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pinkteapotwriting · 3 years

Note

Sub James and sub reader with dom Sirium and dom Remus.

The doms are out and come home to see James and reader fucking without them!

Two subs together and then a punishment from the two doms!

Also. Love your writing.

This is my first ever request!

Marauders x fem!reader

Yes this is everything thank you so much for this request. I’m honored to fulfill your first one you absolute doll <3

Warning : Smut minors dni, sub!reader, sub!james, slight pet play, degradation and spanking

Word count : 2088

---

James’s cock was throbbing, completely pulsating with desire and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it off his mind. He couldn’t get off at all actually, at least not without permission. Remus and Sirius ran a tight ship, and he knew he’d have to wait until they got home. But they were going to be much longer, and even if he could wait, they’d probably tease him for hours being in this state, just laugh at him while he begged. No. He needed his desire satiated right now. He wandered down the hall to find the shared bedroom to search for you, who had also been left behind while Remus and Sirius were off doing god knows what.

He peered in to find you reading a book on the large king size bed. Looking oh so inviting in Sirius’s t-shirt paired with your shortest sleeping shorts. He watched as you chewed on the end of your thumb absentmindedly, wishing your lips would be doing something else. He crawled up on the bed beside you and spooned in behind as close as he could get. You wiggled back into him to get comfy, and acknowledge him at the same time. But to your great surprise he whined softly behind you. You closed your book and turned so you were chest to chest, creating more torturous friction for your bespeckled boy.

“Jamie what’s wrong?”

He just whined again and instead of explaining himself he rolled over you, resituating it so he was on top of you between your legs rubbing against you, while kissing your neck. You just giggled, despite the instant feeling of pleasure of him rubbing against your clothed clit.

“Okay okay, I think I get it now, but we can’t. Remmy and Siri didn’t give us permission and they’ll get mad.”

You were much better at following the rules, but it was easy for James to get you into trouble. Tears, literal tears were forming in his eyes as he continued to grind into you, burying his face in your chest.

“Please, please y/n need it so bad. Need you so bad. It hurts, I know they could get mad but I can’t wait any longer it hurts. Please.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rubbed his hair soothingly.

“Okay Jamie, it’s okay. We have to be quick though so they don’t find out, alright? Come on baby lie down for me and let me help.”

He was relieved as he flopped on his back, hopefully Sirius and Remus would be gone away long enough.

---

“Y/N? James, we’re home!”

Remus was shedding his coat, eager to find you two so he could get some relaxation.

“Puppy? Prongs? Come on, we brought you something.”

Sirius’s eyes furrowed in confusion. Normally you two would rush down to meet them, this was odd.

“Come on Pads, maybe they’re just napping and can’t hear us.”

As they got closer and closer to the bedroom the answer became much more clear. They paused outside the door and shared a look, both expressions reflecting the features of anger, of dissatisfaction. Between the sound of the creaking bed, your whines were barely audible, while James sounded like he was getting the fucking of his life. And when they opened the door that’s exactly what they found.

Both of you being completely naked, James was over top of you missionary style, resting on his forearms, biting your shoulder, pounding into you like he’d never get to make you feel good again. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, hands in his hair, gripping it like gravity would stop working, pulling you away into the room’s atmosphere of desire and elation.

That atmosphere however, quickly turned into a different one, of tension, nervousness and guilt, when you both heard Sirius clear his throat. You both scrambled and pushed away from each other, but the damage was done. You two were in for it now. The worst part was Remus’s neutral face, his cold eyes. Sirius was the first to break the silence.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

You were sitting up now, but James was lying face down, hiding his shame against your thighs. You tried to coax him out, scratched lightly at his scalp, knowing if he kept this up he’d make the punishment worse.

“It’s alright Jamie, why don’t you just show them.”

He lifted himself and moved to the edge of the bed, now displaying his aching cock, with an angry red tip that was dripping precum as you all spoke. It was clear he hadn’t come yet, but was very very close. He swallowed thick as Remus knelt before him, terrified at what was about to come. Remus’s pointer finger drew a feather light straight line against James’s swollen member. James couldn’t take the dreadful silence anymore.

“Moony I’m sorry, it’s my fault. It hurt so much so I made Y/N feel bad so she could make it go away. I was desperate, just wanted it to go away, I’m sorry.”

Remus smiled a little before rising to his full height. If James was blubbering now, this was going to be a long night.

“James, we both know you’re not supposed to touch things that aren’t yours, right?”

“Right.”

“See, that’s the thing. You were being greedy and selfish. Touching what didn’t belong to you. Touching me and Sirius’s puppy. Such a needy slut, couldn’t even wait and when Pads and I were only out to bring you and Y/N a present.”

James looked at Sirius (who had his arms crossed and jaw clenched) then back up at Remus.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, but you will be.”

You were playing with your fingers nervously, mentally preparing yourself for your punishment as Sirius approached you. Your jaw was placed between Sirius’s thumb and fingers, pulling you closer to his lips, but instead he moved past your face to your ear.

“You’re supposed to be a good puppy, for me and Remus’s pleasure. Not for your own and certainly not for James. That clear pup?”

You nodded as much as his fierce grip would allow.

“Good, now lie down on Jamsie’s lap.”

As soon as he released you, you quickly did as you were told, shaking with anticipation as both Remus and Sirius undressed completely. You could feel James’s cock throb against you, it being pressed upright between your hip and his stomach.

Sirius joined you so he was beside James, your head close to his lap. While Remus was on the opposite side rubbing and kneading your ass.

“You’re gonna suck my cock bubs, while Remmy spanks your ass okay?”

You stuck out your tongue and opened your mouth wide for him so he could angle himself and slip past your lips.

“Moony how many swats?”

“15, only cause I wanna see her squirm while your dick is in her mouth.”

“Okay bubs, 15 hits and you’re done. 15 swats and you get to be our good puppy again. James you count. This alright love?”

You bobbed down on his dick in response.

“There’s the good girl we trained so well.”

Smack. “O-one.” “Two.”

At first it seemed like you were the only one being punished, but at closer inspection one could tell that with every jolt you made, James was right there with you. Because every movement reminded him of how over sensitive he was as your hip brushed against his length.

Smack “T-te”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re so pathetic, Y/N is being such a good girl for us and you can’t even handle her being spanked. If Y/N wasn’t being so obedient I’d make you restart. We’re at ten.”

You just hummed around Sirius as the rest of your punishment ensued, feeling like you got off pretty easy. Not that you would tell them that. James on the other hand, well, poor James. He looked at you longingly, wanting it to be his throat that Sirius was cumming down. Sirius held your cheek in his palm so he could soothe it with his thumb before running it along your bottom lip.

“Such a good pup sucking my cock so well. Need you to do something else yeah.”

You just looked up at him and nodded, peering up at him with your doe eyes. He groaned at the look of innocence you could portray so easily before taking your hand and turning you towards Remus. He pulled you in for a kiss, holding you tight as you melted into him. You were immediately interrupted by James’s needy whines, so reluctantly, Remus pulled away.

“You’re eager to be punished now, are you James? Alright then, move to the middle of the bed and lie on your back, now.”

As he did what he was told Remus guided you to straddle his waist.

“Okay Puppy you can sit on his cock, but no moving understand?”

“Yes Remmy.”

James through his head back in frustration as you sank down on him.

“Please, please I’ve learned my lesson please.”

You stayed rooted, not exactly eager to piss off your boys again, while Remus stood off to the side of the bed with his hand guiding Sirius up and down on his cock, staring with nothing but malcontent. James cried some more, tears rolling down his cheeks, heavier than before.

“Please it hurts please!”

Your eyebrows knit together in pity. You did everything you could to soothe him but it was no use. You would stroke his face, pepper kisses across his face, rub his chest, but the only thing you could to solve the problem was the one thing you weren’t allowed to do.

“It’s alright Jamie, it’ll be okay.”

You took a deep breath, risking punishment again as your heart broke wiping away his tears.

“Remmy, Siri, please let him cum. He didn’t mean to, it was hurting him please. He knows he’s yours he’s learned his lesson. Isn’t that right Jamie?”

Remus gripped Sirius’s hair tighter, fucking his throat with vigor as he got closer to gis own release.

“Alright pup you know what to do.” You started moving up and down on him as he thrust up desperately into you. “Tell me James, who do you belong to?”

“Y-you Moony. You and padfoot.”

“Good boy, you can cum now come on, do it with me.”

Sirius’s mouth and your pussy were painted white simultaneously not much later. James’s face finally relaxed, thrilled he finally was relieved of the torturous tension. That was until Sirius cut in.

“Puppy, Remus didn’t say you could stop did he? Keep going.”

Sirius moved to hold down James’s chest as he writhed underneath you

“Pads no it’s too much, it’s too much.”

“Y/N was so nice to beg to let you cum and now you won’t return the favor? You really are a selfish whore.”

Remus approached James from the other side and slipped his middle and pointer finger past his lips.

“There, that’ll shut him up. Keep going bubs you’re doing so good.”

With his other hand he reached to thumb your clit, letting out the prettiest noise Sirius and Remus had ever heard.

“It’s okay Jamie, m’close, so close. Can I cum. Please?”

Remus circled his thumb faster.

“Go ahead darling make a mess.”

You really didn’t understand how James had waited so long. It didn’t matter anymore though as you pulled out and collapsed against his chest. But Sirius was pulling you off of James completely while Remus soothed James.

“It’s alright Prongs, you can be our good boy again. Here, let’s show you what we bought.”

You and James sat against the headboard as Remus and Sirius each handed you a little box. When you opened them you found two matching delicate chains, the kind with a horizontal rectangle in the middle. But the best part was seeing the engraved initials S.B. and R.L. on the pendant.

“It’s so pretty can you put it on for me Siri?”

Sirius grinned at your excitement while clipping the necklace in the back, while Remus did the same for James. Sirius was kissing up and down the side of your neck, wanting to provide extra proof of who you belonged to while Remus fondled the pendant on James, appreciating the color choice against his flushed skin.

“There we go, now it’ll be a lot harder to forget who you belong to now huh.”

And you would never want to.

---

@sunny-bunnny @quindolyn @weasleyposts @accioweaslcy

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter smut #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders smut #smut #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #harry potter smut #fanfiction smut

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secret-engima · 4 years

Note

*raises hand and waves it madly* I WANNA HEAR BOUT THE OG NOCTIS TIME TRAVEL VERSE!!! You've got /seven chapters/ completed already?! Can we get snips of them, pretty pretty pretty please?

SNIPS!!!! Gladly. :D Have a sneak peak at some of the time-travelers waking up in the past rather- abruptly. >:DD

...

He pulled instinctively on air even though he knew nothing would happen —the Crystal was gone and magic no longer existed— and was astonished when he felt a familiar dagger hilt materialize in his left palm. What in the name of the Astrals? That … should not have worked. It hadn’t worked for the past two weeks, so why was he able to call one of his lost daggers now when all of the weapons he had sheathed on his body —and his original clothes too— were missing?

He was beginning to think that he was missing a very large and very important chunk of time in his memories. Though why an enemy would change him into silk pajamas —he was surprised silk even existed anymore, it was so fragile and easily degraded— was beyond his understanding at the moment.

Ignis managed to find his way to the door, nearly stumbling several times as he misjudged his legs’ capabilities and overbalanced, which almost caused him to knock into the other obstructions in the room —a chair with a fully functional cushion, a low coffee table, and the edge of a carpet—. Silently cursing his loss of soundless movement —or competent, well-balanced movement at all— he managed to locate the doorknob and test it.

It was locked, but only by a simple doorknob latch, which he promptly turned. Testing the knob again to confirm it was now unlocked, Ignis listened hard for sounds of anyone nearby and —after determining that his section of whatever-this-building-was was otherwise unoccupied— he yanked open the door.

He promptly screamed in shock and fell back, hyperventilating in renewed panic as he scrambled to make sense of the sudden, agonizing assault to his senses. His eyelids screwed shut and his right arm flew up to cover the lids, granting merciful darkness that was only interrupted by dancing, flickering spots of color that he knew weren’t real. It was only after he had realized what he had just thought that he stopped breathing entirely and went deathly still.

There had been something other than darkness. Something noticeably different from the darkness that had been his companion and enemy and ally all at once for ten years.

He lowered his arm and cautiously slitted his eyelids. He swallowed back another cry and slammed them shut again when he was assaulted a second time by the brilliant light spilling in from the doorway. His breathing had restarted, but he had to struggle to keep it even marginally steady as realization and disbelief warred in his mind.

Light. The pain had come from his eyes —eyes that shouldn’t feel anything anymore, hadn’t for years because the nerves were too damaged— because of too bright a light. Even pointing his face directly at the sunrise with his glasses off did not garner that kind of reaction. Nothing did. Except now.

Ignis attempted to open his eyes for a third time and managed to keep them open again despite the stabbing pain it caused in the back of his head. He stumbled out into the light, eyes flicking back and forth as he tried and failed to process the fact that there were now colors to the shapes he sensed in front and around him. There were shadows and contrast and detailed shapes and pinpoint locations despite the fact that he hadn’t touched anything other than the wall —the only thing keeping him upright now— and- and-

By the Astrals he could see.

...

Pain in his entire body, but mostly in his left shoulder and arm. It throbbed and pulsed and in general felt like a voretooth pack had just used him as a chew toy. It was bad, but not as bad as before, when the fire of those ancient smug sons of- —no, better not finish that thought, they might be listening in somehow and decide to finish cooking him for his impudence— had burned up his arm and body and-

Wait a second.

Someone was grabbing him, shaking his shoulder —not the broken one thankfully, but it still hurt like blazes— and shouting at him from far away. Concussed then. Really concussed. I should probably stay awake then. Except he couldn’t stay awake because he was dead, wasn’t he?

He had to be. He remembered dying. So why-?

He cracked open his eyes and stared dazedly at the figures crowding around him, shouting and shaking and gesturing at each other in clear confusion and concern. He recognized most of the faces as people who were dead too. Which meant he was dead, but for some reason arriving in the afterlife felt like being run over by a behemoth or falling from several stories up after a failed warp.

Not fair. He groused mentally. He’d had enough concussions and broken bones and throbbing body-sized bruises in life thank-you-very-much, he really didn’t think he deserved them in death. Especially after how he’d died. Someone slapped his cheek and he hazily opened his eyes again —when had he closed them?— and tried to focus on the face of his best friend directly above him. He felt a swoop of dread upon seeing that face, because that particular friend wasn’t supposed to be dead, he had an important mission to complete and couldn’t afford to be dead.

