scuffed-shoes

“Carnations” (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Summary: A carnation fundraiser, an iota of possibility, and a longtime secret crush on your hot best friend - what could go wrong?

many thanks to the effervescent @buckyywiththegoodhair for beta-reading! i love you, you colorful tropical fish with scales made of diamonds! x

“Carnations” (Masterlist)

“(Y/N), if you really don’t want to help, you can leave. It’s okay.”

You snap out of your involuntary trance, meeting the peeved eyes of the tall figure in front of you. Your eyelids rapidly close and open before you blankly mutter, “Huh?”

“Since we started setting up, you’ve sighed thirteen times, loudly scuffed your shoe against the floor seven times, and spaced out four times. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you don’t want to do this.”

It takes a lot to annoy actual angel Steve Rogers, but somehow you’ve accomplished just that in only five minutes. Sheepish guilt washes over you, and you quickly insist, “I’m so sorry. But I swear I want to help!”

“Are you sure? You look a little preoccupied, and I can also do this myself if something’s –“

“No, no, I want to help. I promise,” you firmly repeat. You furiously tape the banner to the table’s edges as if to show how determined you are to help. “I didn’t mean to be a drama queen and space out.” 

Steve tiredly rubs his palm against his face. “Is everything okay?” he asks. The concern in his voice makes the guilt expand in your lungs, compelling you to cast your eyes downwards.

When faced with a small deficit in the Student Government budget, Steve came up with the carnation sale. Students could order flowers –red for love, pink for friendship, and white for secret admiration– and cabinet members would deliver them to the recipients’ respective dorms.

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Hogwarts House Aesthetics

Gryffindor:

Coffee stains on their work, messy handwriting squeezed into the corners of pages, curling up in front of the fire place, laying outside in the sun with the wind in their hair, chipped nail polish, scuffed shoes, hot chocolate with a sprinkling of cinnamon, earphones tied in a knot, whistling along the corridors, being breathless, wide grins and messy hair, feet hitting hard on the ground as they run, falling asleep in the oddest positions

Hufflepuff:

Grass stains on knees, wrinkled sheets of paper falling out of their notebooks, a strand of hair always is out of place, squeaking of their shoes on the floors, always reminding their friends they love them, taking in deep breaths of fresh air, laughing until their stomachs hurt, singing or humming songs under their breaths, notes to themselves written in the borders of the pages of their books, blankets wrapped around them

Ravenclaw:

Ink stains on their hands, wrinkled shirts, sitting by the Black Lake studying, fixing their hair, hair ties on their wrists, calm music, long showers, doodles in the corners of pages of their notebooks, stretching after sitting in the same position for hours, sleeves rolled up, wide yawns and sleepy voices after staying up way too late, piles of books they promise to read, picking at their nail polish when in class bored

Slytherin:

Make up stains on their clothes, drinking glasses or hands, shirts tucked into trousers/skirts, drinking tea/coffee in the mornings to wake up, looking at the stars at night, ice cold water, heels on wood/marble flooring, secrets glances at their crushes across the room, loud music blasting through headphones, songs that get the adrenaline pumping, fingers skimming over water before throwing stones in, slinking into the background because they don’t want undeserved attention

Aftermath

Title: Aftermath
Characters: Hanji Zoe x Levi
Genre: Humor / Angst
Rating: T

@levihanweek​ Day 2: Nightmare

Levi’s Nightmare: Having a heart-to-heart with Pastor Nick.


“Are you worried about your wife?”

The question shocked him out of his musings.

Levi looked up, “My what?”

But the pastor was already speaking, “You’re obviously beside yourself with stress – and it’s understandable. Not knowing if your wife has survived-”

Levi cut him off, “My what?”

The pastor hesitated, apparently realizing he’d made some mistake, but misunderstanding precisely what it was. “Your…wife? The woman we traveled with before? She’s ah – forceful. You two uh – have the same, er – strident personality. When we first met, she dangled me off the wall.”

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Princess of Themyscira: Part 5

AN: I’m just going to put this right here… .try not to hate me too much …

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four


    Often, your days on Themyscira were filled with training; both mental and physical. You could often be found running with your sisters, or practicing with your bow. When you were resting, reading, you could be found up in a tree; letting the breeze dance across your skin.

           In the three years since you’d come to Themyscira, you’d grown out of your awkwardness and into an Amazon Princess. You were strong, and you could fight. More often than not you were praised for your grace. Which is why, when you fall out of a tree while reading, and pop your arm out of its’ socket you’re more than a little embarrassed.

           Artemis teases you about it for days. Even worse, you’re forbidden from any physical combat. Instead you spend time playing strategy games with Io. Still, the sound of swords clashing calls your name. Io reads you like a book. With a smile, she begins packing up the game, before you walk to the stadium together.

           The rest of your friends are already there, you sit in the center of the group and listen to the conversation as you watch the fight. They only gain your full attention when they start talking about you, “She’s only been down for a few days and she’s already itching to get back in the ring.”

           You smirk at Artemis, “Enjoy your break while you can, I’ll be kicking your butt again soon enough.”

           Your sister smirks back, “The little princess has gotten cocky.”

           “I learned from the best.”

           There’s laughter, before a voice cuts through, “I would agree.”

           Your sister’s bow their heads as your grandmother approaches. Io makes room for her to sit next to you, and she takes your hand in hers, “You are your mother’s daughter, my little moon and stars.”

           You smile, “And my grandmother’s granddaughter.”

           She laughs, “Also very true.” She pauses, “I see the longing in your eyes, your desire to be on that field, so I am proud of you for listening to the physician’s orders of rest.”

           You smile, “I doubt I could take anyone with a bum shoulder any way.”

           Calyce smiles, “She’s too modest our queen. She has very quickly become one of the best.”

           Your group sits in silence for several minutes before the sound of a horn hits your ears. As a group, your heads turn towards the beach. You see anger in your grandmother’s eyes as she orders you, “Return to the palace.”

           Before you can ask what’s going on, they’re running. You watch as they grab their weapons and race towards the shores of the island, your grandmother leading the charge. You watch them go without a word, knowing better than to question her when she uses that tone.

           You slowly make your way back to the palace, hoping for some news or some idea of what’s going on. Instead, the palace guards find you and escort you to your room. You scowl as you close the door, and race to the window.

           You do your best to see something over the trees, when you feel someone’s breath hit the back of your neck. Spinning you throw a punch with your bad arm and immediately regret it. You wince as you meet sparkling eyes.

           Your own go wide, and your mouth opens and closes several times, before his name comes out of your mouth, “Bart?”

           He smiles and says, “Hey there Pretty Bird.”

           You smile as you throw your arms around him in a hug. His arms wrap around you, before he picks you up off the ground and swings you around. You can’t help but smile.

           Pulling back, you ask, “What are you doing here? My family, are they here too? What happened with the war?”

           He pulls you in for another hug, “Let me enjoy the moment for a second Pretty Bird. It’s been three years.”

           You smile and hug him again, before pulling him over to the bed. You watch as Bart’s eyes dart around the room, “It’s a lot different from your room at Wayne Manor. Remember that time your mom caught us making out on your bed?”

         You grin at the memory. Bart had been your first boyfriend, but before that he had been your best friend. For some reason the two of you had always clicked.

         “This is a different place, and I doubt my sisters will be any happier to see you than my mother was.”

         He grins, “You sound like your mom.”

         You shrug and sit on the bed, “It’s a way of life around here.”

The two of you sit in silence for several minutes before you ask again, “What happened to my family, Bart?”

           He’s silent, but he continues to hold your hand, “It’s funny, I keep thinking that if I let go of you, you’re going to disappear. Like you’re not really here. I missed you Pretty Bird.”

           You squeeze his hand, “I missed you too Bart, but I need to know.”

           He sighs, “Let me start by saying that the war is over, and we won … at a price. We’ve lost most of the league, and half of the team … including your mother.” You don’t realize that tears are streaming from your eyes until Bart reaches up and wipes them away. “The first major attack took out most of the League. Your mom led the charge, and it was a long and dirty fight. Lots of blood, and just horrible. I still have nightmares about it. We lost your mom, my grandpa, several lanterns, Green Arrow, and a lot more. But it provided the turning point we needed.”

           Bart’s grip on your hand tightens and he says, “The next major strike bought our victory, but it cost us even more. We lost Artemis, Conner, and L’agann.”

           You swallow before asking, “What about my brothers.”

           He smiles, “They’re alive, but at a cost.” You nod and he continues, “Dick is alive, but he’s not himself. He’s serious all the time and he rarely leaves the cave. Tim is paralyzed from the waist down thanks to a shrapnel attack. Jason is okay, blind in one eye, but he’s still Jason. No one’s seen Damian since the whole thing ended though.”

           Your voice is husky, “When was that?”

           “A year and a half ago. We’ve been swamped with cleanup and rebuilding. No one knew how to find you, until your parent’s lawyer contacted Alfred. You mom left behind instructions, and a will among other things.”

           You nod several times, trying to absorb the information, Bart places a hand on your shoulder, gaining your attention, “She left some stuff to you. Important stuff.”

           Slowly you ask, “What important stuff?”

           He shrugs, “Not sure, Alfred has it.”

           “And where is Alfred?”

           “Currently?”   

           “Bart.” You warn.

           “On the beach with what remains of the team and league.”

            You groan, before pulling him to his feet, “Let’s go.” He knows better than to argue, as he picks you up and carries you to the beach. It feels like old times as you watch your surrounding zoom by. It really reminds you of old times when Bart trips on the sand and sends you flying.

           You land with a crash, hitting your bad arm as you go. You grind your teeth to keep from screaming, as you push yourself to your feet. You’re very aware of just how quiet things are, as you stand and turn to face the two major factions of your life.

           Your eyes scan both crowds, before they land on someone you never thought you’d see again. He’s standing near the shoreline, his dress shoes scuffed with sand, and looking far too out of place in his suit.

           Still you can’t help but smile as you race for him. You can feel your sisters’ eyes on you as you throw your arms around the man you think of as a grandfather. His arms return the hug immediately. “Oh Ms Y/N it is so good to see you.”

           You take in his scent of mint and cigars and smile, “I missed you so much Alfred.”

           “And I you.”

           The clearing of a throat has you turning to stare at Jason. He’s dressed in his red hood gear, minus the helmet. He looks older, and the white of his blind eye is a clear indicator to what the war had done. Then he smiles and years seem to melt away as you throw yourself into his arms.

           He squeezes you tight before lifting you up and swinging you around, “I missed you something fierce squirt.”

           “I missed you too Jaybird.”

           He smiles, and let’s go before turning you to face someone new, and says, “He missed you too.”

           You stand in shock for several minutes. You’d never seen anyone other than your father in the suit, and Dick …well Dick looks so much like him in that moment that it hurts. He doesn’t open his arms to you, and that’s your first sign that something is wrong.

           Slowly, you make your way to him, before stopping right in front of him. You raise your hands to either side of the cowl, and he grips your wrists to stop you. Softly you say, “You were never meant to be him Dick. You don’t belong in the dark, you belong in a spotlight. You don’t have to be him.”

           Slowly, his fingers loosen, and you peel back the cowl. His face is the same, but his hair is a bit shaggy. You brush it out of his face and stare into his eyes. You see it there. He’s so tired of losing people, and in so much pain that it nearly overwhelms you. You pull him in for a hug, and slowly he reciprocates. His forehead leans against your shoulder and you feel the tears drip onto your skin.

           When he starts crying, you do too, because both your lives are different. You’ve both lost some of the people dearest to you. Your world has changed, and as much as you may wish, there’s no way to change things back.

phil lester sits criss-cross applesauce atop a world of his own creation and smiles. he stands in scuffed shoes and cares steady, holds consideration in gentle palms and offers it like the worst kept secret. jokes, delicate and airy, translucent flower petals and lavender blush and making the world a bit brighter. well meaning words settle whisper quiet into hearts, moulding them into something better, something softer. the rosy brightness of adoration blooms steady behind his eyes and glows for something good.

phil lester sits on his old bedroom floor and tells a camera about his day. ten years later he performs his last show on a worldwide tour, best friend by his side and tucks memories laced in silver and gold in his back pocket for safekeeping. he stumbles and a million hands reach out to balance and propel him forward. happy screams and photos and tweets and art and unadulterated love put down roots in his chest. vines creep across his ribcage and beat in a rhythm only he can hear, safecomfortablewarm. he locks it there, vivid and precious.

phil lester smiles, sunlit and breathtaking, the turn of his lips smeared on and dripping joy like a fingerpainting. he inhales colour and light and sound and exhales creativity, his fingers itch for something just out of his reach. mind floating away, barely there clouds dancing and wispy, and lying back among them and dreams about flying. determination is sharp in his veins and laces through his lungs like string tugging him along, do this make that write this down plan this out. add another rung and climb higher. he twists lovely things with clumsy fingers and adds another line to the autobiography titled how to make the stars appear dim next to this.

phil lester looks at the sky, twinkles wistfully and wonders if he could be up there. he doesn’t realise he’s been flying for years.

the-mad-crocheteuse  asked:

Imagine the reverse situation than the one we witnessed in Voyager, where Claire casually walks on Jamie in his printshop. What if it was Jamie who travelled to the XX century and ended up as Claire's patient in hospital?

