that. Is this still the Unspeakable chap you were seeing? He’s back in town, is he?” 

“He isn’t an Unspeakable,” Poppy winced.

MC frowned in confusion. She was sure that Poppy had explained that his frequent trips away were to do with top secret missions. “I don’t understand. I thought you said..."

Poppy fidgeted with her top button, avoiding MC’s gaze. “It’s complicated.” 

“Oh really?” MC said, worry creasing her brow. “In what way?” 

MC frowned a little as Poppy carefully stepped out of the bushes, her steps slow and deliberate. Poppy was not usually so embarrassed about her love affairs, happily divulging the details of steamy kisses and flirtations with her gentleman. Why the blushing and secrecy with this one? 

“I just...I didn't want to say too much until I was sure,” Poppy said, peeking up through her lashes. "I really like him, MC, and I do want to tell you."

"So, tell me," MC said, curiously tilting her head. "What is stopping you?"

Poppy flicked her gaze towards MC, her blush darkening further as she hesitated, and then she turned back towards the unicorn, her brow furrowing. “I'll tell you later. Come on, let's see to this lovely lady first.” 

Curious and suspecting either this one was married or perhaps someone she knew, MC made a mental note to probe further once the unicorn had been taken care of. 

Following Poppy towards the beast, they managed to keep her calm with soothing words and treats, MC stroking her silky mane whilst Poppy cleaned the wound and applied ointment. 

“I might as well gather some hair whilst I'm here,” MC said, pulling out a muslin cloth from her little bag to wrap it in. “Garreth always appreciates the rarer ingredients when he can get them.”

Poppy handed her a brush. “Here, use this. How is our favourite potioneer? Is business going well?” 

“Yes, things seem good,” MC said, smiling. “Sebastian has proven rather a dab hand at sales, and they have some regular clients now.” 

“Ah yes, that will be that irresistible Sallow charm,” Poppy smirked. She smoothed her hand over the unicorn's glossy coat, her teeth worrying at her lip. “How is Sebastian these days?”

“He is well,” MC said softly, eyeing her friend. “He works hard at the shop, and he receives regular letters from Anne now. He misses her still, but at least they are back in contact.” 

Poppy nodded, her smile warm. “I'm glad to hear it. He deserves some happiness.”

“What of your happiness, Poppy?” MC asked, her eyes shifting to Poppy’s neck. “Are you going to tell me who your suitor is?” 

Poppy’s cheeks flamed into colour again, her mouth parting as though to speak, but the flash of a spell firing between them put a halt to anything she might have said. 

MC jumped back, Poppy crying out as she tumbled to the packed dirt of the forest floor. The unicorn whinnied in distress, bolting through the trees in a clatter of hooves as MC scrambled to pull out her wand. Poppy was choking in distress, clutching at her throat as blood began to trickle from the side of her mouth.

“Poppy!” MC cried, stepping towards her, but the thud of many footsteps made her pause.

Her eyes widened as hooded figures began to flood into the clearing. Poachers. There were so many of them, and it had been a long while since MC had taken part in any combat, preferring to snuggle up beside the fire with Garreth these days. With her magic, she could probably take all of these poachers at once, but ever since that day she had murdered all those people in front of Garreth, she hadn’t taken another life.

Gripping her wand tighter in her sweaty hand, MC moved to stand in front of Poppy, holding up her wand. Her hand shook, the poachers jeering at her, slowly surrounding her with their wands raised. Her chest tightened, her lungs seemingly empty and screaming as the panic began to claw at her. Her worry for Poppy swam sickeningly in her stomach at the sound of her desperate gasps for air, blood bubbling from her lips.

“Well, well,” a woman said, stepping forward. A scar ran the length of her face, splitting her lips in a vertical slash. She smiled, and MC shivered at the grotesque twist. “If it isn’t the little hero of Hogwarts. She’s all grown up, fellas. Look at her!”

A few of them chuckled, but some of them took a few steps back. MC lifted her chin, holding up her wand in an attempt to appear completely in control of the situation. Some of them feared her, and with good reason. They didn’t know she had changed. She had a reason to stay on the right side of the law now. She had Garreth. She was going to marry him next week. 

She wasn’t a killer anymore. No more shadows. 

The scarred woman fired off a basic cast, the flash hitting the dirt in front of MC’s feet. She flinched, her breathing ragged as she stared wildly around at the circle of enemies. The woman laughed, shaking her head.

“A bit jumpy, aren’t you, love?” She tilted her head like a bird of prey. “The little hero isn’t scared, is she? Your friend doesn't look too clever. She might even die. That’s a shame.”

“A shame for you,” MC hissed through her teeth. “She’s a Sweeting. I bet you’ve heard of them.”

The scarred woman stiffened, turning to glance at the man standing closest to her before leaning to peer at a choking Poppy on the ground. MC could feel every panicked thud of her heart in her ears, desperate to get to Poppy and help her.

“They do have a daughter,” the man said, throwing a worried glance towards the scarred woman.

“Maybe they do, maybe they don’t,” the scarred woman said, her eyes narrowing in on MC. “But, bringing this little bitch back to the boss will earn us high favour. I say we take her, and worry about the choking welp afterwards.”

It was a subtle flick of the wrist, but MC caught it, hours of training with Sebastian and the Crossed Wands club had taught her many tricks. MC threw up a shield easily enough, the hex rebounding in a flash of sparks. She met the eyes of the scarred woman, her body slipping into a duelling stance, her heart filled with Garreth and his gorgeous green eyes. 

She had made a promise to herself. No more darkness, but she wouldn't go down without a fight either. 

The clearing erupted into a frenzy of spells, the flashes and sparks lighting up the gloom of the forest, a flock of ravens squawked as they fled the trees in a flurry of black wings. 

….*....

The two silver rings sat neatly in the little wooden box, nestled in a bed of black velvet. A pair. Two symbols of eternal love and commitment between a man and wife.

Oscar stared at those rings and tried to imagine the moment Garreth would slip the more slender ring of the two onto MC’s finger and make her officially his. Once, he would have envied that moment, the twist of it pulling him down inside and reminding him of what he’d had within his grasp. Now, he saw those rings and felt a warmth, a happiness that bloomed in his chest. Not just for his brother’s joy, but because there was a glimmer of hope, his own heart beating with a new thrum for someone who had slipped under his skin, and in the most unlikely situation.

“I can’t believe the wedding is only a week away,” Garreth said softly.

Oscar lifted his gaze from the rings to look at his brother, seeing a shadow of apprehension flicker in his eyes as he smiled. 

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

Garreth’s smile wavered, and he fiddled with the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, his eyes dipping away from Oscar as he moved around the shop counter. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his cheeks colouring. 

Oscar closed the ring box with a little snap and moved towards the shop counter, placing the little box onto the top between them. “What is it that worries you, brother? You are marrying the girl of your dreams.”

Garreth’s little huff of laughter conveyed his disbelief, his nerves on full show now as he shook his head. “That is the problem, Os. I still can’t believe that she said yes. We shall be handfast, our lives connected forever, and I’m not sure I deserve to be that lucky. I mean, look at me. I’m just a humble shopkeeper who creates more mess than success half the time, and she is this warm, generous, and amazing witch who could change the world if she wanted. What is she doing with me?”

“She chose you, Garreth,” Oscar said, his eyes softening. Garreth had always been sensitive, hiding it behind his humour and his chaotic pranks. The gap between their ages was so close, but Oscar had always taken his older brother role seriously. “She loves you. It’s obvious just from the way that she looks at you, and she has never wanted that worldwide glory. You know that as well as I do. You give her what she needs, and she will marry you next week because that is what is supposed to happen. She was always meant to be yours, brother.”

Garreth nodded, his lips pressing together as he attempted to work through the emotion that was darkening his eyes. He reached out to touch his fingertips to the top of the little wooden box, caressing the polished wood gently. “Look after these, won’t you? I don’t trust myself not to lose them, and MC will Incendio my backside if I do.”

Oscar smiled as he picked up the ring box. “Of course, isn’t that what the best man is for? I shall take good care of them, and don’t worry, this time next week I’ll be right there beside you, making sure you don’t mess up. All you have to worry about is saying ‘I do’.”

Garreth nodded again, his smile a little wider. “Thanks, Os.”

“Don’t mention it. You should have more faith in yourself, brother. You’re a good man, and you have worked hard to build up this business. That’s no small feat. I’m proud of you.”

“I hope all of this is going into your speech,” Garreth grinned.

“What, and miss out on the opportunity to tease you in public? Not a chance,” Oscar chuckled, pocketing the rings.

Garreth leaned on the counter, eyeing Oscar curiously. “So, are you bringing a date to the wedding? I haven’t heard you mention any young ladies lately. Surely, the well hasn’t run dry?”

Oscar felt his cheeks turn hot, redness spreading across them as he dipped his gaze, running his hand through his copper hair. He thought of Poppy, how she had looked this morning waking up in his arms, and the realisation that he wanted that every morning, not just on the days they could snatch together here and there.

“Oh, brother, you’re blushing,” Garreth said, his mouth splitting into a wide grin. His green eyes sparkled in delight. “Who is she, then? She must be something special to get you as red as a tomato. Since when do you blush?”

Oscar bit his lip, the urge to tell Garreth the truth welling up his throat, the words forming but halting on the tip of his tongue. Poppy was nervous about telling MC. So far, they had been meeting in private, enjoying the time to explore this new side to their relationship. Poppy was worried that MC might be upset, her best friend taking up with her ex. They hadn’t found a way to reveal the truth yet, but Oscar wanted to. He wanted the whole world to know. 

“It’s…complicated,” he said carefully. 

Garreth’s brow creased. “Bloody hell, she isn’t married, is she?”

“Of course not!” Oscar said, shaking his head. “I’m not that much of a rake.”

Garreth raised an eyebrow at him, and Oscar flipped his middle finger up at his brother with a scowl. Garreth laughed and beckoned him towards the rear of the shop, heading for the kettle on the stove. 

“Let me put the kettle on, and you can tell me all about her,” he said. “It’s only fair seeing as you listen to me ramble on about MC all the time.”

Desperate to share what was blooming inside of him, Oscar followed Garreth into the rear of the shop, settling down on the worn settee as the tea was being made. The truth had to come out sometime, and who better to help reveal the truth to MC than his little brother?

“Well, if you really must know, then I’ll tell you,” Oscar said, a fond smile playing on his lips. “It all started when she came to help with that charity fundraising I took part in for the unicorns…”

….*....

The steady rise and fall of Poppy’s chest was the only indication that she was still alive. MC watched the movement, her eyes glassy as she sat rigid on the hard hospital chair. Behind her eyes, the fight under the trees played out, the snap and flash of spell casting, the groans of pain, and the trickle of sweat down her neck. The scent of mud and blood. She shivered, pushing back on the wall of shadow that threatened to loom over her.

She hadn’t killed any of them, though. She had stuck to her word. Instead, they were all on their way to the Aurors office for processing. She didn’t think she would ever forget the look of hate in the eyes of the scarred woman.

A firm hand on her shoulder made her look up, and she felt his warmth, Garreth’s green eyes soft and worried as he looked down at her. He handed her a cup of hot tea, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “You should let the nurse see to that wound on your temple,” he said.

“I’m fine, the Wiggenweld will do its work,” she said softly. “I’ve had worse.”

Her gaze returned to the pale, still form of Poppy in the hospital bed. The Healers had done all they could for now. They just had to wait for her to wake up. 

“I thought I was going to lose her,” she whispered, the fear of it snaking through her stomach with a roiling lurch. She reached for Garreth’s hand. “Those poachers just came out of nowhere. I wasn’t even paying attention to our surroundings. I was too busy trying to get the truth about her mystery lover out of her, as if that was more important. What if she dies?”

“She’s not going to die,” Garreth assured her, crouching down beside her chair and taking her hand more firmly in his. “Poppy is safe, and this wasn’t your fault. You got her here. You saved her.”

Looking at him, the warmth of his hand holding hers, she felt that safety net catching her. One look from him pushed the shadows back, holding them at bay for a moment so she could breathe. 

“I love you,” she whispered. 

“Not as much as I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You have got to stop scaring me like this. Every time you appear all banged up and bloody, I swear my heart nearly falls out of my mouth.”

“It will take a lot more to bring me down than a few poachers,” she said bravely.

“That’s what worries me.”

Her gaze moved back to Poppy in the bed, the thought of her mystery lover floating across her thoughts again. Garreth was right here beside her, soothing her and holding her hand, his love for her making him remain here above all else. What of Poppy’s lover? Would he want to be here by Poppy’s side and offer comfort?

“If I knew who she was seeing, I could have sent an owl for him,” MC said, sipping her tea. “I don’t understand why she won’t tell me who it is. She is being so odd about it all.”

Garreth dipped his head, and she caught the little glance he sent towards the bed, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as he tugged at his shirt collar. Her eyes narrowed as colour bloomed on his cheeks, and he shifted slightly, his fingers rubbing against the back of her hand. 

“She will tell you when she is ready,” he said, still not meeting her gaze. He couldn’t lie to save his life.

“Garreth, I know that look anywhere. It’s the look I get when you’ve burnt another hole in a cooking pot, or set fire to the tablecloth,” MC spoke slowly, her cup of tea poised, her gaze fixed on his lowered head. “What is it? What do you know?”

His groan, combined with his eyes closing, almost made her smile. Almost. He was such a big kid sometimes, but her curiosity was caught, and she leaned forward.

“You know who it is, don’t you?”

“I only found out today,” he said, his eyes wide as he gripped her hand. “Don’t be mad, okay? It’s actually rather sweet when you think about it.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, her stomach tensing. “You mean I know him? Who is it?”

Her mind danced through some options. Was it Sebastian? Had they decided to try again? Or maybe it was the bloke from the bakery that looked like a young Professor Sharp, they had giggled over that one for a few days, Poppy making MC’s eyes bulge with her naughty remarks about their old potions teacher. 

“It’s Oscar,” Garreth said, his face lingering between hope and concern.

MC went utterly still. She stared at Garreth as the words went into her ears and drifted through her mind like smoke, her thoughts desperately trying to catch hold of them but they swirled into a dizzying mess that made her mouth pop open in shock. “What?”

“He told me earlier today that he was seeing someone, and I was surprised too when he said it was Poppy,” Garreth said quickly. “They didn’t know how to tell you. Poppy was worried you would be upset.”

“Upset?” 

“Yes. Are you… upset?”

MC shook her head, her eyes moving towards her friend. She couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on the spot under the collar of her hospital gown where the skin was marked with a lover’s bruise.

She shivered, her hand slipping from Garreth’s grip as unbidden images of Oscar’s mouth leaving marks on her own skin seeped into her head. Now he was touching Poppy, kissing her, whispering in Poppy’s ears as he had done to her. Closing her eyes, she shoved those thoughts aside. They were irrelevant.