He was fairly certain he must have whined something along those lines through clenched teeth, because the face above his turned incredulous, then absolutely terrified. He wanted to protest that the expression on his friend’s face really wasn’t helping his case, but then blackness encroached his vision and he realized that passing out from pain was apparently a thing in the afterlife as much as normal life.

His final thought was that if this was the afterlife, he would like a refund to go be a disembodied ghost instead please. You couldn’t hurt if you didn’t have a body, right?

Though, knowing his luck, ghosts probably had perpetual motion sickness from floating all the time. Which would explain the moaning…

Then blackness finally won out over the frantic yelling and painful shaking of his shoulders and cut off his thoughts before they could get any more nonsensical.

... (and another snip of Nyx and the holy puppy for good measure XD)

“Who is Pryna anyway?”

“She should still be at your location, she is the one who gave you the letter.”

“Sorry, Princess, but I found the letter wrapped up in a silk bracelet tied to a puppy’s leg.”

“I know, the puppy of which you speak is Pryna.”

Nyx looked incredulously at the white pup he had been absently petting, “You’re joking.”

“I am not. Pryna may look and act like a dog, but she is actually a Messenger, one of the first with which I ever formed a covenant. She is far more intelligent than she looks, and she is able to discern between those who hold future memories and those who do not.”

Nyx stared down for a long time at the dog he’d just been scratching the ears of. The dog —Messenger? Pryna?— looked back up at him and barked softly, “A Messenger.”

“Yes.”

“A magical being sent specifically to bear messages from the Astrals themselves to humans.”

“That is one of a Messenger’s primary duties, yes. Though Pryna and her brother Umbra are of a … lower rank, I suppose you could say, of Messenger. That is why her form is animal rather than human. As such, her duties are not so much to bear messages from the Astrals as is it is to aid me in my duties as I require. That includes delivering important messages to other humans when I cannot contact them via conventional means. Her magic is how she found you.”

Nyx very carefully closed his eyes, counted to ten, opened them and took a quick swallow from his shot glass, “You had a magical being break into my apartment to give me a letter. In the form of a puppy.”

“Did she? My apologies. Messengers sometimes have trouble recalling the rules of human privacy when they are given a task, and Pryna is very young by their standards.”

Nyx debated asking what the age standards of Messengers were, then decided that he was better off not knowing, “I pet her.”

The princess sounded amused, “That is alright. She has the form of a dog, that includes several of their instincts and the things they find pleasurable. You may continue to pet her if you wish, she will not mind.”

Nyx held a staring contest with the magical dog that had broken into his apartment before he sighed and resumed scratching her ears.

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Everything Ends (Begins Again) verse

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1dffexchange · 5 years

Photo

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

To: E @unofficialxstyles

From: Leigh @thatoddpanda

Summary: There will come a day when Alena will know his name, but for the meantime, he'll be that Cute Guy Who Lives In 4D, and she'll be the girl from 4B.

An AU about neighbours, meddlesome roommates, dogs as the best wingmen, and things sent to the wrong person.

Author’s Note: My deepest apologies for taking so long. E, I hope you enjoy this!

Janelle and Tilly are totally gonna pay for this.

The girls will regret leaving her alone this early in the morning – on a weekend, no less – and Alena will make sure of it. Tilly’s going to be sorry for not coming home last night and Janelle’s going to wish she didn’t wake Alena up at the crack of dawn with a rushed “Brett surprised me with a romantic getaway in Cornwall please take Chowder out on a walk thank you love you bye!” as a seemingly appropriate explanation.

Hell will be unleashed on Earth.

At least, that’s how Alena puts it as she chases after the ball of fluff at the other end of the leash. It’s unfair, really, that she’s the one running along the cobblestoned streets of Oxford before the sun is fully out when she should still be in bed right now. This is Janelle’s job. It’s her puppy, for crying out loud. What was the purpose of drafting up a contract – courtesy of none other than Janelle Prescott herself – outlining their responsibilities over Chowder when they’re all just going to leave her high and dry?

She’s being dramatic, of course, but that’s just Alena before nine in the morning. Snarky and grouchy with a penchant for conjuring up empty threats directed at her flatmates.

Alena wants to cry by the third time Chowder manages to escape her hold. She loves the dog with all her heart – really, she does. Arguably legions more than Janelle does. But God it’s six in the morning and she’s running on two hours of sleep and Chowder’s way too energetic for this time of day. It’s impossible for her to keep up at this state. Alena just isn’t made for mornings. She knew it then when she was a naïve first-year signing up for 7 AM classes, and she knows it now when she pretends she doesn’t hear nice old Mr Lindbergh’s cheerful greeting as she passes by his bakeshop.

She feels a bit guilty about that right away, so she promises to herself that she’ll buy an extra bag of pastries from him the next time she pops in for a cuppa.

When they finally make it back to their building, Alena lets go of the leash for good. She has one hand on her waist while the other grips the neckline of her shirt in a shoddy attempt to fan herself. Chowder is now sitting on his hind legs. He stares at her, bearlike features shining with innocence as if he didn’t just make her go after him for five bloody kilometres. At this point, it’s hard to discern whether it’s sweat or tears that are running down Alena’s skin. Either way, she can’t bring herself to hate Chowder when he looks that bloody endearing. A possible demon clothed in thick brown fur, yet still endearing all the same.

There’s a ding at the other end of the lobby just as Alena wipes the dirt off her face rather ungracefully. Very quickly does she pull her thin grey shirt back down. A bloke steps out of the lift, yawning as he rubs his eyes from beneath his glasses. She recognizes him quickly – the short, seemingly soft brown hair and the scruff that perpetually lines his jaw something that Alena has grown accustomed to seeing nearly every other day.

It’s because of the run, is what she can say on the off chance that someone wonders why her cheeks are tinted pink. It’s really due to the cute guy that lives across the corridor making his way to the letterboxes lining the wall, but he doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t even know her name, to begin with.

Nor does she know his, but it’s a work in progress.

Saturdays have always been mail days for Alena. The same goes for him, she thinks, considering that the two of them have seemingly developed an unspoken routine of running into each other in the lobby at the end of the week to check for any post or package. It has never happened this early, but it’s a surprise that she certainly doesn’t mind

Nameless Neighbour from 4D presses his forehead against the cool metal doors. He stays like that for a few minutes – unmoving, not bothering to check their mailbox like he’s supposed to. She’s half-certain that he has fallen asleep standing upright.

Rooted in her spot, Alena doesn’t realise that she’s been staring at her neighbour until she feels Chowder’s fur tickling the exposed skin of her leg. Her eyes widen, and just when she thinks the redness of her cheeks has subsided, it comes back in a rush with the recognition that the sun’s just rising and she’s already acting like a total creep.

She certainly isn’t admiring the way his white henley is stretching across his back. That she swears on Chowder’s life.

After a deep breath and a quick check of her reflection through her phone’s screen, Alena fishes her keys out of the pocket of her running shorts. Chowder is roaming around the lobby as she walks up next to the boy and she lets the dog be — because, really, what sort of trouble can a four-month-old pup cause that’s worse than the hellish morning she’s just been through?

It takes another lungful of air for Alena to compose herself, to play it cool as she slips her key inside the hole of their own mailbox, to make sure her tone will not waver when she speaks, “You’re here early.”

The close proximity of the sound disorients him if the way his shoulders jump is anything to go by. He says “Huh?” to the wall when he lifts his head, a faint indent lining his skin where the steel hinge of one of the doors pressed against it. His eyes blink in rapid succession before it dawns on him that the person who just spoke is standing to his left.

“Oh, hey,” he smiles softly. Alena supposes he was only half asleep since he is able to answer, “Yeah, uh… my flatmate’s been looking forward to this package all week.” He proceeds to open the metal flap of their own box. “You?”

“Well—”

Chowder answers that one for her by nuzzling against his leg. There’s a brief second of surprise before 4D is bending down with a grin to scratch between the dog’s ears. It seems to excite Chowder so much that he takes to licking the guy’s face. Though he doesn’t seem to mind the pup’s antics — what with the corner of his eyes crinkling in pure delight despite having half his face smothered with saliva — Alena still takes caution.

“Chowder, behave.”

The smile doesn’t leave his face when he puts enough distance between him and Chowder. After he wipes his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt, he tilts his head up, chuckling, “Chowder? Chowder the chowchow?” And before she can defend her choice of name, he continues, “That’s genius. Personally, I would go for Chow mein but that’s only because I love myself some Chinese food.” He gets up after one last rub, pulling the hem of his shirt down in the process. “He’s adorable. How long have you had him?”

“He’s actually my roommate’s. Been with us for like, three months.”

He nods, acknowledging, and their conversation hits a lull as they both tend to their mail. 4B’s box is unusually full today. Beneath the stack of envelopes is a brown parcel, slim enough to be pulled out with ease yet big enough that it takes up half the space. It’s the first thing she grabs, a gasp promptly tumbling out of her lips at the sight of the student radio’s logo marking the middle of the wrapping paper. ‘Congratulations!’ emblazon the bottom right corner in block letters.

“Anything interesting?” he prompts, locking up with their own mail on hand.

She holds up the package, beaming. “I won a contest!”

He draws in a sharp breath that makes her smile falter and hang awkwardly. “Err, sorry to break it to you but… unless you’re named Harry Styles then I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

When he’s met with furrowed brows, he points at the back of the rectangular box. She flips it over, frowning when she sees a name on it that is indeed not hers. Her shoulders slump. A signed copy of WKW: The Cinema of Wong Kar Wai is in her fingertips, hiding underneath the wrap amongst other freebies, and it will not find a home in her bookcase. It will be in the possession of some Harry Styles, who — now that she thinks about it — has a name so ridiculous he probably doesn’t even exist in the first place.

Alena takes the rest of their mail then shuts the flap close. There’s a trace of disappointment in her tone when she voices her thoughts out loud, “Don’t think I can swing by their office to give it back right away though.”

“You don’t have to do that. I live with Harry.” Oh, she thinks, He’s real? How unfortunate. “Reckon that’s the package he’s been waiting for too.”

“Well…” her eyes flicker down to the parcel. “Okay then.”

Alena hands the prize to him so quickly as if it burns to the touch. She knows that if she holds onto it for a little while longer, it’ll be harder for her to part with it. She takes Chowder in her arms, which the puppy takes as an opening to lick the phantom frown off her face. They both head to the lift, and with her hands full, she thanks him when he presses the button to their floor.

It isn’t until the doors have closed and they have reached the upper level when he speaks again, “What’s in this anyway?”

“A book about Wong Kar Wai’s films.” She cuddles Chowder closer to her chest. “It’s signed by him too.”

“Never heard of him,” he admits, a pensive look crossing his features. “Don’t think Harry has, either. Dunno what he’d want with this.”

“There’s some other stuff in it too, but I’m not sure what. Didn’t pay attention, really. I was just after the book.”

He hums in response. A brief bout of silence falls over them as they continue the rest of their ascent. It’s a quick ride up, the doors parting on the fourth floor with no other pitstop. They make their way out and come to a halt at the corridor where their flats meet halfway.

Still-Unnamed-Bloke from 4D (she really should ask him what it is) turns and dips his head down to get to Chowder. “Be a good boy, yeah?” he says, running his fingers through his fur one last time before looking back up at Alena.

All too quickly, she’s hyper-aware of the current state of her appearance. Stray strands have escaped the tight ponytail holding her long black locks together. Baby hairs stick out in every which way possible. Her shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of her skin where stretch marks line her hip. Her lips are pale, poised in a tight, awkward smile. In her arms is a high-spirited dog still trying to paw at her neighbour.

She’s seen better days.

“So, uh…” he sticks his thumb out to point at the cherry wood behind him.

“Yeah,” she chuckles lightly and nods.

Alena pivots on the heels of her red trainers and takes the two steps to get home. Chowder runs free once the flat is unlocked. Her hand is on the bronze knob when she tilts her head up and sees that he still hasn’t moved an inch in the hallway. He’s got one arm crossing over his chest as he scratches the back of his neck.

The smile on his face is immediate when he notices her looking back at him.

“Uh… yeah,” he breathes, finally dropping his arm back to his side. “See you around, 4B.”

His back is on her before she can respond — if she can even do so in the first place — and then he’s disappearing into the comfort of his own flat. All she faces now is the bronze 4D engraved on a metal plate contrasting the dark wood. It isn’t until barking sounds echo in her living room that Alena finally shuts their door close.

She crouches down, taking Chowder’s fluffy face into her hands, before stealing a scratch between his ears. “We are not telling Tilly and Jan about this, alright?”

She takes the fat stripe of saliva across her cheek as a yes.

///

It’s futile to even attempt going back to bed — Alena realises that after tossing and turning for a considerable amount of time, only to find out that sleep doesn’t have its arms wide open for her anymore. It takes about a good hour or so ‘til she finally gives up, jumping in the shower before getting a headstart on her still-life portfolio.

Not that it’s due anytime soon, but preparedness is key for a professor like the great Sinead O’Malley.

She has done about fifteen shots of an empty drinking glass on the countertop, trying to get the composition just right, when Tilly does up the final steps to her walk of shame. Or perhaps it’s a stride of pride, depending on how good the bloke did her last night.

“Aren’t I such a wonderful roommate?” Tilly lilts, waltzing into the kitchen with a paper bag in hand. It’s as if she’s floating on air, and yep, it definitely is a stride of pride.

Alena doesn’t miss a beat. “Nope.” She clicks the shutter and it turns out like all the previous ones — lacklustre, mediocre. “I had to take Chowder out today.”

Said puppy is currently dozing off peacefully on the couch. That could’ve been me, Alena muses.

“Where’s Janelle?” The ringlets of Tilly’s fiery red hair come loose as she takes a container out of the bag.

“In Pornwall.”

Tilly snickers. “I like that. I’m stealing that one.” She picks up another box and holds it out to Alena like a present of some sort.

It’s a slow reveal as Tilly sings— rather, tries to carry out a high note (it’s more of a shrill, really) while opening the lid. Not that it actually would’ve held up under normal circumstances, but Alena’s carefully crafted plan of vengeance is but a mere afterthought at the sight of her favourite mouthwatering stack of coconut pancakes from the cafe along St Michael’s Street.

“Now, am I a good roommate or not?”

“The absolute best!” squeals Alena. She places her camera down on the table and replaces it with Tilly’s peace offering.

They both take their places on the stools and begin digging into their own breakfasts. In the midst of the silence, Alena takes note of the unusual glow of Tilly’s pale skin. It does a wonderful job making the lovebites on her neck stand out. She doesn’t miss the way Tilly is swaying her head along to some beat that only she knows of.