Slamming the palms of her hands against the OR doors, Claire rushed into theatre. The call had come through on her pager only moments before, *luckily* she’d just been on her way out and hadn’t had to travel across the city.

“What is it, June?” She whispered to the head nurse as she plunged her hands under the tap, washing the unseen dirt from her fingers in preparation.

“RTA I think, Dr. Somewhere in the highlands though, poor chap’s being airlifted in.”

“Jesus, must be serious,” she mumbled, circling the soap in her hands as she washed away the suds.

Behind her the doors swung open once more, the sound of the heavy metal smacking against the wall reverberating through Claire’s feet and up into her bones as she turned to see her fellow surgeon, Dr Adams, stroll into the tiny clean-up room, his eyes darting around the small space.

“Ah!” He said, a little humour to his tone as he spotted Claire behind June, “there you are, Claire. It seems you’ve been requested.”

“I know,” she replied, placing her hands in the air as if to illustrate the point, “I got the page before I’d even left the building.”

Shaking his head, Dr Adams laughed, “then you’re doubly in demand,” he said, beckoning her forward as he backed out of the room, “because the fellow they’ve just brought in is asking for you too.”

Rolling her eyes, Claire brushed off the silly comment, her hands still hovering in midair. “Don’t be so daft, Dr. There are a million and one ‘Claire’s’, he could be asking for anyone!”

Winking, Dr Adams turned, tilting his head to the side so that Claire could only see his profile as the door began to close, shielding him partially from view, “aye, that maybe true, Claire, but there is only one ‘Claire Beauchamp’ around these parts, ken?”

Claire remained cemented to the spot, her mouth hanging open in confusion for a second after Dr Adams had disappeared from sight before rushing from the room and hurtling down the corridor to the ER admittance desk.

“Where did you tell June they were bringing that RTA in from?” She panted, her heart racing as she tried to calm her frayed nerves. After a short stint in Boston with Frank, it had been clear to Claire that their *epic reunion* wasn’t to last. Only a year after Brianna had been born, she had packed them both up and returned back home to Britain.

Unable to let go, they had moved into a small apartment in central Glasgow. Claire had juggled being a full time mother with her studies and eventually finished her medical training.

The staff nurse on the desk broke through her memories of the last seven years, her inquisitive tone pulling Claire from her reverie.

“Did ye hear me, Dr Beauchamp?” She whispered, seeing the far off look in Claire’s eyes as she waved her hands in front of her face.

“N-no, sorry Amy. Where?”

“Just outside Inverness, the report is sporadic,” she said, her eyes flickering from Claire back to the notes she had open on her messy desk, “says he wandered onto the road out of nowhere. The driver called it in and waited for the ambulance to arrive. Ye ken the highlands, Claire, quite barron at the best of times.”

Nodding, Claire wiped her brow and turned on her heel whispering a discrete ‘thank you’ as she rushed back towards the emergency at hand.

‘Stop it’, she screamed internally, her mind whizzing, all manner of optimistic thoughts rattling around her brain as she scuffed her work shoes against the worn linoleum, ‘who else knows you here…?”

“Maybe, just *maybe*…’ her inner voice begged, her positive side drowning out the negative one.

Stopping for just a second she scrunched her eyes together and shook her head, dispelling all thoughts as she tried to clear her mind of *anything*.

“Dr!” A male voice shouted from in front of her as she brought herself back to the present. “We need you, now!”

Scrubbing in once more, Claire forced herself to listen as the ambulance staff – who’d come in with patient– rattled off all known injuries, their hospital jargon coming to life in front of her eyes as she carefully thought through her process before entering the OR.

Fortunately the patient had been sedated on arrival, his vitals stabilised as much as possible as he was prepped for surgery.

“Are you ready, Claire?” Joe announced, his broad American accent sounding much softer than usual as the pair braced themselves for the job at hand.

RTA’s were uncomfortably unpredictable. Ignoring Dr Adams remarks, Claire began to prepare herself for any given situation.

“Ya never know, LJ,” Joe joked, trying his best to lighten the mood before seriousness set in, “could just be a bump on the backside. A quick once over and out again. Here’s to no internal bleeding!” He whispered in her ear as they opened the swing doors that led to the operating theatre.

The world seemed to stop before completely twisting on its axis as Claire stopped dead. A mop of red hair fell from the table, the curls tumbling over the slate black of the padded cot that supported his weight.

She knew from just the outline of his head; those sharp lines could only belong to one man.

As her vision blurred, Joe put his arms under hers, holding her against his chest as she lost consciousness for just a second.

“So…” he muttered, pulling Claire to one side as the supporting surgeon eyed Claire distastefully, “he *does* know you.”

“Jesus H– *Jamie*,” she spluttered, half believing it to be a dream as she reached her hand out to the unconscious Scotsman.

“Get her out of here! If she’s related, there’s no way she should be here…” Adams perked up, pointing towards the door with a knowing look on his face. “You’re alright to cover, Abernathy?” He continued, ignoring Claire completely as the monotonous beeping picked up pace.

“Of course, Dr.” Joe replied, turning Claire in the direction of the door. “I’ll make damn sure he’s alright, LJ, just go and collect yourself…please…” he begged in a subtle whisper, angling her towards the exit.

In a daze Claire snuck from the OR, her legs heavier than lead as she paused just outside the door, gulping in large amounts of fresh air as her head caught up with her body.

Jamie. It had been him. He was here.

How?

Why?

Leaning forward, she placed her hands on her knees and continued to breath as if she was in labour.

Bree!

The thought of birth brought the image of her daughter to the forefront. All of a sudden Joe’s words made perfect sense.

He’d seen the resemblance between her precocious eight year old and the man lying asleep on the table in front of them. He knew.

Walking backwards, Claire let her back hit the wall as she slid down the magnolia painted plasterboard, her arse hitting the floor with a thump as she pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes.

Hours passed as she waited. Nobody seemed fazed that she was balled up on the floor outside the hospital’s main operating theatre, and for that she was grateful. In the madness her mind had gone totally blank, unable now to conjure even the most basic of assumptions for Jamie’s surprise arrival.

On that fateful day all those years ago he definitely hadn’t been able to travel. She’d watched as he’d placed his hands upon the stone, the look of assuredness covering his face as he’d bid her return to safety. He hadn’t heard the buzzing, hadn’t felt even the slightest bit of the power.

“Claire…LJ?” Joe questioned, his face coming closer to hers as he plucked her from the floor and escorted her to the viewing window.

“I thought her was dead,” she whispered shakily, her voice cracking as she spoke.

“He wasn’t,” Joe replied, certainty lacing his tone, “he *isn’t*.”

“He’s alright?” She sighed, tears welling in her eyes as she placed her hand on the two way glass, the transparent surface frosting with her breath as she leaned her head against the cool window.

“Yes, he’ll be fine. It seems the car just clipped him, most injuries were contained to his right hand side. It saved him really, had he been facing, he might have sustained far more serious wounds.”

“Can I see him?” She questioned, her eyes looking over the blood-stained table where he’d been lain only moments before.

“One thing, LJ,” Joe asked, curiosity gnawing at him, “does she know?”

Shaking her head, Claire let the tears fall as she pictured Bree at home with the babysitter, her soft curls bouncing as she read aloud. “No. She knows Frank wasn’t…but she doesn’t know who.”

Leading her away, Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile as he pointed her in the direction of Jamie’s recovery room. “Well, I guess she will now.”

Taking a deep breath, Claire took a timid step forward, her pulse pounding in her ears as she stepped slowly towards the open door. Placing her fingers on the tepid wood of the doorframe, she placed her foot over the threshold, her eyes wide as she caught a glimpse of Jamie, wrapped up tight in the hospital’s military grade bedlinens.

Creeping over, she moved a stray curl from his forehead. He shifted, his eyes closed as he dozed.

Claire waited, her lips quivering as she did a quick inventory of the man she never thought she’d see again.

Watching, she let her fingers linger, running the pads of them over his pale, clammy skin as she re-memorised every curve. Gasping, she drew back a little as his mouth twitched into a smile, the corners of his lips pulling upwards with her touch –just like he had done all those years ago.

“I must be dead, sassenach,” he croaked, his voice startling her as she stilled her movements and stood as still as she was able, her eyes focused solely on him, “if yer here wi’ me…” pausing, Jamie shifted his head closed to Claire’s hand, silently begging her to continue her blissful ministrations.

Claire held her free hand over her heart as she felt for its telltale beat beneath her ribcage.

“…but I dinna care too much.” He finished, seeming at peace now he’d made his assumptions clear.

“Jamie,” Claire replied, her voice sounding strange to her own ears, “you’re not dead. You’re alive, here, with me in Glasgow.” Swallowing, she tickled her fingers against his warm cheek, grinning through the tears as his skin flushed red. “Oh God, Jamie. You’re alive!”

Choking on thin air, Jamie clenched his fists into the bed sheets and opened his eyes, the aqua of his irises causing Claire to lose all train of thought as they locked onto her whisky ones.

“Dhia!” He breathed, his voice light and airy with shock, “w-what’s the year, Claire?” He asked, the strain clear as he spoke, worried that he might awake at any moment and that she might disappear from his view.

Rolling her shoulders, Claire shimmied closer to Jamie, sliding her hand along his cheek, down the column of his neck and down further until she reached his hand. Holding on tight, she bent down, kissed him lightly on the forehead – her tears falling onto his flushed skin and dripping into his hair as she tried to reign in her fraught emotions – and took in one long breath.

“1955,” she said, her voice steady now as she rubbed his frigid fingers until she could feel the life flow back into them, “It’s April 1955, Jamie Fraser…and you are alive.”

Through the Glass (Strangers in the Night #11)

AU. Strangers who meet young. Stuff happens. 

This just came to me watching the rain right now. Hope you enjoy it :)

| Read Strangers in the Night Series | Tumblr | AO3


It was on a cold, snowy night that she saw him for the first time.

The world was wrapped in white all around their small townhouse and the little snowflakes were continuing to fall. For a few hours, she’d been out with her dad, tasting the snowflakes on her little pink tongue, making small balls with her hands and wetting her thick mittens. But the chill had gotten too bad so she’d come inside to her warm, delicious-smelling house, had cleaned up and sat her tush on her chair beside the dining table.

It was then, while drinking from her hot cup of chocolate with the marshmallows as night fell outside, while her parents sat before her with their backs to the large windows, that she saw him.

Gaunt. Thin. Pale.

Cold.

He looked so cold. His teeth visibly chattered in the wind she could see blowing outside, the paleness of his skin matching the falling snow. And in that pale, thin face of overlong, messy blond hair, she saw those sad blue eyes, blue like the beautiful sky on a clear day. He was looking into the house, his eyes roaming all over the place, taking in everything with such longing on that tired face that her eyes filled.

He caught her looking at him.

Fear flashed across his face.

And then, he was gone.

Before she could utter a word.

She went to her warm bed that night, thinking of the cold boy with the sad blue eyes.

She went to her soft bed, an eight-year-old who didn’t know her life had changed.


She caught him outside her window the next night.

Her little heart beat faster when she found him, leaning against the glass, peeking inside her small bedroom. Before she could stop herself, she climbed down from the bed and without turning on the lights, went to the window.

She leaned her head back at looked slightly up at him, seeing his blue eyes widen for a second upon seeing her awake. Tilting her head to the side, she took in the thin, ugly sweater he wore with a small hole near his shoulder, the jeans that had faded to an almost light color, and the scuffed shoes. Then, she peeked down at her own thick red socks, her tummy hurting for him.

But she couldn’t invite him inside. She couldn’t talk to him either. He was a stranger and talking to strangers was bad.

Biting her lip, she looked back up into his sad eyes, and slowly placed her tiny hands on the glass opposite his.

His hands, just slightly bigger than hers, shook.

Before she could question herself, Felicity ran back to her bed, plucked out her favorite blue blanket - with the big brown wolf looking up at the big yellow moon that her mom had made for her - and dragged it to the window, almost falling down twice under the weight of the thing.

The boy watched her quietly, stepping back when she opened the window, thrust the blanket into his arms and slammed the glass down again before he could snatch her away.

She saw the boy look down at her favorite blanket in his arms, saw his fingers curl around it, and saw him look up.

And she grinned.  

His eyes weren’t so sad anymore.


She woke up extra early the next morning, just to see if he was there.

He wasn’t.

Quelling the disappointment down, Felicity jumped to the kitchen, a new mission on her mind.  

He came that night, wordlessly, soundlessly, wrapped in her blanket, and pressed those hands upon the glass.

