#He would have gotten along so well with Brandy...

[pushing500]

Everyone say hello to the Jones Boys' new dog, Othello! He's a very big boy, and I love him ❤️

After we got Othello, a stranger showed up to hang out. If Mechi has anything to say about it, he probably won't be here for long.

YES!!! Finally!!! The first piece of the puzzle!! Time to scrounge up whatever social skills we can and make friends with Wasbum. We have to get that map piece!

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[cursedhaglette]

Colleagues

You're been nothing but helpful to Magistrate Ancunin, working to advance your career by supporting his cases. Your crush on him has lasted almost as long as your time spent working together.

And then he decides he wants to show you just how grateful he is for all your thorough help.

Rating: E Word Count: 2.5k Content: 18+, oral sex, PIV sex, squirting, cum swallowing, pre-canon

[ao3 link]

A/N: I don't know what magistrates do and not sure if I really care, but if fantasy judge/lawyer combo doesn't work for you then sorry!

“Madam, I have Magistrate Ancunin here to see you,” the voice of the office assistant reaches your ears before the door opens and the heavy hinges creak in that way you hate. The older human woman who assists with your paperwork and appointments allows in the familiar, handsome face. You nod your thanks and Vilna closes the door promptly, as she always does. 

“Magistrate,” you say in greeting, and he smirks as he approaches.  

“You always say that like it’s not your title as well,” he argues, the same comment the two of you make every time you have this exchange. 

You’ve been smitten with him for an almost pathetic amount of time, but while you’re still unsure whether his flirtations were just for fun or genuine, you held off on making any real move. Being rejected by one of your fellow magistrates, one of your senior colleagues that you’re so often tasked with assisting, would be far more humiliating than you’re willing to risk. 

“Do you have those case notes ready?” He asks, and the deep caress of his voice scatters your mind as you fumble for the information you’d collected for him. You remember you’d filed it away just last night, wanting to be sure it wasn’t mixed in with the other handful of cases you were either overseeing or assisting on.

“Sorry, yeah - it’s over here. I was working on it until late last night, but I think it should be more than enough to present your case.”

He doesn’t respond, so you move around your desk to where you filed the documents the evening prior.

“You really ought to make me work harder for this,” he smirks, and you watch every movement of his clever mouth as you turn to meet his gaze. “So much done, all for me? None of the other junior magistrates are quite as helpful and thorough as you are, darling.”

“I’m far too generous, I’m wholly aware,” you turn, noticing how much closer he’s gotten. How his body is nearly against yours, your back meeting the edge of your filing cabinet as you adjust, watching as he takes another step closer.

“You ought to be careful,” he whispers, and you think you might be able to smell cigar smoke and brandy on his clothing, his breath a puff of warm air against your skin as he draws ever closer, “associating with the ‘hanging judge’ might earn you a reputation an innocent thing like you might not like.”

“Maybe I’m not so innocent. I can handle myself,” you murmur, and mean it. You weren’t scared of his reputation, not when you wanted to make your own. Assisting him, making a name for yourself as you grew your career, it was all part of a plan. Falling for him was the only piece you hadn’t accounted for. “And maybe I like working with you.”

“I’m glad, because I like it as well,” he grins, “so tell me you’ll let me show you my thanks.”

“Astarion…” you whisper again, and your eyes can only focus on his lips. The way his tongue flicks to wet them, so full and perfect. Gods, you wish he would just break this tension so you could finally feel his hands around your body.

“Let me show you how grateful I am,” he says again and leans against you, dipping his head to whisper a gentle kiss along your neck, then another below your ear. “Let me show you how much I like working with you, Tav.”

“Is this a good idea?” You hate the question, hate that it could end the delicious warmth seeping into your core as his lips move lightly against your skin. But you have to know, have to be sure…

“Probably not,” he grunts but pulls away for long enough to look you in the eyes as he says, “but if you want this, then I don’t give a damn how good or bad an idea it is. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” you moan, and then his mouth is on yours and it’s like your prayers are finally answered. His mouth is warm and perfect, his tongue dancing against the seam of your lips until you open, eagerly, to welcome him in. He pushes you against the cabinet, your back digging into a drawer pull, but you don’t care as his hands move to cup your ass and lift you slightly, enough to angle your core against his. 

You can feel his hardness and it draws a desperate, gasping moan from you that he swallows with his kiss. He holds you firm, his grip likely strong enough to bruise. Have you noticed how strong he was before? You knew he was fit, but Gods, the way he holds you shows off how easy this is for him. He’s experienced, and you are too…but not like this. Not with someone you’ve wanted for ages, dreamt of kissing or laying with as you sign off on each individual document you’ve prepared for him over the last year.

“I’ve wanted you,” he growls as he shifts and gently sucks on your sensitive earlobe, “since I first laid eyes on you. Since you first walked into this office.”

“Really?” you gasp, and Astarion’s hands move to the buttons of your blouse, his mouth kissing along your collarbones. He pulls away for a moment, eyes scanning yours and you watch in delight as his gaze flickers to your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Then, he takes your hand, and moves it to the hardness pressed against you - guiding you to feel the full length of him, still taught and held within his fine, leather trousers but begging for release. 

“Do you feel this?” He asks, smiling as your blush deepens. You bite your lip and nod. “This is how desperately I’ve wanted you. How hard I’ve been trying to hold back from doing this every time I see you. But I can’t hold back any longer, not if you want me too.”

“I do,” you moan, and he’s on you again, his kisses somehow more desperate than before. But then he’s kneeling and -

“May I?” He looks up at you, both hands warming your thighs and you know what he wants, even if you’re shocked this is happening at all. You nod and his hands move to your waistband, tugging off your work trousers and undergarments in a single movement. 

You’re bare for him for a moment  before he nudges your legs apart and finally his fingers find your clit, gently pressing against your pleasure. Astarion looks up at you, eyes dark with lust, as you whimper at the touch - simultaneously feeling overwhelmed by the sudden caress and desperately needing more from him. 

“Put your foot on my shoulder,” he instructs, and you do without thought. The heat at your core, the way your want feels like a thrumming ache that grows with each second that goes by drives away any second guessing or nervousness you might feel. All you can think of is the way his hands caress your hips, your thighs, as he looks at you laid bare. “Gods, look at you. Soaked for me and so fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” you gasp, and he smirks but finally obliges you. His hands move to grip your ass and stars burst behind your eyes when he finally drags the flat of his tongue from your hole to clit. His mouth latches around her, sucking and licking in alteration as soaked, sloppy sounds begin to fill her small office. You’re being feasted on, and each groan with pleasure vibrates through you and adds to the building release he’s bringing you toward.

Astarion moves one hand from your ass and shifts his mouth only slightly, his tongue never leaving your swollen bud as he slides two fingers into your heat, immediately finding the soft spot inside you that has everything going white behind your eyes. 

“A-Astari-uhhhnnn,” your knees buckle as you cry his name, reaching for his hair and holding his mouth to you as the dam of your arousal bursts.

Pleasure floods you, and you soak him in the process, grinding against his face and coming around his fingers as your body thrashes in release. His ministrations continue, licking and fingering through the final clenches of your orgasm before he finally pulls away, his face slick with your arousal and release. 

“You taste fucking delicious,” he growls and stands, pulling you into another deep kiss so you can taste yourself on his lips. You moan into his mouth again and finally feel him tug free his cock, stiff and dripping with his own excitement. 

“Can I taste you?” 

“Not now, darling,” he growls and pulls you off the cabinet, his hands rough. “I’ve got to be inside you now, or I may go mad.”

He guides you to your desk, papers and files scattering in the wake of your desperate movements, banging your way around the office without letting his lips leave yours, his hands lingering at your sides, your hips, your breasts. 

Your ass meets the edge of the desk at the same moment his fingers find a nipple, pinching and twisting viciously, enough to have him groaning at the sound of your gasping cry. He kisses his way down your body again, his lips meeting your breasts and sucking gently before he moves lower, kissing down the planes of your stomach. 

Propping yourself on your elbows, you watch as he finally pulls away and lines his cock up with your slit. He rubs his head against your sensitive clit, wetting himself on your still soaking cunt and each rubbing slide feels better than the last. He’s so hard, the head of his beautiful, thick cock so soft, and it’s all for you. After so long, after so many late nights spent wishing you could have him all to yourself.

Your head hangs back as he begins to slide into you, the feeling overwhelming as your body stretches to accommodate him. He takes his time, his own eyes closing slowly as he adjusts in his own way, the feeling of your heat and slick enough to have him biting his lip in concentration. 

“Astarion,” you whine and your back arches as he moves forward another inch, “I can take it, I want it all, please - I need more, please, pleee-aahh -”

He fills you to the hilt, giving all of himself to you in one movement and you can only muster a deep, primal groan as he begins to set a steady rhythm, rolling his hips against yours. Each movement is practiced and perfect, managing to hit every spot inside you that begs for pressure.

“So ti-ight, mmmm,” he groans, picking up speed. He reaches between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles in time with each thrust. “Can you come for me again? Around me?”

You clench around him, feeling the tug behind your navel and the added moisture between your legs and then you’re coming, coming around him like your body knew to obey his ask with words alone. Your second undoing under his hands is somehow stronger than the first, your body convulsing like a woman possessed as you shatter again and again. 

“Good girl,” he grunts and sputters, “such a good…mmmmph…good girl, coming for me.”

You milk him with every slowing contraction of your body, tugging him deeper into you, and he stammers your name like the chants of monks in a chapel. You listen as he repeats it, over and over, as his breath hitches and his movements grow erratic, desperate and his own pleasure begins to build toward climax. 

He’s close, so close and you don’t have a tonic so you lean up and kiss him, his body slowing as his focus shifts to your mouth. This time his moan fills the space shared between you and the sound would buckle your knees were you standing. 

When you tug away, both of your breaths still ragged with pleasure, you whisper what you want, no - what you need. “Come in my mouth. Let me taste you that way.”

“Are you sure?” He grunts the question, leaning in for another languid kiss as he continues each deep, slow movement within you. You nod through the kiss, then move off the desk, to your knees. 

He’s coated in your slick, and flush with pleasure, each vein in his gorgeous length thrumming with need you can’t wait to slake. You roll him in with your hand, luxuriating in this hiss it earns you. 

You swirl your tongue around his head before sucking it into your mouth, groaning as you realize that you’re about to know how you taste in combination with him. 

“Gods,” he pants, “don’t stop, y-you feel…unbelievable.”

You smile and take him deeper, adjusting to his length for a few moments and then letting him fuck into your throat at the pace he needs to finally reach his peak. He bucks quickly, his eyes close as yours water, his length hitting the back of your throat.

You swallow as he quivers through his end, and then bob up and down once more before pulling away from him, your mouth popping as you release his head from your mouth. You lick him clean, any release you hadn’t caught already you wipe away with a warm tongue, feeling his eyes on you as you do. 

“Fucking hells,” he whispers, a hand reaching to stroke your cheek as you finally sit up, “that was…”

“Okay?”

“You delicious fool, that was the best head I can ever remember receiving,” and he folds himself over to reach where you still kneel before him, kissing you deeply and slipping his tongue into your mouth - tasting himself on your tongue. It’s salty and perfect, the taste a lingering reminder of the ecstasy you shared.

Astarion moves to dress quickly, as though suddenly reminded that it was the middle of the workday and you were both in an office, and you follow his lead. 

He straightens his coat, rubbing his palms down his shirt to even out the wrinkles left over from their earlier collision. He looks almost nervous, watching as you finish lacing up your shoes, then looking at the utter chaos left behind on the desk. 

“This won’t make things…uncomfortable between us? Will it?” You ask the question carefully, aware that it very well could change everything. Could ruin all that hard work. But Gods, it sure as hell felt worth it in the moment. 

“Oh lovely girl,” he smiled, finally meeting your eye again with that perfect smile, “if anything, this just got a lot better. In fact, I could imagine you and I will be very, very good colleagues.”

“Well then,” you stand and walk toward him, taking his coat in both hands and tugging the handsome elf flush against you once more, “I suppose the cases we work on together are going to be a lot more fun from here on out.”

“Oh my dear,” he kisses you quickly, a gorgeous, devious grin lighting his face as he pulls away, “I couldn’t agree more.”

[ofthecaravel]

Brandy

Chapter Eight

Summary: Years after Sam gets his sailor, big plans are hatched and tensions arise as Daniel attempts to keep a secret.

Tags: Lotsa crying (both good and bad), anxiety, insecurity, illusions to saucy shit, overall a very very good happy time though I swear