It’s when Tilly’s phone chimes and a shy smile worms its way onto her lips that curiosity gets the better of Alena. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

Tilly tries to keep her glee at bay by keeping her spoon in her mouth, but it is to no avail. “Well… let’s just say Louis Tomlinson’s definitely going to get a phone call one of these days.”

“Tallulah,” she says loftily, cocking an eyebrow paired with a smirk. “Is this commitment I hear?”

“Oh relax. It’s just shagging, not bloody marriage.” Tilly sets her spoon down on the box. “Besides, he’s a fun guy. I wouldn’t mind if this becomes a thing.”

A gasp is the most Tilly can handle hearing from Alena right now, so she reaches for the stack of mail sitting on the corner of the island to save herself from any further inquisition.

“What do we have here?” Tilly thumbs through each envelope, all the while mumbling, “Liam Payne… Liam Payne… Liam James Payne… Are you sure you didn’t get the neighbour’s mail? Liam Payne… Oh!” She takes a red one out of the pile. “This one’s for Jan.”

“Liam Payne is like,” Alena wipes the sugar off her lips with a napkin, “the captain of the footie team now, right?”

Tilly hums her assent as she continues to segregate the mail.

“And he lives across the hall, yeah?”

Once again, Tilly hums. There’s a whopping total of two envelopes addressed to their flat when she’s done sorting. Though there’s still a third of the pancakes left on the plate, Alena reaches for the taller stack as she gets off her chair.

“I should probably get these to him then. Might be important.”

“They’re just fan mail.”

“Still,” she insists.

Tilly doesn’t really care enough to protest, so Alena gets to exit their flat and head on over to 4D without another word. The door opens to a bloke with buzzcut hair, black sweatpants hanging off his hips and a grey shirt brandishing the uni’s logo across his torso. Alena doesn’t live under a rock. She knows who Liam Payne is; everyone does. Smart, gorgeous, athletic Liam Payne who never stops raving about saving the environment. Alena in her first year would’ve been thrilled to be standing on his doorstep. Third-year Alena? Not nearly as much, apparently.

“Hey!” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to take a peek inside the flat over Liam’s shoulder. Not that she could, either way, as he’s got a good few inches on her. “Liam, right?”

“Yes!” he smiles warmly. “What can I do for you, love?”

She hands over the envelopes to him. “These got sent to ours.”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.” His lips curl to a slight frown for a moment before they spring back up. “Thanks for bringing them around though.”

“Sure thing!” she beams, a bit too enthusiastic even by her standards.

There’s a beat of silence that passes between them before Liam decides to break it first. “Well, do you want to pop in? I’ve made some Greek chickpeas on toast for breakfast. Good for the health and is delicious too.”

Alena contemplates on the offer for a bit. While it makes for a wonderfully sound excuse for her to finally know Glasses Guy from 4D’s name, there lies the possibility of her coming off a bit stalker-ish. The chance encounter just hours ago has already filled in her quota. Besides, there’s still a bit of pancake across the hall that has her name written all over it. No toast can beat that, no matter how tasty Liam claims it to be.

So, she says, “Ah, I’ve already eaten,” a half lie, “but thanks for the offer though.”

“Alright. Well, thank you…” he trails off, and it takes a second and a half for her to realize that he’s waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Alena.”

“Right. Thanks, Alena.”

“You’re welcome, Liam.” She gives him a brief nod and a smile before flitting back to her flat.

Liam closes the door behind him and heads back to the kitchen where he and his flatmates — or rather, one current and one former flatmate — are having breakfast. He drops the mail onto the rest of the pile Niall had gotten earlier and takes his place on the seat next to Zayn.

Niall pushes his glasses up his nose. His mouth is full of chickpeas when he asks, “Who was that?”

“The neighbour,” Liam responds nonchalantly.

To downplay his curiosity, Niall takes a moment to gulp down the last of his food before continuing, “From 4B?”

“Mhmm.”

And, before Niall could further ask which one of the girls from across the hall brought it in, Zayn speaks, “Did you seriously have your fan mail sent to a different address?”

“They don’t want it sent to Merton anymore!” defends Liam.

“That doesn’t mean you should address it to your bloody neighbour,” chides Niall, “Great. First, there’s Harry’s prize from Oxide, now it’s your fan mail.” He circles the breakfast bar and stops next to Zayn. “By the way, you might want to leave early. Harry’s gonna be—”

“Too late!” They hear him before they see him, but in a matter of seconds, Harry is striding into the kitchen with his nose upturned. “Good morning Liam. Good morning Niall.”

The absence of Zayn’s greeting rings clear, so Niall tunes out the inevitable bickering between the two by going through the mail. There’s an odd one out, a square envelope that isn’t Liam’s fanmail nor a monthly bill. A careful, golden flourish of a name that’s foreign to him sits on the cream paper.

“Does anyone know an A-lee-na Diane Mercado?” He holds it up for the rest of the lads to see.

“Oh, no no no,” Zayn says quickly, turning to Niall to weasel himself out of Harry’s cold glare. “It’s A-leh-na. Not A-lee-na. She hates it when people pronounce her name wrong.”

“Who’s Alena?” asks Harry, pronouncing it correctly at the first try. He’s looking at Niall instead of Zayn even though the latter has a higher probability of answering that question.

It’s Liam who responds instead. “The girl from 4B.” When Harry just blinks at him, he continues, “You know, black hair, a wee bit short—”

“The cute one with the pretty brown eyes, yep. Got it,” mutters Niall when the recognition hits him right in the face.

The rest of the boys hear him loud and clear though, which is why Zayn attempts to retrace Niall’s words.

“I’m sorry, cute one?”

“With the pretty brown eyes?” adds Harry, a mischievous glint sparkling in his own eyes.

“Is our little Nialler crushing on someone?” Zayn probes further.

“Not just someone, our neighbour!” Harry eggs on, eyebrows wiggling. His shoulders are shimmying too, but Harry has never been known for his coordination so his timing looks a little bit — no, extremely — off.

“I’ve got it.” Zayn snaps his fingers. “We can call you Niallena!”

“Or,” Harry sing-songs, “Aleniall!”

“Yes, yes, Aleniall does sound better.” Zayn shifts on his seat and looks up at Niall. “Say, mate, how pretty are her brown eyes?”

“Are they prettier than me?” Harry leans on the counter, propping his chin on his intertwined hands as he bats his eyelashes meticulously. Niall grabs the dirtiest dish towel within his reach and chucks it at his roommate. To his dismay, Harry catches it in the nick of time and slings it over his shoulder.

God, Niall wants to buy a one-way ticket back to Ireland and bury himself in the soils of his homeland. Maybe he could go somewhere farther, somewhere warmer — like Ecuador, maybe — so that his corpse will decompose faster. If this is what Zayn and Harry are like in the midst of a cold war, he doesn’t even want to imagine what it’d be like once one of them waves the white flag and decide to team up.

“Sod off, will ya?” Niall turns to Zayn with his brows furrowed. “How do you even know her in the first place?”

“She’s in Fine Arts too. Absolutely wicked with a brush, that lass.”

“Ohhh.” That makes sense, he supposes, especially when he thinks back to the day she moved in and he caught a glimpse of an easel being hauled inside their flat. “You friends with her then?”

“Yeah, I guess. I was the one who told her that the redhead in 4B was looking for roommates. Worked out well then, eh?” Zayn smiles wickedly.

“Hold on,” Liam chimes in with a contemplative look on his face, “Is she the reason why you’ve been getting the mail? ‘Cos I’ve lived with you for three years now mate and you’ve never done that once before.”

“I’m just being a good roommate!”

His friends know him all too well, so clearly, no one buys his thinly-veiled excuse. He can feel the heat rising up his cheeks, and such is the curse of the Irish because now they’re snickering at how red his face has become. It’s an admission in plain sight, there’s no need for him to spell it out loud.

“God, you lot are the worst,” huffs Niall.

Harry drapes an arm around his shoulder, looking down on the envelope in between his fingers. “Well, go on then Postman Pat. You’ve got one last mail to deliver.”

With both hands now resting on Niall’s shoulders, Harry starts pushing him out of the kitchen and lets go only when Niall is standing in the corridor. Harry leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Defeated, Niall heaves out a sigh. He looks between 4B’s door and the letter, and then he turns his head back to Harry who’s got an expectant look on his face.

The internal battle wagers on until Niall eventually decides to head back inside. He grabs a sticky note and a pen from Liam’s room, as it is the one closest to the front door. Big chunky letters saying ‘It got mixed in our mail :)’ are scrawled on the Post-It and attached on the envelope. Niall comes back out and sticks it on the door with a strip of masking tape. He knocks twice before dragging Harry back with him inside and shuts the door close behind them.

Harry takes the towel off his shoulder and hits the back of Niall’s head with it. “What the hell was that?”

Niall grumbles and shoves Harry off him. “Enjoy your vegan breakfast.”

It might not be much, but Niall will take the look of disgust on Harry’s face as a bout of victory.

///

It could be a splash of ice-cold water or someone farting right in your face. Maybe the sound of a jackhammer working on the street or the news of a loved one taking their last breath. There are worse ways to be woken up, but that doesn’t mean Alena appreciates having the fire alarm be the first thing she hears in the morning.

Strike one was last Sunday, and— well, okay, maybe she needed that or else she would’ve been late to brunch with her sister. The second: two days ago, with only one hour of sleep after a late-night shoot. Janelle had choice words with Liam to make sure it won’t happen again; a barking Chowder and a grumpy, sleepless Alena are just too much to deal with in the morning.

It’s Thursday, the sun is barely out, and it’s happening again.

Alena jumps out of bed with an agenda. She tears off a page from a random notebook, scribbling on it furiously with thick strokes underlining particular phrases. Her flatmates practically cheer when she marches across the hallway. Three knocks and a note taped to the door after and Alena buries herself back underneath her covers.

Inside 4D, Niall exits his bedroom when the alarm goes off, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. “Harold! What the bloody hell are you on again?”

“How is the water burning? How?!” Harry screams. Chestnut curls sit wildly atop his head, eyes blown wide in sheer panic. Niall would laugh at how ridiculous his flatmate is looking right now had the bloke not been a constant pain in his ass for the entire week.

“Jesus,” he mutters. He grabs a towel, dampening it before pushing Harry out of the way to stop the fire. He doesn’t even want to think about it. Doesn’t want to know how one of Oxford Law’s most brilliant minds can be such an absolute buffoon in the kitchen.

Harry just stands there, helpless, as Niall cleans up after him. “This wouldn’t happen if Zayn still lived here.”

“This wouldn’t happen if you stayed out of the damn kitchen,” snaps Niall.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Ni! Liam’s diet is going to kill me!”

“Not if you burn the flat down first!”

Harry loses the opportunity to defend himself as the sound of loud knocks fills the room and Niall is already marching to the front door. Niall’s befuddled by the sight of an empty hallway, but before he could chalk it up to one of the little kids in the building pulling a prank, he catches a glimpse of a sheet of paper contrasting the tan floors of the flat.

Niall doesn’t know what to expect from it, but he supposes a complaint from one of their neighbours is well-deserved (and honestly long overdue) at this point.

Dear 4D,

Please stop tripping the fire alarm at six in the bloody morning. Some of us need sleep. This is the third time you’ve woken me up. Show some mercy.

Also please tell Liam Payne that we have his fanmail. Again!!! If he doesn’t win the game next week we’re telling his fangirls his REAL address.

Sincerely, 4B

PS: DO NOT INTERACT UNTIL AFTER 9AM!!!

PPS: have you guys been feeding our dog?

Niall’s trying his hardest not to castrate Harry when he looks up from the note with an early morning fury that only he can possess. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“How was I supposed to know that water burns?” Harry yells back, and shit, why isn’t Liam here to keep Niall from strangling Harry to his untimely death?

“It doesn’t, you bloody idiot! How did you even get into Oxford?”

Harry gasps, loud and ostentatious that make Niall question if he truly did hit a nerve. He decides he doesn’t care. What he does care about is getting back to sleep, stat, and to amend the bridges that Harry’s (inadvertently) burning down. So he tears off a page from the legal pad on the coffee table, scribbles a heartfelt apology, waits patiently until the clock strikes nine to slip the note under 4B’s door, then bans Harry from even breathing in his direction until he’s resurfaced back from his hard-earned slumber.

///

The Saturday that follows the fire alarm incident isn’t her designated mail day, so it takes a little bit longer for Alena to bump into Liam’s — and Harry’s — Still Nameless Roommate.

Funny how she practically knows everyone who lives in 4D except for the one guy she actually has eyes for. Social media should do the trick. Tilly could drop his name without an afterthought. Heck, she can utilise her acquaintance with one of his former roommates who’s in the same course as her. But a small part of Alena — the one with a voice too loud for anyone’s good — wants it to happen through the old-fashioned way.

She’s also got slippery fingers prone to double taps on Instagram. And Tilly’s the biggest blabbermouth of all of Europe. And Zayn owes her one too many favours that she doesn’t want to cash in yet.

So she doesn’t take the risk.

It finally happens on a Wednesday. Alena wants to take advantage of the fair weather so she exits her flat with a sketchpad and her watercolour kit stashed in her canvas tote. She’s just pressed the down button for the lifts when she hears a voice from behind her.

“Hey!” It’s 4D, waving his hand as he walks swiftly towards her. He’s got a blue polka dot shirt with a pair of black skinny jeans to match. A strap of his backpack rests on his shoulder.

“Hi!” She smiles when he stops next to her.

“No Chowder today?”

“No,” she laughs, hoisting her bag up higher, “He’s with my roommate.”

“Ah, I see.”

The doors finally part and they enter the lift. Already inside is a man in his late thirties who smiles at them in acknowledgement when they nod at him politely.

“Listen,” Friendly Neighbourhood Guy From 4D begins again after they’ve made it two levels down, hand reaching back to scratch his neck, “I really wanna apologize ‘bout the fire alarms last week.”

“Well it hasn’t happened again, so it’s all good,” Alena reassures him with sincerity because apparently, her grudges expire at the 9 o’clock mark.

He sighs, relieved. “Great! That’s— good! Great!” He clears his throat just as they reach the ground floor. They’ve only taken a few steps into the lobby when he sticks his hand out to her. “I’m Niall, by the way.”

Niall.

Niall Niall Niall.

Not 4D, not Glasses Guy, not That Nerd Who Lives With Liam as Janelle once said. Just Niall.

Alena tries to contain her glee, so the rest of the world will have to pretend not to notice that she’s lighting up at the mere discovery of the guy’s name. “Alena!” She accepts his hand and shakes it briefly before pulling back.