There was a flicker of fear in Garreth’s eyes, there and gone before he hid it, his throat working hard as he stared at her. MC was not so foolish as to ignore the look she saw in his eyes sometimes. If Oscar and her laughed together, or maybe he would hold her elbow to assist her, or maybe they would smile as he handed her something over the table at family dinners. She could not change the history she had with Oscar, but it was history. They were family now, and her heart was Garreth’s.

But, his fear was not something to be ignored. She did not blame him for it. How could she? She was certain that her own insecurities would play into similar thoughts if the role was reversed.

Oscar had accepted MC’s love for his brother. He had supported them, helped fund the set up of the shop, and had been the first to congratulate them on their engagement. He could have easily been difficult and horrid, and nobody would have blamed him. His heart was big, almost as big as Garreth’s, a trait that seemed to run in the very blood of their family. 

And now Poppy has gravitated towards that warmth. Could MC really blame her? She could see the attraction and had fallen for it herself. Like Oscar, MC should be able to accept their choice and let them be happy.

MC wondered if Poppy had always felt that way about Oscar. Is that why she had wanted to know every detail about MC’s relationship with him - had it been more than just her impish curiosity?

Perhaps those were details that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

What bothered MC more was being lied to by her friend. A friend that could be placing herself into the hands of a man who had the potential to hurt her. Poppy had admitted she really liked her lover, her blushing face earlier today confirming it. What if she really liked him and he discarded her like all the others? MC had feared that for herself when she had been in his arms, and if he hurt Poppy, it could split a crack into their lives that might never heal.

“I need a moment,” she said, standing. She placed her tea on the table beside Poppy’s bed and avoided Garreth’s worried eyes. “I’m sorry. Just give me a moment.”

“Of course,” he said quietly. 

Garreth’s generosity and patience made her heart squeeze as she left the hospital room, her chest tight with the heaviness of the day, her mind reeling with it all as she tried to keep a grip on her breathing. 

….*....

Fear was a metallic taste on his tongue as Oscar raced to St Mungo's hospital in London. Garreth may have said in the note that Poppy was alright, that she had been with the Healers and was resting now, but that didn’t stop the black hole of fear from ripping his stomach to pieces.

He was trembling as he ran through the doors and along the corridor, coming to a stop only when he saw MC leaning against a wall, her face pale and drawn. She was hurt too, a wound slowly healing on her head, and blood stains in her hair as she turned her eyes on him. 

She stared, the depths of her gaze still holding that magnetism that he had come to accept as something that would always be there, no matter how much time had passed. Her mouth tightened, and she pushed up from the wall, her eyes glittering as she nodded.

“You came,” she said quietly.

Garreth had warned him that MC knew the truth, and Oscar swallowed as he nodded. “Of course I came. Where is she?”

“She is sleeping and safe. Garreth is with her,” she said, looking down the corridor. Turning her gaze back to him, she indicated for him to follow. “Come with me.”

The room that she led him to was empty, the bed neatly made and no sign of Poppy anywhere. “This isn’t her room. Where is Poppy?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” MC said, turning to face him.

Oscar was reminded of a day when they had stood in a quiet room like this, and she had crushed him. He pushed the memory aside. He just wanted to see Poppy. She was all that mattered to him now.

“What could be so important that you need to talk about it now? I want to see her, MC,” he insisted.

“I know you do, but I just wanted to talk to you first,” she said. "I need to know where you're going with this, Oscar. She is my best friend. I don't want to see her get hurt."

There was a shadow behind her eyes, a flicker of something painful, and she looked away for a moment, her chest heaving with a steadying breath. He watched as her hand pressed against her chest, fingers agitated as she rubbed them against her blood-stained blouse before she continued.

“I want to know why you two felt the need to sneak around behind my back and lie to me like you have. You could have told me. I…”

She stopped, her breath catching.

“I’m not playing any games, MC,” he said, stepping closer. “I really like her. This isn’t some reckless fling.”

“Then, what is it?”

He met her gaze and thought of a crisp, winter’s night, the way she had looked under the moon.

“Do you remember what you said to me that Christmas in my parent’s garden? You said I would meet someone who would make me forget what it was like to breathe before they came into my life. Well, that’s Poppy. Only, she was there all along and I wasn’t ready to see it. You made me question what it was that I wanted. After you, I was more honest with myself and any girl that came along. When Poppy and I came across each other again, it just felt… right. I can’t explain it.”

“When you look into their eyes and everything just seems warmer, safer, and life without them would be empty and cold,” she whispered. 

Oscar nodded. “I think I love her, MC, and I don’t want to mess this up. Neither of us does. We held off telling anyone until we were sure. The last thing we want to do is hurt you, MC. You mean so much to Poppy. She loves you,” he said, hesitating as he looked into her eyes. “And you mean a lot to me, too. You always have, despite everything. I meant what I said. Trust me, MC. Please. I want to do this right.”

Her lips trembled, and a lone tear slipped from her eye. She brushed it away, looking up at him. “You love her?”

MC dipped her head, nodding slightly as she considered his words. She stepped towards him, their bodies so close he could smell the soft scent of her, his eyes fixed on the face of the girl who had entered their lives and changed so much. She was dainty and beautiful, her eyes holding a depth of warmth, but those lingering shadows that held her in their grip were still there. He hadn’t been able to save her from them, but his brother had a way of chasing them off and continued to do so.

He felt his cheeks flame like they had when he had confessed to Garreth. Receiving the news that Poppy had been badly hurt had shaken him to his core. The thought of losing her really was like having the ability to breathe snatched from him.

Looking at MC, staring into her eyes, he hoped she could see the truth of his words. More than anything, he wanted her to finally trust him. He nodded. “I do love her, MC.”

Poppy had shadows, the ghosts of her past tormented her at times and she had moments when he had held her and listened to her speak of the crimes her parents committed against the animals that she held so dear to her heart. She trusted him with her truth, and that was something that he would never forget, the honour of knowing her deeper because she allowed it to be so. 

MC pushed a finger into his chest, looking up at him with a fierceness that he had rarely seen in those soft eyes of hers. There was an edge to her look that was almost close to the shifting dark he had seen in Sallow’s eyes a few times, and he once again wondered what secrets lay between those two. He could have sworn he saw flickers of blue and white fire in the depths of her gaze, too, as she eyed him.

“I'm going to trust you, Oscar Weasley,” she said, her voice so soft and yet laced with something that sent a shiver down his spine. “I’m sorry I never trusted you with my own heart, but I’m going to trust you with hers. If you hurt her in any way, you will have me to deal with.”

“I’d never hurt her,” he said, hoping that the sincerity of his words showed on his face. “I’d rather hurt myself first than hurt Poppy.”

She nodded, removing her finger from his chest. The cold fire was gone from her eyes now, and her lips twitched with a smile, her usual softness glowing on her face. “You know what? I think I believe you.”

….*....

Sleep was tugging him softly downwards, the warmth of the bed blankets and the softness of his pillow luring Garreth into the welcoming darkness. He allowed his body to relax, the tension of the day beginning to slip from his shoulders as the mattress dipped beside him. He cracked open one eye, a closed lip smile tugging at his mouth as MC crawled in towards him, her hair unbound and loose about her shoulders. He reached for her, welcoming the softness of her encased in her nightgown.

Whilst his eyes remained closed, the lingering lure of sleep still there, he welcomed the feel of her kiss at his throat, her mouth blazing a trail over his skin and her hands smoothing up the expanse of his bare chest. When her lips found his, he kissed her back, cupping her head to hold her there for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his mouth. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She caressed his cheek, her nose rubbing against his. “I’m sorry I walked away from you in the hospital today.”

“It is forgotten,” he murmured gently, seeking more kisses from her tempting mouth. “You needed to think, I understand.”

She straddled him, the weight of her against his pelvis waking the fire in his belly, chasing the allure of sleep far into the night. As their kisses deepened, his hands dragging the nightdress from her shoulders as she began to rut against him, the fears that he had written in his journal seemed to fade into smaller wisps of thought. Like dust motes, they flickered and shifted, twisting away as their bodies connected.

For a moment there this afternoon in the hospital, he had feared that she still held a candle for Oscar, that her leaving the room like that had meant her jealousy had won out. But then, she had returned with Oscar in tow, her smile softer as she watched Oscar fuss over Poppy.

It was hard to remember his insecurities, the worry that he wasn’t enough for her, when she fell apart in his hands. Staring into her eyes as they moved, their passion, a blaze that made them gasp for the very air to breathe, he knew this was forever. 

….*....

Sunlight filtered through the window of the bedroom, and MC took a moment to look out over the fields of the Weasley farm. The day couldn’t be more perfect, the sky powder blue and delicate wisps of clouds adding a softness that mirrored her heart. Nerves might be dancing in her stomach, but they were the best kind of nerves. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. Today was a milestone being placed, the start of the next chapter, and she was ready to turn the page.

The sound of the door clicking open made her turn, expecting to see Poppy with the flowers for her hair, but it wasn’t her. Instead, Sebastian crossed the threshold, dressed in a fine dark suit and burgundy waistcoat, his hair as neat as it would ever be. He gazed about the room before his dark eyes finally found her, his face shifting to a look of soft awe.

“Look at you,” he breathed, closing the door and walking towards her, hands outstretched. “You look so lovely, MC. The perfect bride!”

She could see the shine of his eyes and gripped his hands tightly, gazing up into his face with a wobbly smile. “Don’t you dare make me cry, Sallow, or I will have to fetch my wand.”

“And what if you make me cry, hmm? What shall I do then?” He chuckled, blinking his own eyes free of tears.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice betraying just how pleased she was to see him. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the others waiting for me to make my grand entrance?”

He took a deep breath and looked at their joined hands. “That’s just it,” he said, his voice strained. “I didn’t want you to walk out there alone.”

“What do you mean?”

His cheeks coloured, and he fidgeted, biting his lip. “Well, I got to thinking about traditions and how the bride is usually escorted to her fiance by her father. I didn’t want to let proceedings start without at least making the offer, and of course, you can say no… It’s entirely up to you…”

“What are you talking about?” MC stared at him, almost holding her breath.

“I thought I could give you away if you'll let me,” he said, blushing furiously. He shook his head, flustered. “I mean, it's not giving you away entirely because I don't want to get rid of you. Of course, I don't. I aim to be the pain in your backside forever and a day, but someone should escort you to your new husband, and I thought…well, I wondered…”

“I would love you to do that,” she said, interrupting his rambling whilst squeezing his hands tightly. Her eyes burned, threatening to spill tears that would ruin her makeup. “Sebastian. You never fail to surprise me, and I love you for it. I can't believe you thought of this.”

His smile was so sweet, boyish almost, despite the harder lines of his face now. The years she had known him had only strengthened the bond between them. He was the obvious choice to give her away, and she wished she had thought of it herself. 

“Don't cry, now,” he said. “Otherwise I shall be needing to fetch my wand. I'd be honoured to take you to Garreth. You two are so important to me, and nothing will make me happier than seeing you two finally hitched.”

“Look at you being all sentimental and soppy,” she teased, a smile shining through the welling of her eyes. 

“Pfft, don't get used to it,” he said, trying and failing to look cool and collected. His face twisted up into the mockery of a frown. “And I still can't believe you're going to be a Weasley. MC Weasley. That's going to take some getting used to.” 

She laughed and pulled him closer, squeezing him tightly, suddenly feeling so very grown up in her wedding gown. How quickly adulthood had come to claim them. 

The door opened, and Poppy stepped through, her eyes widening at them. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, wincing as MC and Sebastian parted. “Did I just interrupt a tender moment?” 

“Ridiculously tender,” Sebastian said, turning to offer Poppy a sweeping bow. He smirked, eyes twinkling. “Miss Sweeting, or is that going to change and become another Mrs Weasley rather soon? I swear they will take over the world one day with that name. There are so many of them!” 

Poppy blushed a brilliant red and swiped her hand in Sebastian’s direction, her other hand clutching gorgeous summer blooms for MC’s hair. 

“Oh, give over you scoundrel,” she huffed, but her eyes twinkled with just as much teasing as his. “You didn't seem to mind when a particular Weasley cousin was smiling your way just before.” 

MC cocked an eyebrow and smothered a chuckle at the tinge of pink on Sebastian's face. 

“I haven't the foggiest what you mean, Poppy dearest,” he said. He turned to MC and offered her a bow, too. He smiled. “I shall wait at the foot of the stairs for you.” 

With a wink for them both, he was gone, closing the door softly behind him. Poppy watched him go with a small sigh, and she shook her head. 

“He has so much charm it is almost dangerous,” she said. 

MC met her gaze, and they giggled, a happiness blooming in MC’s chest that stole her breath in the best possible way. 

….*....

One year later…

Catching the end of his pencil between his lips, Garreth studied the sketch he had drawn onto the page of his journal, the lines quick but flowing in his haste to capture the moment. He lifted his gaze up to where MC stood at a window, her eyes staring out at the lovely gardens laid out in the courtyard of St Mungo's Hospital. One hand was supporting her lower back, and the other lay atop the beautiful swell of her stomach. His eyes softened, his mouth lifting in a smile filled with love as he watched her, his gaze dropping to the sketch he had made to capture this moment. 

“I hope you haven't made me look like a whale,” she said, turning her head to smile at him. 

“Impossible,” he said, closing the journal and pocketing it. “I only draw what I see.” 

He stood and moved towards her, stepping up behind her and smoothing his hands over her stomach, feeling out for those precious little wiggles underneath. His child, their child. He couldn't wait to hold him or her. 

MC put her hand over his, leaning back against him with a sigh. “I can't believe this will be over soon, and baby Weasley will be here. This is our last check-up before the birth.”  

He hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Just think, our little one is almost ready to arrive, and Oscar and Poppy are only just starting their baby journey. I'm taking full credit for Oscar planting one in her so soon. He couldn't be outdone.” 

MC laughed, the sound filling his ears and the vibration of it pleasant against his chest. The baby kicked firmly against his hand, and he grinned. 

“Don't say it like that,” she scolded gently. “I think it's wonderful news. Poppy is so happy she could burst. She will make a wonderful mother.” 

She fell quiet, and Garreth soothed his hands over her bump, his kiss soft near her ear. As their due date grew closer, he could tell MC was apprehensive, worried about being a good mum. 

“As will you,” he said firmly. “You have so much love to give, MC. You will be amazing, I just know it.” 

He saw the flash of her smile and held her just a little closer. He had never loved her more. 

“Mr and Mrs Weasley?” 

They both turned to see a nurse smiling at them. She gestured down the corridor. “The Healer will see you now.” 

He reached for MC’s hand, their eyes meeting as she turned from the window. “Ready?” 

She nodded, her smile reaching her eyes as she squeezed his hand. “I'm ready.”

Together, they followed the nurse towards the Healer's room, exchanging pleasantries with her, sharing their excitement about the future, and welcoming their unborn child into the world.

The first of many he hoped. 