Words: 9.2k

A/N: SURPRISE SHAWTYS you know I couldn't leave this one alone for too long. Here's a little follow up. Enjoy!

~~~

“This is honestly going better than I expected.”

Jake gave a muffled little laugh from behind the wide, felt brim of his hat, which he was holding to cover his face as he sat on the very edge of the couch. Josh, on the other hand, made no acknowledgement of the teasing, simply continuing to keep his face buried in his hands while his chest sputtered with dramatic little sobs. Jake reached blindly to the side and his hand found clumsy purchase on Josh’s back, giving him a sympathetic pat as Clarice the chicken pecked gently at Josh’s curls. 

Daniel stood awkwardly in front of them, wringing his hands nervously as he had been doing from nearly the moment he’d woken up that morning. He hadn’t even said very much to them, but if he was being honest, he’d definitely expected far more drama from the both of them combined after he’d told them his thoughts. Daniel had gotten used to the high energy hysterics that they seemed to draw from each other, which had seemed so unusual at first considering that the cool, swashbuckling Jake that he had gotten to know was jovial yet never ridiculous. But Josh so easily riled him up and Daniel found their mania a comfort when he spent time at the Kiszka residence, which was nearly every day despite it being a 15 minute walk from his inn. 

He’d made that walk earlier in much less time, channeling his anxiety into speed and then shuddering babbles as he’d burst through the door and instructed them to sit down and listen. What he’d said was very simple and straightforward and went something along the lines of Hello, so, basically, you’re aware I’ve spent the last 5ish years dating/falling in love with/wrangling your brother, Sam, I guess I don’t need to say his name because we all know him, obviously, anyways, but I was sort of thinking that since he lives with me at the inn now that the next step would be for me to, uh, well, ask him to…marry me. Officially. But I wanted to ask you guys first if I, uh, have your blessing. Considering you’re his family and I’d actually really like it if you ended up being mine too. Yes. Okay. That was what I wanted to say. 

They had, of course, immediately burst into synchronous spells of tears, which Daniel took as a positive answer while they fumbled to hide their rosy, contorted faces.

“Christ,” Jake finally said, his voice thick with emotion but clearly desperate to answer with levity. “Daniel, you don’t even need to ask. But it means so much that you did.”

“So much,” Josh repeated, barely coherent through his tears. He straightened from a dramatic slouch to a dramatic backwards lean, turning his face to the ceiling and attempting to fan his tears away with his hands.

“You’re already family,” Jake insisted, reaching out to Daniel and taking his hand to pull him closer. “And- wow, your hand is sweaty, ew -you’ve been family since I first met you on that shabby old ship off the coast of God knows where. I loved you then, I love you now, and I think Sam is going to actually lose his mind when you ask.”

“If you two are reacting like this at the mere prospect, I feel like I should be expecting him to have a full blown meltdown,” Daniel laughed, flushing at the concept as Jake gripped his hand passionately and kept borderline uncomfortable eye contact with Daniel.  

Something that Daniel loved so dearly about Jake was his fierce sincerity, and he felt it hard in that moment as they grinned at each other. Without Jake’s friendship, Daniel never would have gained a certain kind of confidence that had made him reliable on the ship and assured within himself. When Daniel had first met Jake and the rest of their crew, he had been a seasick, homesick shrinking violet that had to be coerced into talking. And Jake, who was being slowly driven nuts without the perpetual chatter of his brothers, was more than happy to be the one to poke and prod Daniel until his guard was down. It was after Jake had worn Daniel down and nurtured his shy laughter into raucous babbling that Jake had known he had to bring him home to Sam…but that’s a fact that Jake would save for the wedding. That reminiscence was at the forefront of Jake’s mind as they held to each other.

“Sam is going to fucking explode,” Josh blurted tearfully, his weeping finally giving way to laughter that punched out of his chest and infected Jake and Daniel too. Jake released his grip on Daniel and slumped backwards against Josh, who received him with an “oof” and set off a chain reaction of bantering back and forth between the two. Daniel listened fondly, wringing his hands with increasing fervor as he remembered that his speech wasn’t quite finished. Jake noticed Daniel’s notorious nervous tic and calmed again, sitting up straight and arching an eyebrow.

“What?” Jake asked. “What now?”

“I, well, I kinda wasn’t done,” Daniel explained meekly. “There was something else I wanted to ask about.”

“Do you need a ring guy? ‘Cause I know a guy,” Josh piped up brightly, quickly mirroring Jake’s posture and grinning. 

“He does not know a guy, he knows a guy who knows a guy,” Jake clarified, rolling his eyes and pinching Josh’s side. “Or at least that’s what he says.”

“Why would he lie?” Josh scoffed, smacking Jake’s hand away and shoving at his cheek. “You like him.”

“Yeah, well, you like like him, huh?”

“Shut up!”

“Guys!” Daniel interjected, clapping his hands. “Hi!”

“Hi, sorry, yes,” Jake cleared his throat, waving his hands as if to clear away a spiderweb. “You were asking something.”

“I was, yes, okay, so,” Daniel started, wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts and gearing himself up. “So. I was thinking. That. Maybe. Jake, would you be interested in being my best-”

“Yes!” Jake yelled, flying to his feet and hurling his full body weight at Daniel, who caught him with a wheezing laugh. Josh stayed on the couch with an anticipatory look, holding his hands out like he was waiting to receive a first class package. 

“AND?” Josh blurted, clearly anxious about the assignment Daniel was going to entrust him with.

“Josh, would you want to marry us?” Daniel asked gently, dividing his attention between patting Jake on the back and scanning Josh’s face. Josh’s eyes, already red and heavy from tears, began to glitter again and his lip quivered. There was a flicker of confusion as well, and Daniel jumped to tend to it.

“It’s just, I can’t think of anyone else that I’d want to do that,” Daniel further explained. “For us, I mean. I can’t say I’ve ever pictured myself getting married at a church and I know you guys have never been religious, so…I choose you.”

“I’m not a priest, honey,” Josh whispered, voice thick with awed emotion. “It wouldn’t, you know, count.”

“Well, I think any rites you’d do would hold a lot more weight than any performed by someone actually ordained,” Daniel smiled, hot in the face like he always was whenever he explained his thought process. It suddenly sounded very silly now that he’d said it out loud and he began to think of a backup plan, but then Josh was leaping to his feet and tackling Daniel in a hug of his own and he realized that probably wouldn’t be necessary.

“Of course,” Josh accepted, struggling to wrap his arms properly around both Daniel and Jake, who was still firmly cemented to Daniel’s chest. “Of course. God, it’d be an honor. I promise not to fuck it up.”

“Same here,” Jake agreed, giving Daniel another squeeze. “I’m gonna write the best speech you’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Daniel laughed, a warm light burning in his chest and making his face ache with a smile. “Just try and keep it under 10 minutes.”

Jake paused.

“I am not going to make that promise.”

They all gave a laugh in their varying harmonies and stayed in their embrace, Daniel allowing the love from his friends to pass through him. With this rare silence, Daniel closed his eyes and basked in his gratitude. Just outside he could hear a squall of seagulls flying overhead, somewhere beyond it the pluck of a fiddle from the instrument repair shop that Jake had impulsively bought a guitar from a few years prior and hadn’t put down since. In the house, the windows were open and let a cool breeze wash over him and these men he felt beyond grateful to call his closest friends and soon his brothers. 

Getting lost in the moment, Daniel indulged in his fantasy of this perfect wedding day he was working towards and the parts they would play: Jake, wine drunk and flushed, flailing about theatrically as he delivered a speech that was equal parts lecture about the sanctity of true love and embarrassing stories about the grooms. Josh undoubtedly fighting a warble in his voice through his entire faux sermon, one that he painstakingly crafted for months on end and will certainly complain about not being any good despite it being beyond beautiful. 

And Sam. God, Daniel couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d look, what he’d say. The prospect of it had the creeping ache of tears pressing on Daniel’s throat and at the back of his eyes. All he could manage was fleeting imaginings of Sam’s hand in his as they stepped into their first dance, or the sensation of Sam smiling into a kiss at the altar while their eardrums are blown to bits by the ferocity of the cheers from the audience. It’d all be perfect. A swan song from all the hardship they’d faced before they’d even been together officially and the gentlest, softest beginning of the rest of their lives. Calm. Peaceful. Quiet, even.

“‘Sup, fuckers!”

With a startling bang, the door was thrown open and Sam’s peppy voice filled the previously serene room. In the years they’d been together, Daniel had watched Sam come alive in a way he couldn’t feasibly describe. It could be felt in the way he dragged a certain electricity with him from room to room, something practically visible with every movement. Daniel could see it when he bounced in the house then, a sort of colorful blur at the borders of Sam that kept Daniel transfixed to him wherever he went. His face was already warm with a smile that reached his eyes and appled his cheeks, and Daniel for a moment forgot just what kind of strange position he was about to be caught in as he let the sight of Sam settle over him like sunlight. However, he was cold a second later when Sam finally looked at the strange amalgamation his brothers and Daniel had become and his bright expression was soured in an instant. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam asked in an incredulous tone, his eyebrow raising sassily when Jake and Josh peeled themselves off of Daniel a little too fast to not be suspicious.

“We…” Daniel began, making brief panicked eye contact with Jake as he struggled to come up with a story. “Josh…had a bit of bad news and we were all hugging to make him feel a little better.”

“I’d say it worked,” Jake added on, nodding confidently and gripping Josh’s shoulder. “He’s pulling through.”

“I’m pulling through,” Josh finished with a bit of an amused waver to his voice that Jake dispelled with a dig of his nails into Josh’s skin. “From my bad news, I mean. Everything is fine, really, don’t worry about me.”

“It was just some moral support,” Daniel continued, trying to give Sam a calm smile that ultimately he knew he wouldn’t buy.

“What’s wrong?” Sam questioned with his brows still furrowed critically. 

Daniel and the twins all exchanged a split second nervous look, with Josh begging for help with a slight squint of his eyes and Daniel and Jake returning it with apologetic silence.

“It’s just…Clarice,” Josh began unsteadily, feigning a pained look with uncanny quickness. “She’s not been doing so hot and I’m worried.”

From across the room, Clarice was hopping merrily from the top of the couch to the cushions over and over, clearly swept up in the excitement of playing and clearly in good health. Sam regarded her for a long moment and looked back to Josh with unrestrained scrutiny, squinting his eyes at Josh’s act of agony. 

“You’ve been crying,” Sam noted coolly. “What about?”

“Clarice! I just said Clarice,” Josh wailed, smacking his hand against his forehead and looking at Clarice like it was the last time he ever could. “My Clarice…”

“What fucking ever,” Sam grumbled, rolling his eyes and landing his gaze on Daniel. “Do we have everything we need for dinner tonight?”

“I think so,” Daniel answered happily, hoping he was masking his body’s involuntary sigh of relief at Sam dropping the topic so quickly. “Was there anything special?”

“I think we just needed, like, yogurt or honey for the dessert.”

“I have honey!” Josh offered. 

“Don’t get him fucking started on the fucking honey,” Jake lamented as Josh dropped his pitiful performance and scurried off to the kitchen to dig in a cabinet. “I can’t hear one more story about how ‘the cute honey guy’ looked at you while you weren’t looking but were actually looking or whatever.”

“He, like, super definitely did, though.”

“It might not even need honey, I was just saying that it might need honey,” Sam interjected. 

As they all watched Josh pull jar after jar of honey out of a low cabinet like a clown pulling silks from his sleeve, Sam finally migrated over to where Daniel stood. When Jake sighed and went to Josh’s side to bicker about where they placed the recipe for the fancy Friday dinner they’d planned, Sam reached out and clung to Daniel’s arm with his cheek burrowed into his bicep. This was something Sam had done from the very start and it still made Daniel’s stomach flip. 

“Hi,” Daniel whispered to the top of Sam’s head. 

“Hi,” Sam whispered back, looking up at Daniel through his lashes. “Everything all good at the inn tonight?”

“Yes, indeed,” Daniel affirmed, kissing Sam’s forehead. “Apparently those rowdy sailors from Greenland left this afternoon, so they won’t be any more trouble.” 

“Aw, all of them? Even the one with the two different colored eyes?”

“All of them, as far as I know.”

“Man. He was kind of cool.”

“You’re just trying to make me jealous.”

“Is it working?”

Daniel let out a laugh through his nose and kissed Sam’s forehead again before he dug his fingers into his side to make him yelp and wiggle away. 

“Not at all,” Daniel replied with a chuckle.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Sam answered, covering his side with his hand and smacking blindly at Daniel with the other. A smile split his face again and Daniel drank it in.

“And I’m gonna marry you,” is what he replied in his head, but out loud, Daniel only scoffed. He went after Sam for another jab and gave chase when Sam squealed and ran in the opposite direction, eventually losing the thought as he fell into the hectic atmosphere of the Kiszka household on a Friday evening.

-

Lucky for Daniel, he never had to take Josh up on his “ring guy” offer. He already had one. 

Truth be told, Daniel had had a ring on hand for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Since that agonizing year where he’d been at sea and oceans apart from Sam, in fact. A few days after getting Jake and Josh’s blessing, Daniel bowed to the compulsion to check the hiding spot the ring had been nestled in since the day he came back and hastily moved into the inn. It was a little risky considering Sam was in the shower and not far away like Daniel usually preferred him to be when he checked in on the ring, but Daniel just had to look at it. The anticipation of the actual proposal was killing him and he could only be soothed by the ritual of pulling the little velvet box free from the handkerchief it was wrapped in, which was in turn hidden in the inside pocket of a coat hung in the very back of his closet. Listening closely to the rush of water hitting the tile behind the bathroom door, Daniel popped open the lid and smiled at the ring. It wasn’t anything flashy, but it was damn near perfect in Daniel’s eyes: a simple rounded diamond surrounded by a halo of little pearls, all set on a silver band. Looking at it, he remembered wandering into a jewelers when they’d docked in Italy with the ring in tow, pulling it out and stumbling through a request in broken Italian to resize it. The jeweler had spoken a few words of English and they managed to get through the transaction without much issue, and Daniel remembered how he’d told Daniel that whoever was going to be on the receiving end of the ring was a very lucky person. The irony was not lost on Daniel when the jeweler informed him that the ring was, if Daniel’s feeble understanding of Italian wasn’t mistaken, made in “the siren style”. Daniel could’ve told him about how the lucky person was a siren themselves, but he just wished him well and pocketed the ring again.

“Done!” Sam announced from the bathroom, sending a shock of panic through Daniel as he fumbled stuffing the ring back into its box and springing into action to shove it back in the closet. 

“I’ve missed you!” Daniel responded weakly, his hands shaking slightly as he struggled to wrap the handkerchief around the box. His body was half hidden in the closet when Sam strolled out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and a comb being dragged through his wet hair. He’d cut it recently so that it reached just past his shoulders, and he often wore it in a ponytail to combat the stiff summer heat that had settled over the town in the past month. When Daniel had successfully jammed the coat and its secret treasure back where it belonged, he turned around and was happy to see Sam’s hair loose and already beginning to curl slightly from the humidity.

“Lose something?” Sam asked innocently, looking around Daniel into the darkness of the closet. 

“Nope, just putting a shirt away,” Daniel lied, closing the closet behind him with a smidge too much enthusiasm. “How was your shower?”

“Rejuvenating,” Sam sang with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Energizing, even.”

“Yeah?” Daniel countered, casually leaning back against the door and crossing his tattooed arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” Sam flirted, looking Daniel up and down where he relaxed in his comfortable outfit of shorts and a thin tank top. “Would you be interested in taking advantage of this burst of energy before I go clock in?”

In the past few years, after Josh had mercifully yet begrudgingly hired some non-familial help around the Caravel, Sam had been splitting his time between the bar and working the front desk of the inn. Seeing as it was only a few steps from their front door, Sam and Daniel were in a continuing game of how close they could cut it before Sam had to run to the desk as the clock hit the hour on the head. Despite their ever growing catalog of games and running jokes they shared, this one was an undoubted favorite.

“I’d be extremely interested,” Daniel purred, straightening and closing the distance between them. “I think I can get you there at 5:58 on the dot this time. Plenty of time to get to the desk and lovingly tend to our guests.”

“You’re on,” Sam responded, already breathless as he wrapped his arms around Daniel’s neck. “Loser buys dinner.”

“I always buy dinner no matter what.”

“Loser.”

Daniel laughed and kissed Sam, one arm circling Sam’s waist to keep him close and the other reaching down to loosen the towel. After all was said and done, Sam would cheerfully wobble down to the lobby and Daniel would slip out to talk with Josh about a restock of Kiszka Liquor in the gift shop that had gone up in the past year. 

But not really. Daniel had bigger plans than that.

-

A week or two passed. Sam stood in the doorway in the early evening, watching Daniel lace up his boots with an odd look in his eye. Sam’s whole world pretty much revolved around Daniel, so he was quick to pick up on the little things. And he had never been more convinced that something was wrong. 

There wasn’t anything glaringly obvious, but Sam had spent his days attuning himself to Daniel and he’d been picking up more and more frequencies that didn’t quite make sense to him. His gaze lingering on Sam a beat longer than usual, the new and unusual way he twisted his ring finger while lost in thought, the thousand yard stare at couples passing them by on the street. He hugged Sam a little tighter, like he was bracing them for something. It was driving Sam absolutely crazy, and the worst part was that Daniel had to know that.

“Remind me where you’re going?” Sam asked nervously.

“Putting up lights for Josh,” Daniel answered patiently, eyes trained on the movement of his hands as he finished up a double knot. “I won’t be long at all, it’s just, well. You know he can’t reach.”

“Yeah,” Sam answered with an absent little laugh. His thumb gravitated to his mouth and he began to anxiously gnaw on the thick skin next to his nail while watching Daniel get to his feet and stretch. For a moment, Sam’s anxiety fluttered away as he became consumed with the sight of Daniel’s back muscles flexing and his long ponytail swaying. Daniel looked over his shoulder at Sam in the doorway and smiled softly. A few short curls strayed from his bangs and stuck to his temples, and Sam fought the urge to push them away just to feel the flush of Daniel’s soft freckled skin under his fingertips. There was some kind of…distance that Daniel seemed to have been implementing lately, and he didn’t want to disrespect that. But he did want to understand it.

“Hey,” Sam started, briefly removing his thumb from his teeth. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Daniel replied, looking confused but not confused enough for Sam to register it as genuine. “Yeah, I’m great. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. Are we okay?”

Daniel blinked in real disbelief and Sam’s fears were assuaged slightly in the way that Daniel was at his side in an instant. 

“Baby,” Daniel cooed, cupping Sam’s cheek in his hand. “We’re amazing. I mean, I think we are. Why?”

“You’re being weird,” Sam accused, his words mumbled as he looked at the floor. “You’ve been weird for, like, a full week now.”

Shit.

“I’m not weird!” Daniel sputtered.

“You’re very weird.”

“Well, I can’t help being weird. You’ve known I was weird from the start,” Daniel laughed. 

His flippance sent a flash of irritation through Sam. Sam tore his gaze from the tips of Daniel’s boots and glared as best he could right into Daniel’s eyes.

“Stop it, stop deflecting,” Sam demanded, smacking Daniel’s hand away. “What’s wrong? And don’t say there’s nothing wrong because there is. I know you well enough. You can’t lie to me anymore. You promised.”

“I wouldn’t want to lie to you,” Daniel answered, his tone faltering slightly as his eyes skipped anxiously around Sam’s face and into the corridor behind him. 

Come on, Sam couldn’t even give him two hours? Did they have to do this now?

“Daniel,” Sam said firmly, holding Daniel’s face between his hands and staring him down. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Sam, I am not lying to you when I say nothing is wrong,” Daniel replied earnestly. “I’m fine, we are fine, I swear. Okay?”

Sam didn’t reply. He had never ever known Daniel to be cruel, but he knew something was off and Daniel blatantly lying about it made it sting all the more. As Sam tracked Daniel’s expression, every twitch of his lip and guilty squint of his eyes, he spiraled deeper and deeper into all of the worst possibilities.

He’s met someone, Sam’s paranoia whispered to him, smooth and assured. He’s going stir crazy. He’s finally sick and tired of you and your high maintenance.

In the blink of an eye, Sam’s fire dimmed and he dropped his hands from Daniel, taking a step back and opening up the hallway to Daniel. Whatever was going on with him, Sam wasn’t going to stop him.

“Just go,” Sam muttered, nodding towards the front door with a placid look. “You know how impatient Josh gets.”

Daniel, terrified by Sam’s sudden and completely uncharacteristic shift in demeanor, felt sick to his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to stay with Sam until Sam was entirely reassured that everything was fine, but there was so much Daniel couldn’t say. There was a plan in place for the rest of the evening and he needed to set it into motion, which didn’t allow any time for any of that. Every beat of Daniel’s heart felt like a palm pressed to a barbed wire fence. It was all going to turn around in such a short amount of time, but up until that point, Daniel was wracked with guilt. There was nothing on Earth that disarmed him more than the sight of Sam’s sad puppy dog eyes boring right through to his soul, and he actually had to look away for a moment to regain his composure.

“I’ll see you so soon, Sammy,” Daniel said weakly. And then you’ll understand just how secure we are.

“Sure,” Sam replied blankly, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw to keep the tears at bay until after Daniel had gone. 

“And I don’t need you at the desk for another half hour.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, I just…”

“Go,” Sam whispered, crumpling in on himself a little more as he stared at the floor.

Daniel hesitated, fighting every instinct to pull Sam into his arms and confess everything right then and there.

Tonight is all for you, he’d say into Sam’s hair. If you just wait a little longer you’ll see that I don’t want to go anywhere if you’re not going to be there too.

“Kiss for luck?” Daniel blurted. 

He fully expected Sam to spit in his face at that point, but Sam immediately took hold of his collar and pulled him down into a deep kiss that had them both exhaling heavily through their noses at the shock of it. And when Sam finally released Daniel and steered him by the shoulder into the hall, there was a thought at the back of Sam’s mind that put a lump in his throat.

I hope that wasn’t the last time.

-

Sam spent the half hour before his shift at the front desk perched on Daniel’s side of the bed, white knuckling the edge and staring a hole through the carpet. One hand he kept free to press the silver heart of his most beloved locket into his palm over and over again, keeping time to his own erratic heartbeat. 

Deep down he couldn’t believe that Daniel would hide anything from him. Hell, Daniel kept Sam up to date on anything from room renovations at the inn to the state of his matching sock pairs and which ones seemed to have “run away”. But if it wasn’t bad news, why would Daniel hide it?

Sam laid down and pressed his cheek into Daniel’s pillow, inhaling his intoxicatingly calming scent of fresh smelling shampoo, spiced cologne and his simple natural warmth that clung to all his clothes. In the time that Daniel had been away, Sam had associated that smell with adrenaline and butterflies, but now it just made him sleepy. It was the first thing he breathed in in the morning while curled into Daniel’s chest and the last thing he inhaled when he was evening out his breathing to drift off in Daniel’s tight embrace. There was a stab of icy panic when Sam tried to picture falling asleep without it and he rolled onto his back to stave the chill off, staring up at the ceiling and fiddling with his necklace some more to regulate. 

Eventually, Sam found the strength to rise up from his pity party and make his way down to the lobby, his feet dragging and his head low. All he could think about was Daniel not being close to him, which made him think about the year he’d spent thousands of miles and several time zones away from him, the isolation, the abandonment…

However, when Sam turned the corner from the stairs towards the front desk, he was startled from his storm cloud at the sight of…Jake. Behind the desk. Flipping through a magazine, looking bored, barely acknowledging Sam’s presence until Sam was right in front of him and rapped his knuckles against the wood. Jake glanced up at him and smiled briefly before looking back at the article he was reading, his finger tracing the outline of a microphone stand while Sam scowled.

“The fuck?” Sam asked pointedly.

“Language, por favor,” Jake scolded in an uninterested sort of sing-song, only raising his eyebrows in response instead of giving Sam any kind of eye contact.

“You’re in my seat,” Sam accused as he came around behind the desk. “And at the wrong job, actually. Scooch.”

“Oh, right, about that,” Jake began, turning in the chair to properly face Sam. “I’m covering your shift tonight.”

Sam blinked in surprise, furrowing his brow in confusion while Jake maintained a very neutral expression as they stared each other down.

“What?”

“Yeah. Daniel said he needs you down at the bar so I’m gonna shack up here for the night. You should probably get down there.”

Save for a couple years of piracy, Sam and Jake had always been pretty prolific at reading each other. However, they could also tell when the other one was trying to get a glimpse into their head, and Sam tried to play it as cool as possible as he studied Jake’s body language. Jake must have anticipated this because he simply sat there like a statue, staring up at Sam like this was an everyday occurrence and Sam was the odd man out for making a face at him.

“Needs me at the bar? He literally just told me that he was going to hang up lights with Josh,” Sam stammered. “‘Cause the other ones burnt out.”

“Yeah, I know they burned out, I work there, dumbass,” Jake snorted, side eyeing Sam as he turned back around to face the empty lobby. “Josh isn’t even at Caravel tonight. He’s got a hot date with that beekeeper, actually, and I mean thank fuck, I thought he’d ne-”

“Why would Daniel tell me he was putting up lights if he’s no-”

“Sam, oh my god, just get the hell out of here and go answer your own questions!” Jake sighed, throwing his hands up dramatically to gesture to the doors. From the strain of his eyes, Sam could see how desperate Jake was to get Sam out.

Sam, riled up from conflicting accounts and the cold ache of being left out of something, let out a frustrated howl and stalked off towards the front. But before he could burst out into the humid night, Jake called his name and he spun around. 

“Sam,” Jake repeated. “Don’t be mad at Daniel, ‘kay? He doesn’t need it.”

“What do you know what he needs, huh?” Sam snapped. Even though Jake had introduced them and known Daniel for long before Sam ever knew he existed, Sam felt a fierce protectiveness over him. With the state he was already in, jealousy came easily. 

Jake just gave an absent little shrug and smiled, getting swept back up in his magazine and leaving Sam to fume for a second longer before barging through the doors and out into the night to track Daniel down. 

Behind him, Jake watched Sam go with a growing smile. That version of Sam he’d just sent off, frustrated and snippy and primed for a fistfight, was one that Jake had been well acquainted with from the time that Sam could walk. It wasn’t his favorite way for Sam to be, if he was being honest, and that was something he was pretty confident in after he and Josh had had to step up to the parenting role and Sam had stayed in that combative sullen state for years on end. But it was a storm he weathered happily for the chance to get to laugh with his baby brother, who really was all things good and honest at his core. That was the thing with Sam; there was so much nuance you had to understand to really get close to him. And Jake knew that the man Sam was no doubt about to give a piece of his mind to was well aware of that, and he was going to ask Sam to spend forever with him anyways. 

It was Sam’s night, or it was about to be. But Jake couldn’t help but feel pretty lucky too.

-

Daniel had been transfixed staring at the door since he’d arrived at the bar, but he still nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam’s trademark 3 point knock touched down on the wood. Sam didn’t wait for any kind of response, he simply pushed the door open in a way that Daniel could read as irritation in a second. Despite this, Daniel felt oddly assured by it. If he knew Sam so well that he could read his emotion in the way he opened a door, he was more than qualified to ask him to marry him. 

On the walk over, Sam’s mental state had taken an even more rapid decline. As his walking began to border on jogging, Sam’s unwinding anxieties took him on a tour of every possible negative reasoning for this mysterious meetup.

Pick your poison, Sammy, his brain taunted him as it showed him nauseating imagery of Daniel pressed up against a faceless figure with a lovesick expression, Daniel sneering behind Sam’s back at all of eccentricities, Daniel boarding a ship for adventure and far off shores…

Sam had settled for the latter scenario by the time he was outside the Caravel. That had to be it. He saw the way Daniel looked out over the harbor, his eyes smoothing over cresting waves and his broad chest making room for great breaths of salt slick air. Sam knew that deep down Daniel missed his seafaring life no matter how much he assured Sam that he now preferred dry land and the lull of a consistent schedule. But when he thought back on it, Sam couldn’t recall the last time Daniel had assured him of this. Maybe he had changed his mind.

Sam geared himself up for a fight as he walked into the swell of air conditioning, taking in a deep breath as he prepared for the words to spill out and sink into Daniel’s guilty conscience as…as they... 

Sam froze as the door swung shut behind him, cutting off the light from the streetlamps so that Sam could be fully encompassed by the light inside. 

As it turns out, Daniel hadn’t lied entirely. The night prior, the last of the string lights hung up by Jake in his teen years had flickered their final goodbye and left them all scrambling to pull lamps from storage and furnish the floor with enough light for their patrons to drink by. Since then, a winding river of string lights had been strung in their place, lining the ceiling with warm blurs of orange, red, blue and pink that drenched the entire room. Sam assessed their march around the perimeter of the walls before his gaze landed on Daniel, who was leaning on his hip against the bar and his long, long legs crossed casually. To Sam’s further surprise, Daniel wasn’t wearing the comfortable hooded sweatshirt and jeans he’d tossed on before leaving the house. He was now sporting a wine colored button down with the first few buttons undone and dark dress pants, making him look oddly professional and utterly handsome. Sam flushed and struggled to conjure the words that just moments ago were threatening to burst out. 

“Hi, Brandy,” Daniel hummed with a shy smile. “Glad you could make it.”

Sam hesitated, unsure of what to do with his face as he took in the change in his surroundings, his drop dead gorgeous boyfriend, and the fact that he was now even more lost than he thought he could be. Daniel watched him with an amused grin, his rampant anxiety starting to settle down now that he was in the thick of it. No going back now.

“You wanna come here?” Daniel offered, holding a hand out to Sam. “You look cute.”

Daniel couldn’t help but notice that where Sam stood floundering was a few paces to the side of where Daniel had been standing the first time he had ever seen Sam. He recalled it often, usually without meaning to and always when he sat in a designated corner booth on busy nights as their unofficial security detail. It sounded so impossible, but Daniel was always baffled all over again at the memory of watching Sam fly through the back doors, realizing that he was the annoying little terror that Jake had been talking about for months, and then feeling himself fall in love without even hearing his voice.  

Sam shook himself from his haze a little and, going off of instinct, he took Daniel’s hand and let him pull Sam next to him. Sam still couldn’t think of anything to say and let Daniel tuck a stray curl of hair behind his ear and gently smooth his knuckle along Sam’s cheekbone as he stood there speechless.

“Seriously, you look so cute,” Daniel cooed. “Did you get cuter since I last saw you?”

Unexpectedly, Sam felt a rush inside him and tears sprang to his eyes. As his bottom lip gave an involuntary quiver, Daniel’s face fell and he leaned in to anticipate Sam’s needs.

“Baby?”

“Please don’t leave,” Sam gasped, a little sob escaping him as he started to cry. It shocked Sam as much as it shocked Daniel, but he couldn’t stave off the wave of borrowed grief and insecurity as he crumpled forwards into Daniel’s chest and cried. Sam had always been an angry crier, but it had been so many years since he’d had good reason to. He’d forgotten what it felt like to feel so stupid, so small. 

“Sammy, honey,” Daniel soothed, cradling Sam’s head as his heart raced with a renewed flush of anxiety. “Don’t cry, this is-”

“Don’t tell me not to cry when you’ve spent all this time lying to me!” Sam wailed. “Don’t you dare.”

“Sam-”

“How bad can it be if you can’t talk to me? If you have to use my own brother as some kind of pawn to get me here?”

“Sa-”

“I won’t do it again,” Sam declared through a shuddering sob, clutching the back of Daniel’s shirt and buried his face into the familiar crook of his neck. “I won’t sit around and wait for you to get eaten by a whale or get your throat slit by pirates or what the fuck ever, I won’t, Danny, I won’t.”

“Sam.”

Finally, Sam’s mouth shut and he quieted, not yet lifting his face from the jungle hot humidity he was crying against Daniel’s skin. Daniel smoothed a hand up and down his back, keeping their racing hearts pressed together.

“Sam,” Daniel repeated in a low whisper, speaking right into Sam’s ear. “Nobody is leaving anybody. Okay? This is not what this is, not in the slightest. There you go, deep breaths. You’re alright, baby, just breathe for a second.”

Sam obliged, drawing in as even a breath as he could muster and melting into Daniel’s near hypnotic suggestion as his voice continued to lull Sam into a state of calm again.

“Better?” Daniel asked gently after a minute. 

Sam nodded and sniffed, looking up at Daniel and breaking his heart all over again with the remnants of his meltdown blushing his nose and cheeks. This was a face that could break Daniel completely, he realized. Maybe it already had. A face he’d tried to jump overboard for, even though he’d known in some capacity that it was only a mask for a hungry monster. 

“What is it, then?” Sam asked cautiously.

“It’s…” Daniel trailed off, trying to remember how he had planned on doing this. It’d all he’d been thinking about, but now that everything had fallen into place, he really couldn’t call to mind what he was supposed to do. What he was supposed to say. It all felt too simple now.

I love you. I want you. I’m staying. Here’s a ring. It’s not enough. But it’s something.

“Why don’t you go put on our song,” Daniel suggested. “And then we’ll talk, hm? You want a drink?”

Sam finally smiled and rolled his eyes, sniffing again and straightening out his clothes as he stepped away from Daniel and attempted to resituate himself. Daniel watched him with a sly grin of his own, fighting to remember every moment with crystal clarity when Sam looked from him over to the jukebox. He watched as Sam’s face registered and then split into an even wider smile, this time laced with a high laugh.

“You dork,” Sam laughed, striding over to the jukebox. It was so predictable what Sam would say next that Daniel mouthed it along with him as he quietly followed behind Sam.

“That’s my tray”, Sam echoed, borrowing his own words from the first time he’d ever spoken to Daniel. It’d become a running joke over the years as Daniel kept his long accused kleptomania alive in the practice of constantly trying to steal Sam’s tray, something that was only funny to the two of them and decidedly idiotic to Sam’s brothers. Sam wasn’t surprised to see it perched atop the jukebox as he settled in front of it, flicking his eyes up to it for a moment before looking back down through the glass crown of the jukebox to find the desired disc.

“You gonna get me a drink or are you just gonna be my creepy shadow?” Sam teased as he selected the song, a familiar violin beginning to whistle over a bright guitar when the jukebox lit up. He could feel Daniel at his back, and if he didn’t know any better, he could feel Daniel’s smile. Sam’s eyes skirted over the tray again as he began to turn around to further question Daniel, but before he got the chance, he caught a flash of something glimmering bright from where it sat atop the worn metal saucer. 

Leaning in closer, Sam could see it for what it was. His heart seemed to freeze up in his chest and he drew in a sharp breath, his body seizing so as not to prevent any distraction from the simple little ring that seemed to stare him down as much as he was staring at it.

“There’s an old sailor’s tale,” came Daniel’s voice right over Sam’s shoulder, his arms coming to encircle Sam’s waist as Sam dared to pick up the ring to further gawk at it. “About a lonely pirate and a mermaid’s ring. Can I tell it to you?”

“Daniel,” Sam replied breathlessly. “Daniel, I-”

“Once upon a time,” Daniel interrupted. “There was a very, very lonely pirate who sailed the seven seas. He was lonely because he’d had to leave his lover behind very, very unexpectedly, and he missed him very, very much. The pirate wasn’t the superstitious type, but he was a man in love, and love makes you do crazy things. So the pirate started praying for a sign that when he made his way back to his lover - and he knew that he would - that he would be waiting for the pirate with open arms.”

Sam felt those tears from before rising up again with a renewed purpose, but he didn’t dare interrupt Daniel. He leaned back against his chest and ran his finger along the smooth circlet of pearls, all of them twice as small as the beads on a rosary but just as holy. 

“One day the pirate gets the idea that he’ll bring back treasures for his lover as proof of his love, just in case his begging didn’t work. The next time his ship lands on a sandy beach, he spends his day combing the sand for sea glass and shells and anything else the ocean might’ve given up for him to find. As it turns out, the ocean was feeling extremely generous that day, because while the pirate was on his hands and knees looking for his treasure, he found something he never expected to find. A ring. And the pirate knew right away that this ring was his sign that somewhere across all those oceans, his lover was thinking of him too.”

Sam, unable to bear another second without looking into Daniel’s perfect face, turned around and found that Daniel was as close to tears as he was. He looked almost pained in the way he regarded Sam.

“I think the lover would think the pirate was foolish for ever thinking anything otherwise,” Sam rasped, his voice thick with emotion. Daniel laughed a little and rested his forehead against Sam’s for a brief moment.

“Yeah, well, maybe the pirate knew the lover well enough in only a few days that he was pretty sure he was capable of murder considering the state the pirate left him in,” Daniel explained, delivering a kiss to Sam’s forehead when he leaned back to look at him again.

“Finish your story,” Sam whispered eagerly.

“Well,” Daniel continued, clearing his throat before going on. “The pirate had a lot of time to think about the ring. He figured it had probably been thrown into the ocean under the pretense of heartbreak. Maybe love that had fizzled out, or maybe something worse. He got paranoid about it carrying the memory of all of that, but over time, the pirate realized that the ocean had brought it to him because it was ready for a new love. It had been washed clean. The pirate thought maybe he had been too when picking it up and dedicating it with the purpose he had decided for it.”

“What purpose?” Sam blurted. Daniel laughed again and smoothed a hand over Sam’s hair lovingly.

“Can I finish my dramatic monologue or do you want me to spoil it?”

“Spoil it,” Sam grinned, now visibly vibrating with energy as the last of his insecurity wore off and was replaced by pure adrenaline. “Say it. Do it.”

“The pirate decided on two things,” Daniel clarified as he thought back on it. “He decided that if all else failed when he returned to his love, he would get down on one knee and give him the ring and ask him just one more time if he would please be his. But it never came to that. The pirate returned and their love was just as strong. However…”

Daniel gently took the ring from Sam and, carefully, lowered himself down to one knee, never taking his eyes off of Sam.

“He eventually decided he wanted to give him the ring anyways,” Daniel smiled, holding the ring up to Sam. “He decided that he really did want to ask his lover if he would be his forever, even if he was pretty confident that he was already going to be.”

“What are you saying?” Sam breathed, his forefinger and thumb splayed at the hollow of his throat as he tried to assuage his dizziness and anchor himself to the comfort of his locket. 

“Sam, I fucking love you,” Daniel sighed. “I’ve loved you before I even knew you. I think I’ll probably love you after I know you, too. Will you marry me?”

Sam couldn’t respond. He simply dropped to his knees and hugged Daniel hard, knocking a laugh and a little cry out of the larger man as he clung to him and began to weep all over again. This time it was from utter relief and unbelievable, blinding, terrifying love.

“Yes,” Sam agreed, nodding his head excitedly and wiping his face with his palm. “Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, oh my god. I can’t believe you. Yes.”

Daniel collapsed into Sam and reciprocated the hug fully, able to relax for the first time in a long time at the confirmation that his years of daydreaming weren’t wasted. Daniel borderline crushed Sam against him as they embraced and laughed, murmuring about how they loved each other and how silly they felt to cry.

“Can I put it on you now?” Daniel eventually asked.

Sam nodded and peeled himself from Daniel’s chest so that Daniel could slip the ring onto Sam’s left hand. Once it was on, Sam held it up and tilted it this way and that so it caught the light just right, electric and pearlescent and beyond beautiful. A bright, clear diamond offset by the pearls; it was everything Sam could’ve wanted. Maybe this was also an apology gift in part from the ocean, Sam wondered. 

“Now who would toss this into the ocean?” Sam questioned as he watched the ring dance in the orange glow of the lights. 

“Must’ve been a rough break up,” Daniel hummed. 

“Yeah, like, maybe one of them left to go be a murderer and the other one had to stay behind to hustle drunks for tips.”

“I can’t imagine anybody would ever be that evil.”

“Yeah, imagine that,” Sam smirked, casting a sidelong glance at Daniel. 

“I just said I can’t,” Daniel joked, leaning forward and kissing Sam’s cheek. “Are you feeling a little more assured that I’m not leaving?”

“Maybe a little,” Sam murmured, turning inwards to catch Daniel’s wandering lips in a proper kiss. 

After a long couple of minutes of clawing at each other and Sam nearly tipping over from how far Daniel leaned into him to chase his tongue, they broke apart. Sam held Daniel’s face in his hands, the cool metal of the band on his finger tickling Daniel’s fiery skin and making him grin.

“You wanna know something wild?” Daniel asked, voice hoarse from crying and kissing.

“Always.”

“When I went to go get the band adjusted in Italy, the jeweler told me the silver used for the ring was from Spain,” Daniel revealed, hooking the chain of Sam’s necklace and pulling it out as he spoke. “That’s where I got this. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s fate,” Sam marveled, curling his hand inwards so they could compare the two pieces of jewelry. “I think it was meant to be.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too,” Daniel whispered.

“You big sap.”

Daniel turned and kissed Sam’s cheek again and Sam giggled, falling against him and into the touch. Daniel withdrew his lips and stretched before standing up again, holding a hand out to pull Sam to his feet. On the jukebox, the song had long since skipped to something new, but Daniel reached out and selected their song again. 

“You wanna know something else?” Daniel asked when the music changed. 

“Hm?”

“Remember the night we met?”

“Duh.”

“Hey, watch it with the sass, mister. I’ll pry that ring right off.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Anyways,” Daniel laughed, taking both of Sam’s hands and swinging them slightly. “The night we met. Before you ran away from me, did you know I was going to ask you to dance with me?”

“Really, now?” Sam smiled, blushing with a flutter of butterflies when Daniel nodded toothly and pulled him against him again. A hand went to Sam’s waist, another held the hand with the ring proudly on display.

“Yeah, really,” Daniel confirmed, swaying them to the jovial melody of the song. “I knew you’d say no, but I was gonna ask anyway.”

“You should ask,” Sam flirted.

“We’re already dancing this time.”

“And I was already going to marry you, but you asked me anyhow,” Sam pointed out with a cocky twinkle in his eye, letting Daniel give him a twirl before they settled into an amateur sort of side step with Sam’s arms around Daniel’s neck and Daniel’s arms around his waist.

“So you’d thought about it before?” Daniel prodded shyly, curls hanging down as he smiled dopily at his fiance. “Getting married?”

“Of course,” Sam murmured, feeling the heat creep into his face. “We have been dating for, like, a million years. Glad you decided to stop dragging your feet.”

“Gee, you’re welcome,” Daniel scoffed. Sam laughed and rested his head under Daniel’s chin, allowing them to dance in silence until the last few notes of the song bubbled over and then petered out.

“You wanna go inform the troops?” Daniel asked. 

Setting the whole thing up had been a group collaboration between himself and the twins, with Josh giving him the space for the night and Jake being a distraction to allow Daniel the time to set up the lights/change/get his mind together. He knew that they were both on the edges of their seats at their respective posts, Jake sat at the inn and Josh on the couch, probably with Clarice and any number of her chicks fluttering around him. He also knew (because they had told him, loudly and repeatedly) that they needed to know how it went as fast as possible, because they were just as antsy if not more than him.

Sam thought about it quietly before making an indifferent noise and cuddling up closer to Daniel.

“They can wait,” Sam announced, his voice muffled. “I want you all to myself for a little longer.”

“If you follow through on the whole marriage thing, you’ll have me to yourself forever, Brandy,” Daniel reminded him.

“Love the sound of that,” Sam giggled. “How about after forever, too? I think you said something about that.”

“Yes, after that, too. I don’t even know if there’s anything after forever.”

“Wanna find out?”

Daniel pretended to think about it long and hard, like he hadn’t spent every day for the past 5 years saying yes to it over and over and over. 

“Yeah,” Daniel agreed. “If we find out together.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