“So, erm… d’you go to Oxford too?” he asks as they exit their building together.

“Yep,” she nods in the midst of pulling down the sleeve of her tawny button-up. “Fine Arts. You?”

“History and Econ,” he answers, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are you off to class then?”

“Not yet. I’m gonna hang around at the Grove to work on a project.”

Niall stuffs a hand in his pocket. “Oh, well… is it alright if I walk with you? I’m meeting a few mates at Magdalen so I’m going the same way.”

“I don’t mind.”

It takes fifteen minutes to get to The Grove on foot, during which Niall and Alena fill the silence with mindless chatter. He tries to apologise two more times for Harry’s Kitchen Disasters and she brushes him off both instances with light chuckles to show that she really has gotten over it. Apparently, Harry is going bonkers over Liam’s vegan diet, and since Zayn has moved out of their flat and Niall is practically dead to the world in the mornings, Harry has decided to take matters into his own hands.

Those fifteen minutes fly by way too quickly for Alena’s liking. It’s just a little after her grand retelling of how Chowder nearly ruined her latest artwork when they eventually bid their farewells. She’s on her phone in a heartbeat, though the autumn leaves sparking her inspiration keeps her from fully paying attention to the message she’s typing.

omgggg ate i finally know his name

It’s supposed to be sent to Casey. The response should be coming from her older sister, but sticky fingers do not pair well with distraction, so of course, Alena finds herself texting a different thread instead.

Tilly Who?

Alena wants the ground to swallow her whole. Uproot her entire life and create a new identity for herself. Maybe move back in with her parents, even though they live 6,000 miles away and are basking in all the sun Pampanga can offer. All ideas seem more appealing than her flatmate knowing she’s been harbouring a crush on their neighbour for a while now.

Janelle OOOOOOOOOOH! Is this the nerd boy?

Tilly Nerd boy??

Janelle Brett says hi, btw.

HI BRETT 👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼

Tilly Bye brett Dont change the subject Whos nerd boy

jan is chowder wit u? give him kisses for me! xxxx

Tilly hellooooooooo

Janelle Will do 😘🤗 Brett wants to know too.

Tilly WHO IS NERD BOY I want to know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Janelle She’s gonna know eventually Lens.

Tilly WHOOOOOOOO whoooo

oh my gosh FINE its the bloke in 4d

Tilly Oh shit NIALL? YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON NIALL

thats how u spell it? and what makes u think its him 🤨

Tilly

Because everyone knows who liam is And zayn doesnt live there anymore And harry doesnt look like a nerd DEDUCTION, BITCH!! omyGOD

Janelle

See? I told you he looks like a nerd!

stopppp dont be mean ☹ tilly please dont tell anyone about this PLEASE

Tilly I WONT! 🤐🤐 Im just gonna lock you out tonight

um where do u expect me to sleep then

Tilly

sleep with him 😉😏😉😏 🍆✊🏼💦💦💦

TALLULAH

///

As it turns out, Harry Styles is an actual name of an actual, living and breathing human being who really does live across the corridor. Alena confirms this at a party that Janelle’s coursemates are throwing, and Brett walks over to a bloke and screams “Styles!” as he claps said guy’s back. Harry turns around and Alena gets a good view of him — the same set of rowdy curls and the slightly slouching stature that she’s seen more frequently ever since she started hanging out with Niall.

The party is a bit too posh than what Alena is used to, but nothing short of what she expects from Law students. Oddly enough, she ends up chatting the night away with Harry, who admits feels a slightly out of place even though these are the same people whom he goes to classes with. His number makes its way to her phone when the night draws to a close, paired with a promise to ring him should she need his assistance.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever have to.

She’s certain she won’t find a use for it.

Except she’s now lost track of time and it’s nearing midnight and it just so happens to be pouring buckets on the very same day she’s without an umbrella. She’s the only one left in the studio, Ruskin is still a long way away from home, her flatmates aren’t picking up, and she only realises just then that she doesn’t have Niall’s number.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and today, desperation is synonymous to shooting Harry Styles an SOS.

HARRY! Its alena from 4b Sooooo sorry i know its late but can i ask u for a favor?

Had Alena been in the comforts of her own flat, she would’ve heard the way Niall calls for Harry — fuming, brows set in an alarming dip as he shows the texts to his roommate. She also would’ve assumed that the lads have given a home to a hyena with the way Harry flat-out cackles at the fruits of his hard labour. But she isn’t, so all she’s left with is a text message that comes in a few minutes later.

sorry love its niall . harry mustve given out th wrong number Everything alrite tho ? maybe i can help

Stuck in the rain and none of my roomies are picking up :( Was gonna ask if u could check if theyre still alive

theyre not home . chowders staying with us for 2night where r u ? i can pick youu up

Alena stares at her screen for a moment. Contemplates and weighs the pros and cons. She’s beyond exhausted and all she wants is to cuddle with Chowder. On the other hand, she doesn’t want to be a bother. She looks frantic, hair a wild mess atop her head, cheeks splattered with purple and gold paint, skirt askew her hips that the zip that’s supposed to be lining her leg now runs along her backside.

When she yawns, she decides that sleep trumps everything else. Inconvenience and unsightliness be damned.

Ruskin

Alright . be there in 20 x

Niall shows up in less with a grey Skoda that she knows belongs to Harry. He jumps out, opens an umbrella for her, and she voices out her gratitude as she straps herself in. She gets comfortable as Niall rounds the car and gets inside the driver’s seat.

“Why’re you out so late?” he asks as he starts the car.

“Been working on a project and lost track of time.”

He alternates his gaze between her and the road. “What’s it about?”

“It’s supposed to be about magic but… I don’t know…” she sighs, hugging her overflowing tote closer to her chest, “It’s not coming out like how I envisioned it to be.”

Niall frowns briefly before the corners of his lips tug up to a soft, sincere smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

The lampposts that they pass by illuminate Niall in warm, methodical flickers. He looks calm and soft, like a favourite pillow that brings comfort as the moon shines and makes it hard to get out of bed when the rain falls. And as the wheels graze the asphalt that will take them home, Niall distracting her with mindless chit-chat about this new diet that Liam’s trying (and consequently bringing Harry closer to his grave), Alena has a good feeling that she will do just that.

///

“Just ask her out, mate.” Liam’s chin digs into Niall’s shoulder with every syllable he speaks.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees through a mouthful of dumplings. The Notebook playing on the telly has his full attention, which is how he ends up dropping another xiaolongbao back on his plate. That and his fingers appear to be sworn enemies with the chopsticks he’s gripping.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Niall assesses in the midst of pushing Liam’s face away.

“I’m just saying!” Liam grins, leaning back with his arms propping him up. “She’s nice, she’s pretty—”

“She willingly hangs out with you,” adds Harry. He seems to have given up on the chopsticks. “That’s a very rare trait.”

“Fuck off,” Niall huffs.

He takes to staring at his notes on world economy to fend off his flatmates. Except none of the words makes any semblance of sense to him because now it seems his brain has taken up residence in the room across the hall. A whole month has passed since he finally struck up the courage to introduce himself to the girl from 4B — Alena — and it feels like the stars and the planets have all aligned in his favour.

And Niall doesn’t even believe in all that cosmic mumbo jumbo.

“C’mon,” says Liam, “You haven’t been out on a date in years.”

Niall shoots him a pointed glare. “Years? You were there when Lisa broke up with me. That was six months ago.”

“That’s six months too long.” Harry pops the last dumpling in his mouth and places his plate on the coffee table next to Niall’s books.

Liam seems really keen on this whole idea so he continues, “Just give it a shot, Ni. What have you got to lose?”

Everything? Niall presumes. A friend. A perfectly wonderful neighbour who once split a sandwich with him simply because she’s really proud of how the melted cheese turned out. Someone to pick up at Ruskin because of a shoot that ran until the skies are tinted pitch black. The bi-weekly mail runs that he’s come to enjoy. Maybe even Chowder, and Christ, Niall really has gotten attached to that growing furball.

Even though Harry’s eyes are practically glued to the telly, he still puts in his two cents. “Go for it. Maybe she can draw you like one of her French girls or summat.”

“Jesus,” Niall grumbles. “That’s it, I’m out.”

He gathers up a few things — his laptop and its charger, a legal pad that most definitely belongs to Harry, an Econ book that’s seen better days, and a green highlighter that’s about to put itself out of commission — then heads out of the flat. It’s only when he’s shut the front door that he realises he has nowhere to go to. It’s late. He’s not really in the mood to trek all the way to the library. No coffee shop within a three-minute radius is open. His room isn’t even remotely an option. The bed is far too inviting and he won’t get an ounce of work done.

The hallway is the only way.

It isn’t so bad. No flatmate to bother his peace nor depict him as a modern-day Rose. He can still access their wi-fi from where he’s sitting. The floor’s a bit colder, but he can manage. In the thirty minutes he’s been outside, only the couple who lives in 4F has passed by; drunk off their arses but not enough to disturb Niall (or at least, sober enough to navigate around the makeshift blockade he’s created).

He’s completely in the zone he doesn’t notice the door in front of him open.

“What’re you doing out here?”

Niall lifts his head up, mouth slightly ajar, though it takes a little longer for him to take his eyes off the screen. “Hey,” he smiles at Alena, who’s holding a garbage bag as she looks at him with furrowed brows. “Liam and Harry are being… well, Liam and Harry.”

Alena gives him a sympathetic smile. “Lemme just throw this out and you can study at mine.”

“You sure?”

She now has her back to him as she heads to the chute at the end of the corridor. “Yep. We’re all staying up late anyway. You just have to be really quiet though. We don’t like noise.”

“That I can do.” He picks up his stuff once more, though he only has his laptop and charger in his arms now as Alena is quick to grab the rest.

“Remember, absolutely no noise.”

Niall runs his thumb and forefinger across his lips to mimic a zip then holds his hand up in a silent vow. Chowder is bounding over to them the second the door opens, wide-eyed and tongue out. He only manages to say “Hey bo—” before the girls shush him right away.

Right. Total, absolute, complete silence.

The rich scent of coffee takes over his senses. Tilly has her readings spread out on the coffee table while Janelle has set up shop on the couch. In front of the crackling fire are sheets of paper and some paint brushes, along with a couple of mugs with murky brown water. He situates himself near Alena’s spot, more out of fear of encroaching her flatmates’ space than anything.

He settles in quite nicely. It’s serene. The heat from the fireplace is a welcome change. Every once in a while, one of the girls would ball up a piece of paper and throw it at anyone who’s on the verge of falling asleep. Chowder would pad over to Niall to trick him into giving some belly rubs.

Niall falls for it every single time.

It’s only when he’s going over his notes when a distraction comes in the form of a small scrap of paper that Alena slides over.

Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea? It says, in the same hurried script as the noise complaint they got last month.

Niall tears a portion off his pad and uses his highlighter to jot down his response before handing it to Alena. She smiles at him before getting up, returning a few minutes later to hand him a steaming cup of coffee. His name is on it, scribbled on a bright pink sticky note with a smiley face at the bottom. He chances a look at all the other cups on the floor. They’re all labelled accordingly — ‘DO NOT DRINK’ and ‘coffee paint’ and ‘SAFE to drink’ in different colours of Post-Its.

He wonders how many mishaps there have been in the past, drinking from the wrong cup and ingesting paint water instead, for her to take such precautionary steps.

Alena goes back to work right away. Try as he might, but Niall couldn’t. It’s the occasional glances, watching as she purses her lips to the side. Tendrils escape the ponytail that holds her hair up. Her shirt, white and splattered with paint both old and new, hangs loosely around her frame. The light of the fireplace casts a warm glow on her skin, one side illuminated better than the other. He gets lost in her concentration; mesmerized with the way her tongue darts out just the tiniest bit as she tends to the details of her painting.

He takes it all in — the way her eyes sparkle in the firelight, narrowing as she assesses her work; her back slumping forward to a degree that is probably not good for her spine; the crease between her brows, the left one dipping more than the right; how her gaze shifts back and forth between two sheets as if she’s torn as to which one of her self-portraits showcased her skills better — the one that captures her in the midst of a laugh or the other that has her all stoic and collected.

Niall is so caught up in his daze that he doesn’t see Janelle crumpling up a sheet of paper.

Shit.

He’s nowhere near dozing off and yet here he is, getting hit square in the cheek for being too distracted.

From where he’s sitting on the floor, Niall looks up at Janelle with an unimpressed glare. She returns it with a smirk before diving back into her case studies. It’s the push he needs to finally mind his business and type up the damn conclusion for his paper. He doesn’t check the time once he wraps up the essay, but it’s only him and Janelle that appear to be the last two men standing.

One sticky note on top of a painting, a hushed farewell, and Niall takes his leave.

When Alena wakes up, it’s with a soft, shy smile at the sight of Niall’s chunky handwriting. She ends up choosing the one swirling in different hues of brown that depicts her with a grin as bright as the soft morning light.

///

Take one glance at Alena and you’ll see a woman who has the whole world at her fingertips. Loose tendrils that frame her face are curled to perfection. The rest of her hair, parted at the middle, is pulled back to a sleek bun. Janelle has done a wonderful job on her makeup for the night, cheekbones accentuated and plump lips looking even pinker. She’s in a pristine white dress and nude heels to match.

She’s in her element by the looks of it — surrounded by art that’s brought to life by her own fingertips (well, hers and a few of her other coursemates). Wide smiles tug at her lips as she welcomes the exhibit’s guests. Anyone would think she’s having the time of her life, and for the most part, she is. Though there’s still this tiny squeak inside her that doubts the quality of her work, it’s easily quelled by the positive remarks she’s being showered in all night.

And had she been eagle-eyed, she would’ve noticed the way Niall’s jaw drops at every artwork that has her name attached to it.

When Alena finally catches a breather, she spots Niall in front of one of Zayn’s paintings. She excuses herself from her sister and a few of her professors to go up to him. She reaches Niall at the same time as Harry, though the latter takes one look at the caption before he’s scoffing and moving onto the next work.

“What’s the deal with those two?” she says to Niall, thumb directed to where Harry is slinking off to.

Niall pauses from reading the description to turn to Alena. “Who, Zed and Haz?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you lot used to live together?”

He nods. “Would you believe me if I said they were the best of mates?” Her eyes widen, and he chuckles in turn. “Proper inseparable those two. Had this whole plan to live our final year to the wildest of their abilities. Except Zed moved out to live with his girlfriend and now, well… you know. Harry’s just being stroppy but he’ll get over it. Anyway,” he breathes, lips curling upwards, “I should offer my congratulations, star of the night.”