The End

Thank you. Thank you to everyone who read this fic, left comments, reblogged and liked, came to say hi on Ao3, or helped me flesh out ideas on Discord. I love and appreciate all of it. This fic was a journey, and I am sad that it is over. I've become closer to Garreth and Oscar, explored their personalities, and loved every minute.

Thank you!! And, on to the next...

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy #oscar weasley #oscar weasley x mc #garreth weasley x mc #blueraineshadows

[theupsidedownsrealestateagent]

Winter in Hawkins has been brutal this year, snow was falling heavy, there was not a single soul who should be out in these conditions, which is why when Steve hears a knock  on his front door he’s confused and also a tad panicked. A number of horrible thoughts plague his head as he rushes to open the door.

Swinging the door open the young man takes a shocked step back, “Erica??” 

“Yeah it’s me dipshit, now can I come in or what? People are going to be pretty upset to find an incredibly wholesome child frozen on the Harrington front steps.”

Gathering his senses after a moment, Steve quickly ushers one of his adopted kids into the house. Taking her jacket and stowing her boots with the other shoes, he also grabs a blanket from the storage bench, and leads Erica to the living room. “You know we have to talk about this Sinclair right? What the hell were you doing out in a storm like this? Do your folks know where you are? Also why the hell are you here?” The questions just kept coming pouring out of a very protective and concerned Steve.

Erica avoids eye contact with him and stares out the floor, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It is a look that makes Steve’s stomach twist. Baby Sinclair was always so confident and sure of herself, there was something clearly bothering her. He finally stops verbally vomiting questions and just waits for her to start talking.

“My parents got stuck in the city due to the weather, and Lucas is bunking with the other dorks who are doing a new campaign that Dustin came up with, they didn’t even invite me to play which is bullshit by the way, I’m the most  strategic player they know. And and I didn’t want to be alone Steve, this was the only place I could think of going to.” She finished her story  going quiet and her eyes started glistening with unshed tears.

“Hey hey it’s okay. Listen Erica first off those little shits suck for not including you and they should know better, secondly I hate being alone too, stresses me the hell out and if you hadn’t shown up tonight I definitely would be hating life right now.” Erica nods slowly, grateful she made the decision to bike here. 

Steve gets a little more information about the situation and decides to make a couple of calls as Erica gets changed into warmer clothes. He’s steeping two mugs of tea while talking to Mrs. Sinclair after he got the number to their hotel room. Steve assures the mom that Erica is safe and very welcome to spend the night. Even fibs saying he picked Erica up so the kid didn’t get an earful when she got home. The next call he makes is to Karen Wheeler’s house. Once he’s on the phone with Mike he makes the kid gather the rest of the party up to the phone, and gives a very intense lecture on including the younger girl, and the responsibility of taking care of our own. Steve takes pleasure in Max yelling at Lucas in the background. He knew there was a reason she was one of his favorites. 

Erica was on the couch now wearing older sweatpants from Steve’s freshman year probably, they were still big on her but a way better option than her half solid jeans she biked in. Also wearing Steve’s swim team sweatshirt. Steve’s eyes crinkled in a smile, it was always nice to be able to spend one on one time with any of the kids, he likes that he gets to see more of their genuine personalities.

Spending time with Erica was easy and funny, she actually reminded Steve a lot of Robin. The way Erica was able to completely dunk on Steve and have it mean she loves him was verrry Robin. They talked about school, her friends, and a long list of embarrassing secrets about Lucas that Steve mentally stores to use next time Erica gets ditched. 

Even though it’s easy to talk to Erica, Steve can see how tired she looks. It’s the same tired he sees in all of them, the same tired he gets after a few nights of nightmare fueled insomnia. Luckily he knows how to help, if it was anyone other than Erica he’d have to think harder, not for her though.

After a long while of talking they decide to put a movie in and just relax while staying as warm as possible. Halfway through The Princess Bride Steve offers her a huge bowl of Rocky Road. “I know it’s stupidly cold out, but if I recall correctly I have a pretty huge ice cream debt that I haven’t able to make a payment on in a long time.” He hands her the bowl and a spoon.

Erica takes the offering, a sad smile creeping on her face. “Y’know ever since Starcourt I thought that was as bad as it was ever going to get for us. Not many 10 year olds get to say they saved their friends, the world, from Russian scientists. And then spring break happened Steve, Max and Eddie almost didn’t make it out, you and Hopper have irreparable brain injuries, and Lucas and I were almost got by racist townies. I’m just so tired, and yet I haven’t been able to really sleep in months. None of us have.” Tears flowing steady now as she lets a heavy weight off her chest.

Steve grabs her small shoulders, “No one should have ever gone what we have all gone through. But here we are still standing, still breathing against every damn odd. All of us nerds, freaks, fallen cool kids, we saved the fucking world. A couple of times actually. But we did it. And honestly Erica I’d go through it another hundred times if it meant I get to have this weird little family. I love you Rick, and I promise one  day we won’t be plagued by shadows, monsters, and alternate dimensions.”

Erica smiled at the nickname solely reserved for Steve. If Erica could pin point the night where sleeping came a tiny bit easier it would surely be this sleepover. In her heart Erica knew that she’d brave any winter storm for her favorite adopted brother.

#stranger things #erica stranger things #steve harrington #queer steve harrington #erica and Steve have a sibling relationship #steddie #this is my first fic in years #Steve calling Erica rick is so personal to me

[my-soupy-brain]

hey!! i recently found your blog and i LOVE it your writing is so brilliant and i really enjoy it. i’m a gay dude so i dunno, i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a lil thing for a male reader?? my brain’s going to sunshine, sweet reader x grumpy roy. and the reader’s starting to rub off on roy so all of the players coaches are like “omg??? you’re actually decent to be around?? you’re obviously in love tell us her name so we can buy her a pint” and he goes “uhhhhh well actually his name is y/n” or whatever and the boys are like “cool….we need to buy him a pint that boy is a SAINT” and they’re all accepting and nice because i’m self indulgent lol

it’s cool if not tho!! i hope u have a great night either way ily

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS AND I AM HERE FOR YOU. I hope I can write Roy as fluidly as I feel I can write Ted but since he's made an appearance a couple of times, I think I can. Your synopsis is perfect. So let's gooo!

---

Relationship: Roy Kent x reader (m)

Warnings: Cute fluff + lust

---

You rolled over and saw Roy's gorgeous smile staring back at you.

"Good morning," he said softly, his hand over yours on your pillow.

"Well, good morning," you replied, leaning in to kiss him.

This is how most mornings with Roy started. He was in awe of you. That you came into his life. Awakened him. Brought him joy and peace he didn't know before.

As you make your coffee and tea, Roy lets his hand rest on your hip for a moment and then slide across your back as he reaches above you for a mug.

It always catches you by surprise.

His big, warm hands. His lithe fingers. How they feel when they touch your body, and especially your skin.

"This is my favorite part of my day, you know," Roy says, smiling across the table with his mug in his hands. "Having quiet mornings with you."

"Why Roy Kent, I never thought I'd see the calm, quiet side of you from the moment I met you," you reply. "It's quite welcome."

Roy remembers how edgy he was before you came into his life. How his heart had been broken a few times before. How he kept everyone pushed out.

But the night you met him, something clicked.

You asked how he was doing.

No one has ever asked that before.

You asked him about his hobbies, what he was reading.

No one had ever asked that, either.

So yeah, falling in love with you? The sunshine, the calm, the quiet blue sky of you? He was all in. Finally.

...

Roy came into his office whistling.

That was the first clue that something was going on. Coach Beard and Ted Lasso looked at each other across their pushed-together desks and then watched Roy shake his coat off and put it over his chair, still whistling a tune.

He picked up his phone and smiled at a text from you.

Hey, handsome. Have a good day at work. xoxo

Roy put his phone down and walked into Beard and Ted's office.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Beard put his book down and stared, open-mouthed. Ted felt a little startled.

In the years Roy's been here coaching, he's never just popped in to ask how they -- or anyone else -- are doing.

"You doin' OK there, Roy-o?" Ted asked.

"Perfect, actually. Why?"

Ted just shrugged nonchalantly. "No reason."

Roy went back into his office and sat at his desk, writing down some ideas he had for plays. Preparing for the day of practice ahead.

On the pitch, he still used his yelling WHISTLE! but when Jamie apologized for messing up a play, Roy just smiled.

"It's OK, Jamie. We'll just run it again," Roy said with a smile. Jamie cowered a little, waiting for a scolding. Roy put his hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, we'll just try again."

Jamie went back to the team, Jan and Dani and Sam happy that Roy didn't get angry, but equally confused.

In the locker room after practice, Roy is smiling. Jamie takes the plunge.

"OK, OK, I give up. What's her name?" Jamie asks Roy. Roy turns to look at Jamie.

"Huh?"

"Well you're clearly in a good mood, must be a bird. So what's her name?"

Roy shakes his head and smiles.

"Not a bird. And his name is y/n."

The locker room is almost a record scratch. All eyes are on Roy.

"I met someone, his name is y/n. And he's changed my life."

More silence.

And then a slow clap.

And more applause.

Jamie offers a hug, which Roy accepts.

"I'm happy for ya, old man," Jamie says with a smile. "So when do we meet him? Let's get a pint sometime soon, yeah?"

Roy nods and smiles. "Love to."

...

That's how you found yourself at the pub with some of the AFC Richmond team.

Your hands intertwined under the table. Roy giving you a kiss on the head when he gets up to grab another pint at the bar.

"We knew somethin' was up," Jamie says after taking a sip of beer.

You tilt your head. "Why's that?'

"He was smiling more, for starters. He even walks differently. He usually walks like this..." Jamie pushes his shoulders up and imitates a scowl. "And now he's...relaxed?"

You smile. "I"m glad. He's certainly been better in my life."

Jamie smiles. "We're glad, too. Less sprints around the pitch now!"

---

Hope you enjoyed this, friend! Thank you for your kind words, and thank you for this prompt. This was very sweet. I think Roy would love to be loved like that. Gently and compassionately. What a journey for him. Thanks again!

#roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent x you

[chaotic-goodsir]

Your curtwen drabbles get me everytime you write them so well!! Thank you so much for writing them 😭 If you’re up for it, how about 95 for curtwen or lautski

Aw, thank you!! You're absolutely welcome - I've had a lot of fun writing these and I'm glad you enjoyed them! This is maybe not quite what you expected for this prompt, but I hope you like it anyway. It's also the longest so far I think, so uh, so much for drabbles. I really need to learn to write shorter things.

(I went for Curtwen again, because I am predictable 😅)

*

Ms Mega has a plan.

The inspiration first struck couple of days ago. Curtis was away on agency business  - some kind of important meeting - and she was in the living room, sorting through old photo albums. She'd almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the house when a hesitant voice spoke up from the doorway.

'Um, good morning, Ms Mega. Could I… can I help you with that, at all?'

The voice's owner looked, as usual, in dire need of a decent night's sleep. He leant against the doorway as though it was the only thing keeping him standing, one hand anxiously twisting the tie on that blue plaid dressing gown she’d given him to borrow.

She shuffled over and patted the couch beside her.

‘Well of course! Come and sit down. I was just trying to get these photos organised. You know, I can never get Curtis to help me with things like this. You wait here and I’ll get us some coffee – or tea, if you want?’

Owen sat down like someone half in a dream, picked up an envelope of unsorted photos and stared at it like he wasn't sure exactly what to do.

‘Tea or coffee, honey?’ she asked again.

'Oh, um, tea would be excellent, thank you.'

‘I haven’t started on that envelope yet – how about you have a look through them and we’ll pick the best ones for this album? I’ll be right back.’

When she glanced back from the door as she left, Owen had barely moved. He sat staring straight ahead at the fireplace, absent-mindedly turning the envelope over and over, in a way that made Ms Mega think of her cousin Jack after the Great War. Not for the first time, she found herself worrying about her son's English friend.

By the time she came back with the drinks, he'd at least opened the envelope and was flicking through some of the photos. He paused on one that showed Curtis, aged maybe about twelve, dressed up all fancy with his arm around that lovely girl from next door, whose name she found she couldn’t recall.

'Ah, that's from the dancing competition!' she explained as Owen studied the photo. 'He used to be very good, you know. Takes after his mama.'

'Dancing?'

'Ballroom,' she said proudly. 'He used to love dancing with me when he was little, so I sent him to classes when I could afford it. That girl lived next door to us - she was his partner. They were such good friends. Like peas in a pod. I used to think they might get married one day! Well, I suppose he doesn't do much dancing now, with all the spying and everything. It's a shame. He had a real a talent for it.'

'So you'll want to keep this one, then?' Owen asked, looking at the chaotic pile of albums on the coffee table as though wondering where to start.

'Keep it? Maybe I oughta frame it! Curtis would be so embarrassed to see it again.'

Owen smiled a little at that. He put the photo aside and picked up the mug of hot tea, clasping it tightly in both hands. She couldn't help but notice the mug shaking a little.

'Are you feeling alright, honey?’ she asked, sitting back down beside him.

‘Mm? Yes, sorry. I’m fine. Thank you.’

She’d have thought a secret agent would be a better liar.

‘There’s no need to help me if you’re not feeling so good. You just watch if you like. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Curtis will tell you, I can talk anyone’s ear off.'

So she carried on with her sorting, and Owen listened while she talked about vacations and school awards and weddings and christenings and relatives he had no reason to be interested in. It was strange - she'd done the same with Tatiana, but as sweet as the Russian girl was, she'd never shown the kind of interest Ms Mega would have expected from her son's future fiancée. Maybe Tati just wasn't the nostalgia type.

Owen, on the other hand - once he finished the tea and relaxed a little - seemed to have a million questions. What did Curt win that award for? (Dancing, again. He and his partner were first in the county!) Where were they in that photo by the sea? (California, the furthest they'd ever travelled before Curtis got his spy job and the house in Guadeloupe). Who was the man in some of the older photos? (Curtis's father. He left when he was a baby, and good riddance. By that time he wasn't a very nice man to be around…)

Something about the interest Owen took in her son’s life only increased Ms Mega’s suspicions – the ones she’d been harbouring ever since Curtis first brought this stray to her door. She knew her son must have his reasons for bringing Owen here, and for jumping through what seemed like endless agency hoops to help him after whatever it was that happened in Europe. Before he left for this particular meeting, he’d asked her to take care of Owen while he was gone - which, of course, she would have done anyway, but there was something in his tone she’d never heard him use for anyone else. Not even for Tati.

Ms Mega is nothing if not both nosy and resourceful, and so, after the photos reminded her of her son's talent for dancing, she started to hatch her plan.

Now, a few days later, she's waiting in the living room holding a record she found in the attic, grinning to herself at her own mischief. She’s pushed the coffee table to one side to make space for a dancefloor, and strategically left the album with the photos from her son’s dancing career open on top of it. Dinner is in the oven, and now all that’s left to set the plan in motion is for Curtis and Owen to return.