~~~

Taglist: @holdingup-fallingsky @streamsofstardust @spark-my-nature @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @lightsofthe-living-gvf @nessie-stardust @musicislove3389 @joshkiszkashusband @currentlyfangirling10

[astyrial]

not until now bucky barnes x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: you’re no damsel in distress, but he knows that word count: 660 warnings: blood, possible death of a captor masterlist | requests are open

    blood drips slowly to the floor. not from high velocity impact spatter, or a blunt object to the back of the head. but rather it runs down your chin and drips to the concrete floor below you. blood soaks your lips to create a cherry red color, the color bleeding onto your teeth. 

  you spit a wad of blood and saliva onto his dirtied white shoes. he grabs your chin, pulling it up so that it's pointing in his direction. his eyes meet yours and you can now clearly see just how cold his blue eyes are. they're a bright steel blue, the color burning a hole into your soul. 

  "bitch, you spit on my shoe again and you'll be bleeding from more than your nose," his voice is low, probably lowered on purpose to attract more fear from you.

  your face remains unchanged, a small smile lacing your lips. the red stained teeth show a little, as if you were showing him that nothing he could do would scare you. "get your hand off of my face," you whisper as his eyes narrow. 

  "what'd you say to me?" he gets a little closer, his alcohol ridden breath running along your nose, the only smell in the air being brandy. 

  you sit up a little straighter so that your face is inches closer to his. "get your hand off of my face!" a mere second after the words spill from your mouth, you lurch forward.

  while you would've loved to disarm the man using any other method, your head rams against the man's nose. he stumbles back until he trips on a box that lay in the middle of the room. his head hits the concrete flooring, either causing a concussion or some bleeding. 

  you take the opportunity to begin pulling at the ropes around your wrists. it's small, easy to get out if you can loosen the knot some. your fingers get ahold of the knot and start pulling at it until you here an annoyingly familiar voice, "so you don't need my help then doll?" 

  "oh not you," you look up, fingers nearly giving up on the knot as you notice it's who you thought it was, the winter soldier. 

  he lets out a short laugh, his eyes widening a little as you continue your escape efforts. "look, if natasha sent you, don't bother. i just need to find the flash drive and i'll be out before anyone else comes," you give him a shirt scowl, watching as his metallic arm rests on his hip. 

  "well you weren't answering comms, she thought you were captured.. which it seems you got yourself out rather easily," barnes walks over to you, his eyebrows lowered as he notices that you still hadn't quite gotten yourself out of the ties, "let me help at least a little, doll."

  you look over at him; his blue eyes, softer than that of your previous captor, stare back at you. they're a delicate blue, one that mixes with other colors to become a bright light. you wanna say no, that you have it yourself, that he can get lost. but the look in his eyes are essentially begging you to let him help.

  "alright, but i will be taking that flash drive back, not you barnes," you wait for him to finish untying the rather complicated tie (despite it seeming simple from your first look). 

  he nods, humming a little to indicate that he understands. bucky would never rain on your parade, "oh of course doll. i wouldn't take that from you, promise. now, where do you think it is?"

  you feel the rope fall from your wrists and you look back over at bucky. ever since the snap, he's been a changed person. nicer, closer, personable. yet you never fell for his kind, old-fashioned attitude of the world. until now that is. until he looks back at you, nodding while helping you regardless.

[rielzero]

Nymrod ''A Silver-y coated Fool''

Backstory Blurb;

Nymrod was a High Half Elf Silver Dragonic Bloodline Sorcerer who tried to become a fashion designer despite his family's high demands and expectations. He particularly disliked his innate magic as he had the tendency to freeze things when he got nervous.

As a result of his unstable powers and clumsiness, no one would take him as an apprentice so he had to teach himself how to sew. Struggling with what to do with his misfortunes, he briefly joined a band of friends on a few adventures, realizing he really disliked contributing to conflict and fighting. During a tour to Elturel, he got really drunk and passed out.. Only to awaken when Elturel was pulled into Avernus. The sudden shift of planes for some reason changed him into a Dainty, soft looking Tiefling, unrecognizable to himself and his friends. They swiftly abandoned him in order to flee. Left with little else to hold onto, Nymrod is who he became. Acting docile, foolish and helpless, his appearance and behavior gave him his name, a combination of ''Nymph'' and ''Nimrod'' Passed around several devils as a pretty pet to look at. Hiding his intelligence and using his charm to remain unharmed. When Nymrod was about to be sold to one particularly cruel Devil in exchange of dozens of soul coins, Raphael ended up coming to his rescue. The Cambion recognized Nymrod's facade, becoming the only safe space were Nym's intelligence was genuinely recognized. Nym is very indifferent about the conflict surrounding Avernus as he had to prioritize his own survival. Due being abandoned by his only friends in his time of need, he stopped caring for those who do not value him. Since then he has gotten used to his body, still feeling somewhat strange about it. Some inconsistencies might exist in the blurb, but he is an OC, casual oc. He wouldn't exist in the same universe as the videogame per sé, so no tadpole or mindflayer business. He's not an adventurer, so not very experienced in combat- avoids it.

Idk I like the idea of ''very evil half devil has soft spot for a very unlucky dude'' cuz I enjoy fluff as much as I enjoy angst.

*people in the house of hope literally being tortured, screaming in the background* Nymrod: Hmm. I feel inspired.. *sketches outfit ideas* Raphael: *sips from a glass of brandy* The songs they sing in the morning are the most spirited. Nymrod: Oh, should I add some more skulls in this pattern??

I don't think Nymrod is evil, but rather- indifferent? He had no room to care for others, being isolated for so long. He no longer has that passively active empathy he used to before Avernus. Too much shit happened..

Might write some fic later, idk. I don't feel confident in writing Raphael to be honest, but I want to describe Nym's story a bit more. I don't really intend on drawing it actively as I have other projects.