She got down from the bed on her tippy toes, wordlessly, soundlessly, and pressed her hands against his.

Then she snatched the Tupperware of pie she’d been saving for him the whole day, opened the window a peek and thrust it into his arms before slamming the window down again.

He looked down at the box for a long time, his lips trembling, before looking up at her.

And she knew, without a doubt, he would be back.

Keep reading

[ insomniac ]

words; 11.7k (this is a fic i wrote like 4 months ago, never got around 2 it posting lol) 

genre; mostly the fluffs, first kiss n stuff like that :-) i guess there is some suggestive stuff but its quite light. 

synopsis; wonwoo is the strangely quiet boy that sits in the back of class and would rather be reading than listening to the lessons. his appearance is also quite questionable, with dark rings under his eyes and disheveled hair. 

he’s earned the nickname, insomnia, and you’re curious to discover if the quiet boy matches what everyone seems to call him. 


There is nothing but silence, a still unsettling silence that sticks to every corner of the room as watery streaks of moonlight bathe the boards of oakwood. A clock sits on the bedside table, the black numbers being highlighted by the bright blue that lays behind them. At this time, the world is quiet, the only sound being the blood rushing through your ears or the steady heart beat thumping in your chest.

A bed is placed snuggly into the corner of the room, a thick comforter lying neatly over the old mattress that carries the stains of spilt coffee and tea. Nothing is out of place, all the clothes are folded with precision and tucked away inside the dresser, every book on the shelf has its spine turned out, each series perfectly aligned with the next. It might even look as if no one ever stayed inside the room for it was always too clean and organized, or maybe whoever slept there had too much time on their hands. 

Just as the digits on the clock struck 3am sharp, the door handle slowly swiveled and a figure emerged from the hallway, a tall glass of water curled in its fingers. After sitting down on the mattress and taking a very long sip of its beverage, the figure shifted to the centre of the bed and crossed its arms over its knees, back slouching and tufts of ash coloured hair falling carelessly over its eyes.


Noise. Why was it always so noisy?

The hallways acted like a speaker, amplifying every little clink or clank down the long corridors until it faded away. Only a few more weeks left of school, only a few more weeks left of angsty students who were constantly slamming their lockers and scuffing their shoes, only a few more weeks of fed up teachers who couldn’t even bother to yell at their class because they knew it was worthless. 

You could hardly wait to get away from it all and finally be able to isolate yourself back into silence, sweet, sweet silence. After navigating your way through the morning crowd of zombies that moved slower than molasses, you set your heap of books down and pushed in your earbuds. You liked being alone in class, before the lights were turned on and curtains were tugged open. You could just slouch at your desk and let your foot tap against the tiles while listening to something you actually wanted to hear and not the brainless conversations of the people around you.

Then the door was opening, and a streak of yellow light washed over the floor for a few seconds before disappearing. Another student was here, though he hardly looked like a student. His frame was tall and lean, prominent collar bones resting under his milky skin tone while messy ash tinted hair almost covered his eyes. 

Yes his eyes, they were dark, very dark, like someone dropped a splash of black food colouring into his irises. Discoloured circles lay under his lash line, like the result of someone who hadn’t slept in weeks while his attire consisted of a loose long sleeved white shirt and dark grey sweatpants tucked into worn out sneakers. His name was Wonwoo, but everyone called him Insomnia because that’s exactly how he looked. Like someone who couldn’t sleep.

Wonwoo stared blankly across the empty classroom as he readjusted the books swept under his arm, his hollow gaze sweeping right over you like you weren’t even there. Suddenly the bell began to ring and before you knew it, the zombies were flooding into the class, their voices still drowsy from the morning atmosphere as they plopped down lifelessly into their seats. Everyone was sitting except for Wonwoo, he just stood there with his usual blank stare, his back slightly slouched while he remained like a statue.

“Wake up Insomnia and take a seat already.” Someone called from the back of the class, but Wonwoo didn’t take a seat until Mrs. Kang the English teacher walked in, her heels clicking against the tiles while she pushed up the glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. She patted his should while slipping past him to get to her desk and it wasn’t until then that he finally moved, his eyes flickering slightly before finding an empty desk near the back. Wonwoo was just as fascinating as he was strange, and one day you wanted to have a real conversation with him just to see what was going on inside his head.


“You’re bringing a guy over?”

Keep reading

The Kitchens

part iv


Remus felt trapped between elation and dread. Surely this didn’t mean what he hoped it did. He tried not to let himself get his hopes up, and yet, thinking of it now from the safety of his hard, flat bed, he could hardly help himself. He held the hand Sirius had grasped so tightly up in front of him, only seeing the very faint outline of it in the moonlight. Sirius had held his hand. He’d taught him to dance, barefoot in the forest, like they were old friends. Even lovers, Remus dared to think. He’d brought him chocolates. He’d invited him tomorrow…

Why me?

Remus thought the question over and over again. Sirius no doubt had a host of friends to choose from. Not to mention James who, if all else failed, had to be at the top of the list.

Does he hold James’ hand?

It was a stupid question. Of course he didn’t. James liked Lily. Sirius liked… Remus closed his eyes.

He could have been drunk?

Remus let his hand fall back on his chest, exasperated. It seemed to be the only logical explanation, although he really had seemed quite steady. Drunk men don’t dance like that. But, then again, he’d come to Remus right under his mother’s nose. But maybe that was Sirius, maybe that’s how he is. Reckless and daring, like the princes in the fairytales. Remus gulped. When all the other boys had talked of princesses to save, he’d always preferred thinking of the prince. Privately, of course.

He wasn’t drunk. Remus knew this. So what? Why?

The answer Remus wanted to hear streamed to the front of his mind, although he never quite let himself fully believe it. He wanted to believe that Sirius had felt it too, what he had felt in the kitchen that evening, in the clearing just a half hour ago. That he had felt the very same draw of the other; to the heat of skin, the pressure of hands, the uneven breaths. Remus closed his eyes and felt it all again, but as a memory. It wasn’t the same. He wanted tomorrow to come. He fell asleep thinking of warm hands and mischievous eyes.

~

Sirius’ breathing was shallow as his mother led him back inside, into a private room, away from the lights of the party. She was wordless, only her shoes scuffing against the stone floor, muffled only by her long dress and cape. She had worn her crown, as she always, always did, and it did not move on her head, her neck like an unyielding column. Her silence made Sirius fear the worst. As soon as the door were closed however, the silence was broken. And in the worst way.

The smack of skin against skin rang through the room and Sirius’ head snapped to the left. He felt the sting of her rings slice the delicate skin that covered his cheek bone and he bit his tongue so as not to cry out.

It was worth it. He told himself, Remus. He is worth this.

Where were you?” His mother’s voice was murderously calm, “Answer me.”

Sirius tasted blood, “My apologies-“

Smack. This time the rings cut downwards, catching on his lip and splitting it wide. Sirius felt something wet on his chin but still, he did not fall.

Answers.” His mother’s voice was more growl than woman.

“I got sidetracked. I did not realize the time. I ran into Lucius the nobleman and time wasted away to politics.”

The lies slid easily from his split lips.

Politics.” She spat, “You? You expect me to believe- You’ve just ruined what would have been an outstanding match for this family. Do you have any idea the power, the wealth that girl could have offered us-“

“Us?” Sirius shot back, “You wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life with her!”

His mother’s lip curled, “You ungrateful, despicable-“

“My Queen.”

Sirius did not turn towards the messenger boy. He mustn’t see his bloodied face.

His mother straightened, face flattening to barely contained rage, “Speak.”

Sirius didn’t hear the message, only felt the glare in his direction and heard the door slam behind his mother as she followed the servant boy out.

As soon as he was alone he let himself fall. His knees hit the stone floor heavily, his wrists spiking with pain as the trembled with the effort to keep him somewhat upright. He breathed deeply, willing the swirling panic to cease.

She is gone, he told himself, she is gone now. He raised his hand to his face and his fingertips came back painted with thick red that dripped into the cracks on the stone floor.

Sirius pushed himself up, using the back passages to get to his room and locking himself in for the night, not ringing for James.

He stumbled his way into his bathroom, feeling almost terrified to look in the mirror. He hoped and prayed that the amount of blood was deceiving him, that it wasn’t as bad as it felt. He was let down at first glance.

His cheek was purpling and swollen, the bruise spreading towards the crescent of skin under his eye. It would be swollen half way shut by the morning. His lip was the same and grotesque. He cursed, taking a clean cloth to the basin of water and soaking it fully, bringing the coolness to his face. Then, turning without glancing in the mirror again, he fell into bed still clothed, with only one thought on his mind.

Remus cannot see.

Perhaps the reason behind this thought was also pride, but, for the most part, it felt like shame. A shame he had felt bloom in his chest regularly since he was a child. He would not show his face.

~

Remus woke the next morning with a headache, finding that the dread and hope that had come at Sirius’ request still were at war in his head. He tried to sensibly talk himself down from the hope side. The dread, if things went as he expected them to, would be easier to handle in the end. Hope doesn’t give into grief as easily as dread does. He told himself this as he punched in the day’s bread dough he had set to rise last night. It was four in the morning now. Noon. He had until noon.

Say it back so I know you’ll remember

How, how could he forget?

Remus pushed the heel of his palm into the cool dough, trying to focus on the repetitive motion. Pressing and folding, needing and punching. It only seemed to succeed in riling him further, allowing the emotion he truly wanted to suppress to bubble to the surface: excitement. He couldn’t allow it. He shouldn’t allow it. But as he stood, nimble fingers now twisting the brioche for breakfast into delicate twists and knots, it spread quickly through his chest. He wanted to meet Sirius. In fact, he wasn’t sure how he would be expected to wait nearly eight hours until then. He’d have to keep himself busy. He would start on the servant’s dinner after this. A stew would take the longest to prepare, and he’d let it simmer all day. The meat would be tender and it would take enough time to prepare. Then Mrs. Potter and the rest of the servants came down to prepare breakfast and wake the court. That would be at least another hour and a half of the blissful distraction of eggs and bacon, salmon and toast. Maybe he would offer to prepare the orange juice. No, too repetitive. He needed something that wasn’t mindless. He would do the eggs. He’d definitely have to focus then. He’d have to mind the heat and the consistency and then make sure they were still hot when they got sent up to-

Sirius.

Remus froze mid bread knot. He was always in charge of Sirius’ breakfast, there was no doubt today would be the same. Remus swallowed, an odd sort of thrill filling him that made it nearly impossible to keep the smile from his face. Maybe he could allow himself this. This small thing, this regular thing that now had a new world of connection. Sirius did know his breakfast came from Remus’ hands now. Maybe he could send up a note, tuck it into his napkin or under the plate where he would find it when he picked up his carefully placed fork. It was risky. It couldn’t be seen. But Remus couldn’t resist. He needed some little piece of his day among all this waiting to be dedicated to Sirius. He hated that a little bit. He would hide it well. No one needed to know.

He heard a creak from upstairs—Mrs. Potter—and tried his best to shake himself of his stupid grin, picking up the trays of bread for the oven.

~
Sirius woke to James accidentally rattling his breakfast tray and cursing.

“Shit. Sorry. You awake?”

Sirius opened his mouth without opening his eyes to respond with some sarcastic, not-so-charming remark but shut it firmly again when he felt the sharp sting of his split lip. He swallowed, opening his eyes—eye. One felt almost completely swollen shut. He hadn’t even thought to decline a wake up call. He usually was always so careful. He didn’t like James—anyone—to know if he could help it but, with James, he rarely could.

“Sirius,” James sing-songed, “Come on, mate. This is heavy.”

Sirius took a breath, then rolled over and sat up with as much dignity as he could manage. His eyes flickered to James’ face and he winced at the look on it. He knew how bad day old bruises looked.

“Morning,” He rasped shakily, “That for me?”

“Jesus…” James quickly sat the tray on Sirius’ thighs, then sat on the edge of the bed, warm fingers pressing to his jaw and tilting his face towards him to get a better look at his lip. His brows pulled together, “Jesus, Sirius.”

Sirius looked away, “My mother, actually.”

“This isn’t funny. Stop- god- I hate-“ James rose angrily from the bed, proceeding to pace across the fireplace opposite it, “She can’t just-“

“Actually she can.” Sirius sighed, “Unfortunately.”

James threw his hands out, exasperated, and gave a breathy, bitter laugh, “Unfortunately? Unfortunately? God, I cannot wait for her to croak and for you to-“

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a substitute for the smirk he knew would hurt too much, and unfolded his napkin, “Careful James.”

“No.” James was pacing more insistently now, “No, I know you don’t like to talk about it but…”

But Sirius was no longer listening, as a small bit of parchment had fluttered from the folds of his napkin and onto the sheets beside him. Instantly, his heartbeat sped with hope. His breakfast has never come with a note before, although, that was before he knew the maker. He glanced in James’ direction, making sure he was still talking (to himself) and unfolded the note. Sirius grinned. He couldn’t even feel the pain of his lip.