Curtis got home last night, and she chased the two of them out of the house this morning with ‘spring cleaning’ as an excuse. Of course they (or, well, Owen) offered to help, but she pushed them out of the door all the same.

'Don't be silly! Now off you go for a walk, or whatever it is you boys do for fun. It'll do you some good to get out of the house.'

Officially, Owen is not supposed to leave the house at all. But a guest in Ms Mega's house lives by Ms Mega's rules - not those of any spy agency, even one that pays the rent.

The boys should be back soon, now. She dusts off the record and sets it on the battered old record player, and once she’s sure it isn’t too scratched to play properly, she starts to dance.

She pretends she doesn’t hear Curt call out as he walks in the door. Best not to look as though any of this was prepared.

Curtis and Owen appear in the doorway just as she's twirling under the arm of an imaginary partner, her skirt and apron spinning. She can tell Owen is politely trying to hide a smirk. Curtis just looks mortified.

'Mom? What are you doing?'

She grins.

'Oh, don't mind me! Just reliving my younger days. Curtis, I found some old photos of when you used to go do dancing lessons with that girl from next door. Do you remember that? She was such a nice girl, what was her name?'

‘…Sadie?’

'That’s it! You know, I was telling Owen the other day what a good dancer you used to be. You had a real talent, ever since you used to dance with me as a baby.'  She grabs his wrist, trying to drag him into a dance with her, but he pulls away, face scarlet.

‘Mom!’

'What? Too embarrassed to dance with your old mother? Jeez. I guess I’ll just go and get dinner ready then. Honestly, a mother can’t have any fun.’

She winks at Owen as she passes him in the doorway, and enjoys the slightly baffled look on his face. Plan stage one: complete.

She tries her best to listen in from the kitchen as she takes the pie out of the oven and prepares the potatoes. The record stops playing abruptly, and for a moment she’s disappointed, but then it starts up again. There’s muffled talking as she sets the table, the sound of Curt groaning in embarrassment and Owen making fun of him. And then - and then - the talking stops altogether.

And that’s her cue to slowly make her way back through the hall, treading as quietly as possible. Little do those boys know, they aren’t the only spies in this household.

She peers around the doorway, and watches silently for a moment.

Plan stage two: success.

Curtis spins his partner around the room, a little shorter than Owen but still managing to lead. It doesn't surprise her that Owen knows how to dance. After all, the Brits have all those fancy pride and prejudice balls, don't they? But she’s proud to see Curtis is clearly the better dancer of the two. Maybe that's a little unfair of her - she knows Owen injured himself quite badly at some point, and that must make things more difficult. But still. Her son is in his element here, maybe more so than when he ever danced with a girl.

Sometimes, Curtis reminds her so much of his father. Before Curtis was born, before Mr Mega started drinking more than he ought to and getting angrier than he ought to afterwards, they used to go out dancing on weekends. As they spun around the dancefloor, she'd look up at the man she would one day marry and feel as if they were the only two people on earth. And she can see that same look in Curtis's eyes now - like nothing in the world could possibly matter more than the person he's dancing with.

Than Owen.

It's really no wonder they haven’t noticed her in the doorway.

Smiling to herself, she slips back behind the doorframe and executes the final stage of her plan.

'Alright you lovebirds, dinner's ready!'

Immediately, there's panic in the living room. Incredibly efficient panic. In the seconds it takes her to round the door, the record has stopped, Owen is sitting on the sofa, and Curtis is leaning against the fireplace, nervously fixing his hair in a way that might look casual to anyone but his own mother.

She wags a finger at him.

'Don't think I didn't see what you were doing, Curtis Mega.'

Her son's eyes go wide. He moves away from the fireplace, raising his arms in defence.

'Mom, I can explain, I -'

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t figure this out? I'm an old woman, not an idiot. Your friend has been here for more than four months now, and a mother notices these things! I mean, really - '

But then she stops, because Curtis is staring at her now with genuine fear, and Owen isn’t looking at her at all, just sitting with his head in his hands. It occurs to her, too late, that the motives for her plan might have been misunderstood. That maybe she should have asked, instead of plotting all this just to surprise them.

But then, if she did ask, would Curtis have been too afraid to tell her the truth?

'Please, Mom,' he says, his voice urgent. 'I know you’re upset, but please, you can't kick him out. Cynthia's trying to arrange something, but that won't be for months yet, and this is the only place where Chi… Look, there are bad people looking for him. Here is the only place that’s safe. And I know we lied and hid this from you, and I know it’s wrong-'

She holds up a hand to shush him, then crosses the room and throws her arms around him, squeezing tight. She pulls away, smoothing down the sleeves of his sweater, and looks up at the boy who used to be small enough to hide behind her skirts.

'Oh, sweetheart, nothing is wrong, and no one is kicking anyone out of anywhere. What kind of mother do you think I am? Owen can stay as long as he needs to. I'm just sad that you two thought you had to keep this from me. But I understand. I do. I shouldn’t have scared you both. And I want you to know you don't have to hide anymore. Okay?'

Curtis looks as though he might cry, so she hugs him again. She thinks for a moment, then fixes him with a stern look.

'I do think you oughta apologise to Tatiana, though.’

There’s a pause as her son frowns down at her, confused. ‘To… Tati?’

‘Of course! Poor thing. She'll be so upset that you have to call off the wedding.'

Somewhere behind her, maybe a little manically, she hears Owen start to laugh.

#in case anyone was wondering if mrs mega knew owen and curt were sharing a room in that earlier prompt fill #now you know #this is a sort of prequel to that i guess #extremely cheesy but why not #safehouse era owen lives AU my beloved #thanks again for the ask! #spies are forever #tin can bros #curtwen #writing prompt ask #my writing

[idontplaytrack]

“Flowers? What for?”

Capri Donahue x fem! reader

Warnings: fluff

In which Capri wakes up in the morning before reader and gives her couple little surprises — and then some

Usually, Capri would wake up later than you did. And on this rare morning where she was the one who woke up first thanks to a long night last night, she decided to surprise you with your some flowers and your favourite breakfast.

You both had the day off from lectures so last night you and Capri got into some cheeky business. Usually you were a very light sleeper so Capri’s never got to do something like this for you before and she was so excited.

Capri quietly got freshened up then gathered her wallet, keys and purse and snuck out of the apartment. She took a bus to your favourite bagel shop to get you what you your usual order. It was barely seven in the morning.

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” The staff greeted, then she recognises Capri, "Oh, my god- Capri, good to see you back here. Do you want your usual?"

"Hi, Allison." Capri waved with a smile, stepping closer to read the menu, "I will get the usual, but double the cream cheese. y/n really likes it so I just wanted to get her more to last a little longer."

"Sure thing." Allison acknowledges, "You're early." "There's no line, I'm kinda shocked." Capri laughs a little, "She's still sleeping which is rare, so I wanted to surprise her with her favourites this morning."

"That's so sweet." Allison remarked while busy preparing the order, "Oh, hey- would either of you like to try the new cream cheese flavour? I could give you a little sample to take home." "You don't have to."

"Just take it." Allison insisted, "Coffee?"

"Just one for me."

"I know, I was just asking if you wanted it." Allison laughed, placing the bag of bagels and cream cheese in front of Capri.

"I'm paying." Capri interjected.

"Please- even my boss has realised how much the two of you have spent here and asked me to give y'all a bit of free stuff here and there." Allison scoffs.

"Alright, fine. Just the coffee and a bit of the new cream cheese."

"Here you go."

"Thanks, Allison. We'll be back." Capri paid then turned to leave.

"We'll be waiting!" Allison chuckles over her words right as Capri stepped outside. Next, she took another bus to the flower district and hand picked a bouquet of flowers for you. Finally, she took yet another bus back to the apartment. She proudly made it back in under an hour. Setting the paper bag and bouquet down, she pulls out a couple of plates to prepare the bagel for you, well — she just put one on the plate, but it looked nice. Capri then boiled some water to make you tea. In the meantime, got the tray table out and put the plate, and bouquet of flowers onto it first, the last thing being the mug containing your favourite morning tea.

Carefully reentering your shared bedroom, she places the tray onto the nightstand and woke you up. You fussed a little, but you did wake up after a minute or so. "Good morning." Capri says, turning over to reach for the tray and then placed it down for you. "What? Oh my God, babe. What is all this?" You were still groggy, but you could obviously see what was right in front of you.

"Capri...flowers? What for?"

She chuckles, "What? I need a reason to get you flowers?"

You mirrored her smile, "No, I- I'm just a little surprised is all. Thank you, babe. This is so sweet. Thank you, thank you."

"Anything to see that smile on your face." Capri grins, leaning in to smooch you on the cheek, "Dig in."

————

Capri joins you for breakfast in bed, then you two proceeded to watch a little TV while waiting for the food to digest more so you guys could jump in the shower. "It's too early, isn't it?" Capri gives you a sheepish smile.

"No, I'm fine. We wake up around this time every morning anyway." You told her.

Capri nodded, wrapping her arms around you from behind, her bare body pressed up against yours. She presses a kiss on your shoulder, "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too." You couldn't help but smile, the warm water hitting your skin relaxing your slightly sore body even more. Capri was more affectionate this morning than usual, but you were simply enjoying the pampering. She helped you shampoo your hair and squeezed the body wash onto your loofah, things like that. Nothing extravagant but it made your heart melt. You and Capri finished showering in comfortable silence and got changed. You then crawled back into bed to wait for her to finish drying off her hair, watching her every step of the way. She caught you looking in the reflection of the mirror and smiled, a smile forms on your face at the sight. The sound of thunder caught your attention and your head whipped towards the window right when a light rain started to fall. Capri climbs into bed with you, pulling you closer to her — if that was even possible. She traces random shapes on your palm while enjoying the view of the rain, you leaned your head on her shoulder but soon shifted to her lap instead. Her face meets yours with a sweet smile, "Hi, you."

You blushed and she presses a kiss to your forehead. Capri caresses your cheek softly, now just looking at you. "Can we light a candle?" You ask after awhile.

"Of course." She agreed, so you two got out of bed briefly to pick one out and light it. Obviously, you and Capri were back in bed again after that was done. You started babbling just about anything that came to mind and she listened attentively no matter what. You loved that she was always so interested and have also started watching your favourite shows on her own time just so that she could actually understand what you were saying. And you just had to tip your hat off to her because your favourite show was dramatic, tense and twenty-five seasons long. Capri got just as invested in it as you were, and you simply did not expect her to because she was not one to watch TV shows — much less 25 seasons worth of nearly hour-long episodes (Yes, it's SVU)

"Hey, you never know, baby." She had a hand on your stomach under your shirt, "We live in New York now, we just might run into your favourite actress one day." Only she would say something like that to make you smile. (Mariska Hargitay, lol)

"Come on, this place is huge." You laughed.

"Sometimes these things just happen, y/n." She winked, grinning, "We're much closer now to where they typically film, y'know."

"You are simply feeding my delusions, Capri Donahue." You sigh, that smile still not leaving your face.

This was an amazing morning: no classes, no worries...just you laying in the arms of your girl and it feels so freaking great. And as if things couldn't get any better, let's just say that while you two were out for dinner that night, Capri was right. So right.

"I told you." She captures her lips into her own, "All you gotta do is believe."

#auli’i cravalho #capri donahue #darby and the dead #x reader #reader insert #female reader #wlw #gxg #lgbtqia #queer #wlw fanfic #drabble

[taleasnewastime]

The Ick

Summary: You’re not picky you just have standards. Ok, maybe they’re very high standards, but why shouldn’t they be? You’ve not about to settle for anyone. You’re not about to spend the rest of your life with someone who changes the channel half-way through a show you’re watching or who wears sock with sandals or loose boxer shorts. No. Because all of things bring on that terrible feeling, the cool dread that creates unattraction. You’ve caught the ick from every guy you’ve dated, but all it takes is one comment to make you realise that there’s one man in your life who has never made you feel it. And while that should be exciting, the fact he’s your best friend makes things a little complicated.

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; fluff.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Swearing, apologies if you do any of the things that reader hates, kissing? Mentions of sex though no descriptions, drinking alcohol, idk not too much.

Authors Note: Inspired by the song The Ick by Panic Shack which I am currently obsessed with. I hope you enjoy :) 

You’ve been hanging out for a while. It’s been nice, chilled. He’s into space. Like, really into space. Planets and black holes and stars and shit. He has this massive telescope where he looks at the night sky. One of your firsts dates was star-gazing, picnic blanket and him point out the different constellations and all. He’s passionate and it’s cool.

He’s opened up about different things in his life he finds tough and has listened when you’ve done the same. It’s nice, to have someone you’re so close with who listens. There was a time when a guy  got too close to you at the pub and he’s stood up for you. He’s sensitive but tough, the perfect ratio.

The sex is good too, which isn’t everything in a relationship, but is also pretty crucial.

You thought things were going well. As well as things can be going after only a couple of weeks of knowing each other. Which is longer than a lot of your relationships. There wasn’t any red flags or things that put you off. You thought maybe this could be it. Maybe Dan is the one.

But then one morning you saw it.

You’d stayed at his and when you went into the kitchen after just waking up, he was already boiling the kettle. You kissed his cheek as you watched him make you a cuppa.

He got the mug.

Pulled the milk out the fridge.

The kettle was still boiling as he unscrewed the milk cap.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

He put the milk in first!

Who puts the milk in first?

You didn’t think anyone actually put the milk in first.

He was oblivious to your inner turmoil. Just continued to make your now tainted tea. The water was white when he poured it in, disgusting. And you watched as he stewed the water with cold milk mixed in. You couldn’t drink it. You needed to get out.

When you look at Dan’s face everything is different. There’s no attraction there anymore. You don’t find him good looking at all, even struggle to see what you may ever have found attractive. Even sitting in the living room listening to one of his passionate rants makes you cringe.

It happens with everyone you’ve been with. Everything seemingly fine until one small thing changes everything. That thing you can’t unsee that makes a chill run through you. Something you always catch from every guy, a disease that changes your whole perspective of a person.

He’s given you the ick.

“No,” Kat dramatically elongates the word. “Not Dan too. I liked Dan. We liked Dan. I thought you liked Dan?”

“He put the milk in first.”

“But you said the sex was great?” She carries on. “That’s more than you can say about Rudolf.”

“Yeah, but he put the milk in the tea first. I’m sorry but who does that?”

“Posh people?”

You roll your eyes, point proven surely. Kat doesn’t give in as easily. You watch as she turns in desperation to the other person in the room, hoping for some support.

“Please, Hoseok, you liked Dan.”

You flick your eyes to your right looking at the man who hasn’t said a word since you announced you’d ended it with Dan. He’s still working his way through a mouthful of the bacon bap he made earlier. He’s got fluffy hair today, the strands died back to black having previously been a near florescent blonde. He’s in black sweats with a large black top on, pretty casual from his normal more colourful looks.