Nym would get along with Haarlep pretty well, sassy bitching.

Some other things about Nymrod.

-Freezing things when nervous still happens, but given that they're in hell- it just turns into water right away half of the time. ''Did you have an oopsie?'' Haarlep would probably joke around that Nym is a bedwetter.. -He sometimes sheds the scales, but they regrow on the exact same locations. Skin gets a little overly sensitive during this time. -He purrs! Isn't sure why, but it happens. -As a Half Elf, his hair was much darker, he used to wear very dark clothing, but after settling in his new form he prefers light colors. Mostly pink. -As a Fierna Tiefling and sorcerer, Nym's charm spell happens mostly subconsciously, it's gotten him out of trouble many times. -He sold his previous name to a Fey who was wandering in the Hells while he was still held captive as a caged pet. The fey gave him a blessing that makes him naturally lucky out of pity in exchange. He doesn't remember his old name or previous personality much, but he does remember his life before Avernus. He has no attachment to his old life. -Nym had no close friends or relatives when he was abandoned by his family. His only friends were the adventuring group, or so he thought.. -He is clingy, bit of a damsel. Would still throw ice at someone as a last resort. Not great at aim though. Would probably die in 2 hits. -Plays with his tail absentmindedly when he's bored, still unfamiliar with the limb at times. -Tailwag when he's excited. -He really really really likes how his body looks after the change, but it did take some getting used to. -His horns have very sensitive nerve endings. -Insecure in the bedroom, but only because he's inexperienced. His only previous sexual encounters were while drunk, has an alcohol problem but isn't addicted. He just doesn't know when to stop drinking. When given the chance he will drink until he passes out. -Whenever possible, he will make or design clothes for Raphael and Haarlep. Has his own little atelier room to work on these things. -Throws little pouty tantrums when his clothing or work gets stained. -Crybaby, very easily overstimulated. Cries when stressed. -Smarter than he makes himself out to be, loves puzzles. Has solved very intricate and difficult puzzles on a whim before. -Raphael exclusively calls him ''Nimphy'' when greeting him. -Settled for being spoiled or treated as a pet pretty easily, has kept the collar with his name on it since he first got it. He feels safer while wearing it. I might draw responses to specific questions about Nymrod actually. Feel free to flood my inbox lol, if you want me to draw this oc in specific situations..

[happynowyo]

May you please write a jacegon fic where Omega Aegon rizzes up the kingsguards and Alpha Jace is very jealous and he let's his mate know just that. ;-)

Denial and waiting

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Aegon x Jace

Warnings: Omega Aegon, mutual pining, jealousy, oral sex

Word count: 3,7k

Jace was once glad that the fight for the Iron Throne was over before any of them were seriously hurt. When Viserys died, his mother was crowned with the condition that the Greens would remain in the Red Keep, except for Otto, who was executed for plotting. Jace wanted to believe that this would strengthen their family and make them closer, but he understood that Rhaenyra had only made this decision because she did not trust Alicent and keeping her around along with her children would be much more reliable.

But now he would do anything to get back to Dragonstone. The reason was quite simple - the damned Aegon Targaryen was getting on his nerves all days long.

They had gotten on well as children, at least it seemed so to Jace, who had followed his elder uncle's everywhere and supported all of his jokes and pranks. He liked Aegon's attention, it made him feel special. He laughed at Luke, who was willing to stay up nights just to have Aemond talk to him and rub his curls, while Jace himself did the same for Aegon.

Things were much easier when they were children. Until hurtful nicknames and gossips came into their lives. Despite his mother's best efforts, Jace knew that Harwin Strong was his father. As the years passed, he saw it more and more in his own reflection in the mirror. There was nothing of the Targaryens in his appearance, but he was like them in his belligerence and stubbornness. The Alpha within him was awakening so obviously that he needed only a straight look and a jutting chin to let people know who was in front of them. He was the future heir to the throne, after Rhaenyra, and it was evident in every gesture.

Everyone saw it and everyone accepted it. Except for Aegon, who continued to treat Jace like a foolish teenager. Even when Jace grew taller than him and larger in the shoulders, when the smell of salt and oak and real dragonfire began to overpower the brandy sweetness of Aegon's scent. The couple of years of difference between them ceased to matter. Jace could put his uncle in his place, he had every chance, but something inside him made him timid in front of Aegon just the same. Aegon's charming smiles were still attractive, and he still wanted to burrow his fingers into his short platinum strands to feel their softness. And Jace hated himself for it, trying to keep the distance between them.

It felt like Aegon somehow had acquired a talent for reading minds. He already had a talent for doing the opposite of what was told to him, and now it combined in such a horrible way that Jace thought that Aegon was stalking him. He found himself constantly near him. Aegon would be the first to sit beside him at the table, leaning toward his ear with ridiculous comments, finding Jace in the training yard, bumping into him in the corridors on his way to the library or baths. His insistent attention made Jace feel ambivalent. It pleased him, naturally, but it also made him think about what else could happen next.

The more time they spent together, the more he noticed that Aegon really was an omega. Stubborn and uncontrollable, but an omega. Any stern tone and cocky smirks served as a shield for the softness that lurked inside Aegon. He clearly needed someone's firm hand to restrain him, and Jace's patience was growing thinner and thinner. More and more often he caught himself imagining how he could silence another of Aegon's meaningless chatter with a passionate kiss, or how he could drag him into his bedroom when Aegon would cling to him after dinner and walk him almost to the door.

Officially, Jace was engaged to Helaena. It was one of Rhaenyra's first decisions as the queen, and Jace didn't mind it. He tried to be a dignified son, responsible and obedient, as his mother had enough trouble getting things in order throughout Westeros. Jace had quite neutral relationship with Helaena, respecting her interests and her desire to spend most of her time alone, among the blooming flowers and some bugs. They would make a good couple, one of many among other political marriages. They would have lived many years in peace and harmony and everything would have worked out really perfectly if it weren't for the fact that Jace was literally going crazy about Aegon.

Aegon was absolutely obnoxious. It was hard to believe that he was the son of saintly and studious Alicent. Even though Daemon had beefed up the security at the Red Keep and doubled the number of city guards, Aegon continued to sneak off to Silk Street and cause everyone a huge amount of troubles with his mere presence. It felt like Aegon was in a competition with himself, trying every day to create an increasingly unbearable version of himself so that he could reach the edge and see when Rhaenyra's patience would run out.

But right now the only one closest to the edge was Jace. The invisible scent of lime and cinnamon, which he had so often smelled from Aegon, followed him everywhere. Sometimes he thought he could smell it even in his bedroom, along with the scent of the damned brandy. On his worst days, he would shamefully wake up with a hard-on, and the arousal wouldn't go away even after he touched himself. Aegon was the physical embodiment of the word "seduction," and every flick of his eyelashes, every coquettish smile and playful huskiness in his voice served as poisoned arrows against Jace.

His self-control was becoming so fragile that he went to Dragonstone in the next rut. A few days alone away from Aegon were both a blessing and a curse. Jace wanted him so much that he would agree to give up everything and run away together if only Aegon would hint at it. And something told him that was exactly what Aegon had been after, not giving up on him for months. Jace's attachment was growing stronger, but they continued to stay on the fragile edge of mutual flirtation. He did take a step toward shedding some of his future guilt, though, so he came to Rhaenyra with a firm refusal of his engagement to Helaena.

Helaena was beautiful and deserved some honesty. He didn't want to marry her and then sneak into her brother's bedroom every night. Aegon's candid glances spoke volumes about how mutual their desire was, but neither of them was willing to cross that line. Jace clung to the last vestiges of control because he knew that once he touched Aegon for real and kissed him, he would never be able to let him go. His feelings grew within him and became a true obsession. Aegon looked trustingly into his eyes and touched his shoulder playfully, perfectly aware of this. He could have had Jace for nothing, but he wanted to bring Velarion to his climax.

Aegon was weak for other people's attention. The unloved son of his father and mother. He had sought approval and acceptance, love and affection all his life, and so now he literally fed on what Jace was giving him so generously. He knew that any austerity Jace had shown was false, that they both really liked to be around each other. Whenever Aegon found himself in a brothel again at night, he chose the same type of guys. Tall, broad-shouldered ones with dark curls. Countless times he shamelessly called them by Jace's name. But Aegon was not naive, and he knew he would never be a good match for Jace.

He was a fool in the eyes of everyone around him, and that was entirely true. He could only drink and flirt, he didn't care about politics, and he would probably make a bad husband and father. But Jace was incredibly handsome, he was a diligent and patient student. Jace was making great progress in sword and bow training, and was soon to join the Small Council. When Aegon looked at him, he was almost dazzled by how disgustingly perfect Jace was. The ideal son – someone Aegon could never be. So he drank more and more, stayed in brothels longer, and showed Jace his weaknesses. But his stronger cravings drove him to be near his nephew again and again.

Aegon's quiet trill of laughter mingled with a new, loud song. Jace sighed in relief, shifting his gaze to the crowd of merry guests in front of him, but his attention quickly slipped further away. Through the dancing people, he spotted the familiar platinum head of Aegon, who was already chatting playfully with the head of the city guard. Aegon's palm slid along man's shoulder and chest, and he pressed closer to him to whisper something in his ear. Jace knew from experience how easily Aegon flirted with everyone around him. He could bargain his way out of the underworld with his charms. And that was what had hurt Jace - he was too used to the fact that lately he had been the only one receiving some attention from Aegon.

— Would you like to dance? I've heard you had quite warm welcome in Dorne, and they're famous for their entertainment. I'm sure you've learnt something from them, — Aegon would rather die than admit aloud that he'd missed Jace this week while he'd been traveling with Daemon. He leaned closer to Jace, dabbed the tip of his nose innocently along his shoulder, inhaling the heavy scent of the alpha, and almost didn't twitch when his lower abdomen cramped with a lump of desire.

— I'm not in the mood. Why don't Helaena keep you company? — the smell of Aegon's excitement filled Jace's lungs in an instant, and he clutched the glass tighter in his hand. He found his own tone all too harsh and displeasing, and he mentally prayed to the gods old and new that Aegon would back off.

— Hel hasn't took her eyes off Cregan Stark's brother all evening. I'm afraid I'll have to entertain myself again on my own.

Jealousy burned his throat along with another gulp of alcohol, and a shiver instantly ran through his body when Jace imagined what Aegon might have done with someone else. Their kisses, their touches. The beasts inside him clawed painfully at his rib cage. They demanded to take back what was already theirs, and he shifted his eyes tensely to his left, meeting Aemond's appraising gaze. Though he had only one eye, he was perfectly aware of how awkwardly Aegon and Jace were dancing around their feelings. He nodded his head faintly, and Jace took it as a mute blessing.

Seven seconds later, he was already standing beside his uncle and Alan Beesbury, frowning like a storm cloud, and his dark eyes didn't bode anything good. Aegon acted as if his omega status had nothing to do with him, most of the time, but now even he wanted to merge with the wall and disappear, just to avoid the wrath of the alpha. He shifted unconsciously toward Alan, and a wave of shivers ran down his spine as he met the fire in Jace's eyes.

Jace's smile never touched his eyes. Jealousy was corroding his veins like poison, and he was shaking inside with a compulsive desire to clutch Aegon to himself, with an instinct to brand him and chain him close, just to never see him flirting with anyone else again. The next moment Jace was dragging them both toward the exit, gripping Aegon's wrist with such a deadly grip that it would surely be bruised by the morning.

— Is there any security problems in the hall, Beesbury? My uncle hasn't distracted you from your work, I hope? — Jace's cold tone was like a pair of sharp daggers, unmistakably hitting their target without any disguise of threat.

— No, your uncle was just curious if I knew anything about the secret passages in the castle, — Alan kept his voice emphatically formal, ignoring the tension that was building up in the air between them.

— I saw some books in the library about it. I'm sure I can consult Aegon better than you.

Aegon knew he had been walking on thin ice for a long time, and now, though fear was following him unseen, a painful and misguided anticipation was growing inside him. Jace would snap, he was absolutely sure of that. And Aegon was ready to handle any pain and any hurtful words just to finally shed those doubts and stay alone with his alpha. With his alpha.

— Do you want to miss all the fun? They're serving cherry cakes for dessert. I've tasted them and…

— Shut up, Aegon. Just shut up and don't make it worse, — Jace interrupted his uncle's muttering rudely, and a wounded ego kept him from apologizing for his tone.

His lips were instantly captured by Jace as he led Aegon into his bedroom and clicked the lock, immediately pressing his uncle against the door with a wet, assertive kiss. Excitement burned out all the oxygen in the room and made them both gasp, clinging desperately to each other. The clothes became an annoying barrier, but that didn't stop Jace from pressing his palm against Aegon's groin and squeezing firmly, causing him to let out a soft moan, which Jace immediately hid in his mouth with another kiss.

Jace paused for a moment and straightened, hovering over Aegon in an almost threatening way. He was still angry, but the passion outweighed any aggression, and the fact that he could still phantomly feel Aegon's tongue in his mouth definitely softened the situation. And Aegon sensed this change in him easily, so he moved cautiously closer, touching the line of Jace's jaw with a barely perceptible kiss. As if Jace were a god who could not be touched. As if any action could have been refused, as usual.

— I hate it when you do that. When you forget all the rules and act like a street girl who'll spread her legs for the first man she sees, — Jace muttered hoarsely as he covered Aegon's neck with his bites, licking them with his tongue one by one.

— Oh, seven hell, do you kiss your mother with that dirty mouth, Jace? What would Rhaenyra say if she knew you had followed in her footsteps and also fallen for your uncle?

— She didn't say anything for two days straight after she caught Luke in Aemond's bed. I don't think she'd be too surprised about you and me.

A string of shy kisses led him to Jace's lips, and at the same time Aegon was studying his face. He was completely enthralled and speechless, at once he lost all his playfulness and boldness. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Aegon felt a sign of tenderness in him, and it stunned him and captured his attention far more than the fact that his arousal was still building up and his cock was already hard under his pants, just as the smell of his arousal and his need was filling the bedroom at a rapid pace.

Omega recognized the unspoken command easily and knelt down gracefully. Jace was the younger and he should have been on his place, but fate had decided otherwise. Jace was the Alpha, and Aegon felt it most keenly now. Jace's gaze was filled with real power, and he intensified it when he buried his fingers into Aegon's weightless platinum hair and yanked the strands back, making his uncle tilt his head harder. The excitement pushed out any embarrassment, so he didn't twitch when Aegon's dexterous fingers had already freed him from his pants and underwear.

— Please, — Aegon exhaled right next to Jace's lips, keeping his gaze piercing. So frank and vulnerable that it hurt Jace to look at him. — I know I'm a shitty person, and I know everyone would be glad to send me away so I don't look like a family embarrassment at every feast. And I know my sister would make a good wife for you and everyone would take an example of how fucking perfect you both are, but I want this now. Only you. Just for one night, because I can't hold it in anymore.

— I called off the engagement, — the quiet words slipped from Jace's tongue, but the silence that ensued was almost deafening. His palms tightened around Aegon's waist, as if he could disappear. — I decided it isn't right to marry Helaena while I am drooling over her brother.

– I don't think Luke would be happy to know that he'd have a rival for Aemond's attention, — the silly joke did an excellent job of hiding Aegon's surprise, but Jace's confession certainly relaxed him and gave him a little hope.

— You're much better at flirting than you are at joking. Maybe I should find another use for your mouth then.

— I've dreamed about this dozens of times. How I caressed you and you whined my name.

Immediately after making this confession, Aegon moved proactively closer, and confidently circled Jace's hard shaft with his palm, running up and down the length of it. The sticky pink head went straight into Aegon's ajar mouth, and the room became filled with a collective moan. The taste of precum on his tongue excited Aegon even harder, and Jace wanted to feel the wetness of his mouth more, so he pushed deeper on his own. Aegon's gaze reflected such devotion and agreement that it finally loosened Jace's control, making him forget about any shyness.

He squeezed Aegon's hair more comfortably in his own way and now controlled the pace himself. Wet sounds went flying around them, but Jace was too focused on his pleasure. All that mattered was the tightness of Aegon's throat and his warm palms that gently caressed Jace's swollen balls. The abundance of moaning was starting to make Jace's throat ache, but Aegon's mouth wasn't the only thing he wanted to fuck. He needed to mark every spot on his uncle's body, so he didn't allow himself to reach an orgasm now and instead lifted Aegon to his feet with a jerk. Jace didn't pause and didn't even let him catch his breath normally, as he already gagged his uncle with a greedy kiss, assertively dabbing his tongue along Aegon's tongue to taste himself.

Velarion obeyed at once, tugging Aegon to the bed. It took eleven seconds to take Aegon's clothes off, and another six seconds for Jace to stand fascinated, studying the naked body before him. Aegon's milky skin seemed so soft and thin, so fragile, that Jace regretted for a moment that he had squeezed his fingers so tightly around his waist before.

— I can feel how wet you are without even touching you, — Jace's sly grin made them look as if they shared the same facial expressions. — How many times have you slept with them, thinking of me?

— Stop it, Jace. Don't play with me now. Just fuck me already.

Instead of answering, Jace threw off his shirt and then was beside him, flipping Aegon onto his stomach. He jerked his hips up and pressed down on his lower back to provide better flexion. A hard slap touched his buttocks, but Aegon didn't have time to resent it because he moaned too loudly to his own embarrassment when he felt Jace's tongue slide over his slick hole. Aegon was curious if Jace had slept with anyone before, but he didn't really care as long as Jace continued to lick him so enthusiastically, holding him tightly by the hips. Aegon stretched out toward him and whimpered as if it were his first time. No one had ever caressed him like this before.

— You're incredible, you know? The most handsome man I've ever met.

— Let's be honest, you haven't met many men while you were stuck in the castle hiding behind Rhaenyra's back. Get your cock over here, Jace, — Aegon rolled his eyes with a chuckle, but stretched out more seductively on the bed, happily accepting all the compliments.

He was about to cum in shame from that alone, but Jace beat him to it, thrusting his hard cock at full length at once. It was bigger than any of the guys Aegon had slept with in recent months, so Aegon was instantly overcome with the breathtaking orgasm. He clenched around the long shaft, and his hole throbbed so distinctly, oozing its moisture, that Jace growled, sliding his palm under Aegon's stomach to touch his still sensitive cock, prolonging the intense sensations. He massaged near its head and smiled contentedly as Aegon's moans grew louder and thinner. His body went limp, floating in true euphoria, and Jace gave him some time, leaning closer with affectionate kisses on his shoulder.

— It's nice to be a whore for just one man, isn't it? You're so tight, Aegon, I wish you could feel it yourself, — Jace teased him with a smile before he straightened up and began to move.

The first thrusts were quite tentative, but he was quickly carried away as his lust clouded his eyes, and the bedroom soon drowned in the wet slaps of naked skin against each other and the deep groans that Aegon and Jace were making at the same time.

Aegon was full of new requests for Jace: to keep fucking him, to fill him, as Aegon wanted to be stained with his cum, and have Jace fuck him again afterward. Again and again. Aegon was going to make the most of this night and had no plans to pull away from his nephew, though his body was already tired and sore from too much pleasure.

— Next time you'd better get it straight. Don't use my jealousy against me, — Jace growled warningly as he finally came and thrust even deeper into Aegon's body.

A large knot remained inside Aegon, making him whimper at how much the knot had stretched him, but Aegon only smiled blissfully in the end and found Jace's palm on the bed to confidently intertwine their fingers. If he had to flirt with Jace again for months and wait for him to make the first move, he would endure the wait for that kind of sex that now left him without a single clear thought in his head.

— Did you call off the engagement because of me?

— No, I did it because of the sudden feelings I have for Aemond. Gods, Aegon. You were the only one I looked at these months. You were all I needed.

[lorata]

I’m now just imagining Lyme and Brutus comparing stats and mocking each other over how many capitolites think they could take them in a fight. Misha definitely fans the flames somehow

re: this post

I wanted to get this done before the holidays, but my brain took a vacation, so. here's a late gift for everyone. enjoy!

It starts, as with so many things, with an envelope. Delivered with the monthly mail, wrapped in a crimson ribbon, containing a scant few sheafs of paper. Ronan, designated handler of unassigned packages deemed safe by the VA, slides his bone-handled knife along the top edge and removes the contents. He pauses while everyone in the room pretends they’re not trying to peek.

Misha has gotten better at her poker face. Not that she was ever bad at lying — she won her Games with the best damn grift the Arena had seen in a decade — but for a dedicated con artist who can, and has, literally fooled everyone around her to save her life, a ridiculous urge to gloat passes over her when the stakes are low. Devon will catch her peeking around corners or spying from the windows or cackling like a cartoon villain from behind the sofa just because it’s funny.