“Not even remotely true!” Alena defends, although the rosy glow of her cheeks isn’t simply because of the makeup now. She holds back her grin, points her head to the side and says, ”Care for a tour?”

With a nod, Niall takes her up on the offer. It’s quite a task, he realises as they roam around the gallery, deciding which one to focus on — the artworks or Alena’s animated commentary. She’s all smiles talking about her peers’ art yet gets more timid and reserved when discussing her own. There’s no suppressing her vibrant glow, however, and Niall simply gives up on everything else to let himself get caught in her light.

He takes it all in, from how her lips twitch to keep herself from grinning to how she twiddles her fingers when someone compliments her on her works. Freckles dot the expanse of her cheeks, like constellations that could no longer be contained by the universe that lies within her eyes. He just wants to stare and stare and stare, marvel at the art among the art, and he probably would have had Alena not been dragged away by a few of her colleagues at some point in the night.

It takes a while, but Niall eventually finds his way back to Harry, who’s now sipping on a flute of champagne as he stands in front of one of the artworks. He’s got a pensive look on his face; shoulders square, brows drawn together, and nose slightly upturned. Niall’s lived with the bloke long enough to recognise the show he’s putting on from a mile away.

“Say, Haz,” Niall begins, saving him from dragging out his pretence, “D’you still have that book you won from Oxide?”

“The one about the director? Yeah, why?”

“I’ll take it.”

Harry turns to him, curious, but he doesn’t press on any further. “Yeah, okay.”

///

There are things that Alena has grown accustomed to as of the late, such as Chowder waking her up with slobbering kisses whenever she falls asleep on the sofa, and catching Louis Tomlinson tiptoeing out of Tilly’s bedroom every Saturday morning.

Today is no different, and though these weekly rendezvous have never been a well-kept secret within 4B, Alena indulges Louis in his sneaky exits and lets him slink away in peace.

That is until Alena realises that today might be slightly different after all when she hears a familiar voice as Louis opens the front door.

“Tommo?”

Louis stiffens and grips the doorknob tightly. “Nialler?”

From the living room, Alena halts from sorting her hair out to look back and forth between the two blokes. “You know each other?”

“Erm, yeah,” responds Niall. Despite the glasses, his eyes squint, mind going a mile a minute to discern whether or not his vision is playing tricks on him. A flustered Louis and a dishevelled Alena; put two and two together and Niall comes up with: “Are you two…”

“What? No!” Louis defends.

And then, Alena groans, “Oh god, no.”

“Oh, okay then,” says Niall, smiling lightly, squared shoulders slowly easing up. “Where’s Chowder?”

“In the—” Louis turns around in time to see the dog by the fireplace, busying himself with an eerily familiar lump of cloth, “Shit, my jumper!”

Unbothered (and confident that Louis can deal with Chowder all on his own), Alena grabs her keys, joins Niall out in the hallway and into the lift.

“Wait, so just to be clear,” Niall begins as they make their descent, “Louis and Tilly?”

Alena schools her expression to remain neutral. Except she has never been blessed with acting chops to begin with, so the slight curl of her lips gives her away even though she claims, “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“So that’s a yes then,” he grins. “By the way, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye last night. Harry, uh…” he rubs at his nose, looking at all the metal confining them before settling with: “He was feeling poorly.”

“Oh?” she frowns, “Is he better now?”

“Hm? Oh— yeah, yeah, I think he’s fine. Just needed to sleep it off I guess.”

“That’s good.”

It’s quiet as they fall into the routine of getting their mail. Head in the clouds, Alena doesn’t notice how fidgety Niall is being. Had it been any other day, she would’ve picked up on the little glances he’s been throwing at her, the way he presses his lips when she takes out a brown parcel from the mailbox, or how he pulls his hood over his head and draws the strings together when they make their way back up.

Except she’s still reeling from last night’s festivities that Niall fades away in the background for the time being.

“Earth to Alena?” Niall snaps his fingers then waves a hand in front of her face, “Helloooo.”

“Oh, sorry.” She bites her lips and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Do you wanna come in for a bit? Chowder misses you.”

His hand comes up and it disappears underneath his hood as he smiles apologetically. “Maybe later? I gotta check up on Harry.”

“Alright.”

They slowly step backwards, eyes not leaving each other even if their backs have hit the doors to their rooms. It feels almost juvenile, the way they trade shy smiles and mumbled goodbyes. Alena wonders as she enters her flat if there’s ever an end to her schoolgirl crush.

There probably isn’t.

“There’s toast for breakfast.”

Alena looks at the couch and sees Louis with Chowder on his lap. She makes her way over to them, rubbing the dog’s fur before sitting next to him.

“You should try harder than that if you want to woo Tilly.”

“I am not trying to woo Tilly.”

She pats his shoulder as she sits back. “Sure you are.”

Alena ignores his defensive “I’m not!” as she goes through the mail. Only the rectangular package is addressed to her, so she sets the rest of the envelopes down on the coffee table. She tears off the wrapping paper, brows furrowing at the sight of the Wong Kar Wai book that she’s been pining over all those weeks ago. Her curiosity only amplifies when she’s met with a folded piece of paper with her name on it instead of the title page.

Dear Alena,

Please consider this book as a gesture of goodwill. I truly believe that you are its rightful owner. The other book with the prize was about Susan Sontag (did I get it right?). Harry only wanted it to woo a girl. Spoiler alert: he failed. Let me know if you want that one too.

Congratulations on the exhibit, by the way. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the star of the night. You were practically glowing. I didn’t have the chance to tell you this but you really looked beautiful tonight. I think you look pretty all the time, actually. Especially when you smile. And you smiled a lot tonight, so I really liked that.

I hope you’ll let me make you smile all the time.

Sincerely,

That very fit bloke from 4D

(I’m kidding it’s Niall)

PS: We watched In the Mood for Love the other night. I can see why you love his work. Harry probably won’t let me choose for the next movie night but that’s his loss.

PPS: Feel free to set this on fire.

“What are you waiting for?” says a voice that’s distinctly far from Louis’ brash tone. Alena whips her head around and finds Janelle looking over her shoulder, staring at Niall’s letter. Instead of budging when Alena pushes her away, Janelle points to the door and says, “So? You know where to find him, go!”

“Chowder supports you,” adds Louis, holding up the dog next to his cheek as he flaps his paws in the air.

“But I haven’t got an excuse to go over there.”

“You don’t need one. Come on.” Janelle rounds the couch and grabs Alena by the hand.

“But—”

“No but’s!”

In a flash, they’re right outside 4D, Janelle’s knocking on their door, and Harry’s opening it as Janelle goes back to their own flat.

Harry’s lips curl, a sly, knowing smirk, before looking over his shoulder to say, “Niall! Special delivery!” and then he’s pulling Alena inside. He’s practically a blur as he speeds through grabbing Liam’s arm and shoving him inside one of the bedrooms. A blanket of silence befalls as they’re left alone, with her still lingering by the doorway and him in front of the couch with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

“You can talk now!” yells Harry, voice slightly muffled from behind closed doors.

It prompts Niall to shake his head, mutter “Jesus” under his breath, and then he’s ushering Alena back out into the hallway.

“So,” she begins as the door clicks shut, tucking a stray strand behind her ear.

Shyly, he echoes it back. “So…”

“I’m guessing Harry’s feeling better?” she jokes, and he goes along with it with a smile.

“Oh, much. Sleep? Very underrated. Easily one of the best forms of medicine. Highly recommend it. You should try it some time.”

“Hey!” she defends, although the edges of her chapped lips are turning up. “Thanks for the, uh… gift, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” He shoves a hand back in his pocket, rocking back and forth on the heels of his trainers lightly. “So… uh, have you burned it yet?”

“Don’t really want to.”

“Oh?”

Alena nods, and the silence begins to stretch between them once again.

“Just ask her the fuck out already!” It’s Harry, followed by a harsh shushing from Liam. Alena goes pink and Niall’s throwing his head back with a groan.

“For the love of God.” Niall bangs his fist against the door once. “Sorry about that. Fuck.”

“It’s alright.”

He scratches the back of his neck for a bit before running his hand up and down his arm. “Erm, so, uh… there’s this open-air cinema tonight. Do you uh… maybe... wanna go? With me? Like, on a date?”

Alena smiles softly, nodding, and Niall swears he’s forgotten how to breathe. “I would love that.”

“Finally!” It comes from 4B this time, a synchronous yell from Louis, Tilly, and Janelle. Alena wants to die from embarrassment, but at that moment, they couldn’t have been more right.

Finally indeed.

#1dff #exchanges

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marshmallowbirb · 5 years

Text

Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 3

Title: Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 3 - Coal Black Series: Angels of Death Rating: M Summary: Little Red Riding Hood AU. Rachel Gardner wanders the woods alone at night in a red hood, looking for her own death. When she finds it, however, her death has other plans. Pairing: Zack/Ray Spoilers: AU, but probably for the whole game eventually? IDK.

Zack woke the next morning, warm and comfortable. Something was strange. It was usually just a bit chilly when he woke in the mornings, and it was certainly chilly this morning too. But he was underneath a blanket and that was far from the norm.

Without realizing it, his tail began to thump on the soft fabric covering the floor of his cave. Soft fabric? Where had that come from? It wasn't terribly concerning, so Zack made a semi-conscious decision to ignore the oddness. Instead, he tried to go back to sleep. But there was something else stopping him – something that felt very nice.

It was his ears. The fur was being scratched, short nails scraping the skin underneath. The points of his ears flicked, responding instinctively to the stimulus. He whined a bit, realizing vaguely that this was what was causing his tail to thump.

Oh, it was heaven.

He burrowed his face down into something soft to get more of that wonderful scratching on his ears. When it stopped, a small whine escaped his throat and his fingers flexed into that nice, warm pillow. Suddenly, there was a squeal, causing his ears to perk up once again. The pillow began moving underneath his hands and consciousness flooded back into Zack’s mind.

Oh.

Shit, right.

Zack sat bolt upright, banging his head on the top of his little cave. As he gingerly rubbed his head, the curses came spilling out.

“Satan's cock and balls!”

Oh right. That girl was still there. He cracked an eye open to find her sitting beside him, watching him with a sort of detached curiosity. Rubbing his head managed to dispel the ache from the bump, but his pride still ached just a bit. Who just went and petted a grown ass wolf's ears like that? Did she not know those were highly sensitive? She'd also unintentionally pricked at an unpleasant memory that he thought he'd forgotten.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice though.

“Sorry,” Ray apologized, her voice dull.

“Why would you even do that?” he grumbled. “Just for that, I oughta bite you.” She at least had the common sense to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Well, our dog liked getting his ears scratched,” she muttered, a finger next to her lips. That little admission raised his hackles. He didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. Instead, he decided on simply being irritated.

“I'm not a dog, dammit!” It was true, but why did it suddenly feel like a useless declaration? Frustrated, he moved to crawl out of the cave and out of Ray's mound of blankets. “I'm gonna take a bath.”

“Ah!” she called after him, leaving the blankets for a second before shivering and covering back up. “It's still too cold!”

As Zack stretched, he realized that it was indeed still very cool. The sun hadn't even cleared the hills yet and a frosty haze still hung over the forest ground. It was going to be a clear day, but until it was properly light out, it was probably safer for Ray to stay where she was.

“Not for me,” he replied. A grin cracked his face, his earlier consternation fading. What was with this girl? She was cold all the time! Well, whatever. He began walking towards the stream, frosty leaves crunching under his boots.

As he walked, Zack cracked his neck and reflected on his new companion. She didn't seem to smell quite so badly this morning; in fact, she'd absorbed a lot of his smell overnight. Since it wasn't as bad this morning, he might hold off on making her take a bath until it was warmer out. She seemed to get cold so easily anyway. Of course, he could always just wait a few days and she'd probably smell less sick and more like him naturally.

Either way, he was going to get his bath no matter what she did.

Rachel was colder when Zack left, but it wasn't unbearable. She didn't intend to sleep any more that morning anyway. Instead, she took some pieces of salted meat from the barrel and a few bites of spiced apples and made those her breakfast. He'd probably want to leave as soon as he returned, so it was better to eat before then.

It was still cold out, so Rachel kept the blanket wrapped around her, the wolf's warmth evaporating slowly. His scent lingered, though. It wasn't bad, really, and it did remind her of her family's dog. His reaction earlier was a mystery to her, though.

He'd liked having his ears scratched, hadn't he? His tail had thumped and he'd curled against her legs, just like a puppy. It was adorable and Rachel found her cheeks burning just thinking about how soft his ears were. But he'd admonished her once he woke up, so maybe he didn't like it after all? Or maybe he was just embarrassed? Rachel chewed the salted pork and continued thinking about it.

By the time Zack returned, she was up and about, gathering their things and rolling up her bedroll. His hood was down and his hair was still wet and sticking to his head and ears. He'd opened his jacket, presumably to help dry off, so Rachel also had a clear view of his chest and stomach. She had secretly expected his whole body to be furry since his ears and tail were. Instead, he was wrapped neatly in bandages, showing no skin or fur. As he shook the water out of his hair, Rachel cocked her head to the side.

“Are you injured?” she asked, slightly concerned. If he had injuries that massive, he might die before he could kill her. Something about that struck her as sad and unacceptable.

“Huh?” came the startled response. “What, the bandages? Old wounds.” His voice sounded nonchalant but Rachel noted how quickly he closed his jacket back over the bandages. If he didn't want to talk about it, she couldn't make him, though. She decided to drop the subject.

“Do you want breakfast before we set out?” She had set him aside some meat, along with some pickles; he probably couldn't live on meat alone either.

“What's that?” he asked, nose crinkling, pointing at the pickles.

“Pickled cucumbers.”

“Nah,” he dismissed them, “They smell like death.” He did take the meat, though. Rachel watched him scarf it down, quietly happy that she had been of some use. After a moment, she turned back to her bedroll and continued rolling it up.

Not a few moments later, Zack joined her in gathering their things. He lashed the meat barrels together with the bedroll. Rachel thought the whole contraption looked terribly cumbersome, but he lifted it with ease. He only stooped a bit as he loaded himself down; after he'd taken a second to adjust the weight of the pack, he was nearly walking just as normal.

“C'mon, let's get outta here,” Zack grumbled. Rachel retrieved her basket, latched her cloak, and followed him closely.

Surprisingly, the two made decent time.

Zack only knew he had to head “south" to find his old friend. Well, “acquaintance" would be the better way to describe him. The older wolf had taken him into his monastery when he was younger; Zack had chafed at the rules and restrictions that accompanied the place and had caused more trouble than he was probably worth. In response, he'd been politely dismissed. The brothers at the monastery pointed him towards the northern forests and sent him merrily on his way.