He swallows then looks up and between you and Kat.

“I always thought the whole space thing was a bit odd,” his tone a verbal shrug.

You look at Kat smug. She looks back annoyed.

“That has nothing to do with adding the milk in first.”

You shrug, lean back in your seat now you’ve won. Though you were hardly about to take Dan back if Hoseok took Kat’s side. It’s just she does this every time you tell her you’ve ended it with someone, so any advantage you’ll gladly take. Hoseok is on your side. Even if the reason he didn’t like Dan is different. That’s a win for you. And if the sigh Kat lets out is anything to go by, she agrees.

He’s cute. The guy dancing in the group next to yours that keeps glancing your way.

You’re slightly inebriated but you can still tell he’s good looking. Short hair. Dark eyes. A sharp jaw line and strong cheekbones. Yeah, he’s hot.

It’s you that makes the first move. Though you try to be subtle about the fact you want him to follow you to the bar, in your drunken state you pretty much point between the two of you and then at the bar. You may have been less subtle if you just held up a sign.

Still, he follows you.

His arm is almost touching yours as you join the small crowd that’s gathered around the bar. You smile but don’t look up at him.

“What’s your name?” His breath fans across your face as he places his lips near your ear.

You look at him. He’s pulled away but is still close so he can hear your answer. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick down to your lips.

You shrug in reply to his question and one of his eyebrows raises, his smile widening.

“Ah,” he says. “So you’re one of them?”

You’re not sure if it’s meant to be a compliment or not. “One of what?”

“Those girls who pretend to be mysterious, hoping to draw innocent guys like me in.”

You scoff. “I’m not mysterious and I doubt you’re innocent.”

You only hear his hum when his head is next to yours. His lips once again right by your ear. When he talks it’s all bass.

“Maybe you’ll get to find out just how innocent I am later.”

“Is that a threat?”

“More a promise.”

Your stomach ties in a knot and you struggle to keep your smile looking so smooth and easy as he draws away. In contrast his smile is cock sure, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s had on you.

His hand goes to the small of your back, prompting you to step forward and take the empty spot that’s just opened up at the bar. Completely consumed by him, you hadn’t noticed.

“What do you want?” He asks.

“Uh,” you look away from him, try to clear your head as you look instead at the bartender. You shout your order across the bar, holding up you fingers to help signal you want a double.

When you look back at the man your stomach drops.

He’s looking down at something, the same something that made your heart reverse its beating.

He’s pulling a card out of his phone case.

Not the back of his phone. No, because that would be fine. It’s out one of the many pockets.

Because he has a flip phone case.

One of the ones your mum has.

You look up at his face, he’s still focused on paying but you can still feel it. That cool dread. That slight sick feeling. The lingering disgust. He’s done it in record time. He’s given you the ick.

Your skin prickles now not with excitement but with dread. You need to escape but don’t want to just run. For one he’s bought you a drink. For another it’s rude.

You search for your escape as he slips his phone back in his pocket and picks up your drinks. You gladly take yours off him and take a long cool gulp. He chuckles, his face still lit up, completely unaware of your change in feelings.

“I, uh, I need to go to the loo.”

His face dips a little, the smallest tic to show his unease. You don’t let him talk, start to walk backwards away from him a forced smile on your lips.

“I won’t be long. I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

You don’t know if your words reach him or wait for a response, just twist and fight your way through the crowds of people.

You hand Hoseok your drink before grabbing his elbow and tugging him away from the spot he was dancing in. He doesn’t protest, a sign you’ve at least not dragged him away from a potential pull. Not that you’d care if you had. This is an emergency after all.

He’s downed the drink when you make it to the entrance of the club, too close to the toilets for your liking but at least quieter.

“You ready to go?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Ok great. You didn’t bring a jacket, did you?”

His smile broadens as he seems to catch on to what’s caused this panic. It doesn’t put any urgency into his actions.

“What was it this time?”

“Flip phone case.”

“Like a mum?”

His tone as well as the fact he’s voiced the same thing that went through your head sends a jolt of joy through you, but you only level him with a steady look. It only confirms what he’s said, which only makes his smile deepen.

“Definitely a no then,” he says with no sense that he’s teasing you.

You loop your arm through his and he lets you drag him out into the night. All the way home he lets you rant about the many reasons why no one should own a flip phone case. He keeps his arm looped with yours the whole way and with your side pressed against his you can feel as well as hear the chuckles he lets out with every one of your reasons. By the time you’re home you’re feeling much better.

“Do you think I’ll ever find anyone?”

“Of course you will.”

“It doesn’t feel that way sometimes.”

Hoseok doesn’t reply to that, and though his eyes are firmly on the TV, you know it’s not because he’s ignoring you.

You’re lay across one of your sofa’s, Hoseok sat on the chair next to you with his feet up. You’re both trying your best to sling your hangovers off. Yours is just making you feel more dramatic about life.

“I can’t believe he had a flip phone,” you moan not for the first time. “He was so hot.”

“Doesn’t mean anything about his personality.”

“Clearly!”

Hoseok chuckles, the noise only spurs you on. Or maybe it’s the fact that he always seems to get it. He may just be entertaining your ideas, but he never shuts them down like Kat does and you like that.

“All men are gross.”

“Hey,” he turns his head to glare a little at you. “Not all men.”

“Fine. Not you.”

“Thank you,” he says, going back to the show on screen.

“Because you’d never have a flip phone case or put the milk in first or shush me in the cinema.”

“Never.”

“Why can’t all men just be like you?” You sigh.

The question goes unanswered.

You go on more dates as the weeks pass, end up being with some guys for varying amounts of time before the ick feeling creeps up on you.

There’s one guy who turns up to your date on an electric scooter. An instant no.

The next guy makes it a night. And then when you’re sat in front of the TV watching Drag Race he pulls off his socks and starts to pick at his toes. You feel a little sick. No surprise when you don’t call him again.

The final guy doesn’t make it far either. He’s only late by a few minutes to your first date, something that annoys you, but you can look over when he has a valid excuse ready. But when he does it a second time you can’t move on from it.

You decide to take a break from dating, at least don’t actively look to go out with anyone.

Men are crap, but you do wonder if you’re attracting a certain breed. Or maybe you are just overly picky.

It’s best if you step off the market for a while.

The trouble is, with your mind unoccupied, that’s when it happens, or more that’s when you notice it.

Maybe it’s because you’re not dating, not meeting men or having any sex. Though you doubt it. You’re not so obsessed with any of that to not be able to go a few weeks without it.

Maybe it’s because you’re spending more time with your friends, the evenings you would be dating taken up with them instead. Or more with him.

Or maybe it’s because of the comment he made all those weeks ago. How he would never be like any of the men you’ve dated. It’s subconsciously stuck in your brain that you’ve started to pick up on his traits.

But you start realising that it’s true.

Hoseok really isn’t like any of the guys you’ve dated. Because all those things that have given you the ick, he would never be caught dead doing.

He always cleans the dishes when he’s done even if it’s not his own house. He’s conscious of his fashion choices. He doesn’t pick his nails or chew loudly. He’s not perfect but you’ve never felt disgusted by him. Sure, you’ve also never felt like you want to have sex with him. But the more you think about it you realise maybe you could like him as more than a friend. Maybe you do want to have sex with him …

“You walking home?”

“Huh?” You look to your left, turning away from saying goodbye to your friend Amy. You’re heating before you even make eye contact. You’ve never felt nervous around Hoseok before, yet now you can’t help but feel all jittery in his presence.

“Are you walking home?” He smiles at you as if amused.

“Uh,” you continue to stall, looking back at Amy for help, but she’s already disappeared. You look back at Hoseok who waits patiently for your answer. “Yeah?”

“Great,” he twists his body in the direction of home. “Then, shall we?”

You nod, follow his lead while leaving a good distance between you.

If he reads anything into your strange behaviour, he doesn’t say anything. You just walk side by side, both of you silently keeping the distance you created. It’s hard to believe that a few weeks ago you walked home arm in arm. You’d never dream of doing that now.

“So what do you think about Maisie’s news?”

“Huh?”

There’s a small frown between his eyebrows when you look at him and you scold yourself into listening to him and not overthinking this.

“Maisie’s engagement news?”

“Oh right,” you chuckle, though it sounds flat. “Yeah, I really wasn’t expecting that. Though, I guess it isn’t really a surprise. She’s been talking about wanting to get married for ages now.”

“Just seems a bit of rush doesn’t it.”

You hum. It’s only been eight months since they met, which is fine, it’s just there are other considerations in these things.

“What do you think of Steve?”

“He seems alright,” Hoseok says and the tone he uses makes you look at him and lift an eyebrow. It seems you walked into his trap if the beaming smile you’re met with is anything to go. It makes you snap your head forward as your skin heats to a hundred degrees. “He’s a bit odd isn’t he?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“How would you put it?”

“Uh,” he sounds so interested, as if he really cares about your opinion. Does he always sound that way, or is it something you’re reading into too much now with your change in feelings? “I kind of worry he might be a bit controlling?”

“Really?”

“Didn’t you notice how she had to ask him if it was ok if she downloaded that app? And she’s talking about changing her job. It wasn’t long ago she was going on about how much she loves her job.”

He pauses for a second, really considering your words. You can see he agree with you by the way his face changes, but his next words aren’t what you expect.

“Are you ok?” He clarifies with the shock on your face. “It can’t have been nice for you to witness that.”

You focus on the path ahead rather than him. He’s being way too soft with you right now. It’s not like it’s unusual, it’s just you’re trying to bury your feelings for him. He’s not helping with that.

“You were there too. You saw it too,” you mutter.

“Yeah, but you guys are close.”

You shrug. “It’s not nice, but she’s happy. We’ll just have to watch out for her.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway,” you pick up your voice hoping to pick up the mood. “The wedding will be great.”

“It will definitely be quite the party.”

“That’s something to look forward to.”

He hums in agreement. There’s a few seconds of silence and then he’s talking again, changing the subject though you guess it also links to weddings.

“I’ve noticed you’ve not gone on many dates recently.”

It was brought up at the meal you just had. But Hoseok saying it now feels completely different. You felt like you could laugh it off early, you don’t feel that way now. If he had said it a few weeks ago you wouldn’t have even blinked, now you can’t even reply.

“Everything alright?” It’s not said condescending, as if implying you’re a slut. It’s said with a little concern but only because he’s noticed your change in routine and wants to check in on you.

“Yep,” you say a little too high pitched.

“You sure?” He pokes a little. “Because you know you can always talk to me about anything.”

Not in this case. “Yeah, of course,” you say instead.

He nods, not looking convinced but not pushing you anymore. “Well lets hope you find someone in time for the wedding.”

“Yeah,” you mutter and then make an effort to change the conversation to something that couldn’t be linked to romance or dating. You manage to make it all the way home with no more awkwardness.

You’re normally not shy when it comes to someone you like. You’re happy to make the first move, to make it obvious you like them, to ask them on a date. With Hoseok it’s different.

He’s your friend. And that means so much more than just risking losing him. It goes beyond him to your friendship group. It means you have way more history to consider. It means that you may be reading more into things which he’s probably always done, only now you’re wondering if it’s because maybe he likes you back.

It’s complicated.

And you hate it.

You wish you’d never realised how nice he is. No, you wish you hadn’t realised how hot he is, because you’ve always realised what a nice guy he is. Now you just also see how incredibly attractive he is too.

Who wears a beanie to brunch? Hoseok, apparently. And he does it while looking utterly adorable with strands of hair poking out. He wears oversized t-shirts, so big that they slip a little on his shoulders revealing collar bones you could bite. He has a large endearing, overly excited smile on his face when he shows you his painted nails one day. You would never have thought you’d find painted nails so attractive before.

You’re a mess. You fear you may be delusional. But the more time you spend with Hoseok the more you see and the hotter you find him.

He’s your best friend. How can this be happening? You’re only hope is that he does something soon that gives you the ick and places him firmly back in the friendzone.

That day never comes.

“I’ve realised something.”

“What?” Kat says sounding half distracted.

“There’s someone I don’t get the ick with.”

“Okay …”

“Why don’t you sound more excited?”

“Because I’m worried you’re going to say me, and I love you, but I don’t love you like that.”

You glare at her, she just shoots you a sarcastic smile.

“Ok. Just tell me who it is,” Kat says.

“Hoseok.”

She laughs. Proper belly chuckles. And when you don’t join in it slowly dies until her face is filled with concern.

“I’m sorry. What?”

Silence. You can’t get your words out, maybe because your mind is a scrambled mess after finally admitting it aloud; it sounds so different in the openness of the room rather than in the confines of your mind. Or maybe because Kat doesn’t let you have the room to talk.

“Hoseok. As in, Hoseok? Our friend? Hobi?”

“Yes?” You mutter, sounding unsure yourself.

“But, like, that’s the same thing as me, right? You know, because we’re friends and you don’t get the ick because he’s a friend and there’s nothing romantic there.”

You think you have a grimace on your face, at least a look that shows you’re just as lost as Kat is. She seems to be getting more desperate with every word that leaves her lips and it’s doing nothing to calm you down.

“Right?”

The longer the silence goes on the more desperate Kat looks. You near to tear this off like a plaster.

“I don’t think so?”

“You don’t think so.”

“No?”

“Please, tell me how,” she asks, only you’re not entirely sure how to explain it.

“I’m not sure,” she levels you a look that tells you she wants you to try. “Ok. Uh, I mean I don’t really know when it happened because I think the same as you, Hoseok’s just Hoseok. But I don’t know he made a comment that made me realise he’s never done any of the things that have turned me off people before and I just kind of started seeing him differently because of it.”

She pauses, considering.

“Have you had a fall?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Not had a ball thrown at your head or walked into a beam or something?”

“I’m being serious.”

“Ok,” she says looking like she’s transforming into damage control Kat. Good, you need damage control Kat. “Ok. Well, have you asked him what he thinks.”

“Are you mad?” You screech.

“Ok, of course you haven’t,” she pauses and then looks at you in a sheepish way that means you’re not about to like what she’s going to say. “But maybe you should?”

“Should what?” You know what she means, just can’t believe she’s saying it.

“Should ask him what he thinks of you.”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you pause, “it’s Hoseok!”

“Exactly, he’ll understand.”

“I’m not asking him.”

“And he won’t laugh you out of the room or make it awkward after. He’ll be fine.”

“I said I’m not doing it.”

She gives you a look that sends a different type of dread to course through you.

“And you’re not asking him either,” you warn.

She pouts, disappointed. You regret ever admitting it to her.

“Forget I ever said anything,” you say. “I’m sure I’ll get over it soon.”

“Maybe you just need to get back out there. Go on some dates.”

“Sure,” you say, though you don’t convince anyone.

You should never have told Kat, because now you have the added stress that she’s going to say something. It’s not that you think she’d go behind your back, more that she’ll say something without thinking. But you don’t feel prepared to say anything to Hoseok yourself.