“You could get away with it if you didn’t do this,” he said once, when her wide grinning over a prank on Callista got her resigned to cat-box duty for an entire week. “I watched your Games in Residential. You even had the trainers fooled. Do you want to get caught?”

“Yes,” Misha said with exaggerated patience. “It’s half the fun. Some tricks are good when they’re anonymous, but most of them are better when they know who played them.” Then she snapped the top of the garbage bag open and closed so the scent of cat turds wafted up into Devon’s face, and he kicked her in the shin.

They agreed ahead of time, though. This one is only funny if it’s organic, and he made Misha swear. No gloating, no grinning, not a hint that they’re involved.

“Uh, okay, sure, but you’re the one who confesses to Daddy any time you think you’ll get in trouble,” Misha scoffed. “So maybe worry less about me.”

Sometimes he thinks Misha hit her head in the Arena.

But for now, Misha’s sneaking glances like the rest of them but also using the distraction to nick one of Callista’s brandy chocolates (which are also … BDSM-themed? one of them has handcuff-shaped drizzle, and that one is, okay well that’s just a buttplug). Devon definitely stares at Misha too long, which would usually be a tell, but this time it’s because she took the strawberry vibrator truffle and his brain refuses to process the entire scenario.

(Earlier Emory ate the vanilla clitoris Callista offered her without even blinking, and he knows he and Misha will be debating whether she recognized it for the next three days.)

“Fascinating,” Ronan says, blank-faced to the end, and passes the envelope to his left without another word. Devon wants to be him when he grows up.

Brutus, next in line — perfect, excellent, thank you Ronan — stares at the paper for a long time. Turns it over, holds it close to squint at it (he will never get glasses, but probably should have five years ago), before finally recoiling like a wet cat and exploding: “Well this is some bullshit!”

Devon loves his mentor so much.

“Give me that.” Lyme snatches the paper away, then reads aloud in an incredulous voice: “‘Which of the following Victors, if any, do you think you could beat in a fight if you were unarmed?’ … What the fuck?”

“It’s a Capitol poll.” Ronan, placidly signing a stack of photographs, adds. “They aggregated the data. You can see the full methodology on the last page. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Social science,” Adessa sniffs dismissively.

“7% of Capitol citizens think they could beat you barehanded,” Ronan continues in the same helpful tone, to which Adessa sits bolt upright and hisses out I beg your fucking pardon in a tone of such icy poison that everyone in the room reflexively sits back.

Devon does not make eye contact with Misha — if he does they’re made, they’re done for, it’s the end of the fucking line — but she has to know. They cannot get caught now. Adessa will skin them and use their hide for tasteful sofa cushion covers. It’s the most fun he’s had in months.

“Poor Seeder is at the bottom,” Lyme says, which, yeah, okay. There are older Victors, but she’s the only one who never made a single kill. “Respect to the 33% who think they couldn’t take her, though. Some decent self-reflection there.”

Brutus has his thundercloud face on, and Misha cocks her head to the side. “Who’s at the top?”

Lyme’s grin turns sharp. Claudius, not an idiot, catches on. “Oh, hey, yeah, boss, who’s at the top? Who’s the one nobody says they can fight?”

“Nobody, technically.” Lyme tosses the envelope to Claudius. “2% of Capitol citizens think they can win a fight against me.” She pauses long enough to give it significant weight. “Without weapons. But five percent think they can take the big guy over there.”

Misha lets out a laugh so startled and delighted it’s obvious she didn’t fix the numbers. Devon watches as Brutus squints at her, then huffs in irritation, satisfied at her genuine reaction.

And he’s right, is the thing. Misha didn’t sabotage Brutus’ numbers — Devon did.

Each of them agreed to a limit of one interference, and made a pact not to boost their own mentor in the ranks, as that would be far too obvious. What Misha clearly did not understand, but Devon does, is that as much as he idolizes his mentor, killing Brutus’ results is far, far funnier.

And now it’s Claudius’ turn to frown at the results. “Huh,” he says slowly. “More people think they can fight me than —“

To his credit, he stops, but nobody in this room was Reaped yesterday. Petra pushes herself off her chair and snatches the papers out of his hands without a word. “Interesting,” she says crisply. “Innnnteresting. 45% for Claudius, 38% for me.”

Huh indeed. Petra is very much a badass, but Devon would swear that nobody in the Capitol remembers the girl with the mace, covered with blood and screaming for survival —

Misha catches his eye and twitches her eyelid in the briefest of winks before turning back to her autographs.

Huh. Looks like both of them did something unexpected with their given sabotage.

“Okay look.” Claudius holds up both hands. “You are a stone-cold badass. You hold the kill record, I am not arguing your numbers. But forty-five? Half? Half the Capitol thinks they could take me?”

“Perhaps they read the question incorrectly,” Callista suggests. Lyme chokes on her brandy and gives her an absolutely murderous glare, but Claudius only blinks at her. And yeah, the day Claudius gets a sex joke on the first try is the day Lyme dances ballet in a tutu. “Never mind, darling.”

Petra scans the rest of the page, nose wrinkled. “23% think they could defeat Odair. It’s an even spread of 30% for the One siblings. Did they even watch the Games, or just buy the fashion spreads?”

A shared look flickers across the gathering, quick as lightning, before Petra glances up. “The people remember what they want to remember,” Odin says, an understatement for the century, but Petra screws up her face in distaste and does not argue. He glances over her shoulder, eyebrows creeping into his hair. “And we must assume there is something of the ego, as well. 12% for me, my goodness.”

The packet makes it around the circle with mostly predictable results, a few outliers — far too many people think they could fight Emory, a fact she takes with good grace and Petra with outrage, and Johanna Mason apparently has the Capitol unduly terrified for a woman her size. There’s a tense moment when Enobaria learns she’s second on the list to Lyme and everyone braces for a scrap, but she only scoffs.

“They’re afraid of carbs.” Enobaria rolls her eyes. “They think a seven-minute workout will give them muscles like Nero. They don’t know anything. If we really want to know who’s stronger we can take it outside anytime.” Lyme raises her glass in salute, a rare moment of camaraderie.

“So,” Devon says that night, curled around Misha under the quilt. They’ve cracked the window for air, and crickets sing in the grass below. “Did you tank Claudius, or boost Petra?”

Her cheek stretches in a smile against his forehead. “I’m not telling.”

“I can’t believe people actually think they can beat any of us in a fight, though. Even Caleb, or Woof. Have you seen him when he’s sleeping?” Devon yawns. “You walk past his chair and he’ll crack your kneecap with that truncheon he keeps in his cupholder.”

“Eh. It was good fun. Plus it’s nice to remind everyone we’re dangerous.” Misha runs her fingers through Devon’s hair, nails dragging lightly across his scalp. “We could kill them all, if we wanted. We just choose not to. That’s why they pretend like they could fight us.”

There’s something about that, Devon thinks, something Brutus wouldn’t like, but Misha’s hand is soothing and his blanket cocoon is warm, and he sinks into sleep before the thought can fully form. If he forgets in the morning it can’t be that important, anyway.

[house-afire]

Do Yourself Proud (Jim/Izzy, knifeplay)

“One of the good things about Bonnet,” Izzy said, passing the brandy bottle to Jim. “Better class of spirits on board.”

They tilted their whole head back when they drank, even though, life they’d led, they must have known baring their throat like that left them vulnerable. It was a choice. Jim used to be a crab, like him, but they’d made themselves into a knight from one of Bonnet’s bedtime stories: their armor something they could take on or off, not a shell they had to live in.

“I could tell Stede you just said he’s got more than one good point,” Jim said.

“And I could push you overboard and leave you to drown in our fucking wake.”

“Eh, pretty sure I could knock you over the railing first.” They passed the bottle back to him, and this time their fingers brushed his: as slow and deliberate as the line of their throat in the moonlight. “I’d rather knock something else.”

Izzy wanted them—he thought anybody with eyes in their fucking head would want Jim—but wanting had never gotten him anywhere before.

“Christ, Jimenez.” He took a long drink and let the sweet burn of it spread through his chest. “You’ve got Archie and Boodhari already. You’re turning into Spriggs.”

They shrugged. “And I’ve seen how you look at him, so—not like that’s going to hurt any. Look, I won’t get in your face about it all night. If it’s no, then it’s no. I just figured I’d ask.”

Izzy thought about Jim on Calypso’s birthday, all dressed-up with that penciled-on mustache, handsome as anything; swaggering around the deck like sparks should’ve been shooting from their heels, brighter than Roach’s fireworks. Jim soaked in his blood because they were the only person aboard back then tough enough to saw through a screaming man’s bone to save his fucking life.

“Take me to bed, then,” Izzy said.

Jim’s smile was enough to cut his own good leg out from under him. Seemed to be a fucking pattern there.

***

Izzy kissed Jim more that night than he had anybody in the last twenty years put together. He knew that made him fucking pathetic.

Jim tasted like Bonnet’s brandy, and they kissed like they were trying to devour him whole. Izzy had only ever tumbled with other pirates, and he’d still never been plundered like this. Like the brandy, it was a fine burn.

They used his bunk, since Jim’s was crowded enough already. Izzy unbuckled the straps on his leg and eased himself onto the bed; he let Jim stow the hoof away as he lost the rest of his clothes.

“You like it?” Jim said quietly, handling it—to Izzy’s inexplicable relief—like it was as delicate as china.

Izzy told himself he’d had more to drink than he knew, and that was why his voice sounded so fucking rough when he said, “Nicest thing in here.” Jim was a smart one. They didn’t need his help working out that it was also the nicest thing he’d ever had, the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. If the ship caught fire in the night, he’d save that leg before he’d save his mother’s ring, and not just so he could hobble out on it.

He lay back on the narrow bed, and Jim came to him.

There was a glow of possessive pride on their face, and it undid him, even though he had a grimly amused hunch he knew where Jim’s head was right now. The way they were skimming their fingers over what’s left of his thigh gave the game away.

“Jimenez, stop admiring your fucking work and fuck me already.”

“I just think I did a good job for someone who’s never done an amputation before.”

“You made a clean cut, and you kept me from dying,” Izzy said. “I’m all a-twitter about it.”

They danced their touch up, ignoring his cock to play along his hipbone instead.

“I could make some other clean cuts,” they said offhandedly. “You know. If you’re into that.”

Izzy had never minded a bit of rough sport, but he’d only ever held still and waited for the cut of one man’s knife, and that was Ed’s. Wasn’t like it had gone well for either of them. But whatever they’d had had been poisoned long before the knife ever came out, dying of Izzy’s jealousy and frustration and Edward’s boredom and fury.

It was easier with Jim. He knew they wouldn’t kill him, and he knew he wouldn’t want them to, wouldn’t ache for them to cut his heart out so long as that meant they were touching it.

And he knew one more thing: how fucking good Jim looks with a blade in their hand.

Jim said, “If it’s a bad idea—”

Izzy met their eyes. Let a challenge creep into his gaze. “You have one of your daggers on you?”

Jim grinned. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.” They slid it out of its sheath and showed it to him. Their voice went soft as they said, “Family heirloom.”

“Can use another if you’d like.”

“No,” they said, giving him a brief glare. “Idiot. I don’t want to cut you with just anything.”

The words buzzed in Izzy’s blood, and they made it easy for him to stay relaxed as Jim lightly ran the point of their dagger over his skin.

It did something for him, lying there as Jim studied him and decided where to put the first cut. They settled on a spot up by his collarbone, slicing a thin, straight, sure line that was just barely deep enough to bleed.

Jim dabbed one fingertip in the blood, and Izzy couldn’t help thrusting his hips up at the sight of it, pumping his aching cock against nothing at all.

“Oh, you like that,” Jim said, almost in a purr. “Fucking great, isn’t it?” Two more swift cuts, with hardly a pause between them, and Izzy panted as Jim wrote their name on him in his own blood. He was so turned on his ears were ringing from it.

It wasn’t entirely about the pain, though God knew he’d always liked that well enough. It was about how Jim looked at him, all satisfied and thoughtful, like Izzy was a canvas they couldn’t wait to paint all in red. It was about Jim taking over him, touching his blood like they had a right to it—and they did, they’d brought it to the surface, it was their possession now that it was spilled.

It was Jim thinking he deserved the best dagger they had.

The pain was pretty damn good, though, especially when Jim put in a few more shallow notches on his side. It felt like Izzy was being whittled down into something better.

Above him, Jim’s eyes sparkled with more pride than ever. A question crept in, though, when they ran their hand down his thigh, and they stopped short of the scars they’d already given him.

“Want me to leave it alone?” they said.

“Would’ve thought you’d have polished that part of me off already,” Izzy said. “Can’t leave your mark there more than you already have. But yeah, sure, touch away.”

He didn’t think he could have told anyone else to do the same, but no one else would have wanted it as much, would have looked at him with this tender reverence as they stroked the most damaged part of him. No one else had ever looked at him that way at all, in bed or out of it.

“I don’t have to make a cut.”

Izzy swallowed. “I want you to. Let’s have one there I asked you for, then.”

Jim leaned in and kissed him, their touch chaste but burning all the same.

They scratched a delicate J into the lightest part of the scarring. Izzy held his breath for it at first, waiting for the pain to ramp up, to sour, but it was no worse there than anywhere else. Jim was taking it easy on him, of course. They must have barely broken his skin. He didn’t think he had it in him to urge them to do more. Not tonight, anyway. They looked almost shaken by this last bit of bloodletting, even though their eyes were dark, pupils wide from how much they liked it.

Worried they’d done too much, Izzy realized. Worried that they’d crossed a line.

He reached down and covered their hand with his.

“You do good work, Jim.”

They sounded hoarse as they said, “I like doing it right.”

“You do. Killing or saving or teasing me until I’m about to come untouched like a fucking boy.”

Jim lit up, and the tense, shaky look went away. “Let me do something about that too, then.”

Izzy let his head fall back against the pillow. “Fucking finally. However you like it,” he added, because if they were here with him, they must have wanted something besides what they were getting with Archie and Boodhari, and he had no fucking objections to ticking whatever boxes they had left.

It must have just been the knife-play they’d been after, though, because when they stripped down and joined him, he had trouble imagining that anyone in their right mind would object to this. They straddled his face, climbing on so they looked down the length of his body, and then they bent down and took his prick into their mouth.

Izzy had to bite down on his wrist to stifle a shout, but Jim heard it anyway.

They straightened up a little. “All right?”

“Of course it’s fucking all right,” Izzy said fervently. It had just been a while since anyone had sucked him off, and no one had ever done it in a way that gave him this kind of view and the promise of this kind of taste. “You’re fucking brilliant.” And he wasn’t going to waste any more time talking about it. He took hold of their thighs and licked up into them.

Jim said several things in Spanish that Izzy couldn’t really follow with their thighs up against his ears, but the tone was promising.

They put their mouth back on him, and he did his best not to fucking explode before they could even properly get started. He concentrated on his own business: licking them open until he could slide his tongue over their cock.

Fuck, he loved the scent and taste of them, being face-first in their cunt like this, buried in their body. He closed his lips around their cock, testing it out, and Jim bucked into his mouth at the first suck. A clear instruction—do more of that—so he did.

He matched Jim’s own rhythm at first but soon slid into complementing it, instead—like they were sparring, their retreats and advances and strikes and parries all falling just where they needed to, more like a fucking dance than a duel. He’d noticed Jim from the start, and after they’d tried each other—their knives against his sword—he’d been fucking gone on them. And for good reason.

Jim was dripping wet, and Izzy felt an almost gut-level satisfaction at the idea of his beard being soaked from them, of having them mark him this way too.

His balls drew tight just thinking about it, and he pulled away from Jim to mumble a warning—his lips slick and swollen, his pulse pounding—but Jim just hummed around his cock, finishing him off. He wasn’t going to be outdone on that front—well, not by much, anyway—so he plunged his face back between Jim’s legs.

Jim spread themselves out even wider, moving their legs from Izzy’s ears so he could hear them.

“Suck me until I scream, all right?” they said.

Izzy had always been good at following orders.

***

Afterwards—after he’d licked Jim clean and Jim had, despite him snarling at them, doused his shallow cuts with what was left of the brandy—Izzy lay there, dissolved and undone, watching Jim get dressed again. He felt a little low somehow, but he usually did after the best and roughest fucks; he was used to it by now. He looked at Jim, golden in the candlelight, getting covered up piece by piece.

He cleared his throat. “I take it your little harem doesn’t like knives in bed. You get that itch again and want to scratch it, you know where to find me."

Jim stilled, their trousers only half-buttoned. “What do you mean?”

Jesus, kids these days. Was scratching an itch that foreign a concept? Outdated lingo? What the fuck did they say instead?

“You wanted to play around with your daggers, so you found someone who’d be into it.” Roach would have been enthusiastic too, but Izzy wasn’t a saint, wasn’t going to toss around suggestions for how Jim could replace him in this little niche of theirs. Roach was getting laid enough on his own anyhow.

“Olu’s not wild about them, but Archie’s good with the daggers,” Jim said, still looking at him like he was babbling nonsense. “Why’d you think she wouldn’t be?”

Because why else would they have asked him for a tumble? Izzy kept that answer to himself, but Jim seemed to read it off his face anyway. They got back on the bed and straddled his hips, the rough cloth of their trousers threatening to rub his overused cock raw.

“Fuck,” Izzy said.

Jim started grinding on him, slow and sure. “You think I’m only here because I can’t get what I want somewhere else? I’m here for you, pendejo.” They dragged their thumb along one of the marks on his chest, the sweat on their skin a bright spark of pain in the cut. The friction started the bleeding up again, and Jim leaned down and kissed it away. Izzy’s blood shone on their lips until they licked it off.

“Everybody on this ship’s always ready to turn cannibal at the drop of a fucking hat,” Izzy said, because nothing else he was feeling has any words that could go with it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone how good you taste.” They put their mouth to his ear, and the next words came out in a whisper: “Unless you want me to.”

Izzy was spent, but his cock still gave a desperate twitch at that idea, and perched on him as Jim was, they couldn’t help but notice it. He felt their lips curve: hard and victorious as any pirate gloating over their plunder. It was about time, that unseen smile said, that Izzy remembered that the crew painted his hoof with gold.

“You up for another round?” Jim breathed.

“I’m too fucking old to be up again tonight at all,” Izzy said, but he reached down between Jim’s spread legs so they could rut against his hand, too. “But don’t suffer on my account.”

They pushed his wrist away and slid their hips along his instead. “Want to feel you soft, feel how I’ve got you all used up. You good with that?”

Izzy hitched his chin up. He was, yeah. Or good wasn’t even the word.

Jim ought to be done with him, by anyone’s standards. They’d exhausted him, finished off what he was good for, and they had other people they could go to—softer, kinder, better, more beloved—but they were still here. They still wanted him. Still enjoyed being with him.

They could look at what the two of them had done together and feel good about it, want more of it, even now. Izzy needed that, just like Ed needed Bonnet. He’d needed it for a long time.

“Shit. Hang on a second—let me get naked again.” Jim wriggled off of him and shed their clothes quickly. Even when they were in a hurry, they were neat, which Izzy liked. Jim did things right.

They came back to him bare, and this time, without as much lust fogging up his brain, Izzy could appreciate what a bizarre fucking sight it made when Jim straddled him, their strong young body—as well-balanced as one of their daggers—against his old, scarred, sinewy one. If Jim minded the fuzz of graying hair on his chest or the weathered coarseness of his skin, though, it sure as hell didn’t show. They touched him everywhere, not just on the marks they’d given him.

They seemed set on the notion of rubbing themselves off on his softened cock, however long it took, so Izzy didn’t offer his hand again. He put his fingers to use elsewhere, stroking along Jim’s thighs again.

Jim usually kept their chest bound flat, but they’d stripped off that bit of cloth along with everything else. Izzy ghosted his hand up Jim’s sweat-slick belly and stopped just short, waiting to see if this was safe ground or not, the way they’d waited for his signal about his leg.

Jim nodded. “Yeah. Go for it. Feels good.” They made a small noise in the back of their throat, and the lazy ride they were on sped up a little. “Just—easy. I get sore.”

Izzy had built his reputation on years of shouting and scowling and slashing about, but that was just what caught the eye: he’d done plenty of work that required a light touch. He showed that off to Jim now, pressing soft kisses to their chest before licking one nipple with the flat of his tongue.

Jim rewarded him for his consideration with a very pleased gasp.

“Just—just like that—fuck, Izzy—” They pressed down even more firmly against him, wild and desperate now, and made a frustrated noise in the back of their throat when they couldn’t find the pressure they needed for this last bit. “Put your hand back?”