You taght me
to dance
Gess I have to teech you
to cook an egg now

Sirius ran his fingers over the messy scrawl. He read it again and again and again. The writing slanted to the left, it was nearly illegible. Clearly it had been written in rushed secrecy. Some words were spelled wrong and for that Sirius adored it even more. The double “e” in teach. The lack of “u” in taught and guess. He turned it over, hoping for more.

His smile fell.

He was not disappointed.

I have not forgotten

His heart warmed at the sentence, but his body went cold.

He cleared his throat, “James.”

James huffed, “I know, I know. I don’t have the training but just keep in mind that kings can do anything.” He paused, “Almost. Meaning you should absolutely feel free to make me part of your king’s guard. If you wanted. At any time.”

Sirius blinked. The lack of context caused a laugh to spring free and he suddenly partially wished he had been listening to the rant. James did like this conversation point quite a lot.

“And have to miss all of these useful conversations because you’re standing outside my door all day? I don’t think so. Fetch Pomfrey for me, would you? I want this to heal up quickly.” He squeezed the note in his hand, “As soon as possible.”

James sniffed, patting his heart, “That was almost nice.”

Fetch.” Sirius pointed his fork at the door, note clutched almost desperately in the other. He needed time he didn’t have. He closed his eyes when the door shut behind James. He felt it now, the shame from last night, in every spike of pain from his lip, in every pulse of blood in his eye. He felt it.

~

Remus tilted his chin up towards the noon sun greedily, almost thanking it for being so high in the sky. The long grasses of the south grounds tickled his ankles and the soles of his feet as he made his way to the lake Sirius had specified. He’d been once before with James and a few of his friends. A boy named Peter who seemed nice enough given the fact that he was to King Orion as James was to Sirius. It couldn’t be easy spending all that time with… that. Lily, the house maid, whom he liked very much and who he knew better now, had come along after much convincing from James. Her and James clearly doted on each other. He’d asked Lily about it once and she’d sent him to fetch some linens from the upstairs cupboard instead. Lily had brought a few of her friends along; sweet, quiet Alice and headstrong Marlene. They had been followed by some others, an equal mass of boys and girls—most of which eyed James the entire time with either jealousy or lust. Someone had brought wine and figs from the kitchens and it had turned into something of a party.

Remus dug his toes into the rocky sand of the shore. It was quieter now. He liked it better this way.

Remus looked back at the castle then down at himself. He had changed out of that morning’s shirt, but even this one looked ratty. Like everything else he owned, the seams were fraying and it was littered with untouchable stains.

Sirius would look good in even this.

He laughed softly to himself at the thought. He shouldn’t think it, but it was true. Sirius had looked good the first night, if not hopelessly tired and arrogant, in his maroon robe, the gold stitching glinting off his skin. He’d looked good barefoot, in only his billowing tie-up shirt and trousers, with fluffy post-swim hair. Remus wondered if he’d get to see that again today. And he’d looked good dressed in forest-like, velvety greens and browns, soft curls splaying around the tops of his ears. A prince ready to be presented to his subjects. Each memory was devastatingly imprinted in Remus’ thoughts. He wanted see what he would look like today, what new version he would be granted with.

Slightly breathless, Remus sat down on a warm patch of sand and waited, nerves and need coming threw in his drumming fingertips.

Remus waited.

And waited. And waited and waited. And Sirius didn’t come. And his heart got heavier with each fading degree of sunlight.

And Sirius didn’t come.

And he was right.

Grief doesn’t give easily into hope.

~

Remus doesn’t sleep for hours after he lays down. He can’t decide if he’s more angry or hurt. He thinks of the four hours he sat in the sand, back aching and hopes falling. Angry, he decides. Definitely angry. He should have known better, to be quite honest. A prince. Why would a prince ever, for a second want-

Remus closes his eyes, brow creasing. A play thing. A time passer. That’s what he was. He should have seen it earlier.

He must have fallen asleep, or at least dozed off, because he is lulled awake by his door creaking in very separate and short bursts. Like someone is trying to open it very, very slowly.

He’s alert in a moment, pushing up onto his elbows. The moonlight offers a silhouette but nothing more. Tall, broad shouldered.

“James? Who’s there?” His voice comes out softer and hoarser than he would have liked.

The figure lets out a breath and opens and closes the door in one swoop, leaning against it, “No. Does James often pay you midnight visits?“

What? “Sirius?”

“Yes.”

Remus, in utter bewilderment, moves for the matches and candle on his bedside, when Sirius’ voice cuts him off.

“No, no don’t light your candle. Please.”

It sounds panicked, pleading. He’s never heard Sirius sound like that before.

“What? Sirius, why? What are you-“

“I’ve only come to apologize. That is all.”

Remus lowers his hands, not reaching anymore, and sighs. He thinks for a moment, before shifting to press his pillow to the headboard to sit against and looks back to Sirius’ outline against the door.

“Quite right, too.”

Sirius lets out a breath and—quite presumptuously—and to Remus’ great delight—comes and sits cross-legged at the end of Remus’ bed. The moonlight still does not reach his face.

“I had…something came up. As things do for someone like me. I didn’t know how to reach you.”

For someone like me. Always the constant reminder, even on accident.

“I’m missing the apology part.” Sirius let out a breath and Remus glared, not sure if he could see it or not, “I sat there for four hours, I’m not going to let you off easy-“

“I’m sorry. I am, Remus.”

The second time hearing his name from Sirius’ mouth had no less of an effect. Remus desperately hoped his own face was just as invisible to Sirius as Sirius’ was to him. He was sure it had softened quite a bit, even as he tries to knot together the last scraps of his anger.

“Well.” Remus stretches his legs out, remembering too late that Sirius is there. His toes press into  the warm skin of Sirius’ calves and he jerks back, bringing his knees to his chest. His heart has triple in speed, at least.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re sitting in the dark?”

Sirius ignores his question, “Your toes are freezing.”

Remus feels his cheeks burning, “It’s an odd request. To talk in the dark.”

“Don’t you have slippers?” It’s almost concern in his voice.

“No.” Remus huffs. He clearly isn’t going to get an answer, “No, Sirius, I don’t have slippers. There are more important things in life.”

“Not when one’s toes are cold, there aren’t.”

“What an interesting philosophy.” Remus can’t help but laugh.

And just like that. He isn’t angry anymore.

Sirius laughs too, then harder when Remus makes a startled noise at the warm fingers that are suddenly closing around his ankles, pulling them forward again.

“Wh- Sirius, what are you-“

“Christ, even your ankles are cold. Do you sleep under blankets at all?”

Remus, still startled by the fact that Sirius’ hands are still pressing softly into his skin, can barely choke out a response, “You know, this is getting borderline offensive again.”

He hears Sirius suck in a breath, “Oh. I didn’t mean it. I’m- I-“

“It’s okay.” And, in truth, Remus had been half joking, “You just said sorry, I won’t make you say it twice.”

Sirius is quiet for a moment more, then Remus straightens at something extraordinarily soft and extraordinarily warm encompassing his feet, first his left, then his right. He wiggles his toes, feeling some sort of fur slide against them, feels soft leather just below his ankles.

Slippers. Sirius’ slippers.

“Any better?” Sirius says softly. His palms are still resting on the tops of Remus’ feet, warming where the shoes don’t reach.

Remus swallows thickly, nodding before he realizes they are still in the dark.

“Yes.” He croaks out, “These are… warm. My room is always cold. ”

“That’s terrible.” Sirius sighs, like it’s the worst thing in the world. Maybe to him, it is.

“I manage.” Sirius probably doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to manage, “Aren’t you cold now?”

“No.” Sirius says, and Remus realizes that they’re both whispering now, “No, not at all.”

It should be strange, sitting there like that in the dark, but all Remus feels is an overwhelming sense of comfort. He doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t know why Sirius is here. He doesn’t understand why they’re sitting in the dark or why Sirius is touching him so calmly. The contact alights something in him, he can’t deny it. It warms him almost as quickly as the slippers had. He presses his hands to his thighs, feeling safe, feeling unsteady. He wants to want this more than anything.

Push it down, leave it be.

“Sirius.”

“Hm?” Sirius’ voice came out just as strained as his, quiet among the silence that surrounded them. His thumbs were rubbing softly over the tops of Remus’ feet, pressing into the bone of his ankle. Remus didn’t know if Sirius realized he was doing it, but he never wanted him to stop.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re sitting in the dark?” He asks gently.

“No.” Sirius says it back just as gently.

Remus hesitates, then gives into his instinct. Sirius didn’t seem to have any problem with contact so why should he? He scoots forward, very careful to keep his feet where they are. His knees press up to his chest again and he rests his hands atop of Sirius’. He feels Sirius let out a breath across his cheek, and realizes how close they are. He can still see almost nothing. Maybe a slope of a nose, the part of lips.

Forget his mind screams it at him but he can barely hear it. Not when Sirius is right there.

“Sirius.”

“Hm?” More strained now.

“Are you alright?”

Sirius didn’t respond for a long while, and Remus didn’t push. He let Sirius mull through his thoughts in his own time. When he finally did speak, he turned his palms up first, fingers looping around Remus’ palms, thumbs pressing into the pulse points on his wrists. Remus hoped he couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating.

“Where are you from?”

Remus almost protested against the change of subject, but the tone in Sirius’ voice was just enough to make him let Sirius lead him where he wanted.

“Right here.” He said, “The village.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment again and Remus pictured him nodding thoughtfully, his thumbs had started running slowly over the insides of Remus’ wrists, “What did your father do?”

Remus focused on Sirius’ soft touch and closed his eyes, making the darkness even darker, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Remus took a deep breath, “No. I grew up in the orphanage. I was put there when I was three years old but, I don’t know, it’s all I remember.”

“What?”

Remus recognizes the familiar tone and risks giving Sirius’ hands a little squeeze. He notes how natural it feels. He hadn’t expected Sirius to let this linger so long, but neither of them seemed to want to pull away.

“It isn’t the sob story you’re thinking of right now.” He assures Sirius, “My family was poor. They realized they couldn’t raise me. The orphanage said I was barely alive when I arrived. It was a good thing.” He said it like lines from a play, lines he’d said over and over to anyone who looked concerned. It wasn’t a long list of people.

“You grew up without a family.” Sirius’ voice sounds off through the darkness. He’s holding Remus’ hands tighter now, even pulling a little towards him. Remus wants so badly to give into that pull.

“Yes, and no. You learn to make families along the way. Home doesn’t always have to be blood, you know.”

“I hate my blood.” Sirius’ voice is hushed and fierce, “I’m not allowed, but I do.”

Remus was slightly taken aback by this statement. He somewhat knew Sirius’ thoughts on his parents—his mother, at least—but to say that he hated his blood, so boldly… That implied he hated who he was. He didn’t expect that from Sirius. He wants so badly to see his face right now, to see his eyes as he let the forbidden phrase slip. Remus thought for a moment, “Maybe you’re not allowed to show it, but they can’t really do anything about what your heart says, can they?”

Sirius’ voice comes after a slight pause, and when it does, there’s an unbearable note of hopelessness to it, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“You should be.” Remus says simply. He doesn’t know if Sirius realizes how much meaning that phrase holds.

Sirius’ hands relax into Remus’. Remus didn’t even dare twitch a finger in case he pulled away.

I want to kiss you. He could map out each small motion it would take to reach that goal.

Remus bit hard into his tongue. His mind would think little else. Forgetforgetfor-

“I visited once, you know. That orphanage.”

Remus swallows, “I know.”

“Mum made me walk around all proper, nodding and waving. She thought going would make me appear… I don’t know, like I’d make a good king someday. Kind. Not that she’d know much about that.” Sirius’s silhouette visibly stiffened, “I mean…I think it just made the kids hate me. I probably looked so…” Sirius sighed, “I don’t know. Actually, come to think of it, you must have been there when I went.”

Remus lets out a breath, “I was.”

“Do you remember?” Sirius’ voice almost sounded excited, “Did you see me?”

Yes. And you saw me.

Why, did you really expect him to remember?

Remus nodded, “Yeah, I remember. We, well, we actually spoke.” He feels Sirius’ fingers tense in his own and he pushes on, “It wasn’t much. I mean, we didn’t say much…”

Sirius doesn’t respond and Remus can picture him racking his brain, trying to place this conversation.

“You were just plain rude, honestly.” Remus laughs somewhat nervously.

Sirius lets out a similar sound, “What else is new?” Then a few moments later, “What did we speak of?”

Remus let out another hushed laugh, “You told me that I looked like the living dead,” Remus hesitated a moment at Sirius’ intake of breath, “and… I told you that you were probably right. And that was it. You got pulled away.”

“Well.” Sirius shifted his fingers along Remus’ knuckles and somehow Remus knew he was looking down in the direction of their hands, “Turns out you’ve been out smarting me since before I can even remember, then.”