He had no intention of joining them or being subservient to them now. But the Father there was a decent sort and he figured if anyone would know the way to an unoccupied territory, it would be him.

Regardless of all that, he had to find the monastery before he could solicit their help. This was where Ray was proving her usefulness. Although the daylight hours were much shorter than in the summer, she was adept at finding their way with the aid of the sun and moon. For as long as he'd lived on his own, patrolling those woods and the surrounding mountainsides, Zack had never really noticed much about those sorts of things. Sure, he knew the sun tended to come up in the same place for most of the year, and the moon varied by time of month. But it had never occurred to him to learn in which direction those things happened.

Ray, on the other hand, seemed to be able to use that information to point them vaguely southward. Or she could have been leading them in exactly the wrong direction, Zack would never know the difference either way. But she had been honest so far, so it was worth trusting her.

In the blink of an eye, a week passed.

It was largely uneventful. They traveled by day, keeping off the main road unless the forest wasn’t passable. Ray had protested at first, worried that the forest was harder to traverse, but Zack was adamant: other humans would pose a problem, and neither of them wanted to be separated from the other.

That was provided they even saw any. The town Ray had left was deserted and they hadn't seen any travelers. Zack hadn't even been able to pick up their scent. In fact, Ray was the first human he'd scented in weeks when he came across her. That sickness he'd seen in her town really seemed to have culled the whole lot of them. It really was a miracle she was even still walking.

That also proved to be a bit of a problem, though. Zack was used to walking, running, and trekking through wooded areas; he'd been doing it since he was a little pup, after all. But it rapidly became obvious that Ray wasn't used to it. Maybe it was because she was recovering from that illness or maybe it was because she wasn't used to travel. Either way, she carried a sickliness and thinness about her that annoyed Zack.

It also made her slow sometimes, and Zack really couldn't tolerate that.

The first day or two, he'd stopped so she could take breaks. But that only made him frustrated and restless. The compromise they'd worked out was for Zack to simply carry Ray under his arm like a log. He was certain he looked a fool, stomping through half-frozen forests with a limp girl under one arm and two barrels strapped to his back with a blanket. His back was strong enough to carry it all, but he wasn't sure his pride was.

She never wound up taking a bath, either. It wasn't like she smelled bad; she was about average for a human, as far as Zack knew. It just became less irritating as the sickness worked itself out of her.

Aside from her weakness, though, she did seem to be recovering. He even gave her extra meat, all the while admonishing her to hurry up and heal, hurry up and keep up with him, hurry up and stop making him worry. Even as he scolded her that he wouldn't wait on her much longer, that was exactly what he found himself doing.

The worst parts for Ray seemed to be at night. The cold didn't bother Zack much; it was just a natural part of living in the woods. If it was cold enough to snow, he'd just curl into a ball and sleep until it was warm enough to move around. Not Ray, though.

She couldn't sleep in the cold, not even with that huge blanket of hers. Every night without fail, she'd curl under it and shiver until he crawled in with her. She never asked or complained, which Zack supposed was tolerable. But he couldn't sleep if he knew she was just going to be awake all night anyway. As soon as he pulled her tight to his chest, she'd fall asleep.

He would have been lying if he said it wasn't awkward to wake up holding a woman. The last female he'd been around for any length of time was the bitch that had given birth to him, and none of the males he'd been near had gotten that close to him. Most of his victims had been male humans, as well; the females didn't seem to get out into his woods quite as much, although their meat seemed just a bit more tender. In fact, before the man had gone into his cabin and expired, Zack had had his eye on the village doctor. That man was always going through his woods, narrowly escaping him every time.

He was fine when he was walking with her during the day. It was during those small spaces of time that Ray was asleep and Zack was not that his mind started doing weird things. Usually at night, he was too tired to do much thinking before falling asleep. But in the mornings when he woke, if she wasn't already awake, that was when the trouble came.

Sometimes he'd wake sweating because he'd dream of people he'd known – mostly the two humans who'd taken him in after that bitch had abandoned him. Ray's lingering human smell must have triggered their memory. The couple of times he'd dreamed of them, he'd spent the entire rest of those days reticent and unwilling to even speak to Ray. She must have been worried, but Zack tried not to think too much about it. It was for her own good.

Those were the days he wanted to eat her most.

It wasn't just because she was unintentionally pricking at something that rekindled his spark of hatred for humans. Those were the first humans he ever ate, and salted pork was a poor substitute. Waking up with her scent right under his nose made him miss it. But there was something else too.

That ugly human woman who'd adopted him had petted his ears, too. That was probably what made the connection in his mind. It wasn't fair to Ray, of course, and Zack knew it. Still, he couldn't help what he dreamed.

The other weird thing that tended to happen in the mornings was much more foreign to Zack. He could explain why he'd wake up hungry from her scent. What he couldn't explain was the weird feeling he'd get some other mornings when his sleep had been dreamless. He'd wake with Ray cradled in his arms, her head on his chest, little hands near her face, maybe her leg crossing his at the ankle – and with his dick uncomfortably at least half-hard between them.

Sure, that had happened a couple of times before he met her, especially first thing in the morning. But with someone else there, especially a human girl, it would just make things awkward. He had no intention of mating with a human like some deviant, and he wasn't even sure if she would know what that was anyway. Just the thought of it was something repulsive on its face, but… was Ray really like other humans? That was the thought that nagged at him and was also possibly the source of his weird feelings. Even so, the situation also made him feel an uncomfortable combination of embarrassment, shame, and frustration. So it was always a weird struggle on those mornings to sneak out of the blankets without waking her so he could take care of it with some cold water without her knowing.

The days they traveled together were far less eventful, though. They chatted a little on the days he hadn't had nightmares, and Zack found it pleasant enough. The girl rarely smiled and never laughed, which had the strange effect of being calming and irritating at the same time. Calming because nothing made Zack want to hunt a human more than seeing them stupidly happy; with Ray, that was never really a problem. It was irritating, though, because of the lack of stimulation. Most of the time, she was just there.

He didn't want to just travel with a small shadow.

But that was mainly how it went. Making time by day and resting by night. Most nights there was only the shelter of the trees, although one night they had found another small cave in which to sleep. The nights got progressively colder, frosts going from light, sparkly, merry things, to freezing the earth solid. He'd been successful in keeping her from making a fire thus far, but his body warmth wasn't going to be enough for her soon. When the snows came, she was going to need a fire, maybe even one of the abandoned cabins they sometimes passed. Perhaps when that time came, he'd just sleep far enough away that it wouldn’t bother him. But a nagging feeling inside his head told him he probably wouldn't be able to tolerate that.

Human farming was going to be the death of him, Zack just knew it.

It was on the eleventh day of traveling together that the forest began to change around them. It was imperceptible at first: a little bark stripped from a tree here or there, some human trash by the roadside, a depression in the leaf litter, or a few broken branches. Rachel noticed those things but didn't know exactly what to make of them.

Zack seemed tense, though. A bit after lunch, Rachel could sense a shift in his behavior. He could be quiet or moody, but this seemed to be something else entirely. After a couple hours, Rachel finally placed exactly what it was: he was on guard. As they continued south, he only grew more tense.

It was close to sundown when Zack put out a hand and stopped her.

“We need to go around,” he said quietly. “Maybe closer to the main road, o-or on the other side of the river.” Rachel stayed where she was, cocking her head to the side to watch him curiously.

“What's the matter?”

“It's not good,” he growled. He was distracted now. Rachel watched him sniff the air then scan the forest with his eyes, the setting sun reflecting off his pupils. His ears flicked atop his head, clearly trying to pick up any nearby sounds. Rachel certainly couldn't hear any noises as quiet as he could. She also knew his night vision was much better than hers; they might need it soon, it seemed.

A murder of crows erupted from a copse of trees further into the forest, creating a racket that made Rachel jump. They both watched them fly into the sunset, knowing that there was a reason the birds wanted to escape.

“Shit,” Zack breathed, watching them go. “She's already close.” Rachel’s eyes slid to meet his. She could read something very close to panic there.

“She?”

He grit his teeth and seemed hesitant to answer. Finally, after several seconds, he reached over and grabbed Rachel. Tucking her safely under his arm, he began running.

“We're in a bitch's territory,” he huffed as he ran. “I met her once, when I was just markin’ out my area. We gotta --"

Zack was cut off by a long, loud howl. He froze in place, jostling his bedroll pack as he did so. The sound sent a shudder down Rachel's spine as well. It was something she hadn't heard since the night Zack hunted her in the woods. Just as he began to run again, there was a second howl coming from the direction in which they were running.

“What the hell?!” Zack hissed, digging in his heels. “She has a pack now?!” Rachel wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she knew that if Zack was spooked, it had to be bad.

“You don't like her?” Rachel asked. Did wolves have kingdoms and factions like humans?

“Hell, no!” he barked in return, nearly dropping her. “That crazy bitch?! I never wanna see her again, and neither do you.” As soon as he stopped talking, he started running away from the directions of the two howls. When his footsteps began sounding throughout the forest again, Rachel heard something else, too.

It was a woman's maniacal laughter.

Something about it chilled Rachel right to her very toes. She wrapped her arms around Zack as he carried her, shifting her weight to be less like a bale of hay under his arm and more like a baby clinging to its mother's side. She buried her face in his chest and held on for dear life as he picked up speed.

Then, just as suddenly, Rachel felt him stop with a jerk. She managed to hang on tight to him with a squeal, but it was obvious his foot was caught on something. Only a fraction of a second more saw them both tumble to the forest floor. Zack broke her fall, holding tight and making sure she didn't roll away. With a crash, the bedroll pack he'd been carrying dislodged and broke apart on the forest floor; the barrels rolled across the leafy ground while the blanket tangled into a jumbled heap.

Rachel and her basket fared much better, though. When she opened her eyes again, she was laying on top of the wolf, hands clutching his hooded jacket.

“Shit fuck godDAMN!” The expletives poured out in a steady, hushed stream. Even so, Rachel knew something was wrong. She’d seen Zack stumble before; he always got back up afterwards. But this time, he wasn't moving from his spot.

“Zack?” Rachel breathed, pushing off his chest and supporting herself with her arms. His face was contorted in pain, but he still managed to acknowledge her when she called to him.

“I'm stuck,” he growled. Rachel looked down at his legs. One of them was caught in a metal clamp, the kind Rachel knew was used for hunting bears and deer. If her leg had been the one caught in that, she was sure it would've been bitten clean off. Zack's leg was at least somewhat protected by his boot, but Rachel could see that the teeth of the trap were digging into the boot.

Suddenly, the sounds of laughter and stomping were much closer. Rachel pulled at his jacket, trying to brace herself on the ground and pull him away from the trap. She slipped against the cold, wet leaves and couldn't get purchase, but she doubted it would matter anyway; she wasn't strong enough to be able to pull the trap out of where it was staked to the ground. Zack growled in response anyway.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “I can't avoid her now. But you gotta hide.” Rachel could see he was deathly serious. In response, she frantically scanned the woods. Dusk was falling quickly and her vision was nowhere near good enough to outwit a wolf.

“Where?” she asked breathlessly. Zack had sat up by then; with a great deal of effort, he then pushed himself to his feet. As soon as he was standing, he grabbed Rachel's cloak, pulling her to him. Then he hoisted her up by her waist. For just a second, he held her aloft and she went perfectly limp. It was strange, but even though he'd acted suddenly, she knew she could trust him.

Then, unsteadily, he braced himself against the forest floor and sent her flying. The next thing she knew, Rachel was lying draped across a low tree branch, her basket still on her arm. After a moment of shock, she pulled the rest of her body up onto the branch. Once she was better balanced against the trunk of the tree, she turned back to look at Zack. He was trying to yank the bear trap out of where it was bolted to the ground.

“Zack?”

“Just stay up there!” he barked back. “If she sees you, she'll kill you!” Rachel squeezed herself closer to the tree. She wanted to die, certainly, but she had promised her body to Zack for food. Strangely, she wanted to know he'd be okay after she was gone.

“She'll eat me?”

“No, stupid, she'll just kill you!” he huffed, still struggling with the trap. “We're in her territory, you're a strange female, and she's probably in heat! Now shut the hell up!” Admonished, Rachel fell quiet, clinging to the tree and trying her best not to move. The clanging noise of Zack struggling with the steel claw masked the sounds of anyone approaching.

It wasn't long until that was drowned out with the crazed laughter, too. Rachel huddled down against the tree, as still and quiet as she could possibly be. She couldn't see her yet, but she knew the wolf woman was approaching Zack in the dark. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, she could make out her figure.

She was dressed all in black, with a short skirt worn over a tight pair of breeches. Her neckline was low enough that even from her vantage point in the tree, Rachel could see her deep cleavage. And unlike Zack, whose hair, ears, and tail were all black, her ears and short bob were blonde, fading to pink at the tips. Her hair shone with what little light the rising moon gave off, sleek and glossy, as though she had taken great care of it. Worst of all, though, Rachel could see something that looked like a stiff, black stick held between her hands.

With a wicked smile, the wolf bitch regarded her prey. He'd stopped struggling by then and Rachel could hear his low growl.

“Well, well, well! Welcome back, Isaac!”

#satsuten #satsuriku no tenshi #zackray #zackraymonth2018

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naferty · 6 years

Note

So....🎁2/19 is my bday 🎂 and I was wondering if you had any sneak peeks for Finding Pack or Mr and Mrs... Mom & Dad? Or if you'd be able to give a little IronPanther lovin'? I'm still a bit pissed at Steve for the bs he pulled in CW and have been obsessed with IronPanther lately. Anything will be loved though ❤❤

You left me with too much limit and little time so I sort of had to quickly write this out, an Ironpanther with shifter mixed in and some Tony and tiny Peter fluff, and I hope it makes your day brighter. Happy Birthday!