Izzy did. The angle was too fucked for him to crook his fingers and stroke Jim’s stiff, slippery cock the way he’d have liked to, but that was fine—didn’t seem to be what Jim was after anyhow. They just wanted to rock against him, use him like a dog would use the leg of a chair, and God help him, it was fucking hot. He was breathless from it.

Not so breathless, though, that he couldn’t try to give Jim what else they wanted. They couldn’t feel his soft, chafed-red cock anymore, not now that they had his hand, but Izzy could give them the next best thing.

“Fucking used me up, Jim,” he rasped. “Sucked me fucking silly. I won’t be good for a fucking thing, not for hours—all soft and worn out and sticky with you, you fucking menace.”

A sound tore its way out of Jim’s throat—half-laugh and half-moan. Encouraging, Izzy decided.

“Need to use my hand because you’ve finished off my prick. You gonna finish off the rest of me too? Until I can’t even move?”

Jim’s hips snapped forward, and they dug their fingers into Izzy’s sides as they finally tumbled over the edge a second time.

They folded down onto him, muttering curses against his neck. Izzy turned his head just enough to brush a kiss against the short, damp spikes of their hair—fucking embarrassingly tender, but it was … fine. Fuck it. He was on Bonnet’s floating paradise of tarted-up lovingkindness, and he was past caring anyway.

“Thought you were going back to yours,” he said, when Jim showed every sign of falling asleep on top of him.

They yawned. “Yeah, I was, but then you were all hot and … emotionally needy. And now I’m exhausted and you make a nice bed, so deal with it or kick me out.”

“Fuck off,” Izzy said, but he didn’t mean leave, and they both knew it. “I’m not ‘emotionally needy.’”

Jim hooked their ankle around the crumpled-up blanket and kicked it up high enough for them to grab it and pull it over where they lay tangled up with Izzy. “Take it from somebody else who figured it out kinda late: it’s fine to let people give you what you need sometimes.”

This was what he’d needed tonight, he knew. He let Jim tuck their head into the hollow of his shoulder, and he breathed in the scent of them. He could, Izzy let himself realize, need this again, and he just might get it. It was almost painful to think about—because how many years had he wasted, not even trying, not even asking—but sweet, too. Gentle and warm and steady, like Jim’s hand on their knife.

[hydropyro]

The Fiddler Went Down to Faerun

Chapter 3

The nobleman was polite and attentive as Johnny began to speak, but the young man was unsure of where to begin. First, he’d never met a noble before, if that’s what this guy was. He’d never even met the mayor of his town, to be truthful. Of course, he was an out-of-town city type who’d just moved in—Johnny shook his head at the thought. If he done his job, it was none’a Johnny’s business where he’d come from.

“Well, Mister, I’m not sure where to start,” Johnny said, taking a long drink of his water. “I’m not even sure where I am.”

“Have you heard of ‘Baldur’s Gate’?” The nobleman asked. When Johnny shook his head, the other man continued, “Have you heard of ‘The Sword Coast’?”

Johnny wracked his brain, trying to remember everything he could from geography class. He knew there were many coasts, but if it weren’t the East Coast or the West Coast, he couldn’t say for sure. “No, sir.”

The nobleman nodded. “I wouldn’t be wrong in assuming that you’ve also not heard of ‘Faerun’ or ‘Toril’, then?”

Again, Johnny shook his head.

“I didn’t think so.” A silence fell between them for a moment while the nobleman considered what Johnny had said. “I don’t want to alarm you—you’re currently on a planet called Toril. We are in a trade city along the Sword Coast of Faerun.”

Johnny gave a low whistle. He had wanted to find more competition, and he supposed that The Devil probably was still the toughest opponent, even in Europe. “Well—that makes things a little harder, maybe.”

“So, what brought you here? You made a deal with some sort of wizard?”

Johnny laughed. “A voodoo woman, yea. But first, I actually made a deal with the devil.”

The other man became very serious a moment before he laughed. The sound was hearty and came from his chest, which also made Johnny smile.

“It sounds crazy, I know. Not everyone knows or even believes that he exists— is there a devil on this planet?”

“More than one,” Raphael said. He took another drink from his brandy, finishing it off, and just as it had at the table, the glass refilled.

“Really? How many? Have you seen any?” The other man looked amused, which put Johnny at ease. He truly did appreciate the help that Raphael had given him, and hoped that all of his questions when he was supposed to be telling a story wouldn’t cause him to overstay his welcome with the gentleman.

“A few,” Raphael said thoughtfully. “And yes, I’ve seen more than I’d hasten to try and count.

“So, what was it that this devil wanted with you?”  The man was intrigued, as he said he would be. Maybe he didn’t believe Johnny’s story, but he was an active listener.

It had been a week since Johnny had met with the devil. He’d tried not to think about that day too much— about the events preceding the monster’s arrival.

Johnny’d been sitting alone just inside the forest line near the cemetery. The stranger'd come in the form of a tall man. At first, Johnny'd thought he’d come to offer the grieving son his condolences, as he’d been wearing an all-black suit.

Johnny'd finished his piece, a song that he’d ‘composed’, as she insisted it was called, with his late mother. She'd've liked to 've heard it one more time. The blonde man had propped a foot up on the thin stump of a felled tree and listened to him play in earnest. Even his heeled cowboy boots were black, and he lifted his black suede hat from his head. Despite the heat, his long blonde hair hadn’t had a touch of sweat.

“A beautiful piece, boy.” He’d had a kind voice with a smooth drawl. Soft wrinkles pulled at his features, but he looked young at the same time.

Johnny had bowed his head to the man in thanks. “It was my Momma’s song.”

“Did she teach you to play?”

Johnny'd shaken his head. He’d been playin' since he was a kid, just pulling the bow most of the time on an old fiddle that fell out of tune more often than it was worth tryin'a keep right. Whenever the family’d gotten together, he’d played along with his Granddad, Dad, and uncles. That was before the lumber accident. He continued to play with Granddad until the Good Lord’d called him home to Nana.

“All of ‘em people o’er there,” the stranger had gestured back to the departing guests. Folks from Momma’s church and her quilting group. Old friends that’d come from ‘round the country to say their goodbyes, “How many of ‘em are with you, son?”

He’d been trying all day not to cry, and especially didn’t want to shed any tears in front of this stranger, as genuine as he seemed. But he’d gotten choked up as he said “None of ‘em. All I had was Momma.”

He was a young man. He didn’t even live at home no more, rather out at his grandparents’ old cabin on the hill— but the prospect of bein’ alone in the world was scary.

“My condolences,” The man had said. He pulled a fiddle from his back, though Johnny hadn’t seen a case, and began to play the song that Johnny had been playing. It was impressive, given that he’d only heard part of it, and it was of Johnny’s own creation, so the stranger’d never seen it written down.

“Will you stay around these parts?” The man asked. He was able to make the fiddle play so quiet and soft that they could talk over its humming.

“Probly not,” Johnny had replied. He joined in with the man, imagining how much Momma would have loved to hear their song played on two instruments. She’d never been able to figure out how to play herself, though she’d tried. “Once I get the money, I’ll probably head out. Momma always wanted to travel, I should do it for ‘er.”

The stranger nodded solemnly. “Life is too short to waste time wishing. Say— why don’t we make a deal, you and I?” He pulled another instrument from the non-existent case. Johnny had had his suspicions that this wasn’t a ‘man’ in the way he seemed, but now he was sure of it.

It was metallic, and gold. From the scroll to the chinrest and the bow, too, for good measure.

“Solid gold,” the stranger murmured, his voice rich and flowing like honey as Johnny eyed the piece. “It’d fetch you a good price. Probably get you t’ Alaska if ya wanted.”

“What’s the deal?”

“A fiddle play’n competition.” The stranger was matter-of-fact.

Johnny nodded. He’d probably never get invited to play at the Grand Ole Opry, despite how much his Momma’d loved his play’n, but he could play okay. And, what did he have to lose? “And if you win?”

“Are you a prayin’ man?”

“Yessir.”

The man nodded thoughtfully and was quiet for a moment. “I’ll be real with ya. You probably know me as The Devil, Satan, or whatever other names you human folk have come up with.

“If you win this little play off, I’ll give ya this here golden fiddle. It’s’ enough gold to set you for life, Johnny boy.

“If you lose, though, I’ll take yer soul.”

Raphael laughed. “Did you take the deal?”

Johnny looked away from the fire in the hearth, drawn back to the present. He gestured around himself. “I’m here, ain’t I? How’d ya think I paid the voodoo woman?”

“Surely it was no devil, then,” the gentleman reasoned.

Johnny shook his head before nodding emphatically. “Nah, I’m sure of it. When he started play’n his fiddle caught fire ‘n all these wing’d little beasts come outta nowhere ‘n played along with ‘im. Somehow none’a Momma’s friends nor the pastor saw.”

“And what did you play?” Raphael asked.

Johnny felt himself blush. “I don’t quite know, to be truthful. I just— played. ‘nd after, he gave me the fiddle. I sold it, took my money, and set out for adventure, like my Momma would’a wanted.

“I figured if I’d beaten The Devil I’d have to look elsewhere for competition, so I asked the voodoo woman to send me to where I’d get to travel and find a good opponent.”

“Seems she sent me to a world of magic,” Johnny laughed. But he had his suspicions about the ‘enraptured’ gentleman beside him. What a weird coincidence that’d be, though.

[frodothefair]

꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂

Chapter 6 - All That Is Gold

READ ALL ON AO3

SUMMARY : Sam knows he cannot tear himself in two, but Frodo's struggles after the quest are worsening. Marigold Gamgee gets a job at Bag End, and grows close to its enigmatic master. J. R. R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D'Urbervilles. CHAPTER SUMMARY : Frodo tutors Marigold, and they discover that her difficulties run deeper than they thought. Frodo searches for new ways to help her learn. PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam secondary GENRES : hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life, girl next door WARNINGS : PTSD, depression, panic attacks, eating disorder, eventual spicy scenes RATING : M

When she was with him, he felt bits and pieces of a familiar warmth, for her resemblance to Sam was uncanny. She had the same easy, plainspoken manner, the same roundness of features, the same sun-colored hair and gold toned skin – though Marigold’s was rather prettier, and could have been compared to a just-ripe peach.

They also had the same presence of mind and attention to detail that belied a deep-feeling and deep-thinking nature. With Sam, it had been food, rope and distances. With Marigold, it was again food, but also cleanliness and health, along with the organization needed to navigate a smial where she was quickly coming into her own.

He had come to think of her as an unexpected, splendid gift, that came and went every day, and would one day be gone for good, off to marry some respectable farmer’s son. So he had decided to appreciate her company while it lasted, even if it was only lent to him by the world.

He certainly could not think of her as anything more, because… well, for the likes of him there could be no more. Any thoughts he had beyond the next few days ran together into a mist, and made him feel like he stood at the edge of a precipice.

But when she was with him, he felt bits and pieces of a familiar warmth, for her resemblance to Sam was uncanny. She had the same easy, plainspoken manner, the same roundness of features (which she had regained after the Lockholes), and similar sun-colored hair and gold toned skin – though Marigold’s was rather prettier, and could have been compared to a just-ripe peach. They also had the same presence of mind and attention to detail that belied a deep-feeling and deep-thinking nature. With Sam, it had been food, rope and distances. With Marigold, it was again food, but also cleanliness and health, along with the organization needed to navigate a smial where she was quickly making herself at home.

He was overcome with a desire to do something for her – beyond just paying her wages – for he had not lied when he said that he felt useless, never mind that he had ruinously poor sleep that left him barely able to lift his arms.

The reading and writing felt like an opportunity. When he first learned of her difficulty, his heart had squeezed with pity. Having read everything he could get his hands on from the moment he learned his letters, he had always found it easy and natural as breathing. At Brandy Hall, after he had inhaled all the books, he even read the dictionary and took note of the particularly unique words, writing them down in a notebook that he would add to for many years after. So to hear that someone found reading hard as chewing rocks was difficult to comprehend – but what a metaphor, in fact! – she was certainly not daft. More than that, he found it incredibly saddening. It brought to mind a person who was standing outside in the cold, locked out of a merry gathering and with no key to get in.

He had worried at first that he would not know how to teach her, or where to begin – but Marigold proved a willing student, and at times she all but taught herself. All he had to do was suggest something, and she took to it and ran.

On the first day, they did not even get to the reading. Marigold had instead asked what words she had gotten wrong, so they took to the wastepaper basket, and placed the labels side by side, old and new, and she dutifully copied down the proper spellings into her notebook in her wobbly, awkward handwriting.

When they got to the word “overalls,” which Marigold had spelled with one L, Frodo pointed out that since it had the word “all” in it, it would be helpful to think of other words that ended the same way.

And Marigold summarily came up with “tall, ball, call, shawl, crawl,” which she had started to write down, when –

“Those last two are spelled with a W,” Frodo pointed out.

Marigold raised her eyebrows. 

But she did not seem frustrated by this, just genuinely surprised.

Frodo nodded. 

“It’s alright. Just start a new column for them. And then let me show you something.”

He pulled a piece of paper toward him, and wrote a sentence.

I shall wear a shawl.

He turned the paper towards her.

She moved her lips, silently, as her eyes moved over the letters.

“This one is ‘shall’,” He pointed to the second word. “As in ‘will.’ And this one is ‘shawl,’ the thing you wear.”

“Shall… shawl…” Marigold nodded as she repeated the words, her eyes fixed upon the paper. “I shall wear a shawl…”

The realization hung palpable in the air. If she had not known, she might not have gotten the point across. But sitting here with Frodo, her anger toward Sam felt spent.

Frodo nodded again. And of course, there was also “shoal,” a large group of fish, or indeed people, who moved as if they were one, but it would not do to confuse her with further elaboration just then.

Simple, Frodo, simple – he reminded himself. 

It was an oddly comforting thought.

“Shawl – shall… Shall – shawl,” Marigold repeated as she traced the words, each into their own respective column.

“Very good,” Frodo affirmed. “Just keep saying it out loud as you write. It should help, so it’s both your hand and your ears that remember. Try to emphasize that one sounds like an ‘o’ and the other like an ‘a’ when you say it.”

Marigold did, and as wrote the two words again, this time on a spare piece of paper, Frodo also wrote the word “shawl” and drew a scarf beside it, pulled over a set of small, invisible shoulders. 

And that started the drawings. She drew honeycombs next to “wax” when they came up with words that sounded like “flax,” the word that had started it all, and paw prints next to “tracks” – and repeated the words emphatically and dutifully as she wrote and rewrote them again. And she did not seem distressed by it all, just paused and gave a chuckle as Frodo said there were two ways of spelling the word “ax” – one with an “e” and one without. She then drew an ax by the word and said, “you know, Mr. Frodo, I always thought the letter K looked rather like an ax, myself…”

And looking at it, he did in fact see it – though for his part he had always thought it looked like a dwarvish rune – a fact, he supposed, not incompatible with axes. But since the association was not a proper one for the spelling of the word, he put forth that a better way to remember it might be that if you took an ax to something, you destroyed the thing and put an “x” over it – or, if unsuccessful, left the indentation of two blade cuts.

Marigold laughed at this, and accidentally put her hand where the ink had not dried, leaving an impression of “ax” on her hand. Frodo passed her the blotting-paper.

In the end, they had come up with far more words than was reasonable to learn in a night, so agreed that she would only learn the first ten, and the next day Frodo would quiz her on them.

Marigold left Bag End that day feeling like she was walking on air.

She liked learning, of course, but not for lack of feeling daft – indeed, she felt daft more often than not, except for when Sam taught her – but that, as had already been established, was a lie. Indeed, the feeling never truly went away; she only got used to it. Her sisters often got annoyed when they had to show her how to do something multiple times, and Mrs. Bracegirdle was thin on praise and her criticisms were famous. But Mr. Frodo?

His corrections were, like everything he said, a simple invocation of fact, easy and obvious like “two plus two equals four,” and as casual as observations on the weather. There was nothing personal to them, no judgment – just the offering of pieces of knowledge as gifts, for her to take and do with as she pleased.

And Frodo, for his part, had gone to bed that night having missed his evening glass of wine or three, and having drunk instead the milk infused with lavender that she had warmed for him. And it might have been his imagination, but that night he had a harder time falling asleep, but once he did his awakenings were fewer and farther between: the dawn came more quickly, and the cries of the wraiths in his dreams were not as loud.

The next day, they did get to the reading. 

It was, again, after dinner, the candles lit in anticipation of sundown. Marigold had settled in at her spot at the dinner table – which they devoted to their task upon realizing that none of the desks – nor, indeed, the escritoire – were big enough to fit two hobbits and the tools of the tutoring trade. She opened The History and Customs of Hobbits and began to read, and Frodo, for all his breeding and broad-minded nature, had to forcibly clamp his mouth shut to prevent it from hanging open. 

“Hobbits. Are. An. Un–ob–tru… un-ob-tru…sive?… Unobtrusive. Right. Unobtrusive. Better write that one down. But very. Ank – ancient. People. More than. Wait, no. Hobbits. Are…” (1)

She plodded along, while Frodo cast about for something – anything – to say.

The only thing that came to mind was “Holy Petunias, she reads like a young child.” But even thinking that felt shameful. 

And more than that, what was he, or anyone, to do about it? He was more than ever at a loss – for back when he was a child, the words had almost instantly begun leaping off the page, assuming color, size and shape like so many living things. But Marigold was fumbling for those same words as they ran away from her in the dark. What hope was there of ever bridging such a gap? And what tenacity she must have had to get this far in life regardless...

“Even in. An-cient days. They were. As a Rule. Were not. Often. Wait…”

“Wait, Marigold.” Frodo put his hand on the book. 

She looked up, her expression that of someone caught breaking the rules.

He let his hand linger on the book, making his eyes as kind as possible.

“Marigold – may I ask, how did you read when you trained with Mrs. Bracegirdle?”

Marigold noticed his hand by hers, but her shoulders drooped all the same. She looked at the book, chastened, but she kept her voice steady.

“Why, just like this, Mr. Frodo. I told you it was like chewing rocks. The words never came together as they should.”

“But it must have taken ages!”

“It did. Sam helped a little, now and then. He read to me when I got tired.”

“But did he know – how hard it was?”

She shook her head. 

“At first, I was too ashamed to tell him, and then I was too ashamed that I hadn’t told him. So I said I had headaches, or that I was tired. And I do sometimes get headaches when I read too long. The letters start to wobble.”

Frodo winced. The image of them standing at an impassable door came to mind, much like the Mines of Moria.

Marigold looked forlorn, like she had been expecting it. She fiddled with the corner of the page as if to say, it’s alright, Mr. Frodo, it was a valiant effort but there is no shame turning back now.

Except there was.

Maybe not shame exactly, but something made him determined to see that despondency erased. In another life, he might have taken up Sting to get rid of it.

But instead, he reached for one of the other books, and thumbed through the pages.

“Here, let’s try something different.”

He shifted closer to her, and lay the book between them, open to a short page of verses. Before she could try to read it, he covered all but the first line with a spare sheet of paper.

“Here, this ought to help. I’ll try first, then you.”

He took a breath and began to sing. He had not previously put Bilbo’s poetry to music – nor had anyone else that he knew, but it was not difficult to do: he carried the first words of each line higher, dropped lower in the middle, and finished each verse on the note where it started.

All that is gold does not glitter

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost. (2)

He stopped, and looked at Marigold. It was not much, but perhaps? If words on a page did not coalesce on their own, then perhaps it was easier to work with words that were meant to?

“Try doing what I did. This is one of Bilbo’s compositions.”

Marigold shook herself out of a daze. She could not recall ever hearing Frodo sing, most certainly not to her – or rather, for her. He had a fairly good voice…

Tentatively, she took up the paper marker, and placed it under the first line. The letters sat calmly above it, like birds on a fence. She took a breath.

All that is gold… does not gli-i-itter…

Not all those … who wander… are – lo-o-ost;

The old that is strong … does not wi-i-ther,

Deep roots are not reached … by the fro-ost.

The paper was under the last line. She looked up, a mild astonishment on her face.

In truth, she had not actually read, but rather imitated Frodo’s words and music for half the passage. But knowing what words lay ahead made it easier to recognize them, and the predictability of the rhyme and rhythm was soothing.

“That’s very good.” Frodo nodded emphatically. “Maybe we ought to focus on poetry to start. You’ve made a lot fewer pauses with this one.”

She felt herself prickle from her head to her elbows – a bright and excited sort of feeling that buoyed her up.

She nodded. Poetry was certainly fine by her.

“May I – copy this one over? It’s lovely. It’s really Mr. Bilbo’s own?”