Remus can hear his smile and god, I want to see your face.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “turns out.”

Remus wished the sky would lighten. Even a little. Then again he didn’t. Because that would mean time passing and he wasn’t sure he would mind staying in this moment for a little longer, hands warm, feet warm, head foggy with Sirius’ presence, his touch.

“Did you enjoy the rest of the party then?” He needed to distract himself.

Sirius let out a breathy laugh, “Not particularly, no. Did you?”

Remus shook his head in the darkness, “Not particularly. Not as fun dancing alone.”

Sirius let out a snort, “Were you practicing by yourself?”

“You’re the one who refused to give me another go!” Remus smiled into the dark.

Sirius laughed again, a sound that ended with a strange hiss, as if he had been stung or burned by something, then regained its humor quickly. One hand briefly leaving Remus’, then settled back palm to palm. Remus knit his eyebrows.

“Right. We’ll just have to do it again some time.”

Remus’ heart jumped, “Won’t be ditching me this time, will you?”

“No, no definitely not.” Sirius’ laugh ended with the same intake of breath as before, “I swear it.”

Remus’ brows pulled lower. He stayed quiet, mind slowly working. Something was wrong. He’d been distracted before, but something was off. he could hear it in Sirius’ words, how he said them carefully, gingerly even.

“You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you?” Sirius voice came a few moments later, “Because, honestly-“

“Are you hurt?” Remus cut in.

It would make sense. No lights, the hiss that sounded like it hurt whenever he laughed. He’d heard Sirius make that noise the very first night he met him and burned his hand.

Sirius shifted, making the bed move, “What? No, what makes you say that?”

“You’re hiding something. You-“ Remus raised an eyebrow, proud of himself for figuring it out, “You didn’t want me to see something today, did you?”

“Remus.” Sirius’ voice was much more somber than before. He said his name like he was speaking to a subject, like it was a command. It made Remus angry and it made a shiver run down his spine at the same time, “Don’t. Drop this.”

“You are. You- Sirius, did someone-“

“I said drop it.” Sirius’ hands were suddenly gone from his own. It was an odd sensation. Remus knew he was still on the bed, right there, but not being able to feel him anymore put miles between them.

Remus pushed this time. He pushed because he didn’t think he could stand another period of silence. Not so soon. Not when he now knew what it was like to have Sirius’ breath on his cheek, his fingers on his skin.

“No, you know I can help-“

“I don’t need help-“ Sirius’ words were shaky, said between teeth.

“There’s no use lying to me-“

“I only came to apologize!“

“Shh!”

Remus reached out blindly, pressing a hand over Sirius’ mouth to stop his voice from ringing around the room and reaching through the walls. Sirius flinched at the contact, biting back a groan and turning his face away. Remus felt the soft skin of his cheek run under his fingers. He felt his lips.. just for a moment. They both froze, breathing quickly.

“I know. And you have.” Remus said between breaths, hand falling slowly to rest on Sirius’ shoulder. Anything to feel him there again, “Please. Just let me see. I won’t,” Remus cut Sirius’ protests off, “I won’t ask questions if you don’t want me to.”

He could feel the rise and fall of Sirius’ chest.

“Please, Sirius.”

He felt the nod.

Remus leaned away just long enough to grab his candle, and struck the match.

“God.” The word was soft and sad. Sirius’ face was the same in the yellow glow of the fire, but littered with angry blackish bruises. One eye was swollen and blackened, making the delicate skid underneath it the color of summer plums. Dried blood made angry red lines the crevices of cracked skin. His lip looked raw and aching. Remus swallowed, hurting at the sight, “Who-“

“You said no questions.” Sirius said quietly, not meeting Remus’ eyes.

Remus’ heart ached at the look on Sirius’ face. He looked… ashamed. He looked embarrassed. Had he been beaten in a fight? Is that what he did in his spare time? Remus tried to push down his dislike at this notion. He didn’t know anything. He shouldn’t assume. He nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right. No questions.” He looked a moment more before sliding off the bed and turning back to Sirius who still hadn’t moved, “Come with me, yeah?”

The kitchen lit up when they walked in, Remus’ candlelight reflecting off the various pots and pans that hung from the ceiling racks. It threw Sirius’ beaten face into a harsher contrast and Remus winced, quickly setting the light down and moving to the cupboards. From the corner of his eye he saw Sirius move to lift himself onto the counter and stopped him.

“I’ll sit there, you stand.” Sirius blinked at him and Remus turned away so Sirius would miss the flush that crossed his cheeks at his next words, “That way we’ll be level.”

“Oh. Right.” Remus could hear the threatening smirk behind his words. Only Sirius would take such pleasure in his height.

When Remus turned back around Sirius was leaning patiently against the countertop, arms crossed, and heavy lidded gaze trained on Remus. His eyes flickered downward to the flower in his hand,

“Oh. Pomfrey used that on me. Earlier today.” Sirius picked up one of the small pinkish flowers, “What is it?”

Remus smiled a little, pleased at knowing something Sirius didn’t, “It’s called Comfrey. Helps with swelling. Some people call it bone-knitter too. Does miracles for broken fingers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Bone-knitter.” Sirius said thoughtfully, “Sounds like something one of my cousins would name their sword.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, “Which kind?”

Sirius snorted then winced and brought a finger to his lip, “The metal kind. Fiend.” Sirius grinned when he caught Remus’ eye.

“You wouldn’t name your sword that?” Remus started ripping the petals up.

Sirius scoffed, but sounded slightly embarrassed, “I don’t name my swords.”

“Hm. I don’t believe you.”

Sirius laughed and bumped Remus’ shoulder with his.

Remus smiled too, more because Sirius was smiling than at his own joke. He reached across the table for the granite mortar, dragging it towards him and dropping the torn petals in.

“What’s that do?” Sirius was right over his shoulder now, his breath on his neck.

“It grinds it up.” Remus cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of the nervous tremor, “So I can make a paste and get the healing..”

“Properties.” Sirius supplied.

“Properties.” Remus sent him a small smile, trying to ignore the embarrassed twinge in his cheeks, “So I can get the healing properties out.” Remus ground with his left hand. It would be slower, but he wasn’t willing to ask Sirius to move.

Sirius hummed, still twirling a stray flower between his fingers.

“Okay,” Remus huffed, “budge over so I can sit.”

Remus lifted himself as gracefully as he could onto the counter, turning briefly to swipe some of the paste up with his fingers, before turning back to Sirius. Sirius who had already placed himself conveniently between Remus’ slightly opened knees, palms resting on either side of his outer thighs. Remus blinked, chest tightening uncomfortably in the best way. Sirius sent him grin, leaning onto his palms, inviting Remus in. He smelled like summer and nighttime and warmth.

Remus sent him a wry one back, “It won’t hurt. In case you were wondering again.”

“Don’t worry, I trust you.” Sirius’ grin was still painted on his face.

The phrase made Remus sink his teeth into his lower lip, and he shook his head a little, making Sirius laugh, “Hold still, yeah? Don’t get all flinchy on me.”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

Remus took a bigger breath than necessary before he reached out. His fingers cupped Sirius’ jaw in a way that, Remus realized too late, was heart-stoppingly similar to the way he would if he were about to-

“Second time you’ve patched me up, you know.” Sirius’ voice sounded like a liquid version of the soft candlelight flickering around them.

Remus’ eyes flickered to his briefly before back to where his thumb was now slowly smoothing the paste over Sirius’ high cheekbone, the angry red cut disappearing under the purplish mix, “Hm. What does that tell us?” Remus replied just as softly.

“That,” Sirius hesitated, and Remus blinked up at him when when he felt something soft tuck into the hair over his ear. He reached up with his other hand and felt the flower Sirius had taken there, the petals soft against his temple, “I might just have to keep you around.”

Remus’ chest felt warm. Is that really what Sirius wanted? To be…with Remus. Whatever that meant to him. As much as Remus hated to admit it, he knew he would take any version of those words. With his hand still pressing softly to Sirius’ cheek and Sirius standing so close, he was in too deep to back out now. There was no forgetting now, “Well.” He wasn’t spreading the paste anymore but he didn’t move his hand, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sirius’ eyebrows moved fractionally downwards, the faintest hint of worry etching itself into his brow, “You’re sure?”

Remus tilted his head a little, not sure what this meant. He answered anyway, “Yes.” It felt like the right answer. He couldn’t imagine giving any other answer.

Sirius nodded minutely, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth then wincing, “Oh. You missed a spot.”

Sirius’ nose could have been nudging against Remus’ if he just leaned in a little. Remus’ heart beat at the thought, “I… You can’t- I mean, I can’t put it on your… you can’t ingest this. It’d poison you.”

“Hm.” Remus heard Sirius say before his eyes slipped closed of their own accord as he felt Sirius’ forehead press to his. Sirius’ voice was a whisper, “You’d lose your head for that.”

“Yeah..” Remus could barely speak. His beating heart had replaced every other one of his body’s functions, Sirius’ forehead against his and his hands pressing to his thighs had replaced every thought, “I would.”

And no, there was no forgetting now. Not with Sirius tilting his chin forward and pressing his lips to Remus’, mouth careful and warm. Not with his hand sliding up to rest on Remus’ hip.

Remus could never forget this.

He kissed back, matching Sirius’ pressure, hand pressing to Sirius’ chest. His shirt was like fine silk under his fingertips, and he moved his hand to rest against Sirius’ neck. The feeling of his skin was even finer. Warm and alive and soft.

Sirius pulled back for air and Remus could feel his shuttering breaths. He felt powerful and nervous all at once.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius breathed and Remus’ chest caught.

No, don’t be, kiss me again.

“You are?”

Sirius, to Remus’ surprise, let out a laugh, one that sounded almost close to a tearful one but not sad, “No.”

With relief, Remus gave his neck a soft squeeze, noting Sirius’ wince, “Do I need to make there all better too?” He couldn’t feel any wounds but they could have been hidden by the fabric of Sirius’ shirt.

“No.” Sirius said quickly again, and then he bumped his nose against Remus’ to soften it, “No. I’m alright.”

Remus bumped his nose back, half relishing in the fact that he was even able to do that, half scared that Sirius would pull away at any moment, as he had at the party, “You should learn not to say things you don’t mean.”

Sirius let out a sigh that was probably suppose to sound light but didn’t, “Yes. You’re right. Always right.”

“That’s probably the most useful thing you know.”

“God.” Sirius laughed, thumb rubbing lazily against Remus’ side. Remus had never felt anything so soothing. Despite himself, he suppressed a yawn, “Tired?” Sirius said gently.

“No.”

Sirius smiled, “You should learn not to say things you don’t mean.”

Remus grinned, “Yes, yes. I’m tired. You woke me up.”

Sirius’ eyes went from bright to sad in a moment, thumb coming to a stop, “I can’t stay.”

Remus felt the sadness too, but his mind also filled with that means he wants to. That means he wants to stay. “I know. You probably shouldn’t. You know, speaking of losing one’s head.”

One side of Sirius’ mouth twitched upward, “Right. Can’t have that. Got a country to run.”

And just like that, something felt off. Remus tried not to let his smile drop. Always a reminder. This boy, standing in his arms, was not attainable.

He pushed that thought away and allowed Sirius to guide him from the table, hands holding his in a way that felt entirely new, and back up the stairs to his bed. As he laid down he pretended for a moment that Sirius was going to lay next to him. He wouldn’t. He probably never would.

Sirius stood for a moment, lit only by the soft light of the candle. His bruises looked worse like this, but Remus found he could see past them to the eyes that looked more blue than grey in the yellow light.

“I’d like it, you know.”

“Like what?” Remus said slowly.

“To learn to cook an egg.”

Remus grinned, face half covered by his pillow, “Oh, that. Well, name a time and a place. You’re the king, after all.”

Remus, in his tired state, didn’t catch the flinch this time, and was already too asleep to catch the, “Not yet.”

He wasn’t awake at all to feel the warm hand brush against his forehead.

The next morning came suddenly, like time hadn’t past, and he was surprised to find light streaming through his window and Sirius gone. He was even more surprised to find a note propped against his candle stick, scrawled in impeccably neat cursive.

Keep the slippers.

Corrections.

*Trigger Warning: Mentions of self harm.*

“I didn’t—”

“You were screwing around and you COST US THE MISSION!” Shiro bellowed. The man never yelled in stressful situations unless it wa Slav the shout was intended towards.

Lance felt his blood run cold and he looked away, sweat beads forming on his forehead.

“And you know what?! Allura is STUCK THERE for god knows how much longer!”
Shiro was red in the face, fuming.

“Hunk dos as he was told! So did Pidge and Keith! They followed orders and carried through with their parts!”

Lance had to stand straight and stud so his whole body wouldn’t shake the way it wanted to.

Everyone was staring.
Lance fucked up.

Again, oh god.