This is part 1 for you! I’ll get you part 2 out the moment I can.

~~~

Tony prowled his territory cautiously. Recently there had been an influx of humans wandering the forest, searching, hunting, and he couldn’t risk getting caught off-guard. Not when many shifters had moved further south, away from the humans residing north.

They were being pushed back. There was no denying it now. Many shifters were losing their homes in a rapid rate and many were leaving even faster.

The safest for shifters were to pack up. A lone shifter was an easy target, but a group had a chance. Tony was not amongst the lucky ones to have a group watch his back, at least not outright. The shifters of the area were canine and many. They had little trouble sticking together. Forming packs and tight bonds that made it harder for humans to target. Their instinctual needs making it easy to fall into roles.

A pack of these canine shifters were kind enough to be acquainted with him. Some might even, dare he say it, call him a friend of the canines. Which was saying a lot, considering he was a white tiger and made canines wary in the best of times and posed a threat at the worst.

Not many would’ve taken a chance on him, but he was thankful the uncoordinated pup (though he claimed to have been a teenager) had stumbled upon him. Disoriented and lost, he had feared him at first, but the pup began talking his ear clean off and stuck close when Tony showed no signs of wanting to eat him. The only shifter in the area Tony offered safety that the pup needed and Tony understood wandering the forest alone as a cub. It brought forth terrors. Never knowing when something would strike or when a human would jump from the shadows.

Tony allowed him to stay, learning the pup’s name was Peter and coming to understand how he ended up lost, how they ended up getting attacked but he didn’t know by whom, not when his aunt and uncle screamed for him to run. He stayed with Tony for days and Tony ended up hunting for two. The most hunting he had ever done in his life.

Eventually the pup’s pack traced his scent and came back for him. Their hostility quickly dissolved shortly after they learned his role in protecting Peter until his family found him. Aunt May and Uncle Ben were grateful. Their leader offered his thanks and promised to spread word of him to other canines of the area. He was an ally and was to be treated like one.

There was no complaints from Tony, not when it resulted in many canines simply avoiding him instead of confronting him when their paths crossed. Tony hoped this thin line of friendship with the pup’s pack extended to helping, or at least keeping an eye out on him, should the humans walk into their territory. Naturally, that thin line extended both ways, so when he heard a howl with a very familiar tone to it Tony didn’t even hesitate or think about it twice. He ran to the howl, taking notice of the sounds of footsteps on dead grass the closer he got. He caught a glimpse of tall shadows standing upright through the trees. The shadows of danger. The shadows of death. Humans were here and Peter had been howling in fear near the area.

Heart beating heavy in his chest he rushed forth, crouching when the shapes of the humans became clear. There were five of them jogging through the trees and there, in the direction of their path, was Peter’s form, shivering with his tail curled around himself. He was trapped. Rocks and boulders blocking his path and far too small to jump over them.

The humans aimed their guns at him, ready to fire, and Tony moved with as much speed as he could. He roared, hearing it echo through the trees and watching as the humans turned to him in horror. He struck at those nearest to him, forcing the rest to back off with shouts and orders. He saw his opportunity and rushed to Peter, grabbed him by the scruff and jumped over the stones in hopes of it blocking the humans and climbed higher. He needed distance, he needed to hide, he needed to make sure Peter was as far away from the danger as possible, he needed to -

A sharp pain struck him on his thigh and gave him a flinch, but it didn’t bring forth a burning sensation of a serious wound so he ignored it and pushed forward with more force. He found as the seconds ticked by it became harder and harder to jump until eventually even moving his front legs seemed an impossibility.

The humans tranquilized him! Shit.

He draped himself over the last boulder he could climb and released Peter, nudging him to go with his snout. “Run, Peter.”

“No, no Mr Stark,” Peter’s tiny body shivered. “I can’t leave you here.”

Tony bared his teeth. “Go!” He managed to catch Peter run and hear the footsteps of the humans closer before he just couldn’t keep awake anymore. The very last thing he heard was Peter’s whine as something struck him.

He woke up disoriented with his head pounding and the ground shaking from underneath him. He was met with darkness and the foul smell of old fear and no forest. His only source of light were tiny holes allowing the sun to shine in and he cursed with a loud growl when he realized he was in a damn box. Moving also showed he was also chained down. A collar on his neck, shackles on his paws and a muzzle.

A soft whimper to his right made him stop from ramming against the walls in desperation. A tiny body was curled next to him and his heart stopped when he realized it was Peter. He didn’t escape. He was captured as well. Tony couldn’t save him.

He curled himself protectively around the pup, promising to find a way for him to escape no matter what.

T’Challa held in a growl threatening to escape him. He had seen not one, but three - three - shifters chained up and displayed as if they were mere mindless animals meant to be exotic pets. To many in this event they were exactly that. Mindless animals praised as rarities by their sellers and paid little mind to them, never questioning how the black stallion standing tall showed intelligence in his eyes. But to those who knew exactly what this fabrication hid under it.

A black market running right under the nose of the clueless. A black market that specialized in the selling and enslaving of shifters for different purposes. For entertainment, for strength, for protection, for pleasure, and it sickened him.

He remained silent, however. It would do no good when visitors of the land caused a scene, not when relations were strained as it was. T’Challa promised he was going to personally see the end of such exchanges. To think they treated shifters as materials when they were just as human as any other.

The itch to take to his fur was strong but he needed the face of a simple man. It would do no good to cause panic and force the Dora Milaje to retaliate in defence, and so he continued his walk, followed by two fierce warriors. He carried his disgust on the inside while on the outside was the face of indifference. He hoped his eyes expressed his anger.

The more he walked the more he wished to leave the foul place. After watching the fourth clueless man stare at the stallion shifter and turn away without any recognition or care the decision to leave was easy to choose. This was when his little sister made an appearance and took that decision out of his hands. Her eyes so often bright in joy were forlorn, silent anger hidden under a layer of control. She wanted to lash out, just as he, but her reason unknown to him.

He didn’t have to ask her reason. She offered with a displeased head shake. “They are hosting an auction. Among their pieces is a shifter. Rare in color and mistreated. I fear if he is sold he will not see another day. Please, we must help.”

T’Challa frowned. Shuri was well aware of what hid amongst the illusions and also knew they couldn’t interfere, not yet, no matter how much they wish to aid. “You know we can not.”

“I have talked to him,” Shuri revealed. “He shows intelligence, more than most.” She looked down momentarily, showing a hesitation rarely ever seen by her. “He protects another. Younger. We must help.”

T’Challa didn’t understand, not at first, but if it had Shuri worried than it must have been serious. He nodded and followed after her, leading him close to the gathering crowd but remaining at the edge. There was a stage present where the auctioneer was to present the merchandize. Shuri led them around and through a black curtain behind it. The dark of the area prevented them from being spotted, but under a designated light source he saw multiple items waiting to be sold and among them a simple bar cage. Primitive and horrid, for inside was a beast. Chained to the ground with shackles on its legs, collar on its neck and a muzzle. The fur mangled, scars present in the patches it missed and dried blood decorating in-between the stripes.

A white tiger. Filthy, scarred, and afraid. It shaked in its hold, but through the trembling T’Challa could easily see the anger coursing through its body upon seeing them. The baring of its teeth accompanied with a soft hiss.

He was beautiful.

They got closer. The hiss grew with each step they took and the body curled into a ball as much as the chains allowed. When T’Challa and Shuri stood just outside the cage he knew why. There, curled up next to the belly of the tiger, was a pup, an adolescent wolf by the size, appearing to be around Shuri’s age. The youngster was untouched compared to the tiger. Better fed and fur relatively cleaner.

The tiger released a protective growl upon realizing he was studying the pup. T’Challa raised his hands, meaning no harm, but didn’t move. It was clear this shifter was mistreated. Not even the other shifters on display appeared to receive the same treatment. He couldn’t leave the creature alone like this.

“Be calm. We mean no harm.” The sharp eyes of the tiger pierced his being. He distrusted, as the nature of his environment. He would not believe a word T’Challa would say. Only actions will win the shifter’s trust. “We will help you out.”

The tiger huffed. His ears were pulled all the way back, flat on his head and tail flicking back and forth in agitation. He didn’t appear to wish to talk and T’Challa didn’t expect him to, but desperation was a strong motivation.

His shoulders sagged, head going down in defeat. “Save…. Peter… please. Get… him out.”

The pup whined and T’Challa knew he couldn’t leave either of them there. He turned to Shuri and they shared a nod of understanding.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6) (Part7)

~~~

Happy Birthday!!!

#ask post #mal gets an ask #xissa-chanx #happy birthday to someone great!#hope you're having a great one #part 2 soon #ironpanther #t'challatony #shifter au #t'tony #i'm working as fast as i can #ironpanther shifter au #lost and found au

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altean-plance-au · 6 years

Text

How To Train Your Recruit

Submission by Aknazer. (Thank you again!) Find the first part to this series here. Table of contents for the AU in general here.

FanCanons - Shiro

Shiro Has A Past, and no, he’s not telling.

Shiro knows that Lance has inherent elemental abilities, despite the other trying to hide it. He also knows that without any (or very little) formal training, Lance is a hot (cold?) mess with them. Despite not understanding Lance’s obstinacy about admitting to them, Shiro respects that and starts leaving random instructional texts lying around for Lance to stumble over.

At twenty-seven deca-phoebs (years), Shiro is the youngest Captain of the Royal Guard ever. Despite the reservations of the Council, Alfor appointed Shiro to the post, and Shiro has worked hard ever since to prove that the King’s trust is well placed.

Shiro’s made a few questionable decisions - taking a half-Galra foundling under his wing being the most notable. Taking on an uppity kind-of-maybe-not-really noble with a history of insubordination was another. Introducing the two just to watch them fight was the third.

Shiro has no regrets about assigning Lance to guard Pidge: he figures that his two biggest headaches deserve each other.

“What do you think this is, a holovid? Stop charging me - you’re telegraphing every move in advance.” Shiro said, knocking Lance’s sword out of his hand with a practiced twist and slapping the pommel of his own blade against the younger man’s wrist. Ignoring the boy’s pained yelp, Shiro used the toe of his boot to kick the sword away. “Again.”

“Oh my gods, you are a slave driver.” Lance whined, shaking out his hand and glaring. “It’s barely a varga after sunrise!”

Shiro raised his eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And?”

“And you’ve had me out here since before that!”

“Good to know your eyes are working.” Shiro said mildly. “Now if only you would open your ears.”

“I hate you.” Lance grumbled, trudging over to where his sword lay in the dust.

Shiro ignored the insult, knowing that Lance didn’t really mean it. Well, he amended privately, perhaps he did right now - Lance was a lot of things (not all of them complimentary), but a morning person was not one of them. Before about 1000, the only thing Lance didn’t hate was his bed. (Coincidentally, Shiro had found that nearly 70% of his insubordination reports occurred before lunch.)

“Now,” Shiro instructed as Lance resumed his stance across from him, “let’s try that again - without the dramatic flailing this time.”

Lance gritted his teeth, eyes glinting dangerously, and Shiro repressed a grin. Good - he was getting to him. Without warning, Lance pushed off with his back foot, sprinting the short distance between them and swinging his broadsword into a short, overhead arc. Shiro blocked, letting the blade slide down and off his own before snapping his sword parallel to his body to block the short stroke aimed for his neck.

From here, he had two options: step back and slide their blades apart to prepare for the next strike, or step in and tangle their handguards, making it a contest of brute strength to hold onto the sword. Last time, he’d stepped in, and Lance had decided to try to overpower him.

Lance danced back as Shiro stepped in, sliding out of range with a scowl. He let Shiro knock his blade aside, using the momentum to bring the blade up into an overheard block as Shiro advanced.

“Good! You’re getting better at this.” Shiro praised, then brought his foot up and kicked Lance in the stomach, driving him back. Lance flailed as he lost his footing, sword dropping automatically as he stumbled and tried to regain his balance. Shiro moved aggressively forward, slotting his leg between the stumbling recruit’s and sweeping his ankle around to drag his foot out from under him. Lance hit the ground with an oomph, sword clattering out of his hand as his head hit the ground.

“Still got a ways to go, though.” Shiro observed, standing over the fallen young man. Lance glared, mouth twisting into a snarl, and Shiro’s eyebrows lifted as the air chilled around them. Not much - just a few degrees, but Shiro was familiar enough with elementals to recognize the signs.

Well, he thought faintly, how about that?

“Do you just drag me out here every morning to beat on me so you feel good about yourself of something?” Lance snapped. “There is literally no other reason for this.”

Shiro’s blinked, refocusing on the young man still sprawled on the ground in front of him.

“Sure there is. Someday, you’ll even figure out what it is.” He replied affably, knowing his genial tone would only annoy the other man more. “Now…again.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shiro figured out pretty quickly that the best way to keep Lance out of trouble was to keep him occupied. And, barring that, too tired to be bored enough to look for it. For the first few weeks, Lance’s schedule had been split between drills with Shiro and diplomacy with Coran. Then Lance had been shifted to physical training four days, and diplomacy two. Finally, physical training five days in the morning, with guard duty in the afternoons and diplomacy on an as-needed basis.

It was, Shiro often reflected, like dealing with an okami pup - you had to wear their energy down to a manageable level before trying to teach them anything. Then you had to convince them that what they were learning had a purpose, and wasn’t just useless fluff. (And even if it was useless fluff, that they just had to shut up and do it once in a while.) Fortunately, Shiro had experience with dealing with distracted, disinterested cadets: it just took the right application of physical exertion, followed by mental exertion, and keeping their interest by keeping them challenged.

“What the heck is this?” Lance squawked, jolting upright as Shiro dropped a text in front of him.

“Olkari delegates are arriving next movement.” Shiro replied. “Study up.”

Lance squinted at him suspiciously, and Shiro knew he was trying to guess whether he would be actually escorting/guarding the delegation, or simply guarding the doors. Shiro had set him to both tasks, telling him to “study up” every time. Lance had neglected to do so before, and it had led to him making a fool of himself by offering the wrong salutation when he’d been unexpectedly assigned to escort duty after a week of guarding doors.

The embarrassment, Shiro knew, was a better goad than any reprimand he could have delivered.

Shiro sat down at his desk, flipping open his own book and pulling out a ledger to take notes with. The silence lasted for about twenty dobashes before Lance leaned back in his seat, groaning.

“This is boring…” He whined. “When is lunch? Is it lunchtime? I feel like we should have eaten already.”

“What’s the gesture to greet the Kahnzada Nawab Ishmuil?” Shiro asked without looking up from his book.

“Bow.” Lance replied. “Straight neck, torso bent to twenty degrees. Right hand on left shoulder, palm in.”

“Where do your eyes go?” Shiro asked.

“On the floor…no!” Lance jabbed a finger at him, grinning victoriously. “Trick question! I’m a guard, so I keep my eyes on his waist to watch for weapons.”

“Good to know Coran’s lessons are paying off.” Shiro chuckled.

“Um, no?” Lance scowled. “Coran was going over place settings for a Balmaran dinner party.”

Shiro blinked. “But…Balmarans don’t have dinner parties.”

“That’s what I said!” Lance threw his hands up in the air. “But did he listen? No! He was all ‘Tsk tsk, young cadet, I’ll have you know that I’ve dined with many a Balmaran noble in my youth and-’” Lance broke off, hand flapping in a universal blah blah blah gesture. “I’m pretty sure he was confusing Balmarans for Rephodians, but I don’t know how.”