You’re sat at your friends nervously nursing a drink. Your friend, Ali, is sat next to you talking but you can hardly concentrate because Hoseok and Kat are talking together across the room.

Hoseok is laughing about something. Doing that utterly endearing thing where his whole body flounders around with every laugh. His drink looks like it’s going to go everywhere, though there isn’t much left.

Kat doesn’t look guilty, in fact she looks a little smug about having such a receptive audience. It doesn’t look like she’s spilling your secrets and though they’re having their own conversation you doubt she would say anything in a room full of people. Still, you feel on edge as you watch them.

You engage in conversation with Ali enough to not be rude. But most of your attention is on the conversation happening across the room.

You feel like dying when they both stand and head out of the room.

They’re clearly just getting refills. But the fact they’re doing it together makes you even jittery. Out of sight they could be doing anything.

It’s not helped that they take longer than it would take to pour the beers they come back with.

And the smug look Kat shoots you before taking your seat only makes you feel sicker.

She’s meddling. You just can’t work out how. Because Hoseok doesn’t even look your way. He acts normally – more than you can say about yourself. You have to accept you’re getting too fidgety about this whole thing and just need to trust that Kat isn’t going to say or do anything.

She may be your best friend, but you don’t trust her, not in this situation anyway. You keep an eye on them the entire night only to see no suspicious activity.

When it finally comes out, it’s not how you would have planned. Something that’s reflected in your reaction.

You’re drunk and back in that same club from all those weeks ago where you met the guy with the flip phone case. Only this time you only have eyes for Hoseok.

You giggle as he spins you around. His hands in yours as he pulls you close and then pushes you away. It feels like you’re at a ball rather than at a club.

He pulls you close again but as you move you trip a little and rather than the smooth movement it’s supposed to be, you fall into him. His hands move from yours to your hips to steady you. Your hands on his chest. All you can think is how firm it is and maybe that’s why you liger a little longer than necessary.

Hoseok doesn’t pull you away, let’s you stay pushed up against his chest.

When you look up at him, he’s already looking down. His smile has dropped off his face the same way yours has.

The music sounds so far away now. Blood filling your ears. You watch as his eyes flicking between your eyes, but it’s like gravity the way they get drawn to his lips. It’s inevitable.

You push up into him. The movement is so fast that it catches both of you off guard.

Your lips are on his and while you thought maybe that would be the thing that might finally break all these feelings towards him. You thought maybe you’d be grossed out by it, maybe you’d hate the feeling, or he’d be bad at it. You were wrong. They’re firm yet mouldable, they taste sweet like the drinks he’s had tonight. There’s nothing bad about it, in fact it only makes you like him more.

You push further into him, deepen the kiss a little before realising what you’re doing, who you’re kissing.

You’re breathless when you pull away, eyes blown wide as you look at Hoseok. You don’t run away immediately, stay stood in his arms trying to read the situation.

It’s him that goes in for a second kiss. His head angling to the side to make it that much deeper, his hands squeezing your hips the same way his lips are squeezing yours. You arch your back into him, let out a little unheard moan when his tongue sweeps across your lips. You let him in and his tongue is just as skilled as his lips, just as sweet too.

It takes another second for realisation to dawn. You’re too stuck in the kiss, too caught up in how good it feels to want it to stop. But you’re kissing Hoseok, your best friend, the guy you’ve had so many mixed feelings for. This isn’t how you wanted this to go, because although you don’t know how you want it to go, you don’t want it to be some drunk kiss in a club that ultimately makes things awkward. You wanted to talk to him first, not kiss him before you discuss his feelings.

And god, he’s drunk. He probably doesn’t even realise you’re you right now, might think you’re a random girl. He’s not in his right mind. You’re probably taking advantage of him.

When you pull away from him this time it’s more powerful. You rip yourself out of his arms so that you’re stood a few steps away. He looks confused for a second, but he must see the panic on your face. Before he can take a step towards you, you hold your hands up. He stays where he is, doesn’t say anything, let’s you battle it out in your head.

You do what you always do when you want to get away from a man in the club, and the hurt written all over Hoseoks face lets you know he knows what you’re doing. You always do it with him around after all. Still, he doesn’t follow, a small blessing if nothing else and annoyingly another thing that makes you like him more.

“I’m going to the loo,” you say before you turn and make your escape from the club.

“You walking home?”

You really need to move house. If not so you can walk the opposite way home to Hoseok then to a new city completely. But past you didn’t think about the fact Hoseok would be walking you home tonight, so now you have to have this utterly awkward situation.

You turn to Hoseok, small, fake smile on your lips. You wish the ground would swallow you up.

“Uh, yeah.”

You fall into step like you always do, glad that tonight you’re not too far from home. The walk shouldn’t be too long.

It’s awkward. You haven’t spoke since the kiss. It was only two nights ago, but still you would have at least text since then, but it’s been radio silence on both sides. You have no idea what to expect, have no idea what Hoseok thinks of the whole situation, and you’ve not tried to find out.

“You alright?”

You’re not sure if he means now or just in general. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, you can see he’s looking at you. You feel a little sick.

“Good,” you reply, giving him nothing.

There’s a pause and then the thing you really didn’t want to happen happens.

“You sure?” He pauses. “Because you ran really fast out of the club the other night.”

When you glance at him, he’s not looking at you. His ears are tinted pink. It does nothing to help your mortification knowing he’s embarrassed. You shoot your head to look forward.

“Uh, you remember that?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh right, just because I thought you were drunk.”

“Clearly not drunk enough to forget it.”

“Oh right.”

Well, this is awkward. You blame him. You’d have happily buried and never spoken about what happened ever again. It’s him that clearly wants to see this friendship crash and burn.

“So, you’re ok?” His voice is softer, possibly a little worried. And now you feel guilty, does he think that you’re blaming him for this whole thing? You did bolt out of that place and haven’t spoken to him since, that does send a certain message.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound less tense about the whole thing. It’s hard. “I guess I just panicked a little.”

He pauses, considering your words in that way he always does. “I get that.”

“And I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

You catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye and though you don’t look his way you can imagine the small frown between his eyebrows. He looks forward again before speaking.

“Why would I think that?”

Is he being serious? “Because I kissed you?”

“Ok?”

You’re lost. Are you having different conversations right now? Because he’s clearly not understanding your perfectly reasonable explanation and you’re not understanding why he’s so confused.

“What part of this aren’t you following?” You ask and he seems to completely ignore the question.

“You know I’ve liked you for a while, right?”

“What?”

“Surely Kat told you?”

You shake your head, frowning. You try thinking back on anything she could have said that might have indicated such a thing. You come back empty.

“She asked me what I thought about you at that party recently,” he says. “Actually, it was kind of weird. She kept rambling on about how good she thought we’d be together, which she’s never implied before. Anyway, she finally managed to get out the fact that I like you and have for a while.”

Is that why they took so long in the kitchen? That bitch. You’re going to kill her.

“I thought maybe,” he drifts off but you hear the unspoken words. I thought maybe that’s why you kissed me in the club. Because you knew I liked you too.

Oh god. So maybe you weren’t taking advantage of him the other night. Maybe he was kissing you back because he wanted to. Maybe you’ve completely misread this whole thing and made it way more complicated than it needed to be.

You stop dead in the middle of the pavement. Hoseok takes two steps before realising you’re no longer following. You watch as he turns to look at you.

You close the gap. Slowly walk forwards as you talk.

“You like me?” You ask, stepping forward.

“Yeah.”

“As more than a friend?”

He pauses a beat before deciding he’s already admitted as much. “Yeah.”

“So what do you want now?” You pause, now stood toe to toe with him. “Want do you want between us?”

His eyes stutter before dipping to your lips. It’s answer enough.

As his eyes drag back to yours, you watch as his mouth opens to reply. You close the final bit of distance between you, press your lips to his and steal whatever words he was about to say. There’s a small whelp of surprise before Hoseok melts into you.

It’s a slower kiss than in the club. He doesn’t taste as sweet but he’s still delicious. And standing in the middle of the pavement annoyingly means the kiss is shorter than you’d like. Still, as you pull away from each other you stay in each other’s arms.

He laughs and shakes his head as you just beam at him. But you agree with the laugh, you’re both so stupid.

“Just talk to me, ok?” He smiles, almost laughing the words. “If there’s something I do that you don’t like, just tell me. I promise I’ll try to not annoy you.”

“It’s not annoyance,” you roll your eyes. “It’s more disgust?”

He smiles. Doesn’t mock or joke. He just accepts it.

“Still, you’ll talk to me, right? Even if it’s not something I can fix?”

“I’ll try.”

“Try?”

The hand that’s on your back moves a little so he can pinch your side. You squeak as you move, head rolling on the pillow that it’s lay on, feet tangling a little more with Hoseoks.

“Ok,” you laugh, focus going back to Hoseok. “I’ll tell you.”

Leaning forward he pecks your lips before kissing your nose and drawing away.

You smile at him, grow a like shy so twist and dip your head onto his chest. His arm tights around your back, drawing you that much closer to him. You can feel the rumble through his chest as he laughs at your reaction. You just feel so overwhelmed with feelings towards him, have never felt them this strongly before and lay in his arms in your bed just makes it all that much more bizarre.

But it’s a good bizarre, an amazing bizarre. You can’t wait to spend years and years with him exactly like this.

#hoseok x reader #hoseok one shot #hoseok fanfic #hoseok imagine #btswritingcafe #hoseok x you #hoseok fluff

[boston-babies]

Welcome home..

A/N: here’s part 2! I think I’m going to write one or two more parts after this but I hope you guys like it! This part was also heavily inspired by practical magic

***************

You came downstairs from taking a nice little cat nap. Your parents had insisted on watching Teddy for you so you could rest. You wrapped your favorite chunky knit cardigan tighter around you as you walked into the kitchen. From the window you saw your mom and dad building a snowman with Teddy and for the first time, you smiled a genuine smile.

You and Teddy had only been here for nearly a day but you could tell that you were starting to feel more like yourself again. More than you had in a whole year.

You made yourself a cup of tea and went out to the greenhouse to poke around. You sat on a stool by the large table that was against the window. You took a sip of your tea and opened one of the drawers and found a notebook. Your curiosity peaked so you set your mug down and opened the notebook. You recognized your handwriting immediately. It was a notebook you kept when you were a little girl. You’d write poems, thoughts and other little things. You giggled while reading it but a certain passage caught your attention-

He will hear my call a mile away. He'll be marvelously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he'll have green and blue eyes. He will whistle my favorite song, flip pancakes in the air and he can ride a pony backwards.

A memory flashed in your mind of you and Tanner playing out here when you were eight years old when you wrote that in your book..

Tanner laughed “I thought you didn’t want to fall in love?” You shrugged your shoulders “That's the point. The guy I dreamed of doesn't exist. And if he doesn't exist I'll never die of a broken heart”

You wiped your eyes as you came back and heard your mom walking in “Teddys all tuckered out honey so daddy’s putting him down for a nap” you nodded “thank you momma” she came over to you and smiled “oh I see you found your spell book” you rolled your eyes and let out a small laugh “yeah..” She read over the same passage you just did and laughed “well how about that little lamb, you managed to manifest this exact spell” you look up at her, confused with a furrowed brow “huh?”

Your mom laughed “granted Chris can’t cook or ride a pony but he does have green in his eyes, he is very kind and you could argue that since he was Steve rogers that his favorite shape is a star..” Your face went from confused to shock as your jaw dropped. She gave you a knowing smile then kissed the crown of your head “lunch’ll be ready soon little lamb” She walked away and you just shook your head. You waved it off, chalking it up to a huge coincidence.

*************

Later that night, you were in the living room with your parents. You dad was out cold and snoring as you laid across the couch with your head in your mom’s lap. She was stroking your hair while reading a book as you watched the roaring fire. “Momma?” She hummed in acknowledgement with a soft smile “how’d you and daddy do it?” “Do what angel?” You sighed “staying together?” She laughed “oh honey, there were plenty of times I thought for sure daddy and I were done for good” she looked over at your dad then back to you “that old man over there has driven me up the wall more times then I can count” you sat up looking shocked “what?”

She nodded “oh yeah, one fight had been so bad, we didn’t speak for a week. That was when you were about five years old and I took you with me to go see Grammy and pop” you shook your head “I never saw you two fight” “we never wanted you to see us like that honey” she took your hand and you looked over at her “we wanted to show you what love looked like not the ugly side of it” you nodded “not that I ever thought your marriage was perfect, because I know that no one’s is but momma, maybe I needed to see the ugly side of it..”

Your mom sighed “honey fights between couples happen no matter what. You can be the happiest couple in the world with a perfectly healthy relationship but disagreements will always be there”. You looked down at your hands and your mom wrapped her arm around you “I know what’s been going on this past year-“

you snapped your head up and looked at your mom with wide eyes and she giggled “what? You didn’t think I’d keep up with my son in law?” You sighed “momma-“ “what he did was wrong-“ your eyes watered as your mom continued “but honey you need to stop tearing yourself up over this. I am in no way going to tell you what to do because at the end of the day all I want is for you to be happy. I am going to ask you a question though, and I don’t want you to think, just answer with what ever comes to mind” you nodded and your mom continued “do you still love him?”

“..yes”

*********

[omniblades-and-stars]

Ding dong me again

“what if i asked you out?” Nilea/Lou

You brilliant bastard, you made me write something I can actually use in the real story. Anyways, I wrote this over my lunch break, so it's not the finished product that will 100% be in Pass the Knife, but here's something nice happening to Lou for once. I can't be mean to her the whole time. Under the cut for length!

What If I Asked You Out?

The mug was warm in her hands. The tea inside rippled with the gentle shake of her hands, mirroring the floating wake of thoughts freed from their chains by generous application of pain killers.

Crawling through air ducts, riding on top of a crashing car and rumbling with a biotic mercenary were apparently not what the doctor had ordered. Dr. P'Beria was kind enough to make a house call once they stumbled back to Lou’s apartment after the whole debacle. Dr. P'Beria had not been kind enough to spare Lou the lecture about post-surgical wound care, concussions and whatever that asari had done to her that made her head all fuzzy and the world go in triplicate every time she opened her eyes for a couple of hours. Her promise to the doc to stay out of trouble had gone in one ear and right out the other.

Lou had never been good at staying out of trouble.

She didn’t know which way was up, partially because her head was swimming and every time she tried to stand up everything went kind of upside down or sideways. Or maybe that was just her going sideways. And partially because she was growing frustratingly fond of the turian who was her captive to start with. When her head was inhibited by the sort of logical thinking that sobriety brought, she was able to reason herself into believing she was just being foolish, and everyone felt kind of like that when they were stuck in close quarters with someone for extended periods of time anyways.

Someone who didn’t have to help her escape. But she did.

Someone who didn’t have to talk her through daddy dying. But she did.