“Now WHY— why, couldn’t you do your part? Are you a paladin of Voltron?!”

The blue eyed boy started to reply, but didn’t get that far.

“Start acting like one!” Shiro finished.

The black paladin turned on his heel and promptly exited, ordering the others to their rooms for the night.

The tension was unbelievable.

No one had EVER heard their leader like that, and no one could process what had just happened before their eyes.

It was… Well, nobody wanted to be in Lance’s place, that was for certain.

The boy stood there, staring at the ground and his tears welling up. They awaited to fall and then for the waterfalls to evoke.

Yet none of the others offered condolence.
The trio didn’t know what to do besides obey their order and hope no trouble would come.

Even Coran left with nothing more than just a sympathetic smile, but he too was upset.

Not at Shiro’s outburst, but for the fact that Allura was still out there on that Galra ship.

Lance was left alone.

Although they had all opportunity, his tears never fell and his sons never came. He went numb.

He’d screwed up.

Big time.

Lance decided, later that night when he couldn’t sleep, to train. It had been a god awful day and he wanted some sort of release.

Maybe the bot could knock some sense and skill into him while the blue paladin was at it.

Damn did he need it.

The blue paladin wasn’t sure how long he had been training, uninterrupted.

It felt like maybe an hour, forty five minutes? The boy had no idea.

Only when Shiro called out his name over the sound of gunfire and the robots clanging did he stop.

Shiro was frowning, and Lance could only imagine the wave of anger and harsh words that were about to come his way.

Those never came.

Shiro frowned, still in his night attire. “Lance, it’s nearly 4 a.m., what are you still doing up?”

The blue paladin panted, wiping his forehead and blinked. Was it 4am?

Sure enough, Lance found that he’d been on here for nearly six whole hours.

Holy crap.

His legs shook, and the boy sunk to his knees and bowed his head. Shiro rushed over.

“Lance, are you—”

Finally, the boy was able to cry.

Maybe it was because the constant training was broken, or maybe it was because he was seeing the man that caused him all of this distress.

Either way, he was crying. Hard.

The black paladin put his arm around Lance’s shoulder and attempted to hush him, but the boy wouldn’t calm.

Lance had his hands over his eyes, his shirt soaked from the sweat of training. Newly formed holes in his jeans and shoes scuffed.

Six hours of training.

Shiro sighed, “Lance, I was too harsh on you earlier. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

Lance coughed, sniffling a few times. He knew Shiro meant it but the pain of the words was still there.

The truth of the words was still there.

Not even the slow rubbing up and down of his back seemed to calm him much.

Lance just…hurt. A lot.

Shiro frowned, hating the way Lance was digging his palms into his eyes and his nails into his forehead.

“Lance…”

He reached forward, grabbing the boy’s wrist, but didn’t move further than that. A lump formed in the black Paladin’s throat.

Lance didn’t.
Shiro couldn’t help the guilty tears that stung his eyes as he slowly pulled Lances arms away.

There they were.
Semi fresh, angry red lines that the tri shade haired man new we’re only from hours before.

And were HIS fault.

Once Lance realized what Shiro’s pause was about, following his gaze, he jerked away and yanked down his sleeves.

“Shiro, Shiro—  I— Please don’t be mad I— Don’t tell the other please— Look, I’m sorry that I messed up today. I know I suck at being a paladin and being a person in general but—”

Shiro hugged Lance. Tightly, as protecting the younger man in his arms from any more self deprecating thoughts.

It hurt to know that Lance did this to himself. Shiro had seen white scars under the red.

It was the black Paladin’s fault that Lance started that again, he just knew it.

He shouldn’t have scolded Lance.

A sniffle was heard.

“Shiro…? What’s going on? Is Lance okay?” A small voice came from behind.

The black and blue paladin looked up, seeing the rest of the team standing in their pajamas.

All looked tired, and confused.

Shiro let go of Lance with one arm, extending it towards the rest of the family.

Everyone followed suit after a moment’s hesitation. A cuddle puddle ensued.

The group surrounded Lance in a massive group hug, only Shiro and the blue paladin of why it was happening.

But that was okay.

It would be okay.

Lance felt himself calm, his tears ceasing.
Everyone was here and they were supporting him and maybe they got into fights but that’s what families did.

Lance smiled and nuzzles his face into the nearest neck, face warm and he felt safe.

In later morning they would get Allura back. Make up another plan.

But for now?

Lance was happy right where he was at.

you know what I love more than college aus?  fake relationship/dating.  slow burn.  this is being broken up into multiple parts so i can satisfy the need for slow burn.

title: homecoming, pt. 1 (or, how my latte-stealing coworker became my boyfriend for the weekend)
fandom: hamilton
pairing: tjeff x reader
rating: t
word count: 2975

You have a high school reunion that you can’t miss, and you’re in need of a boyfriend to keep both your parents and your classmates off your back.  You don’t have a boyfriend — but you do have one very irritating, accommodating coworker.

Keep reading

aftg dancer!au

  • dan is the captain of the dance team and she was chosen because she understands many dance styles. took ballet when she was very little but moved on to tap and salsa. is their most versatile dancer, though she specializes in jazz and modern dance. 
  • neil as a contemp/modern dance master. he travelled a lot on the run so he’s susceptible to many styles, but since he never stays long enough to master them, he’s learn to take what he learns and incorporate it into what he already knows.
  • aaron is classically trained. that means he’s been in ballet since he was six and if anyone gives him shit for it, he crushes them with thighs honed by 10+ years of plies. also does hiphop because his body coordination is 12/10
  • renee is all weirdly bent feet and skinny limbs as a result of years and years of ballet. is trained in russian ballet but is trying to break away from the strict structure and try more modern styles. can get down if warranted. breakdancer-in-training.
  • matt and nicky as your classic bboys with the basketball shorts and the too-long socks and the scuffed up shoes. kevin likes to say they have scuffed up heads as well. they specialize in props as well, and their hat trick routine has the most views on the foxes’ youtube.
  • speaking of kevin his mom has put him in dance classes since he was a kid and he’s convinced he knows all the right ways to do hiphop. is the most technical of the hiphop dancers. hates those dark contemp pieces with 40+ dancers and heavy beats with a passion.
  • allison is jazz/contemp oriented. used to be a cheerleader so she knows how to put the sassiness into her moves. hates the structure of ballet but cannot conform to the flowiness of lyrical. started in her early teens so she still focuses more on improving her technique. has the best basis for choreography on the team, though.
  • andrew is in charge of choreography, and he performs the least out of all of them. when he does, it’s with quick and powerful but detailed moves that draw from a variety of hiphop influences. by some ironic twist of fate he is the one who does trend dances the best, even though he does them once every blue moon and never where the public can see. can also tap dance, but no one but neil and aaron have seen this skill.

bekind-unwind  asked:

In which Nico absolutely hates the son of Hades nicknames. He tolerates them to a point, but with Will he eventually snaps, gets absolutely passed, and Will has to fix it. (And find new pet names)

sure


“What’s up, Death Breath?” Will held an easy grin on his face, but Nico was not in the mood for him today. After trying (and failing), to get Chiron to let him go into the city, Nico was feeling anything but happy to stay around camp for the day.

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed back, causing Will to roll his eyes. In truth, Nico hated the “son of Hades” nicknames. Death Breath, Lord of Darkness, Goth, Dead Kid, whatever Will or the other campers had come up with after he decided to stay. Somewhere deep in the recess of Nico’s mind, he understood that the nicknames didn’t really mean anything, that they were supposed to be light, fun ways of teasing Nico, but he couldn’t help but feel like they were taunts. Nico still struggled with insecurities, and his biggest one was still people accepting who his father was. It was why the names bothered him so much. They felt like little jabs at who he was.

“Would you prefer I called you Bones? Or perhaps Little Death,” Will was obviously enjoying himself, laughing at each new name that he came up with. Nico tried not to let his insecurities get the best of him, but hearing the names from his boyfriend made it hurt so much worse.

“I would prefer,” Nico interrupted Will, looked down at him in shock, “if you and everyone else would just call me Nico. Since that is my name and all. You guys don’t have to constantly use those stupid names to get to me. Especially you, Will.”

Will was stunned for a moment, and Nico felt pathetic for lashing out at him for something so small and trivial, but the names had become too much for Nico to constantly hear. Why couldn’t they just call him by his name? Was “Nico” really that bad of a name? When Nico finally looked up at Will, he was staring down at Nico with concern in his blue eyes.

“Nico, why didn’t you tell me you hated my nicknames? I would have stopped using them a long time ago if I knew.” Nico felt the full shame of what he’d said descend on him and he hung his head, letting his bangs fall in his eyes as he scuffed his shoes on the ground.

“I don’t know. You guys always seemed like you enjoyed them so much. Why ruin your fun just because I don’t like it?” He mumbled quietly.

“Because it’s not fun if you don’t like it, Nico, that’s not having fun. That’s making fun of you,” Will spoke softly, causing Nico to lit his head up and look through his bangs at his boyfriend. “I would never use those names if I had known how upset they made you, and neither would anyone else. We didn’t mean to upset you with them.”

“I don’t want to seem whiny, though,” Will sighed quietly and Nico felt himself shrink.

“It’s not whiny, Nico, I promise,” Nico looked up at Will again, catching the smile on his face. “Besides, there’s so many better nicknames to use.” In that moment, Nico had never felt so lucky to have Will, who was so ready and willing to drop what made Nico uncomfortable and try something else. “Like, ‘what’s up, baby?’ Or, ‘hey, babe’. There’s so many more cute nicknames that I’d love to use for you, if you’re okay with them. I promise I’ll ask you first now.” Will was still grinning, and Nico honestly had no idea what he had done to deserve the literal ball of sunshine that was Will Solace. “Sound good, sweetheart?”

Nico felt himself blush at the much more affectionate name. “Yeah.”


look at how early it is

anonymous asked:

Can you write a fic where Betty is sick and Jughead takes care of her or vise-versa?

Yes I LOVE this prompt!


Jughead Gets The Flu


“Hey, have you seen Jughead yet today?” Betty asked. She was standing at Archie’s locker, scuffing her shoe gently against the floor, worried.

“Yeah, sorry Betty, he asked me to tell you. He’s still sick. F.P. and my dad are working at a site a few hours away and they’re staying there for the week. Jughead’s sleeping at the trailer park so he doesn’t get me sick.”

“He’s still sick?!” Betty asked, worry crossing her face. “What’s that, like, four days now?”

Archie nodded, placing some notebooks back in his locker.

“Alright, thanks, Arch.” Betty gave him an unconvincing smile, strolling back toward her own locker.

She spun the dial quickly, grabbing her backpack and placed a couple notebooks inside. She had gym next, then study period. She could afford to miss those.

She shut her locker, throwing her backpack over her shoulder, gripping the strap.

She rushed out of school, jogging down the sidewalk, thankful that nobody called out to her to question her.

She walked to Pop’s, ordering a chicken noodle soup and a peppermint tea to go.

Pop filled her order quickly, only one other patron there at such an awkward time in the day.

Next, she stopped at the pharmacy, grabbing tissues, throat lozenges, cough medicine, cold pills (day time and night time, just in case), Echinacea, hand sanitizer and a large bottle of water.

She stuffed the pharmacy bag into her backpack and walked the distance to Jughead’s trailer.

She knocked gently and waited, then knocked again after a few moments had gone by. She heard shuffling inside the trailer, then the door swung open.

“Oh, Bets. It’s you.” A slow smile spread across Jughead’s face. He looked sick, that was for sure. 

His hat was missing, his hair unruly, sticking up in all directions. A few pieces stuck to his forehead.

His eyes were rimmed with hard purple bags, his nose bright pink at the tip. He had a blanket swung across his shoulders. He was smiling goofily at her.

“Come into my humble abode.” He sniffled.

“Thanks, Juggie,” She smiled despite herself.

Jughead sat on the couch, making room for Betty at one end. He extended his legs, stretching but leaving them on the ground. He rested his head against the arm rest.

“I brought you soup.” Betty smiled, placing the soup and the tea on the coffee table in front of them.

“You did!” He exclaimed, trying to sit up. He lost his balance, swaying towards the ground. 

He caught himself as Betty reached out her hand.

“Jughead, oh my God, are you okay?” She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other hand brushed his bangs back and rested on his forehead, checking his temperature. “Jug, you’re burning up.”

Jughead took a deep breath. “I don’t feel good, Bets.”

“Are you going to throw up?” 

Jughead shook his head. “No, it’s not that… just, too hot.”

“Okay, okay.” Betty grabbed the blanket Jughead had around him, tossing it to the floor.  

She knelt on the floor next to him, taking his legs and swinging them onto the couch. “Here, babe, take this off.” Had she just called him babe? Maybe he wouldn’t remember.

Jughead did as she said, gripping the bottom of his tshirt and pulling it off as best he could while laying down. 