Shiro snorted in quiet amusement, flipping to another page idly.

“So, what are you reading, anyway?” Lance asked. “I mean, you already know all that crap about the Olkari, budgets were done last movement, and your report - which I know you’re going to have me type up, stop lying - isn’t due for another three quintents.”

“Mm?” Shiro glanced up at him. “Oh, this? It’s a book on basic studies for elemental magics.”

Lance froze. It was only for a tick, and then he was leaning on one elbow nonchalantly, glancing at his book like he couldn’t care less. “Oh, yeah? What do you need that for? Got something to share with the class?”

Shiro snorted. “Not likely. No, Alfor’s niece is a budding Plant Master, and she’s driving her guards crazy.”

“What, is she throwing seeds at them?” Lance sniggered.

“I wish.” Shiro frowned. “No, she’s eluding them to try to train on her own. I was hoping if I gave her some more…benign exercises, she’d stop trying to escape.”

“Give her some houseplants.” Lance grunted, flicking a page over. “Problem solved.”

“We did that.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “Two exploded, one grew out of control, and one caught fire.”

Lance’s gaze snapped up, jaw going slack. “It…it caught fire? How do you even do that?”

“No clue!” Shiro groaned. “I was hoping that this book would give me some insight but… I think it’s too generalized. General exercises, and I think she’s blown through or overpowered the green magic ones. Huge section on water magic, but that does me no good.”

Shiro leaned back in his chair, grasping the bridge of his nose in mostly-feigned exasperation. “I’m heading to the canteen. Want anything?”

Lance hummed thoughtfully. “The usual.” He held out a few losa, but Shiro waved them off, closing his book and setting it on the edge of his desk.

Lance stayed in the office.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shiro couldn’t check out too many tomes outlining elemental magic studies without arousing suspicion. Luckily, there were a plenty available within the city’s markets, and Pidge was happy to direct him to ones that she had found useful. And if they happened to find homes in his office shelving, well, that just made him look more official to the people who thought looks mattered.

And if some of them disappeared after he’d finished reading them, Shiro pretended not to notice.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“You’re going to what?”

“Introduce him to Keith.” Shiro repeated patiently.

“That’s what I thought you said.” Matt swirled his ale in his mug as he regarded his friend steadily. “The way you say this leads me to believe that you don’t mean over a nice cup of mead, or a friendly hologame.”

“Correct.”

“And the reason for this is because…?” Matt asked, rolling his wrist, gesturing for his friend to continue.

“Lance isn’t really being challenged anymore.” Shiro sipped his drink. “I’m too busy to take him on daily like I was at first, but he’s good enough that he’s giving my lieutenants a run for their money. Which, don’t get me wrong, is good - it keeps them on their toes, but also means that I need to find a better challenge for him.”

“So your solution is to haul in Kogane.” Matt said.

“Not ‘haul in,’” Shiro huffed, “his detail on Javnil is almost up, and he’ll be back soon anyway.”

“You’re going to put your no-nonsense, super-serious, I-wouldn’t-know-humor-if-it-bit-me pupil in a ring with Lance.” Matt repeated.

“Why do you make it sound so crazy?” Shiro muttered rebelliously. “Keith is one of the best and he’d definitely provide a challenge for Lance. And Keith does have a sense of humor.”

“So set him to a new weapon! Rotate him into sparring with the rest of the troops. You don’t have to keep him on broadsword and with the Guards.” Matt rolled his eyes. “You know this - I know you do. So, the logical conclusion is… you’re looking for an excuse. You want Keith and Lance to meet. Stop obfuscating and fess up.”

“Pulling out the big words now.” Shiro muttered. “Alright, fine, full disclosure: I think that the SpecOps unit isn’t doing Keith any good. Not physically-” Shiro waved Matt off as he opened his mouth, “Physically, he’s in his element. I mean…he’s more withdrawn. Less social, if that’s possible, even amongst his teammates. It’s weighing on him.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, studying Shiro closely. Shiro let him, knowing that Matt was every bit the bright mind his father and sister were. Processing time was a part of that, before brilliance emerged.

“You’re an idiot.” Matt said bluntly, ignoring Shiro gaping to take a long draw on his mug. “I know what you’re trying to do. And putting Keith and Lance in a ring together might work out in your favor - Lance may indeed prove to be a valuable foil to Keith’s seriousness, and the two might eventually become fast friends. But they might also tear each other’s throats out before they get around to reconciling their differences.”

“Well,” Shiro shrugged, “I guess we’ll see.”

#submission #aknazer #altean plance au #voltron legendary defender #vld fanfic #vld lance #vld shiro #adminrue

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redditnosleep · 7 years

Text

Nanny Cam

by Pippinacious

"Open it, open it!" My nephew was bouncing in my brother's lap, his pudgy hands balled into fists of flailing excitement.

I'd never seen a kid who liked to give presents more than receive them until Noah came along. He'd barely paid much attention to his own gifts, which he'd left scattered about the floor around the tree, and instead insisted on handing everyone else's out. He was watching me closely with a wide, delighted grin, eager for me to dive into the wrapping paper.

I took to a corner with exaggerated care, slowly peeling up one corner of the paper without tearing it.

"Not like that, Aunt Janey!" Noah cried and I looked up with feigned surprise.

"What? I'm opening it!"

"Too slow!"

"You want to show me how?"

I held the present out and he launched himself from his seat. He set the gift on my lap and took my hands, placing them in the center of the present and then dragging them across its surface in a tearing motion.

"Like this." He said with all the seriousness of a seasoned veteran of four prior Christmases.

I repeated the action, pulling the green and red wrapping apart, and Noah squealed with approval. Inside, a plush owl stared up at me from behind the plastic window of a box.

"It's for the new house." Pete explained over his son's shoulder.

"To keep the birds out of my garden?" I teased.

"No, it's a camera! You set it up somewhere and sync it to your phone so you can check out your house when you're not there."

"Nanny cam for the dogs, awesome!"

"Exactly."

"You like it, Aunt Janey?"

"Love it!"

Noah ran to his Dad and gave him a high five before circling the room to deliver the same to everyone else. Once everyone had properly celebrated the successful gift giving, he grabbed the next present out from under the tree and brought it over to Mom so she could tell him who it was for.

I left the owl cam, which I named Barnabas, in his box for the next week. Between unpacking and setting myself up in my new place, he just wasn't a high priority. It wasn't until Pete, Lori, and Noah came over that I even remembered I had him.

"So, caught the dogs doing anything naughty?" Pete asked from the kitchen while getting a beer.

"No?" I said. "Why would I?"

"Just thought the camera might have shown you a seedier side to your mutts."

I glanced at Gremlin and Baba, who were stretched out, belly-up, on either side of Noah on the floor. A real pair of trouble makers.

"Oh! The camera!" I was immediately a bit embarrassed that I'd neglected it. "It's in the spare room; haven't had a chance to get it up yet."

"You want me to set it up?" Pete asked.

"Yeah, sure. I don't know how that stuff works anyway."

While Pete set off to get Barnabas up and running, Lori and I sat on the couch to chat.

"He got one for us, too." She said. "He loves it; checks in on the cats all the time."

"Ever see anything interesting?"

"He claims Sampson was opening cupboards and looking for treats, but I'm not sure I believe him."

"Thrilling."

"Never a dull moment." She agreed.

It didn't take long for Pete to have Barnabas working from a shelf over my computer. He showed me what app to download and I logged in to see the entirety of my living room in kitchen displayed in real time on my phone screen. The quality of the picture was actually pretty good and I found I had options to turn on and off sound and even talk through a small speaker in the owl's chest.

"Hey, Noah." I motioned my nephew over. "Who's that?"

His mind was blown by seeing himself on my phone. With Gremlin and Baba close on his heels, he started waving and jumping and running through the rooms, asking us if we could still see him. The kid was a little ham and the camera was now his stage. By the time they left, Noah had wiped himself out and had to be carried to the car over Pete's shoulder.

"Ok, guys," I said to my dogs the next morning, "this is your first full day on your own in the new house. Try not to destroy anything, ok?"

Gremlin wagged his tail while Baba tilted her head to one side. Good enough for me.

Being back at work after a week off meant I was busy. Very busy. I hadn't realized just how much paperwork I'd have to catch up on or how little would get done in my absence. Orders had gone unprocessed, phone calls left unreturned, and, in one case, the staff had neglected to address an upset bride whose cake had been delivered incorrectly on the big day. Nothing said "Welcome back, boss!" like drowning in complaints and irate customers.

After several hours of painstaking sweet talk and cajoling, I managed to get the mountain down to a molehill and the bakery back on track. My employees at least had the decency to look ashamed, having realized they took their laziness too far, and they were working double-time to try and make it up. I was still irritated though, and I took a long lunch to give myself time to breathe.

While I ate, I absently brought up the nanny cam app and logged in to see what the dogs were up to.

I spotted Gremlin first, sitting upright on the couch and staring at the back door. Baba was standing next to him on the floor, her head lowered and ears pinned back. Both were completely still. I followed their gaze across the room, curious as to what had their attention, and groaned.

"You little shits!" I said.

The potted plant by the slider had been knocked over, spilling soil and water all over the tile floor. One of their squeaky balls was sitting in the middle of the mess.

I was not a happy camper when I got home. After a day of putting out proverbial fires, I wasn't exactly looking forward to cleaning up after the dogs too. They greeted me enthusiastically when I came in, bouncing and barking around my feet, and I gave them a stern lecture about behaving. It was hard to stay mad at them even as I was scooping up piles of dirt, though; they were usually so well behaved and just too cute.

I ruffled Gremlin's pug-like face and sighed. "You're gonna be better tomorrow, huh? No more messes!"

He harrumphed at me and Baba nosed her way under my arm, forcing Gremlin out of the way to steal my attention. We snuggled on the couch, Gremlin flopped across my lap and Baba beside me, and I let the stress of the day slip away with a glass of wine and the snores of my contented pups.

I wasn't overly worried about a repeat event, the dogs had always been laid back, but I still decided to check in on them the next day while on break. It was kind of fun to be able to see what they got up to when I wasn't around.

When I pulled up the camera, I found both dogs in front of the bedroom door, which I'd left half closed, their fur raised, barking wildly. Concerned, I turned on the sound and my small office became crowded with their deep, rumbling cries. I hurriedly turned the volume down and listened in, trying to figure out what had them so upset. At first, it seemed like all I'd be able to hear was the two of them carrying on, but a brief break in their barking revealed something else.

The very faint, but distinct sound of children's laughter.

The neighbor kids were playing outside in their yard, which happened to be outside my bedroom window.

With a snort, I turned on the speaker and said, "Easy, pups, go lie down!"

They turned sharply, tails thumping and expectant, and I felt a bit bad to have excited them into thinking I was home.

"Go lie down." I said again and smiled as their ears perked up. "I'll be home in a few hours."

When I did get in that evening, they were as happy to see me as they'd ever been, but I couldn't help noticing that Baba especially seemed distracted. She kept going to the bedroom, sniffing around, and then coming back to me, only to repeat the process a few minutes later. Gremlin stayed glued to my feet for the entire night, even when I went to the bathroom.

"You guys are having a hard time getting used to it here, aren't you?" I asked as we climbed into bed that night. "I know it's not easy, all the new smells and sounds, but it'll feel like home soon."

Baba stayed perched at the foot of my bed all night. Every time I woke up, I'd find her sitting upright, gazing steadily at the door.

At one point, I thought I heard rustling coming from the kitchen and both dogs started to growl. I grabbed the mag light I kept in my bedside drawer and crept to the doorway. More rustling. With my breath hitched in my chest, I swung out of my bedroom, light raised like a bat, and flipped the kitchen switch.

A receipt was stuck under my purse and half hanging off the counter, where it was fluttering gently beneath the overhead fan that I must have left on when I went to bed.

Grumpily, I grabbed it, crumpled it up, and tossed it away before returning to my room. I kicked the door shut as I passed and fell back into bed.

"Hey, Mom." After seeing how distressed the dogs had been, I decided it was best to try and get them out of the house for a bit the next morning. "Can you watch the babies while I'm at work today?"

"Of course!" She didn't even ask why. "I made them some new peanut butter treats yesterday."

"Great, thanks. I'll drop them off on my way to work." I hung up and turned to the pair. "Who wants to go to Grammy's?"

I leashed them up and brought them out to the car, where they hopped in eagerly. Whatever had been bothering them was quickly forgotten as we backed out of the driveway and turned towards my parents'. I glanced back at the house to make sure the garage door had closed completely and, for a split second, I could have sworn I saw the blinds in the front window shift just slightly.

I sat in the middle of the road for a moment, studying my house through narrowed eyes.

And then the wind blew again and the bushes rustled. Their shadows danced across the bottom of the sill in the weak morning light, making it look like there was movement in the window.

"You guys are making me paranoid." I said and then we were off; the dogs to my mom's and me to work.

I got a text from Pete that afternoon.

Hey, is your nanny camera working?

It was yesterday.

Mine too, but it seems to have crapped out. Piece of junk.

I'll check.

I switched over to the app, but while it was loading, my office phone rang. I set my cell down and answered. Two dozen gender reveal cupcakes and a quote later, I plugged in the order and picked up my cell again.

The screen was entirely black.

I still had the mute and speaker option buttons, but the camera itself seemed to have died.

I shot Pete a text back with the disappointing news.

I'll pick it up later to replace. He said.

I went back to the app and tried unsuccessfully to fiddle with settings. It wasn't like I had any idea what I was doing anyway, but I figured I'd at least try. I returned to the camera's main screen, which was still just a blank black, and hit the unmute button. Despite the lack of picture, there was sound.

Breathing, deep and raspy, drifted from my phone.

I almost dropped it in my shock. I could feel my heart beating in the back of my dried throat; hear the blood rushing through my ears. Someone's in my house, a distant voice was screaming in my head, there is someone in my house!

"I know you're watching."

I froze. The voice had been so quiet I almost missed it.

"I know you're watching. I know you're watching. I know you're watching."

He kept saying it over and over, no inflection, completely monotone.

The camera shifted slightly and a pair of eyes, wide and dark, filled my phone screen.

"I know you're watching."

I shrieked and, without thinking, threw my phone across the office.

By the time the cops got there twenty minutes later, the house was empty.

Barnabas the owl nanny cam had been left in the center of the kitchen table. His little head had been hacked off and left beside his torn open body. The camera was gone.

Beneath him, a message had been carved into the wooden tabletop with a knife.

Now I'm watching you.

#creepy #horror story #author: Pippinacious

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