Someone who didn’t have to stay with her at the hospital. But she did.

Nilea could have just taken the datapads and Lou’s omni-tool and disappeared into the night. And maybe she’d have been right to do it. But she didn’t. And more than that, she’d just given Lou a steaming mug of tea (though Lou wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t just a ploy to get her to stop trying to stand up), and was currently carefully cleaning the blood off of Lou’s armor which had been discarded haphazardly by the couch when the doctor arrived to make sure she hadn’t suffered anything worse than getting the shit kicked out of her a bit.

Whether it was good fortune or bad, sobriety had left the building along with anything resembling good sense that Lou might have had.

“You don’t gotta do that,” Lou murmured into the mug as Nilea diligently wiped the violet spatter free of the white surface. Lou didn’t look up from the cup lest the movement release the rusted and fragile valve holding back every thought she’d ever had about the woman in a deluge.

Nilea hummed and didn’t look up from her scrubbing, even in the low light, the armor glinted in the spaces where it hadn’t been scuffed by Lou’s unfortunate meeting with the asphalt. “I know. But you’re in no shape to do it yourself.” Like everything inside of Lou’s home, the old armor looked brand new when she’d donned it just prior to their misadventure that day. Immaculate, in perfect working order, every piece stored in a special case made just for it. Nilea wondered if Lou could ever be convinced to take care of herself even half as well as she took care of her things. “Besides, it’s a tripping hazard, and you’re already enough of your own tripping hazard. Armor doesn’t get put away bloody.”

The logic was sound enough to Lou, but again, higher reasoning was on vacation, leaving Lou sitting in a dark room trying to sift through all the nonsense in her head all by her lonesome. There weren’t easy compartments for her to put each thought into, she couldn’t just carefully paint a grid out in her mind like she did for her workbench. Those little bitty screws went over in square 4A, firing pins on 2B, but where the hell did these feelings of affection go? They probably needed go right into the trash can.

Something was bubbling up inside of her, threatening to break free of her lips and embarrass her for good. Lou did the only thing she could think of to stop it, she tilted the mug up and took a slug of the tea that was still entirely too hot for that sort of consumption. The scalding on her tongue didn’t stop the words from hissing past her teeth, “What if I asked you out?”

Damn it. Stupid. Stupid and juvenile and inappropriate.

Nilea paused her scrubbing and quietly stood up. Lou tried to watch her as she approached, but her vision was still a little on the wonky side. Though she was down to twins instead of triplets on that front, at least. Nilea propped herself up on the edge of the coffee table before finally speaking, “Lou, you have a concussion.” Talons tilted her head back and Nilea examined Lou’s eyes.

Lou’s heart plummeted somewhere down into her feet. Her face burned bright red, and a veritable flood of words tumbled out of her as she back pedaled as hard as she could without physically throwing herself over the back of the couch and locking herself in her room to hide from what she’d just said. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that. It ain’t right of me to say shit like that. You’re here ‘til we can save your friend. You’re only in this mess ‘cause I tried to take you in for creds. Look you can just take all that information and shit and Tac and Adi’ll help you get Yaeno back. You don’t gotta deal with-“

“Lou,” Nilea said her name sharp and like a knife it cut through the ramblings rushing out of her and blessedly stopping Lou from embarrassing herself anymore than she already had.

Lou took a deep breath in, given that she had not breathed at all since … well she wasn’t exactly sure. “Yeah?” she asked wearily.

“Shut up.” Nilea chuckled softly and leaned in, brushing her mouth plates gently against Lou’s lips. “When this is over, I’d like that very much.”

[friendly-neighborhood-imbecille]

Day 07. Purify & Infect

Maddie tries to rid her son of his ghostly possession.

Warnings: blood, vomiting, seizures, and major character death

Maddie knew there was something wrong. Since last September her son had been acting weird. He'd been sneaking out, skipping school, lying, and strangest of all, he’d been afraid.

He used to love spending time with his family. Going fishing with Jack, having little spa days with her, but recently, they’d have to practically force him into any sort of family activity. 

Most would brush this off as him just growing up. It was completely normal to be embarrassed by your parents to the point of avoidance at this age, but it wasn’t embarrassment. He flinched whenever Jack talked in that loud booming voice of his, whenever she put her hand on his shoulder. He was skittish whenever he was alone in a room with either of them. Sometimes he even hid from them.

Up until now she had thought it was the portal accident. Maybe he blamed them for it, maybe he was scared that their inventions would hurt him, but then she started to notice other things

His feet would slip through the floor, his hands would disappear, his eyes would glow, and she could swear he had fangs sometimes. 

Her son was possessed.

“Hi honey, how was school today?”

He jumped and whipped his head towards her, like he didn’t expect her to be there. “It was good I guess, what’re you doing?”

She started digging through the cupboards, she could have sworn she put them here just last night. “I’m just grabbing some tea bags. Thought I’d make us each a cup.” There. She grabbed two tea bags, filled up a kettle, and put it on the stove.

He set his bag down on the ground and took a seat at the table. “Oh nice, can I have the dead nettle? It’s in that ziplock up on the-”

“I actually bought a new flavour for us to try. Something that tastes a little less like dirt.” Danny would always get defensive when someone insulted his favourite foods. Just maybe…

“It tastes like good dirt okay? Like, childhood dirt. I honestly don’t understand why you guys don’t love it.”

He was still in there somewhere. The ghost may have access to his memories, or maybe he had some control. Either way, he still had a chance.

She stood next to the kettle and waited. He looked slightly uncomfortable. He was avoiding eye contact, glancing around the room, playing with the fraying fabric at the holes in his jeans. She needed to break the silence, make him less wary.

“How have Sam and Tucker been?”

He jumped before processing the question. “Oh, pretty good.” He shrugged and went back to looking around the room.

“That’s good.”

The silence returned, but was quickly broken by the tea kettle screaming. She turned off the stove, grabbed two mugs from a drawer, put the teabags in, and filled them with water.

“No honey?”

“The tea itself is pretty sweet tasting. Honey isn’t needed.”

She brought the mugs over to the table where he was sitting and placed one in front of him before taking a sip of her tea. He picked up the mug, blew on it a couple times, and took a large gulp before choking on it. 

“Is it supposed to be spicy?” He managed to ask in between painful sounding coughs

She continued sipping at her tea. “Yes.”

He started clawing at his throat “It’s really hot, burning my throat.”

“It needed to be brought to a complete boil instead of just heated.”

He was shaking, his eyes were bugging out. “Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, drink your tea.”

He was gasping for air, he fell from his seat, onto the floor. “I can’t-”

“Drink the tea or get out of my son.”

He looked up at her, pure fear unlike anything she’d seen before painted across his face. “What?”

She set down her tea, stood up from her seat, and walked to stand right in front of him. “I know what you are, you’ve been hurting him long enough. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I wouldn’t notice the difference between a ghost and my own son?”

“Mom, I-”

“I am not your mother!”

Tears streamed down his face, he started another coughing fit, shaking as if he was being electrocuted, vomiting up acidic green ectoplasm, gasping for breath, then he went completely still.

#major character death #vomiting #seizures #blood #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Maddie Fenton #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #Ectoberhaunt22 #EH Order #EH Chaos #Day 07 #Purify #Infect #my fics

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Rated M

My Dearest Duch,

I come with the most splendid news. After some thinking, I have decided to spend holiday in Tokyo next week and will be paying you a visit. How marvellous! I know it’s been a while, so why don’t we catch up over a nice cup of tea. I’ll write later in lieu of my arrival. Keep the kettle on for me.

Till then, Butch (C.T.) XoXoX

Hannah’s eyes hungrily re-read the letter for the fourth consecutive time at breakfast. The parchment was dated three days ago, but she wondered whether there was a mistake. It had been almost two years since they last spoke with each other. Why on God’s green earth would Cressida want to see her? Here, in Japan of all places? Hannah was flummoxed. Her whole life she had been tossed around Europe like a crumpled brown paper parcel, constantly hopping from one dilapidated convent to the next, hidden away from the world, and not once had her cousin come to visit her, much less pick up a pen and write a letter, but there it was. In her hand. ‘Duch’ and ‘Butch.’ Blimey, those were names she hadn’t heard in ages.

“Are you feeling alright, ma’am?” Makoto said, genuine concern in her tone. “Is the food not to your liking?”

Hannah looked up at the housekeeper setting down a fresh pot of coffee and hurriedly folded up the letter, slipping it back inside its Graveur linen envelope, the two Thames sirens waxed in the center.

“Oh, no, not at all, Makoto-san,” Hannah said, a little startled. She gave the housekeeper a small smile. “The food is quite good. Delicious even. No need to make a fuss.”

“A fuss?” Satoru yawned, at last emerging from the hallway. “Better not be a fuss.”

Hannah watched the Six Eyes wielder stride into the parlor and kneel down at the low table, rubbing his tired eyelids. It was officially late June. Unlike most mornings when he came in wearing a plain tee and sweatpants, Satoru had chosen instead to wear a loose fitting, dark ebony yukata, a matching obi tied around his waist. The weather bring hot, there was no nagajuban. The front showed off his bare neck and collarbone rather handsomely.

Then she saw his eyes land on the envelope.

“What’s that?”

Hannah grew tense.

“N-Nothing,” she lied, her eyes deflecting off his collarbone, and hid the opened parchment under the table on her lap (as though he couldn’t see). “Lady Inumaki has invited me over for lunch again. That’s all.”

Satoru let out a soft grunt, and began piling his bowl with rice and strips of raw tuna, dropping the topic. Makoto poured coffee into his mug. He took a bite of food and glanced timidly at his wife sitting across.

“So…How’d you sleep last night?”

Hannah met his gaze and quickly shied away.

“Fine,” she answered. “You?”

Satoru also looked down, shrugging.

“Fine.”

They were both liars. Truth was neither of them had gotten any sleep. Following the kiss, the train ride home had been excruciatingly awkward and their conversation brief. All they managed to get in wordwise was a quick “Goodnight” before dashing inside their respective rooms. The awkwardness had yet to settle, turning almost frigid. Like a giant wall of ice had been forcibly wedged between them, impossible to break. They were no better than strangers.

Their odd behavior made Makoto uneasy as she prepared breakfast, but the housekeeper hadn’t the slightest inclination what was going on. Her young master and mistress had been getting along so well lately. What could’ve caused such a disturbance?

Taking a couple bites of rice, Satoru fiddled with his plate and coughed into his fist.

“I’ve been assigned another mission.”

Hannah looked up. “Oh? Where to?”

“Okinawa. There’s been another curse sighting.” He said this with the least amount of enthusiasm. “My flight leaves this afternoon. I could be gone awhile, so you and Makoto will be in charge of things till I get back.”

Hannah bowed her head, looking at the table. “I see.”

“You sure you’ll be alright?”

She shrugged. “It’s no different from all the other times. Makoto and I will manage fine on our own.”

Satoru gave a nod. “I’ll have my cell. If you need me for any reason —”

“Don’t hesitate to call,” Hannah finished, having heard this speech a thousand times, but she struggled to hide her disappointment. “But do hurry back, please.”

Satoru couldn’t help but chuckle. “Aw, why so glum, Princess? I thought you’d be happy having the place to yourself again.”

Rather than laugh along with his joke, Hannah shook her head and went back to eating her meal.

“It isn’t the same without you here.”

There were a million and one ways to interpret that single sentence, but they weren’t going to discuss it then, choosing instead to finish their breakfast in relative, albeit less awkward, silence.

The kiss was not brought up.

With Satoru gone, Cressida arrived at the Gojo estate not two days later.

“Duch!” she cried gaily, rushing to take off her shoes after Hannah’s polite request (those heels would ruin the tatami). Elegant in an eau-de-nil Chanel suit and bowler hat, Cressida set down her bulky looking briefcase and purse, her many charm bracelets jangling like bells, and kissed her young cousin on both cheeks. “My, I guess what they say isn’t true. You really can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

The sorcerer's wife tried not to wince at the backhanded compliment and wished Satoru was there with her. While the rift between them had not abated, his presence would’ve been a great comfort because Cressida hadn’t changed one bit it seemed; posh, beautiful, and conceited as ever. Her ‘sow’s ear’ comment was in reference to the kimono. Hannah had chosen a tsumugi instead of a yukata. While the jacquarded silk wouldn’t keep her cool from the summer heat, it would, with any luck, leave an indelible impression on Cressida, who wasn’t shy about her love of expensive clothing. The kimono itself was light blue and covered head to toe in paisley motifs, while a black fukuro obi, filigreed with gold medallions and phoenixes, secured her waistline. The combination was pleasing, but more formal than necessary, yet somehow Hannah knew her cousin wouldn’t know enough about Japanese customs to call her out on it. As the cherry on top, Makoto suggested she wear a pair of dainty Georgian style earrings, plated in gold.

“Cressida,” Hannah greeted apprehensively, finding it strange she no longer had to curtsy when addressing her cousin. “I hope your flight wasn’t long.”

Lady Cressida shriveled her nose. “My flight was dreadful, thank you for asking. I tried convincing Papa I take another boat, but naturally he said no. Seems he has forgotten a Thames’ place is in the water, not the air.” Smoothing her skirt, she walked over to the Jakuchū painting of the Gojo family tree, looking interested, but was unable to read the gold kanji scrawled along the branches. She then turned around to look back at Hannah and clapped her hands together. “Anywho, show me around this charming little house of yours, Duch. I want the full royal tour.”

Hannah led Cressida through the many washi-paneled rooms and rush-covered hallways, giving more or less the same history lesson Makoto had given her when she first entered the ‘little’ samurai house. She showed her the kamidana room housing the bronzed Buddhist altar, the English dining room, the reception hall decorated with the tokonoma alcove and three katana swords whose hilts were carved of jade. However Cressida, like a military sergeant blessed with a watchmaker’s eye for detail, took her time inspecting Hannah’s closet, checking to see it ticked all the essential boxes. She went through each rack and drawer one by one, making selections, taking careful notes, before finishing her inspection with a curt, “Yes, I suppose these will do.”

The wardrobe having passed the test, the two women put their shoes back on and enjoyed a short promenade around the gardens, and as they walked, Cressida shared with Hannah her recent travels. She had sailed many oceans, yachting at Monaco then South Africa then finally Thailand, spending her year on a never-ending holiday, with exception to her recent flight to Japan. “I’m staying at the Seiyo Ginza,” she dolefully carried on. “Have you heard of it? I found their wine selections most superb.” Hannah said no, doubting the hotel Cressida was residing at was cheap. If it wasn’t £1,500 a night and over five stars, then her cousin wanted no part in it.