“It is. And yes. Copying things over is always good practice.”

She dipped her pen in ink.

“And the word ‘reach’ may be a good one for our sound-alike exercise,” he added. “Words with ‘ea’ and ‘ee’ can be difficult to parse out.”

Her pen hovered over the word “all,” now firmly entrenched in her mind as having two L’s instead of one.

“What does it mean, though, Mr. Frodo?” 

“The poem? Oh. Well, what do you think it means?”

Marigold pondered for a moment. 

“I think…” 

What did it mean? Deep roots? Wandering people? Gold that did not seem like gold? They were all beautiful, sad images, but this, too, was a first. No one had ever asked her what she thought a piece of writing meant. 

Frodo turned to her, elbow on the table, and waited for her response with curious eyes. The sun was setting, but not so low that the candles were the only light. Even so, the things around him grew dim by comparison. She blinked; it was almost as if he was lit from within.

“I think…” She regrouped her thoughts, “I think it means that things are not as hopeless as they seem. You’d think that something’s worthless, lost, dead, but it always comes back. It always reveals its true nature.”

“It’s curious that you use the word hopeless.”

She turned back to the page.

“It’s what came to mind, Mr. Frodo.” She set to tracing the word “that.” “‘Cause losing things, and losing people, can feel a might hopeless... But did I get it right? Is that what it really means?”

Frodo pushed his seat away slightly.

“Poetry means different things to different people, I think,” he replied. “That’s why I’ve always liked it. But in truth, this one originally was a riddle. It’s about one of the companions Sam and I had on our quest, Aragorn. He is now the king of Gondor, but for many years they thought his line was broken and lost, and he was just an unassuming Ranger of the North.”

Marigold ceased writing and put down her pen.

The name Aragorn was familiar from the four Adventurers’ stories, though just like words in general, unusual names were never her strong suit.

“How did he find out he was king, then? And how did his line get lost?”

She wanted to know more about this mysterious man, about whom such a beautiful poem was written. She would likely never meet him, but he was special enough to Bilbo and Frodo that the first had written a riddle about him, and the second had kept it and showed it, now, to her. 

“Ah, well that is an interesting story,” Frodo replied. “But perhaps best left for another day.” He looked outside. The trees were no more than outlines against a pearlescent sky.  “I think we had better end for the day, once you finish copying down the poem. The Gaffer will be wondering where you’ve got to.”

They are, essentially, reading the prologue to Lord of the Rings, the section entitled “Concerning Hobbits.”

“The Riddle of Strider” from J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

HE FOUND HIMSELF LOSING THE LINE BETWEEN COMFORT AND HIDING OR RUNNING.

So Clint had thought to remedy that by denying himself comfort; Tony wasn't his partner or anything of the sort. He was his friend and his roommate right now, and that's okay. That's enough, but he thought that maybe what would get them straight; make sure they didn't blur the line like a few days back was total denial of what he wanted, of what he thought maybe he'd need just to prove he didn't and he could make it these months. It may be two month out from when he had planned, but he wouldn't have any of this when he moved back IF HE STILL HAD HIS APARTMENT.

Yet today he had found that thought bullshit, or found that he just couldn't deny himself. Felt more withdrawn than he had and more anxious about today than anything else. This was life now, and he had to start considering all the other people in his life.

Last night had gotten him thinking about that more than anything. WONDERED HOW MANY MORE WORKSS HE COULD GO WITTHOUT. It'll have been over a month, almost two since he had mostly cut contact with everyone or ignored their phones, their texts. SOMETHING HAD TO CHANGE.

Tony doesn't even say anything, and it's a grace that he jut touches his thigh. A SQUEEZE and he exhales at that; relief. A shaky little brief.

❝ YEAH, but what can I do? It'll be Saturday tomorrow, then Sunday. ❞ The point being made that it would make him have gone full week without either of those. Putting them off longer would only slide Clint backwards. ❝ Oh, and I got meeting with Murdock tomorrow, I can just take a bus to Hell's Kitchen if that's... ❞ AN INCONVIENCE FOR YOU. Trailed off thought, and he picks at his food. Eating a bite or two, but going slow.

❝ UH, maybe. I think, the time confirmations are in texts. ❞ He hopes that he's scheduled a break in there. That would be a lot for Brandy too if Tony was dragging her along. He pulls out his phone and passes it to the other without thought. It's clear that Clint's left a lot of notifications left unread and's been doing his best this week to lie and hide about how well he was doing. Putting his best effort and a little performance on; Clint actually was trying but he was masking the more negatives.

YEAH. I'LL GO. NO PROBLEM AT ALL. He had been trying to get it somewhere in his head, that he didn't need to have additional support; that he didn't need to lean on his sponsor even when he had asked for Tony, told him a few days ago exactly that h needed him, needed that from him.

IT'S NOT THAT CLINT WASN'T TRYING. THAT EFFORT WASN'T BEING SHOWN. He had made progress, meaningful progress, and he was doing his best and trying. When they had talked, Clint had really talked and he did actually ask for help when he needed it; like right now he was doing just that. It's more simply that he may have been overcorrecting a worry had not based in reality, and was not trying to apply any negative; get through the week and not let it be seen how hard it actually was, and be seen as weak for that. It's not lying, or running away; he was confronting thing, but he was omitting or hiding what exactly was in his head.

❝ Thanks. I... THANKS. I need it. ❞ YOU. That was hard to admit.

HIS EXPRESSSON SOFTS, he turns his head and watches as Brandy involves herself in their non-conversation. SHE'S MOVING HER HANDS, and so Clint sits up a little and starts to sign to her. Doing estentially the same as Tony was doing, but making the conversation through sign.

Asking her questions, agreeing with her, pointing something out. She does start to repeat a motion, which Clint recognizes as something she had picked up. WHETHER SHE KNEW IT OUT, Clint couldn't say but recognized FOOD. So Clint looks upon their plate, then gets up to go to the fridge to grab one of the applesauce pouches, ❝ This what you want? ❞ He does the sign for more and eat to her, that he's been trying to teach her, to see if she'll repeat them back to which she does.

He twists the top off and hopes it to her lips, squeezing out the applesauce slowly to which makes her happy. ❝ I know you were every our plates, but this gonna still be much easier for you to to eat. It's good, right? Yummy yummy. ❞

Clint sits back down, and keeps holding onto the pouch. A little more applesauce shouldn't upset her or her stomach, at least he hopes and she isn't being greedy.

Tony takes a seat and a plate of pancakes is put in front of him and Clint takes a seat next to him. Clint hadn't been this close to him since their awkward hug goodbye five days ago. Tony had picked out the toppings based on ones he'd had the day before, and Tony looks from his plate to Clint and put's his hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. It's about as much as they'd touched each other in days.

He picks up his fork and cuts himself off some of the pancake.

"That's a really big day." That was an understatement. Clint was going to end the day both physically and emotionally wrecked. Maybe Tony could convince him to have an afternoon nap with Brandy. If they were even home in the afternoon. "Will we have Brandy back for a nap?"

He nods and rubs Clint's leg. He'd had the feeling that yesterday's meeting alone had been a little much after he'd collected him from it. Clint was even more withdrawn than he had been all week. BABY STEPS. "Yeah. I'll go. No problem at all."

Their conversation is interrupted by Brandy who seems to want to join in with them. She screeched to get their attention, and then when they turned to her, she began to babble loudly, her little hands moving along with her sounds. She's started to babble with her hands a lot more since Clint had started to try and teach her sign language. It was very cute, and it made meal times extra messy. Tony had considered asking Clint if it was possible to get Lucky back, just so the dog could collect up the food as it went flying.

"Oh really?" Tony said. "I hadn't considered that at all. You might be on to something, kid."

[reaper-bloodmoon]

(Inky Space) Visiting Lake's Multiverse

Lake, after finally having gotten home from being stuck in Dark Sun's pocket dimension, had decided to chill on the couch and watch an anime they had recently started watching, Dungeon Meshi. That was until they heard a very loud "thunk" from outside their living room window.

"Who the fu...?" Lake questioned as they paused the episode they were on and walked over to the front door.

When they opened it, their expression shifted to a deadpan look. Seems that Nexus had decided it would be a great idea to follow after them not long after they left.

"Why did you follow me, Nex?" Lake leaned on the doorway and crossed their arms as Nexus got to their feet, dusting off his clothes.

"Well...honestly I got curious about what your home dimension was like, I didn't think it would be another multiverse." Nexus glanced around the neighborhood that they were currently in.

"Certainly seems more peaceful than my multiverse, no star power and wither shards..." Nexus continued, finding himself fascinated by the current peaceful air.

"Oh please, this place is anything but." Lake rolled their eyes and jabbed a thumb towards the right at a pretty massive house where some shenanigans were taking place.

What was exactly happening, well a short rabbit with a blue tint was trying to properly use his psychic abilities even though he was failing. There was a giant black furred bunny on top of the roof trying to grab a white-furred bear child, along with another black furred bunny with a red tint this time panicking while being t-posed on by yet another black-furred bunny, though this one had a golden yellow tint to them instead and seemed to be shouting some things that sounded kinda cringey.

"Shut up, Smiley, da baby's on da roof!" The bunny with the red tint yelled at the bunny with the yellow tint, his Japanese accent being heavy.

"Oh calm down, Brandy, Elaine's an expert at roof walking!" The yellow tinted bunny stopped t-posing for a moment, his smile never going away.

"Still ain't safe for her, Gold!" The giant black-furred bunny's voice boomed from up on the roof, having managed to grab Elaine a.k.a. the white-furred bear.

"But it's super swaggy cool!" Gold derped his eyes, making everyone in the vicinity cringe, including Lake and Nexus.

"Ugh, I didn't think I'd cringe like that for awhile." Nexus facepalmed, the fact Lake had that guy as a neighbor made him feel bad for the toon.

"Oh he's not the worst thing to deal with, I'd be more concerned with Burado and Black over there." Lake transformed their tail into an arm, pointing it at the red tinted bunny when they said the first name then the giant black-furred bunny when saying the second name. They then turned their tail back to normal.

"Why should I be concerned with those two? I could easily crush them beneath my heel!" Nexus laughed and clenched his fist, his uncanny grin seeming to get wider.

"Well Burado's a demigod and Black's a dark matter elemental...could also snap your body in half." Lake explained bluntly, dashing Nexus' hopes and smug attitude about the whole thing.

"Heh...eheheh....please, I'm not afraid, I've pissed off astrals before, what would make those two so different?" Nexus tried to dismiss the idea that these two could crush him instead.

"Don't come crying to me if you ever get your ass kicked by them, I warned you." Lake sighed and went back inside, Nexus swiftly following in.

"Your ceilings are super high..." Nexus pointed out, running his hand along the support beams.

"Well humans aren't the dominant species in this multiverse, so ceilings being extremely high is the standard now." Lake went back to laying on their couch and started playing the Dungeon Meshi episode, going back to watching it.

Lake's words echoed in Nexus' mind, humans aren't the dominant species in this multiverse....well, if the whole thing with Dark Sun didn't work out, he could always move to this multiverse. He then decided to flop himself on top of Lake, letting out whirring noises that sounds similar to a cat purring. Lake made a poker face as now they scooted back a little so they could actually see their TV without being completely crushed by Nexus.

"Ugh, you're just like a giant cat." Lake rolled their eyes and was pretty much stuck holding onto Nexus like he was indeed a giant cat.

"Aw, don't like it, puppy-dog?" Nexus teased, rubbing his faceplate against Lake's cheek.

"I don't like you flopping on top of me you dickhead-" Lake growled, his ears flattening against the top of his head.

"Too bad, deal with it." Nexus purred, comfortably laying on top of Lake.

Lake groaned as they were once again stuck with Nexus acting like a giant cat, the only difference being that this was their home multiverse.

[ipomoea-batatas]

diandria

Ed remembers once, before...well, everything, that Stede had mentioned something about picking flowers that grew on the grounds of his boarding school. His eyes had lit up briefly, but then the next second something in them flared out and died.

“Silly of me,” he’d said, with a little head shake, and then moved onto another topic.

Ed thought of asking, but it had seemed like a painful memory, and besides—he was too engrossed in watching Stede’s face as he kept talking, animated and bright.

~*~

It’s months later. They’ve weathered the storm of heartbreak, of grief, of pain (mental and physical—Hornigold almost had Ed bleeding out on the deck before Stede finally showed up like some kind of avenging saint).

Life follows a steady, if not always easy, rhythm—there are misunderstandings, miscommunications. Little ways they didn’t even know they could hurt each other until it happens—small, unhealed hurts to clean and re-stitch.

But there’s also marmalade, and milk tea, and warm nights with fine brandy. There’s hand-holding and oh Edwards and other things he didn’t even know it was possible to want.

And there’s also—because Stede didn’t want to give it up, and because Ed found out it could be fun again, at Stede’s side, with Stede’s absolutely lunatic sensibilites—plenty of piracy. The fuckeries are so elaborate now that the Caribbean is alight with bizarre tales—ghost ships hunting in the night, ships helmed by beautiful sirens, and even (although perhaps this one hasn’t spread terribly far) a ship manned entirely by human-sized cats. (That one was maybe not their most successful, but as Stede always says, no bad ideas in a brainstorm.)

On this particular raid—a more straightforward one this time, a small merchant ship that surrenders easily—Ed is in the captain’s cabin. It’s an odd little space, with some surprisingly delicate touches, reminding him a bit of Stede. The man’s inkwell is needlessly elaborate filigreed silver. His chair is made of finer wood than most. And all around on the walls are frames filled with bugs and pressed plants.

Ed peers at one, a big moth. He doesn’t like bugs—tricky, flying fuckers always getting up in your face—but this one is pretty cool. Bigger than any bug should be, but bright green, with little blue curlicues on its wings.

(A memory surfaces—Dryocampa rubicanda—delicate legs perched on Stede’s soft hands. He always wondered how Stede had gotten it to rest on his finger like that—but then, that was Stede, wasn’t it? Reality just sort of bent around him in ways Ed was sure he would be spending the rest of his life puzzling over.)

He looks away from the framed moth and focuses on what he came for.

Stede had assured him over and over that he didn’t care about the books and the other fine things. “I’d let you throw them overboard and me after them a million times over, if it pleased you,” he had said, and Ed knew he meant it. But still... for weeks after his return, Stede would be chattering along, as Stede did, on some topic or another, and say something like, “you know, I have an excellent illustrated volume, if you’d like to see! It’s...” and then trail off and settle back down, remembering. “It’s all right,” he’d always say quickly. “No matter at all.”

But Ed still felt like shit every time.

From then on, Ed always looked for books on their raids. Stede never went for them—he didn’t know if he still remembered Ed saying don’t and slapping the book out of his hands all those long months ago, the first time the crew of The Revenge had shadowed Blackbeard’s, or if Stede simply felt that bringing back books would feel like an accusation, like an acknowledgement that he missed them.

So Ed always looked for them. He had started filling up the shelves without saying anything, leaving them there for Stede to find. “Just looks weird to have them empty,” he had muttered when Stede caught him putting them there “Might as well use all this space.”

It had become their little thing. (Well, one of many.) Ed would pour them brandy, watching out of the corner of his eye to see Stede’s reaction to whatever he had picked up.

He had gotten better at picking them out. Stede always flushed with pleasure when it came to books, but Ed could tell when he had really hit paydirt. It was fun, to get Stede excited. Never got old.

He opened a cabinet and, sure enough found a bookshelf. He had known he would—the whole cabin had a scholastic vibe to it. There was even an unfolded pair of spectacles on the table.

He looked through the volumes.

Ed could read well enough. Most people didn’t think he could, and he fucking let them, because it was always worth it to shove people’s assumptions back in their face when it counted. Oh Blackbeard, please let me write a message to my wife back home! I just don’t want her to wonder. I’ll put it in the sea, it might never find her, but if there’s a chance...It had been real fun to read that message right back to the startled captain. Your wife’s an admiral? Quite a catch, there. Didn’t know your lot practiced mateolage. Good times.

These, though, were in Latin. He could vaguely piece stuff together since a lot of the words were similar enough, enough to know that these were science-y books. It made sense, with the bugs and flowers and stuff.

He pulls one out. Systema Naturae, it says in big letters. He flips through. Lots of illustrations. Stede usually likes ones with lots of illustrations in them. 

(There had been one quite memorable volume Ed had found with rather detailed illustrations of men in all sorts of intriguing positions. Had found it in the quarters of the ship’s chaplain, to no one’s surprise. Ed would never quite forget the cycle of expressions Stede’s face had rapidly undergone...or the night that had followed. If Ed could have, he would have shaken that book’s hand and bought it a drink.)

Most of the illustrations were of plants and flowers.

Stede likes flowers. He had never talked about it again, after that one time, but Ed sees the way his eyes are always drawn to them. Sometimes, when they were on shore, they would be sitting together outside and Stede would idly pick a nearby wildflower, looking at it and starting to smile before casting it aside. Ed would always ask if something was wrong, and Stede’s face would take on that sweet, too-bright expression, assurances tumbling from his lips like dropped coins he was trying to scoop up.

The only flowers Stede seemed to allow himself were the ones embroidered onto fabric.

Perhaps flowers made of ink would be all right, too.

~*~

That night, as per their usual routine, Ed poured brandy into their glasses as Stede “pretended” to notice the new volumes.

“Are these new?” Stede asked innocently, picking up the book with its blue leather cover. He frowned slightly, then smiled. “Ah, yes! I’d heard about this one. It’s quite new, very recently published.” He walked over, flipping through it idly. “Not quite the usual fare, is it?”

“There weren’t any with blokes getting each other off this time. I checked.” Stede snorts and takes the proffered glass of brandy, sitting down and looking thoughtful, the book balanced in his hands. The silence between them is odd. Not bad, just...odd.

“I know you like plants,” Ed finally says. “And flowers.”

Some unseen knot smooths out in Stede’s face, as if the end of a ribbon is being slowly pulled. Stede seems to frown slightly as something falls away. Then he looks up and smiles.

“I do like flowers,” he says. “You’re right.”

“Thought you could tell me about them,” Ed says. “Haven’t been around them too much. Don’t really grow at sea.”

Stede looks at him for another long moment. It takes his breath away, sometimes, the way Stede looks at him, like he’s a treasure Stede’s just unearthed.

“All right,” he says, smiling and pulling Ed down to rest against his shoulder, stroking his hair. He points to an illustration. “This is Canna indica, but they usually call it Arrowroot—there was some growing outside that bar in St. Vincent a few weeks ago—the one where we had to go in and get Wee John after that dance-off started a brawl? Such a cheerful yellow, I find...”

(This is the night that Ed learns flowers reproduce sexually. There’s diagrams and everything. Flowers—who knew, right?

It’s another good night. A really good night.

Ed reminds himself to buy flowers a drink sometime.)

[potter-imagines]

Getting Drunk With Fred Weasley

Prompt: getting drunk w/ your boyfriend Fred would include + mini blurbs

Warning: drinking, swearing, and some suggestive wording

Word Count: 2.2k

Notes: n/a

Parties are not an uncommon event in the Gryffindor common room

Alcohol and drink mixtures of all sorts are being poured left and right every weekend

Most weekend you have a drink or two while catching up with your friends after a busy week of school

Other weekends you choose the path of getting plastered alongside your boyfriend off smuggled liquor and bottle of beer

On these night in particular, 

Fred does not let you out of his sight

At all

Unless of course Lee challenges him to a beer pong match then he’ll carefully usher you over the couch where he can keep an eye on you while he’s playing

Has to pause the match like 20 times to chase after you and lead you over to his side “Y/n! You know you can’t out drink Seamus- he’s Irish! C’mon, come watch me kick George and Lee’s ass. They’re so bad it takes two of them to even manage a winning shot yet somehow they still suck!”

Loves it when you cheer him on

Is constantly glancing over to reassure himself you haven’t run off again

Your distraction is heightened in this state

So he feels the need to be your second set of eyes

Which had come in handy many a times

Like when Ron dared you to touch the burning fire while he was wasted on dragon barrel brandy

“Don’t be a pussy, Y/n. Swipe your hand real fast and you won’t even feel a thing-” “Y/n, pull your hand away from that fire, love. Ron, what the fuck? Are you trying to set my girlfriend up in flames? Angel, Ron is an idiot, you know that, don’t do anything he says again.” “Hey!”