Betty touched Jughead’s chest, feeling how hot and clammy it was beneath her hand. “Okay, Jug, they say you need to break fevers with more heat, don’t they? Shit, I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

He didn’t answer, just kept breathing.

Betty grabbed her backpack from the floor and took out her pharmacy bag. She took out all the items, placing the on the coffee table, the grabbed the bottle of water. It was still cold.

“Here, take this.” Betty said, placing the water in his hand. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She got up, walking to the kitchen. She was looking for paper towel, but she couldn’t see any.

She walked around the trailer, looking for the bathroom. She found it and spotted a facecloth hanging by the sink.

She ran the faucet, making the water as cold as possible, then soaked the facecloth.

She rushed back to where Jughead was lying down, and placed the facecloth against his forehead. While she was gone he must’ve had a couple sips of water, because it was half gone.

He audibly sighed when she placed the cloth against his head. She ran a knuckle softly against his cheek.

“Is that helping, Juggie?” She murmured.

“Yeah. A lot. Thank you.” He whispered. 

Betty placed her hand at the edge of the couch. Jughead must’ve felt the weight there. He quickly slipped his hand in hers, squeezing.

Betty couldn’t help but smile.

“Jug, I also got you some medicine.”

His eyes popped open.

“Thank God,” He murmured, sitting up once more.

His eyes skimmed the coffee table, grabbing for the Buckleys cough medicine. He cracked the lid and put the bottle to his mouth.

Before Betty could stop him, more than half the bottle was gone. He had chugged it.

“Jughead, what are you doing?” 

“I want to feel better.” He shrugged.

“You’re going to be high off that stuff.”

Jughead lied back, resting his head against the arm rest once more. “Guess I shouldn’t tell you that I popped two cold pills before you got here.” He laughed.

“Oh my God, Jug. That’s not good.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Jughead whispered.

Betty sat there, not knowing what to say. She was still kneeling next to the couch, her hand back in Jughead’s.

Jughead was lying on the couch shirtless, the cloth on his head. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. She thought he had fallen asleep, so she pulled the cloth off of Jughead’s forehead and replaced it with her hand, checking his temperature.

“Betty?” Jughead murmured quietly.

“Mm?” She answered, placing the cold pills directly in front of him.

“Thank you.” He said earnestly.

“For what, Jug?” 

“For doing this. Nobody has ever taken care of me when I was sick before.”

Betty had to bite her lip from the tears pricking her eyes. Just the thought of Jughead - how many times do you get sick in your life? - having to battle colds and flu’s by himself was making her emotional. Something so many people don’t think twice about, having someone to take care of them. She had just done what felt natural to her. She wanted to take care of him.

She squeezed his hand. “It’s my pleasure, Juggie. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Betty?”

“Yeah, Juggie?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Sure, Juggie. I won’t leave.”

She saw a smile spread across his face as he turned  onto his side. She released his hand and picked up the soup and tea, placing them in the kitchen.

She put the bottled water, cold pills, lozenges and cough medicine on the coffee table and moved the beer bottles and empty cigarette packs into the kitchen.

After a few minutes, she walked around the trailer, looking for Jughead’s room. There was only one bedroom, she assumed F.P.’s, the bathroom, a small kitchen area and the living room. It dawned on her that F.P. must’ve gotten the trailer after Jellybean and their mom moved away.

She walked back the the couch Jughead was on and saw he was shivering. Jesus, what kind of bug was this? 

She covered his body with the blanket and smoothed back his hair.

He opened his eyes at the touch.

“I don’t deserve you.” He didn’t say it in a sad way, nor a happy way. He was overheated and sick and exhausted. He was just being honest.

“You’d do the same for me, Juggie.” She smiled at him.

“How did I get so lucky?” He murmured, closing his eyes.

“I’m the lucky one, Jug.” She brushed his hair back again, his forehead feeling closer to normal.

“Don’t leave.” Jughead said, gripping her hand.

“I won’t, Juggie.”

“Lay down with me.”

“You might overheat again.” She warned.

“It’ll be worth it.” He said, closing his eyes. 

Betty laughed as she laid down beside him.

Not Letting Go

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

This is The soulmate AU for Jason! I tried my best but I’m not sure how I feel about this one. Hope you guys like it!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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Your feet pounded off the concrete ground as you dashed down the street, ignoring the incredulous looks and glares being thrown your way by the other pedestrians. You were panting hard for breath but you didn’t dare stop, afraid of what your mother would think if you were late home. you knew she worried about you constantly as it was, it wouldn’t do to give her any more reason. Your father had walked out on the two of you when you were six. Your mother had gotten pregnant with you at sixteen and run away to Gotham with the man she’d fallen in love with. Since he’d left the only family either of you had was each other. Your mother worked hard to give you the best life she could, and you tried to reciprocate by making an effort to worry her as little as possible. She had enough on her plate as it was. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t hard, putting in your best effort despite how tired or defeated you might feel. You didn’t always succeed, but you did your best. 

It was a sunny Friday afternoon, and the streets of Gotham were packed with citizens milling about making the most of the summer heat. You ducked and weaved around them as best you could, but you were beginning to overheat and you knew your reflexes were getting sloppy. It didn’t help that you were wearing a long sleeved shirt. It wasn’t by choice; that morning you had misplaced the hairbands you normally wore on your wrist to conceal your soulmark. When you had proudly displayed it to your mother on the morning of your thirteenth birthday she had told you gently that while it was superb that it had appeared, it would be best if you kept it covered. Your teachers wouldn’t be pleased to see swear words written on your skin, however involuntary it was. You had been heartbroken at first to have to keep your soulmate’s words covered, but now you were mostly indifferent. It was just another in a long chain of disappointments. 

You were regretting your choice of clothing now though, your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin. You jogged around a corner into a shadier side street to get respite from the sun, hoping that your detour wouldn’t cost you any extra time. The second you did you smacked face first into something solid, falling back onto the ground with an “Oof,” You shook your head, dazed, and noticed a pair of legs just inches from your face. ‘Huh, that’s weird,’ 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” It took a moment for the words to register, and then you looked up into the face of the (outrageously handsome) man you had just bumped into. 

______________________________________

Jason had been cooped up in the manor for days. He had sprained his wrist on patrol earlier in the week and Bruce had been very firm that he stay off patrol until it healed. It was just starting to drive him nuts when Alfred suggested he take a walk downtown and collect the ingredients he would need for dinner that evening. Jason wasn’t fooled, he knew Alfred could get them delivered if he wanted to, and this was a blatant ploy to get Jason out of the house before someone ended up seriously injured when he finally lost his head. Jason didn’t call him out on it, he was grateful for the excuse. 

He wasn’t overly fond of crowds however, the general atmosphere in Gotham that day was making him claustrophobic. Thus why he was walking down a narrow and less densely populated street when you had come around the corner and bashed right into his chest. He hadn’t been expecting it in the slightest, and having a grocery bag in each hand made him slow to react. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for being in the way or for failing to catch you when you fell. He juggled the bags into one hand and extended the other to help you up. You seemed confused, and he worried that you might have hurt yourself. When your eyes met his you gasped, ignoring his hand and scrambling to your feet on your own. “I’m fine, I’m so sorry, I have to go!” 

He watched, stunned, as you ran down the street and away from him. It was only when you were already out of sight that Jason recognized your words. They were written on his wrist. Jason took a minute to just stand there, thoughts racing. He had just met his soulmate. And she had taken one look and ran for it. Self loathing crept in like a slow fog. Of course you had, that was just Jason’s luck. A soulmate was the one thing life had promised him, the one person who was guaranteed to love him for himself. And even you didn’t want him. ‘No,’ The thought came unexpected, with a force that startled him. Jason had been waiting for this all his life, he’d be damned if he let you go without even giving him a chance first. If you decided he was an asshole then, that was your choice. But fuck it if he was sick of being disappointed. 

______________________________________

When you reached your house you were already in tears. You had to take a moment to steady your breathing and pull yourself together before you went inside. A little part of you hated yourself for what you had just done, but you knew it was for the best. You weren’t going to give anyone else a chance to come into your life and mess it up further, even if it was your soulmate. You’d had enough of that already. You had been fine on your own for this long, that wasn’t going to change. “Mom I’m home!” You called into the quiet house, waiting for a reply before venturing into the kitchen. Maybe she had fallen asleep on the sofa again; starting a new job meant that she had been exhausted lately. There was a note on the table with your name on it and you unfolded it curiously. 

“I’ve had to trade shifts at work today, sorry sweetie! Dinner is in the fridge. I’ll be home by 10, be safe! I love you.  - Mom Xx’

You shook your head in disbelief, groaning. All that running for nothing. And meeting him! Well, it wasn’t like that could have been avoided. Fate and all that. You felt a twinge of loneliness at your mum’s absence but shrugged it off. She was doing her best for the both of you. You just wished there was somebody you could tell…

_____________________________________

You were sitting at your bedroom desk studying when there was a knock on your window. You jumped, letting out a surprised yelp. Your eyes flew to the window, your heart pounding. It was starting to get dark outside and you could only make out the tall silhouette of a person standing in your fire escape. You hesitated, unsure whether to check who it was or to run downstairs and lock yourself into the kitchen. The person knocked again, and you attempted to console yourself with the logic that if they were going to break in they probably would have done so already, as opposed to knocking first to warn you. Against your better judgement you edged towards the window, your heart in your throat. When you were close enough you could see that it was the man from earlier. ‘Your soulmate,’ a little voice in your head whispered. You told it to shut up. 

You wrenched open the window and glared out at him, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he just grinned back at you. You hissed, “Did you follow me home?!” You didn’t know if you were disturbed or impressed. You figured it should probably be disturbed. The man ignored your question, outstretching a hand towards you, seemingly for a handshake. “Hey. I’m Jason Todd, your soulmate. But you already knew that. Could we talk?” His casual tone threw you off, and unthinkingly you mumbled your name, taking his hand. The contact sent a jolt of energy through you and you wrenched your hand back, shivering. Jason just shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He  seemed unaffected, but you noticed that he was looking at you a little too intensely to be casual. You deliberated for a moment, unsure whether or not you should refuse him. Eventually you decided that to do so would be rude, and this man hadn’t done anything to deserve that. Yet. You shrugged and ducked through the window, swinging yourself out onto the fire escape. Jason stepped back to give you room, letting out a surprised chuckle. You leaned back against the window, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. “Talk then,” 

He seemed unperturbed by your words, scuffing his shoe against the metal floor while he formulated his reply. Eventually he said, “Look, I’m not exactly the best guy. But I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time. I’d appreciate it if you’d at least get to know me before you decide that you don’t like me,” His tone was lighthearted; You would think he was joking if it weren’t for the seriousness of his gaze. You gulped. His request was only fair. You let out a heavy sigh as you brushed past him to sit on the stairwell. “That seems fair. Let’s get to know each other then. But I’m not promising anything, I don’t really buy into this whole soulmate business,” you warned. His answering smile was breathtaking. 

_____________________________________

You sat on the fire escape together for hours, talking about anything and everything right up until you heard your mum in the hallway calling out to you. The conversation flowed effortlessly between you, and to your utter dismay you found that you really liked this man. He was witty and clever and kind, and you felt entirely at ease in his presence. Like he had been made just for you. You told him about your dad, and about how you and your mom had had to manage on your own all these years. He had nodded understandingly, and told you a little of his own story. You were shocked and upset by his words, guilty now at having rejected him so quickly earlier. You could only imagine how that had made him feel. When it started to get cold he had shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you. The leather was warm when you pulled it on and smelled like oil and metal. It was a strangely appealing scent.

Your mom’s voice startled you, you hadn’t noticed that it had gotten so late. ”Up here mom!” You yelled through the window, praying she could hear you as you stood up. “I guess you have to go,” Jason smiled at you ruefully. You nodded, and surprising yourself, leaned in for a hug. He hugged you back without hesitation, holding you firmly to his chest as you both just drank in the others presence. When you at last pulled back you were blushing. “You will come back won’t you?” “Of course. You couldn’t stop me if you tried,” He joked. You started to take off his jacket but he shook his head. “Keep it. I’ll get it back from you next time,” “Okay,” You bit your lip to try to rein in the smile threatening to take over your face, but he noticed anyway and laughed. “You’d better go before your mum comes up here and catches us. Explaining that would be fun,” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh of course!” You scrambled back through the window, turning back to wave at him shyly. “Goodnight Jason,” “Goodnight, sweet dreams doll,” He teased, before disappearing down the stairwell. It was only when you emerged in the kitchen to greet your mum, grinning like a fool, that you remembered that you were still wearing Jason’s jacket. 

where ever we go | draco malfoy

prompt: they have matching tattoo’s but not the ones people think

theme: fluff

warnings: mostly happy

author note: this is a little au where wizards can cast a spell when they meet someone they believe is their soul mates and it will stitch their souls together so they are. the only problem is that once your soul is stitch to another’s, you can’t unstitch it.