Makoto had tea and a light meal waiting for them in the reception hall. Kneeling at a low table, Hannah could better appreciate Cressida’s new haircut. Her once long raven locks had been shorn into a chic bob, the edges curling around her face, making her look like a 1920s flapper. The Chanel suit only enhanced the effect. “Oh, can’t tell you how relieved I was to chop it all off,” she delighted, looking through the end of a compact mirror as she reapplied her favorite red lipstick. Cressida had no qualms being fawned over and adored. “Always hated having long hair.” She smashed her lips together and placed the rouge back in her purse. “That bloody harp.”

Hannah visibly perked up. “You brought it with you?

Cressida closed the lid of her mirror in dramatic fashion and rolled her bewitching blue eyes. “Of course I brought it with me. I'm its keeper now, aren’t I?” She traded in her compact mirror for an enameled cigarette case. “By the way, do you mind if I have a light? I know the Japanese aren’t antagonistic towards smoking.”

With some reluctance, Hannah gave Cressida the go ahead to light her cigarette. The tobacco leaves were infused with cloves, emitting an incense-like aroma, snapping and crackling from the flame. Apparently they were a popular brand from Indonesia, but Hannah slid open a second partition wall in case the fragrance lingered. Makoto would have a fit.

“And Atticus?” she said upon sitting back down. “Have you heard from him at all?”

Cressida sighed insouciantly and took a generous drag. “Last I spoke with my brother, he was in Egypt. You remember that archeological dig they uncovered back in March, the one believing to be Queen Nefertiti’s lost tomb? Made international news?” She pointed her cigarette at Hannah. “That was Atticus. As you can imagine, Papa was quite pleased, but he’s never satisfied for long after a heist. Sent him to South America to begin scavenging the Pacific for shipwrecks. I assume that’s where he is now, but who knows. We don’t talk much these days.”

The Thames heiress reached for a lone plate and flicked her ashes on it, and Hannah saw one of the many charms on her bracelets, the initials V.A. dangling from a gold chain next to a lock and key. Sympathy welled within her. She said the next sentence aloud without thinking.

“I’m sorry about Vera.”

Cressida's body ceased all functionality, her complexion turning pale like a dead person’s.

The room became quiet, save for the ticking of the clock. Perhaps she’d been over analyzing, but Hannah swore she saw her cousin’s bottom lip quiver for a second, then stiffen in a hard line. Cressida knew how to keep her emotions in check, but those pained blue eyes staring back at her were the eyes of someone who had experienced an unbearable loss. Hannah regretted her words.

“Gosh, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No!” Cressida snapped out of her stupor and took her cousin’s hand. “Please, I want to talk about her…I…I don’t do it enough honestly.”

The story was a sad one. Lady Vera Avery was one of the sorcerers who died at the Louvre last October alongside Ivan Lebowitz. She was Lord Belgaven’s only daughter and Cressida’s best friend since childhood, however Hannah discovered the true nature of their relationship by accident, on the night of Cressida’s coming-out ball.

Wasserton, with its Roman colonnades and grand marble staircases, had been a product of the late 18th century sometime before the Napoleonic Era. Alexander Thames II had been the genius behind its construction, and being a brilliant architect, had incorporated a bevy of secret passageways and tunnels that connected possibly every room and cranny, including the servant’s bedroom Hannah resided during her visits. She had found the hidden door under the rug at six years old. Fast forward eight years later when Hannah was again staying at Wasserton - by then her third visit - she had used the same hidden door to sneak around the mansion and watch the opulent ball happening downstairs. Like Cinderella trapped in the cellar, she had not been allowed to attend.

High above where no one could see her, Hannah watched the opulent party from the air vents. She hummed dreamily to the music as lords and ladies waltzed and fox-trotted effortlessly around the ballroom, diamonds sparkling, flasks of champagne bubbling, laughter and merriment being had. There was an endless flow of conversation milling about which greatly excited Hannah. She paid rapturous attention to the young gentleman asking the young debutantes to dance and tried imagining a world where Elizabeth Thames had not lost her virtue to an unnamed man. Then perhaps a dashing young suitor would be asking her for a dance. Sadly, it was not to be.

At the stroke of midnight, Hannah made the lonely return to her room by candlelight but soon encountered a bump in the road. Apparently, she was not the only one scurrying around the walls like a mouse that night. Someone else was utilizing the tunnels too.

And it wasn’t merely to snoop.

Hannah would’ve avoided them if she could, but the two debs were blocking her way. Caught in a rush of passion, they had already stripped themselves of their gowns, white chiffon piled on the floor, tiaras slipping off, lips locked in a searing kiss, under the pretense they were alone. They were not.

Vera spotted Hannah first and froze like a deer in the headlights, parting quickly from her lover.

“What is it, love? What’s the matter?” Cressida turned around to see her cousin standing there, staring wide-eyed and .

The cat was officially out of the bag.

Like members of an exclusionary club, the British haut monde bestowed nicknames to each other, a simple way of indicating who was in and who was out. Few questioned why Cressida went by the name “Butch,” naively assuming it had something to do with her expertise sporting a hunter’s rifle, or her passion for equestrianism, or the cavalier way she held her cigarette, acting more tomboy than ‘posh girl.’ Lady Cressida Thames? A lesbian? Why, don’t be ridiculous. She didn’t fit the stereotype. Her raven black hair was far too long and lusciously curled. Her clothes, ultra feminine with nothing less than Parisian couture and three-inch heels, face dolled in a full head of makeup to accentuate her tempting blue eyes, which she used to flirt with the men almost as much as she did the women. Stunningly beautiful. This in mind, no one suspected Cressida’s sexuality to be anything other than straight. The nickname “Butch” was nothing more than a bit of harmless fun, an inside joke, a gaff.

Ah, but looks can be deceiving.

While she may have had every reason, Hannah did not rat out Cressida to her uncle, and in doing so had formed a secret alliance. That was also around the time Cressida began calling her “Duch.” She meant it as a term of endearment, and Hannah understood that now, but there was a time when she took it as an insult. An illegitimate, Hannah would never become a duchess or inherit a title. So when it was revealed that she was to marry the Gojo heir and not Cressida, Hannah thought her uncle had gone barking mad. Cressida Thames was his only daughter and pressed with every advantage; looks, money, prestige, and more importantly, magic. She had all the ingredients required of a sorcerer’s wife. It was expectant upon her to marry well, and perhaps that was what Lord Thames had up his sleeve. Sorcerer families needed heirs to keep the bloodlines going. For his daughter, that meant female lovers were out of the question, making the circumstances surrounding Vera’s death almost too suspect to ignore.

“My father did it. I know he did,” Cressida said bitterly, jaw clenched. “He knew Vera wouldn’t survive the mission and persuaded the Association to send her anyway.” Her hands balled into fists. “Someone betrayed us.”

“Not me,” Hannah blurted without meaning. “It wasn’t me, I promise.”

Cressida offered her cousin a strained smile. “No, Duch. I know it wasn’t you, but you see,” she swallowed the lump in her throat and took a staggered breath, “Vera was my everything, and now that she’s dead I feel lost. My one great happiness is gone.”

Hannah solemnly bowed her head. Much could be said about sin and damnation, about marriage belonging solely to one man and one woman, the New Testament and the Old. Hannah knew all the theological arguments, she knew Matthew 19 and Mark 10, but she also knew God was love. And if God was love, then was it right to suggest that those who abided in love, also abided in God? Did Cressida’s unwavering love for Vera amount to anything? Hannah often pondered these questions, but kept them buried in her heart. Now was not the time for philosophizing.

“I’m sorry, Cressida.” she said, but knowing what else to say. “I truly am.”

Cressida unfurled a handkerchief and wiped an escaped tear from her eye.

“Yes, well, crying about it won’t do us any good. Let’s change subject before my mascara runs.” She sniffed and rummaged her purse for another cigarette. “Talk to me about this elusive husband of yours. Is he descent?”

Hannah withheld little. She told Cressida almost everything. The night he saved her from the curse on her way back to her dorm; Their morning jogs and training sessions; Watching movies together; The tumultuous night at the theater; The baseball game, the indirect kiss, then the skyline of Tokyo, followed by the actual kiss; Her lack of self-confidence, which was directly linked to her virginity. And in the midst of her rambling, Hannah for the first time contemplated how many partners Satoru has had.

“I hate to break your heart, Duch, but men like him don’t come wearing chastity belts. I wager he’s plucked the bloom off every rose in the garden.”

Hannah's heart plummeted at that. “You really think so?”

“Think so?” Cressida said with a laugh. “I know so.”

But how? Hannah found herself wondering. Was that really a fair judgment, to accuse someone of being a roaming Lothario without ever having met him? Satoru was secretive, yes, but as far as Hannah knew, he’d mentioned nothing of past lovers. And while he happened to be a shameless flirt, the gestures never quite reached the levels Cressida was implying, either that, or her husband had taken great care not to sweet-talk the ladies whenever she was around. Even still, the assumption felt off. Everytime Satoru went away on a mission, he always returned the day he had promised, not at a designated time of course, but usually before sunset. When he wasn’t away, he spent most of his days relaxing at home and training with Hannah. And more recently, they had begun the long, overdue process of renovating the estate; shoji panels needed replacing every few years, and since they now were in the rainy month of June, they had begun checking the 200 year old house for leaks and mildew. In the past week alone, they had invited a flood of carpenters, gardeners, inspectors, and financiers into their home, and Hannah was tasked with more work than before, seeing to that the property was kept ship-shape. There were people to see, correspondence to answer, checkbooks to balance. Satoru couldn’t have time for lovers. They were far too busy. But still there was that unsettling voice in the back of her head, relentlessly badgering her: “You won’t measure up. He’ll find someone better."

Hannah looked up at her cousin for guidance.

“What do I do?”

Cressida rested her cigarette on a plate and propped her chin. “Hmm, you said he kissed you, didn’t he?” Hannah nodded. “Yes, but how did he kiss you?”

“W-What? What does that have to — ”

“Did he force himself on you, Duch? Threaten you? Touch you inappropriately? Men can be dogs when it comes to that sort of thing.”

Hannah vehemently denied this. “No, no, he didn’t force himself on me at all. In fact he…” she paused. “He apologized afterwards.”

Cressida raised both brows, looking astonished. “Really? That’s rather odd. You sure it wasn’t your imagination playing tricks on you?"

Hannah shook her head. “No, I remember now. He said, ‘sorry’ before teleporting us back down.” He had said it so softly in fact she almost didn’t hear him, but Satoru had said it: “Gomen.”

“Heavens, then it must be serious.”

“What’s serious?”

The Thames heiress picked up her cigarette again, choosing not to answer and inhaled another puff of tobacco-clove.

“You know, I slept with a man once,” she confessed, veering slightly off topic. “Just to try it. See what all the talk was about.”

Hannah was in the middle of taking a sip of tea, and being unprepared for the comment, nearly had it go down the wrong pipe. “And…was it nice?” she coughed, clearing her throat.

Cressida gestured with a lazy, sinuous shrug.

“No, not really. He was a bit too soft for my tastes. Almost like riding a miniature pony.” She made a wry shape with her mouth. “Only I couldn’t decide whether he rode me, or I rode him.” Then breaking into a great bellyful of laughter, she threw back her head and gave Hannah a knowing wink, but poor Hannah couldn’t find it in herself to laugh along.

“I wish I knew what I was doing?” she huffed, frustrated by her inexperience. “I know nothing about men.”

Cressida let out a snort. “Men aren’t complicated, Hannah. And they certainly don’t apologize after kissing someone unless their intentions are forthcoming, so I wouldn’t reach for the lifejacket just yet. Be honest with him and he’ll be honest with you.” The Thames heiress finished her second cigarette and stood up. “Anywho, I didn’t come all this way to gossip. I’ve brought you something.” She walked over to Hannah, carrying the bulky briefcase she came in with. It looked heavy. “Consider it my late wedding present.”

Hannah gave her cousin a skeptical look as she set the leather case down beside her and returned to her seat. Lying it flat on the ground, Hannah unjoined the clasps, popped open the lid, and gasped.

Inside were two tiaras: A kokoshnik faceted with emerald cabochons and rows of diamonds, mimicking the appearance of fish scales. Hannah recognized it immediately. This was the tiara adorning her mother in many of the portraits at Wasserton, including her favorite that hung in the East library, pairing nicely with the emerald necklace that now sat in a glass case in her closet. However, the other tiara she did not recognize. Its garland structure bore semblance to curling ocean waves crashing into the sea. Tiny briolette diamonds hung off the edges like sparkling water drops. She could hardly speak, they were so enchanting.

This was no simple wedding gift.

“Cressida, how on earth did you get these?”

The heiress looked mighty pleased with herself.

“Why I smuggled them, of course. Had to make sure Papa wouldn’t notice anything gone awry. Lord knows he has enough jewels. I dare say, my accomplice was rather thorough this time. He even managed to forge the signatures.” She whipped out the selling documents from her purse and placed them squarely on the table. Signed on two black lines was Hannah’s fake signature alongside Lord Thames’. “I believe these now legally belong to you.”

Utterly mystified, Hannah carefully pried the emerald diadem from its velvet moorings, admiring the lapidarist’s fine handiwork, shifting it side to side to watch the fire dance inside the precious stones. The weight felt both heavier and lighter than expected. She didn’t know much about jewels, but she knew these gems were of the highest quality.

“I can’t wear them in public, you know?” she admitted woefully, twirling the diamonds. “It isn’t appropriate for people outside the Imperial Family to wear tiaras.”

“So?” The heiress shrugged. “I never said you had to wear them. The point is that they’re yours.”

“Why though?” Hannah insisted. “You’ve never shown charity to me like this before? Why bother now?”

“Because.” Cressida’s face became frighteningly stern. There was a storm in her ocean blue eyes that could not be quelled. “I never got to thank you properly for safeguarding Vera’s virtue back then, and while we may not have treated you as such, you were a Thames before you were anyone else. I don’t care what the law states.” She tapped the selling documents with her long manicured fingers. “This is as much your birthright as it is mine. And besides.” Her voice lowered. “They took my one great happiness from me. They don’t get to take anything, from anyone, ever again. Mark my words.”

Having nothing more to say, Hannah looked down her lap and continued admiring her mother’s tiara. Cressida may have been vain and stuck up and unfairly judgemental, but her loyalty held no bounds. She could be trusted.

“And Hannah?” the heiress added. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Hmm?” Hannah looked up from the tiaras.

Cressida leaned over the table, dropping to the softest whisper. “You haven't told them the truth, have you? About…us?

Hannah knew what Cressida meant and grew solemn. “No,” she mouthed. “I’ve said nothing.”

“Good.” The heiress nodded approvingly. “You know the rules: Audi, vide, tace.”

The sorcerer’s wife tried hiding her dismay, “Yes, Cressida,” and looked down at the tiara in her lap. It felt heavier than it did a second ago as the Latin emptied her mouth. “Audi, vide, tace.”

Chapter Contents

#Gojo Takes a Wife #satoru x oc #jjk fanfic #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #satoru gojo #satoru x wife #Satoru x fem oc #Satoru Gojo x female oc #romance #arranged marriage