Originally posted by daz-zling-bling

That sort of spell was hidden away in the library. Not in the restricted area where it should have been but deep in the shelves. It took him a whole two weeks to find the worn book from too many hands passing it along over stupidity and lust. The reason behind its hiding was for the fact that first and second years, far too young and fickle, would cast the spell and be forever suck. Draco, who was in his fifth year, was not as fickle as a first year. Nor was he young at mind any longer. And he was not in the slightest willing to put the book back. It was enticing and everything he was looking for.

His stiff fingers traced the thin pages, trying to find that spell. The one he isn’t even suppose to know exists. It took him a total of twelve minutes to find it and his face breaks out into a warm smile before memorizing it for later.

He’d sure the smile on his face is scaring people but he doesn’t care, he’s just trying to find you. Because this is something you both need–mostly so he knows you’re safe but still. He wants to do this with you and only you. No one else needs to know, not until you’re older and aren’t seen as children. You don’t understand why he’s so insistent on doing it because you’re going to be fine, he isn’t so sure.

It’s late in the astronomy tower when you both cast the spell. The blinding colors wrapping around themselves and then a burning pain erupted just below your collarbone. Burning perfect black marks into your skin. Identical to the ones burning into him.

This is your beautiful secret, one to cover up all the ugly coming, all the ugly in his life. Something to show each other that no matter what you always had each other and always would. This spell, that bound your souls together, was everlasting.

It didn’t taste like honey and you didn’t see galaxies in Draco’s eyes when your souls wound together. No, it was much more simple, so much more beautiful. His eyes were bleak and his skin translucent and you saw him as him. All of his flaws and imperfections and the terrible things he had done and become. No longer were either of your minds clouded by love–as most people’s were. This love that you now had was untouchable and real and painstakingly valid.

When you were apart–when his own curse took him away and you sided with what was right–you still held to the fact that you’d be reunited. When everything settled down and no one was really asking questions again. He’d come to you. Where ever you went, he was sure to follow. His fingers pressed against his never-fading mark just below his collarbone.

He begs you to leave before the battle and you press your fingers to his cheek and smile, “you know I can’t Draco.”

You’re tired and he’s dying on the inside but neither of you can leave that moment. He can hear the shouts of people he once called friends and barely notices the people running in the halls of his old school. His hand takes yours and presses his harder against his cheek and then brings it to his lips and kisses the palm. Afraid that one of you won’t make it out–he wants to remember the feeling of your skin.

It’s a dreadful walk to the outside, where the two sides stand. You both stand at the back but you know he’s going to leave you and though it hurts you let his hand goes as he does. Fingers lingering before he officially pulls away and when you’re fighting you think that’s the last time you’ll ever see him again.

It isn’t. Despite his family running once the battle began he comes back. Tells his mother he can’t leave and she understands. Let’s him go back–it’s over when he walks into the rubble. Bodies are being moved and Voldemort is dead. He always kisses Harry but refrains and simply asks if he had seen you.

Harry nods and gestures toward the ruins of the castle. Draco nods and heads in that direction. Again, he’s thankful that Harry is Harry and though he won’t say it, Harry had a lot to do with you not being completely caught up in the battle. Nor will Draco know how, he just knows that Harry has his ways.

He sees you at the same time you see him and your bloody and his shirt is a little ruffled and his shoes are scuffed but he’s overwhelmed. You’re alive and in his arms and kissing him–he calms himself and hugs and kisses you back.

It’s three years later and the tattoo on his skin is a faded reminder of darker times. The pitch black tattoo below collarbone is a reminder of the beauty in his life. There’s a skip in his step and a ring in his pocket. A sweet smile on his face and he greets Harry, Hermione, and Ron as he passes them in Diagon Alley. It’s simple, your souls were bound together before you cast that spell.

Time After Time (1/1)

Inspired by this post.

Emma is a Traveler, able to travel through time but unable to control it. Killian is her Taler, always there to greet her and keep her from being alone while out of her time. Neither of them know how it works but they don’t mind so much as long as they have each other. A Captain Swan AU. 

ff.net

Warning: Mentions of character death.


The first time they met they were the same age.

Emma had known it could happen at any moment but that hadn’t made her any more ready for when it actually did.  Her parents had explained over and over what to expect for her first trip.  They had made it sound fun, exciting, something only a teeny tiny amount of people were able to do.  What they hadn’t told her was how dizzy she would feel, or that her mouth would be filled with the taste of cinnamon, or that she couldn’t be sure that her eyes would stay in her head.

“The year is 1648.  Hi, my name is Killian and I’m your Taler and… and why are your eyes closed?”

“I don’t want my eyes to fall out,” Emma whispered, unsure if she would start crying or throw up.  She was leaning towards throwing up, it would be less embarrassing.

“Your eyes?  Why would your eyes fall out?  Do they give you some sort of fanciful eyes from your time?  Is that something that happens then?  People’s eyes popping out?”

“No!” Emma snapped.  Her eyes opened against her will to glare at the boy, Killian she remembered, who was talking too much, “My eyes are just eyes idiot.”

“Oh, they are,” Killian frowned, apparently disappointed in her normal green eyes.

He looked like all the other boys that were in her fifth grade class at school except for his clothes looked like something from her history book.  Killian was skinny, his hair black and all over the place, and his eyes were blue as far as she could tell since he was squinting at her funnily.  She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Oy, that’s not very nice!” He stuck his tongue back out at her. “I’m trying to welcome you like a gentleman and you’re being very rude.”

“A gentleman?” She scoffed, “You’re not old enough to be a gentleman.”

“I’ll be eleven next winter, I’ll have you know, and Papa said that you have to be a gentleman around ladies.  Even when they won’t treat you like one,” Killian scowled and then seemed to realize that it wasn’t gentlemanly behavior.  He smiled at her, wide and fake, “I’m your Taler, the year is 1648 and I hope your trip wasn’t terribly awful.”

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2

***The request didn’t specify what the relationship between the reader and Juice was but being that it’s implied Juice doesn’t live there, I made them close friends with many some feelings involved. It’s really up to you.***

‼️Warning for: violence, death‼️

“How many pillows you want? I got two on the bed in there but I have some more if you want them.”

“No that’s good.”

You nodded and shook out the sheet you grasped in your hands before handing it over to him.

“Here’s a regular sheet. In case you get hot.”

Juice took the sheet from your hand and leaned forward to kiss your cheek softly.

“Thanks babe.”

“For the sheet or for letting you spend the night at my place on such short notice?”

He gave a goofy grin and pulled away.

“For helping me out whenever I need it and putting up with me.”

You rolled your eyes but nodded your head none the less.

“Anytime Juice. Get some sleep.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Walking away, you headed off towards your room while Juice walked into the guest room, closing the door behind him. You did the same and went into your room, stripping your clothes and throwing on an oversized shirt. Grabbing your comb, you began to run it through your hair, closing your eyes and sighing contentedly as the bristles gently ran over your scalp. Distantly you could hear the sound of something clattering to the ground. You continued to comb through your hair, knowing that Juice was a klutz. He’d probably just dropped something in the room as he was getting in the bed. The remote probably. You paused though as you heard something fall again, though this time it was louder and sounded as though it was coming from the living room.

With a chuckle, you put the brush down and walked towards your door, opening it and stepping out into the hallway. Looking down, you saw Juice standing at the doorway to the spare bedroom, shirtless and looking in the direction of the kitchen as well.

“What did you break now Ortiz?”

“Shhh!”

He looked over at you quickly, placing a finger to his lips. Your jovial smile fell and you looked over at the kitchen again, his body language very rigid and alert. He softly took a couple steps towards you, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I think someone’s in the house. I heard someone talking. Stay in your room and Lock the door. Call the guys and let them know.”

“Juice what if they-”

“Now!”

His voice was still quiet but harsh now, not wanting to risk you getting hurt. He’d parked his bike on the garage tonight instead of leaving it out in the driveway and no doubt whoever was in the house had seen that as a sign that the coast was clear to break in. As far as they knew, you were in here home alone. They probably figured between them that they could easily overpower you and the thought had Juice’s blood boiling.

“Go. Stay in the room and don’t come out until I call you.”

You nodded reluctantly and began to step backwards, your eyes going wide though as you saw a shadow pass in fronts here the hallways ended. A figure appeared and there was a couple seconds of silence, everyone frozen in place before Juice sprung into action. He lifted up his gun and pointed it at the intruder, the man doing the same, just a second too late. A deafening shot rang out and the figure dropped, falling to the floor with a thud. You stepped forward and pressed a soft hand to Juice’s back. He pulled one arm back and pushed it behind him, wrapping around your waist and keeping you both pressed against him and behind him.

He walked forward slowly, weapon still drawn and aimed, waiting for the second man to show. And show he did, jumping into the hallway and throwing himself towards Juice. With the same arm that was holding you before, he shoved you away roughly, getting you away from the two of them as he and the man began to scuffle, punches being thrown from both sides. Juice seemed to have the upper hand in the fight and to even the playing field, the man withdrew a knife from his boot. The metal glimmered in the slight moonlight coming from the windows and you hurriedly rushed backwards away from them two and into your room, dumping the contents of your purse all over the bed and grabbing your weapon as it toppled out. You could hear the two of them grunting as they fought, followed by the sound of something slamming Into the hallway wall, the walls rattling from the sharp impact. After that, the sounds diminished and everything went silent.

Your heart dropped down into your stomach, praying that Juice was ok. Gun drawn, you slowly walked towards the bedroom door again, cautiously inching your way to get out, not wanting to compromise yourself if Juice was hurt and the man was waiting for you to come back out. As you neared the doorway, your could hear the soft scuffing of shoes on your tiles and you furrowed your brow, trying to figure out what that noise was. With a swallow around a dry throat, your boldly stepped forward and out of the room, immediately facing the hallways and pointing your weapon, ready to fire. You slowly lowered it though as you took in the scene in front of you.

Both Juice and the man were lying on the floor, Juice behind him. The man’s boots squeaked and squealed as they scraped against the floor, Juice’s arm wrapped tightly around his neck. The man struggled and sputtered as he was chocked, your eyes wide as you looked on. Juices brow was split and bleeding but overall he was in good shape. The man’s face however was not, swollen and bleeding, and the hole busted into your wall told you that Juice no doubt made it with his head.

Juice grunted and got your attention, motioning with his head for you to move.

“Don’t look. Go back to the room and call the guys now. Go.”

You nodded and hurried back to the room, grabbing your phone and ringing the clubhouse. Tig answered, his voice cheery.

“Hey doll. What’s up?”

You gave him a quick run down, telling him what had happened and that Juice wanted them to come to the house. He assured you that he was on his way and you hung up with a thank you, turning around just in time to see Juice walk into the room. You quickly walked over to him and threw your arms around him, holding him to you tightly, his arms holding you just as close.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

You reached up to touch his eye but he grabbed into your hand before you could, holding it.

“I’m fine Y/N. I’m good.”

You nodded and glanced over out the door and into the hallway, Juice reading your mind.

“They’re done. Just stay in here. I don’t want you to see that shit. Stay in here until the guys get everything settled. We can sleep at the clubhouse. Start packing a bag.”

You nodded and he leaned forward, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing your forehead softly.

“You’re ok. Everything’s ok. I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.”

You nodded in his grip and blew out a shaky breath, resting your head against his chest for a moment.

“Yeah thankfully you were here. Imagine if you weren’t.”

“But I was. I was and you’re safe. That’s all that matters. I’m never gonna let someone hurt you. Never.”

He gripped you tighter as he finished the sentence and you smiled softly despite the circumstances.

“Well thank you. I’ll hold you to that.”

The both of you shared a quick laugh and he pulled away, walking towards the door and beginning to close the door behind him.

“Pack for a couple of days. I’ll be out here.”

With a bashful smile and a nod, you began to throw some clothes into a bag as he left the room.

Thank god for sleep overs.

Before The Maze - Smut

Originally posted by space-ing-out

Author: @dumbass-stilinski and @writing-obrien
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Thomas/Reader
Words: 4,429
AN: Another collab from me and Chloe! If you like it and you want to see more let us know, we have an idea for a potential sequel. (Also this was my first Thomas fic like what was I waiting for?!)

PART TWO


“A-Two! Step Away from B-Fourteen! Perimeters A-Two.” A voice shouted loudly over the intercom, all eyes snapping up to us, smirks on a few of their faces and some giving a judging glare. My head dropped with a sigh and I stepped away, hands raised in the air and I looked up at the camera with a pointed look.

“Yeah, Tommy, perimeters from the girlies.” A British voice teased and I rolled my eyes.

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Private (M)

It began with a creek of a door, a loud gasp and it’s over in seconds. A glimpse of something private, something that should have remained unknown to your eyes and suddenly the boy you had believed was innocent had become a man practically reeking of testosterone. He was no longer a young teen with a boyish smile, he was a man that demanded all attention and deserved to be admired.

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

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