And the time when you all were playing strip poker and Fred quite literally threw himself on top of your body to cover your chest when George teased you to take your bra off and your hands reached back for the clasps

(( he bitched at George for five minutes straight for that suggestion ))

Fred knew you were not one to back down from a challenge, especially when drunk and not considering the consequences or regret that would follow

So he always made sure you never embarrassed yourself too much or did anything you’d be wanting to take back come morning

During any Gryffindor party, Fred is the life of it

When he’s not preoccupied fawning over you, he’s hopping around with George seeking out trouble

The man throws back liquor like its water

Claims he knows his limits, but he really doesn’t

He is a touchy drunk

Hands brushing through your hair as you chat on the couch

Arms wrapped around your shoulder as you laugh along with your friends

Fingers laced in yours whenever you’re near

He craves your touch even more so when the liquor taints his veins

Let’s be real, Fred is not exactly the type of boyfriend to try to get you to stop drinking

He still makes sure you’re safe and not over drinking but,

Most of the times,

He’s the one pouring the shots for you

And mixing the drinks

But he always knows when to stop, and when you’ve had enough to drink

He tries to mentally keep note of how many drinks you've had but loses track once he reaches about five on his own end

Sometimes he’ll silently swap out your glass of whiskey for a glass of pumpkin juice

It’s obvious to Fred that he made the right choice when he watched as you sipped gleefully on the juice, not making a single comment on the dramatic change in taste

In these moments he begins to prepare himself for a night of babysitting you

And he’s so sweet in helping you on the nights when you go an inch- or ten- overboard

Carries you up to your bed and helps you change out of your clothes and into new ones for bed

He gets you wipes to take of your makeup, if you’re wearing any, and he’ll sit you between his legs on your bed while he brushes through your hair

After you’re properly ready for bed, Fred makes sure to set a glass of water on your nightstand incase you get thirsty and a bag of crackers if you get hungry

Stays the night without question when you ask

Other times he stays regardless of if you do or don’t

Your roommates don’t mind seeing as he takes care of you meaning they don’t have to

He’ll lay on his back and usher you over to place you head on his chest

His fingertips will soothingly trail up and down you back, lulling you into a deep sleep with the rhythmic motion

Tries his best to make sure you fall asleep first

Drunk Fred really has no control over his sleep habits and has a tendency to pass out from sudden exhaustion at any moment

One second him and George are fucking around with partygoers, supply them with different products of theirs, and causing pure chaos

The next second Fred was snoozing away while he laid on the couch with his head in your lap

Then he was back up an going again

Like a toddler on a sugar high

He’s such a giggly drunk

Kisses to the tip of your nose

Always smiling over at you and complimenting you  

“Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?” “Only ten times, but I’m okay with elven.” “Let’s make it twelve, you looks absolutely stunning- so pretty, and all mine.”

The boy can’t help it, you make him feel weightless with happiness sober and the feeling only intensifies when he’s been drinking

There are nights when Fred can’t seem to taste the scorching burn of the liquor anymore after about six shots and it these nights where George and yourself are left dragging him up the stairs

George will beg you to stay the night because he can’t handle Fred’s drunken rambling about how much he misses you

And you agree because, how could you say no to Fred’s adorable puppy dog eyes and grabby hands longing for you to cuddle with him

If you two are both drunk, you’ll stay up talking- or rather whispering- under his comforter

He’ll stumble over his words and jumps from topic to topic in the blink of an eye

Uncontrollable giggles as he whispers- or rather stutters- out the most confusing jokes you’ve ever heard

Like

“Angel, angel…” “Yes, Freddie?” “What happens when a toad’s car breaks down?” “I dunno…” “It gets froged!” “I’m sorry, come again? Isn’t it meant to be the frog’s car that breaks down and it gets ‘toad’...not ‘froged’?”

But he’s out like a light before you can get an explanation

He breathes like darth vader when he’s in his drunken slumber

Yet its somehow comforting in an odd way

Like it reminds you that he’s there holding you

And also that he’s still alive, which is surprising at times with the amount of drinks he consumes in one night

If you think Fred acts reckless sober, he thinks he’s invincible when he’s drunk which is even worse

He’ll agree to almost anything

If Ron were to tell him he bet Fred wouldn’t jump from the Astrology Tower all the way down to the courtyard? Fred would do it just in spite of him

The only time this attitude of his had gotten him into trouble was when Fred, George and Lee came up with the grand idea to go down the boy’s dormitory staircase on mattresses

Fred, being the brilliant man he is, decided to go first

You had been gossiping away in the common room to Hermione about a new Muggle actor the two of you had seen in a film when you heard the loud crashing, followed by the voice you loved so much groaning in agony

By the time you reached the opening to the stairwell, George and Lee were aiding Fred down the stone steps, carefully avoiding his ankle which had been twisted in an inhuman position

Madam Pomfrey surprisingly kept hum about Fred’s intoxication and instead scolded him for hours on end about his reckless, mindless choice to try to slide down, winding, steep, stone steps

Once news reached the professors the nest morning, McGoagall dismissed 40 points from Gryffindor for the incident

Using your mattress to surf down the twirling stairwell has since been prohibited

On a separate occasion Fred had accident lit the edge of the curtain on fire

You can always tell when he’s reached that level by the volume in his tone

It tends to get deeper the more intoxicated he becomes

And his words slowly slur together into a string of blabber

Mostly compliments, sweet words, and sometimes suggestive ones as well

Fred gets a bit more… forward when he’s got that liquid courage soaring through him

His hands will start to roam slowly from around your waist to your lower back, then resting on your bum

He gets turned on watching you play beer pong for some reason

Especially when you win

Maybe it’s the view he’s graced with when you bend to bounce the pin pong ball

Or the feistiness that arises when the match gets hot

It’s more than enticing for him

Fred can feel his frame get stiffer everytime you bend across the table to retrieve the cup and chug the beer from it

When the round has ceased and you’re declared champion yet again, Fred steps forward to pull you in for a hug

As he gives you a kiss on the cheek, he whispers, 

“Good girl! Now if you beat George again I’ll give you a special surprise later tonight, angel.”

Which makes your knees weak like jell-o as your frame pushes into his for support

It doesn’t help that you can feel just how excited he is through the denim of his jeans

Fred dips his head to plant a trail of wet, teasing kisses along the skin of your warm neck until George was groaning and pleading for you to start the match

You practically shook for the entirety of the game, still managing to sink almost every shot into a cup forcing George to drink for the majority of it

He ended up tapping out once you nailed the seventh cup in a row and kept your winning streak alive due to his need to find a trash can immediately

You stopped there to join Fred by his side as he smiled to you, clearly pleased that you won

“Looks like someone is getting rewarded tonight.”

His arm draped around your shoulder as you leaned into his side, your cheeks flaring from the mass of bodies but mostly from Fred’s suggestive promise

He only forced you to suffer through the party for another ten minutes or so before pouring one last shot for the both of you, then nearly pushing you up the winding stairs to his dorm

Lets just say he certainly fulfilled on his promise- more than once that night

Loves it when you sit in his lap when you’re on the couch together

Whispers dirty secrets into your ear

Drunk Fred leaves hickies under the clothes

He’s not the type to care who’s around, he’ll try to slide his hand up your skirt in front of nearly anyone when he’s inebriated

“Fred- you’re brother is sitting right there, stop it!” “Shhhh, angel. He’s not even watching, right George?” “Right, Fred.” “See?”

To which you glare dangerous at him as you place his hand back in his lap, but Fred continues to smirk in amusement

It’s like you’re a preschool teacher constantly having to tell a child to keep their hands to themselves, Fred just refuses to listen

Fred doesn’t necessarily get jealous of other guys

He trusts you and he’s confident enough in your relationship not to feel threatened by other guys

However he is possessive af over you when he’s been drinking

In a sweet way tho

Literally wants all your time and attention when he’s drunk

If you don’t feel like dancing, he’ll ask you to come watch him dance

When you say you need to use the bathroom, he’ll ask a million times if you want him to come with

If George places a bet against Fred in a game of cards, Fred will drag you over to sit next to him as Seamus shuffles the deck and prepares the table

He’ll show you his cards and tell you to pick one

Even though he knows you’re completely unaware of the rules to the game, he loves the smile of excitement that appears on your face when he lets you

And in the rare times that you do say no, he works his magic with those big doe eyes and pouty lip until you say yes

It brings him comfort when you’re by his side

Your nights end the same each day, wrapped in his arms listening to the relaxing thump of his heart as the two of you doze off, both silently dreading the awaiting hangover than would surely greet you first thing in the morning, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

[t0th3-ark]

More Than Metal

Gavin Reed x Android!Reader: Part 2

Warnings: cursing, guns, alcohol use, crime scene, blood

Part 1

Analyzing Sample…

[Analysis Complete]

Sample Contains:

Thirium 310: 96%

Blood: 2%

Human Plasma: 2%

Analyzing Thirium…

Model ID - AP400

Serial Number: #495 345 12-8

"The fuck are you doing?" Gavin interjects. (Y/N) looks over at him as she kneels at the puddle of blue blood, fingers to her lips. VN opens her mouth to speak but Gavin holds up a hand. "Y'know what? I don't wanna know." Reed scoffs walking into another room.

○ Follow Detective Reed

□ Contiune to Investigate

● Follow Detective Reed

(Y/N) stands, following Gavin from a distance. Gavin glances around the blood stained apartment. "This is so gruesome shit." He mutters. VN tilts her head.

○ Question tactics

□ Urge him to continue working

◇ Leave to investigate in another room

X Continue to follow

■ Urge him to continue working

"Detective, I believe we should collect evidence. You seem distracted." (Y/N) states, hands behind her back. Gavin glares at the android. "You don't get to order me around, plastic." He grits.

○ Question tactics

◇ Leave to investigate another room

X Contiune to follow

X Contiune to follow

(Y/N) remains silent LED flashing blue. Gavin shakes his head kneeling down to inspect the floor where the victim was killed. (Y/N) stares at the blood splatter on the walls.

Analyzing Splatter…

[Information Acquired]

WEAPON: Kitchen knife

ANGLE: 43.2°

VN blinks. "The deviant was an AP400 model, a caretaker. It lived here with it's owners." Gavin looks up at (Y/N). "And how do you know that?" He ponders aloud. "I analyzed a sample of thiruim, there," She says, pointing to the floor. Gavin cringes. "That's fuckin' gross." He murmers. "The deviant was injured. It's blood was mixed with the victims, meaning, it couldn't have gotten far." (Y/N) explains. "We should proceed to the station to interrogate the survivors." She says. "I thought you said we needed to collect evidence." Gavin says, crossing his arms as he stands. "We have gathered enough information from this location." (Y/N) concludes. Gavin laughs, mockingly. "Look at you, smarty pants." Gavin teases, getting a confused blank expression from the android. "Never-fucking-mind. Let's go, dipshit." Gavin growls, walking out. (Y/N) hesitates, wanting to ask him if he was angry with her. That didn't matter. Why did she care?

Gavin walks through the automatic doors of the DPD. He heads by his terminal throwing his keys on the desktop. Hank watches the two walk back in. "Hello again, (Y/N)." Connor says, nodding at her. He smiled. VN nods at him. Androids weren't programmed to smile. Where they? "Good afternoon, Connor." She says, flatly. Hank snorts, grabbing her attention. "I fail to see what is humorous about our interaction, Lieutenant." She says, eyeing Anderson. Hank raises his hands as if he were surrendering, turning back to his computer. "Fuckin' androids." He mutters. "Would you hurry the fuck up? I don't have all day." Gavin says, impatiently tapping is foot on the floor. "Yes, detective." (Y/N) obeys. Connor's LED swirls yellow as he watches her go. "I have an unknown feeling." Connor says to Hank. "I think you may be worried, kiddo." Hank says, frowning. "And you wanna know somethin'?" Hank says, leaning towards Connor. "Me too."

Gavin huffs, slumping down in his desk chair, spinning around mindlessly. (Y/N) watches him, eyes following him as he spins. Gavin stops, glaring at her. "What did I say about the fuckin' staring, tin can?" He complains. "I apologize." VN says, looking somewhere else for his comfort. "Fuck it." Gavin announces. "I'm going home." He says, getting up from his chair. "I beleive we still have work to do, detective." VN says, her LED swirling blue. "Yeah well, Fowler can bitch at me tomorrow about it." He says, walking past her. VN quickly follows him. "I do not believe it is wise to leave your work unfinished." She says, referring to the stack of paperwork on his desk. She watches him swipe his card to clock out. He doesn't say away but holds his middle fingers up at her, with a strange expression. VN watches him exit. Her LED swirls yellow.

○ Follow Detective Reed

□ Stay at the Precinct

● Follow Detective Reed

(Y/N) walks through the automatic doors, following Gavin out to his car. Gavin glances over his shoulder, seeing her following him. He groans, stopping at his car. "What do you want?" He demands, unlocking his car. She stands on the other side of his car.

"I was assigned to help and assist you. I do not think leaving work to drink is a good idea, so I will be going with you to the bar." VN says, opening the car door and getting inside. Gavin stands there, mouth open. "Wait a damn minute." He protests, bending down to look at her sitting in the car. "You ain't doing shit! Get the fuck out." He orders. "I'm afriad I cannot comply, sir. According to your current physical and mental health, drinking alone could put you in danger." VN says, maintaining eyecontact. "Get out." Gavin says again. He wants to pull out his gun and shoot her brains out but something in him doesn't have the strength too. He's tired.

Yet another silent drive. Gavin's radio is turned up on a dangerously high level. VN isn't bothered but is worried about the effect on her partners ears. She concludes it is best to not comment, due to his recent outbursts. Gavin pulls up to Jimmy's, a local bar, and parks his car. Gavin opens the car door, putting his keys in his jacket. VN exits after locking the car doors. She walks behind the detective, deducting that he didn't want her by his side. She notices the package of cigarettes sticking out of his pocket. She assumes he has a lighter as well, somewhere on his person. 

Scanning...

[Jacket Scan Complete]

FELINE HAIR: 

• Burmese

• Chartreux

OTHER:

• Zippo Lighter (Sliver) 

    • Engraving: "Love you little bro. -Elijah"

• Cigarettes (Marlboro 12ct.)

• Car Keys (To: Camaro, Model: 2023)

• Stain - Front: Coffee (2 days old)

• Stain - Collar: Lacrimation from tear ducts

VN stops analyzing as they enter the bar. Gavin exhales, pretending he isn't being followed by a tin can. (Y/N) looks around. It's dimly lit, quiet. Music plays and it smells of alcohol, cigarettes, and cigars. She puts her hands behind her back, following Gavin to the bar. He pulls out a stool, hopping on top. A bartender, assumed to be Jimmy, saunters over to her partner. VN stands close to a wall, analyzing every detail of the bar. "Hey, kid." Jimmy says to Gavin. VN attempts to give Gavin privacy with the bartender but can't exactly turn off her sensors. " 'Sup." Gavin sighs, leaning against the bar. Jimmy chuckles, glancing at the out of place android against the wall. "That yours?" He teases, gesturing to (Y/N). "Don't give me that, J." Gavin scoffs. Jimmy laughs, boisterously. Gavin can't help but smile a little. Jimmy was pretty cool and he gave great philosophical advice. 

"Watcha want to drink, son?" Jimmy asks, turning to the wall of drinks. "Brandy on the rocks." Gavin says, pulling out his box of cigarettes and his lighter. Jimmy sighs. "Rough day, huh." He says, pouring his drink. (Y/N) watches carefully. She started to get an unknown sensation across multiple sensors in her being. She scanned herself for malfunction or errors. Nothing. VN tilts her head to herself. What was that sensation? It wasn't an error or a malfunction? Possibly a glitch. She shakes it off watching the detective. The sensation returns. She attempts to flush her systems, but it remains. She ignores it, concluding it was a glitch. "You can say that again." Gavin says. Jimmy slides him his drink watching him closely. "You look tired, kiddo." Jimmy comments, leaning against the other side of the countertop. Gavin chuckles. "Everyone says that. I'm fine, J." Gavin lies. "C'mon, Gavin. Talk to me. It's a slow night." Jimmy pries. Gavin sighs, lighting the cigarette between his fingers. He raises it to his lips, taking a drag. He looks down at his drink.

VN glances around the room, unintentionally listening. The sensation had left. She wasn't alive. She couldn't feel. It was a simple glitch. "It's been hard without him." Gavin says, taking a sip of his brandy. This peaks VN's intrest. "I know. You seem to care about him a lot." Jimmy responds. He must know more than she knows about the situation. Gavin glances at the android that accompanied him, downing his drink. Jimmy sighs again. "Is that thing givin' you trouble?" He asks, grabbing the glass to refill it. Gavin takes another drag of his cigarette. "Yeah it is. Fuckin' Fowler assigned it to me or whatever." Gavin says, words full of spite. VN feels the sensation return. Her LED blinks yellow.

Analyzing...

[Analysis Complete]

Malfunction?

[Access Denied]

(Y/N) blinks, LED pulsing red. She straightens her posture, ignoring the sensation, yet again. Jimmy nods, following Gavin's story. Gavin takes a swig of his drink again. "You two get along?" Jimmy asks, tapping on the counter behind him. "Fuck no." Gavin snickers. Jimmy smiles, almost sadly. "The things been following me around like a dog. Gets on my fuckin' nerves." Gavin sighs, finishing his second glass. (Y/N) notes his blood alcohol content. Jimmy grins at the detective. "Maybe she's there to help you. Ever thought about it that way?" J asks, grabbing his empty glass again, pausing. "Oh, that's utter bullshit. Don't side with them, Jimmy." Gavin spits, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bar. "I'm only sayin', maybe it's there for a reason, kid. You look like shit. It could help you, y'know." Jimmy shrugs, filling his glass again. Gavin snorts, feeling the buzz kick it. "Thanks, J. How nice." Gavin teases. "Give it a chance, Gav." Jimmy pushes. "No way in hell am I trusting a piece of plastic." Gavin argues, gladly accepting his third drink. (Y/N) decides to step in. "Detective," She starts. "Fuck off." Gavin grits, waving his hand at her. Jimmy watches the two. "I beleive you've had enough." She states, hands behind her back still. "This is only my third so fuck off." Gavin growls. He usually had a better alcohol tolerance but not today.

"Your BAC is nine point two and increasing. This can impair your judgement and functioning." (Y/N) says. Gavin laughs. "You're not my babysitter, tin can." He says, lifting the glass to his lips. VN snatches the glass out of his hand, putting it on the bar. "What the fuck?" Gavin hollers, clambering out of his chair, almost falling in the process. "The alcohol had already taken affect, impairing your vital judgment. It is time to leave, sir." (Y/N) says, sternly. Her LED blinks yellow, analyzing his next move. Gavin reaches for his gun, which VN anticipated. She reaches forwards, knocking the gun out of his hands. "Hey, hey, hey!" Jimmy shouts. "No blood on my floor!" He says. A few people have formed a crowd around Gavin and the android. "Detective, we are leaving." (Y/N) says, picking his gun off the floor and pocketing it. "You fuckin' piece of shit," Gavin slurs. "You think you came come in and- and fuckin' steal my job, huh?" He raises his voice, grabbing her by her uniform again. (Y/N) looks down at him. She notes the pain, evident behind is glassy eyes.

○ Let Detective Reed continue 

□ Render Detective Reed unconscious

■ Render Detective Reed unconscious

"Detective, I apologize, but this is for your own good." She says, gaining a confused look from Gavin. She presses her fingers into the point where his neck and shoulder meet. Gavin crumbles to the ground, (Y/N) catching him before he hits the ground. VN wraps his limp arm over her shoulders, hoisting him up. "I apologize, sir." She says to Jimmy. "Eh, don't worry about it. His drinks were on the house anyway." Jimmy says, waving her off. "Take care of him, okay?" Jimmy says. (Y/N)'s thiruim pump falters for a moment, catching her off guard. She scans herself again, not finding anything wrong. The crowd had disappeared, seeing that there would be no fight. She gives Jimmy at curt nod before bascially dragged her partner out the door.

(Y/N) had successfully put Gavin in the passenger seat, starting his car. She pulls out into the road. She had located the detective's apartment, following the coordinates. Once she arrives, Gavin is still unconscious. She drags him out of the car. It would be easier to carry him in her arms, so she does. Walking up several flights of stairs, she reaches his apartment door. She glances down at the keys on his key ring and then at the lock, analyzing the differnt key prongs and the internal structure of the lock. She selects the correct key, unlocking the door. Several cats, greet her at the door. A Burmese and a Chartreux cat. They purr and meow at her as she closes the door. (Y/N) scans the apartment. It's quite messy. The trash seems as if it hasn't been taken out in weeks, pizza boxes litter the counter and differnt files and papers litter the living room. (Y/N) contiunes, walking into Gavin's bedroom. Clothes cover the floor, along with an unmade bed. She sets her partner in the bed. She surveys the room again, finding the comforter on the ground. She nods to herself.

(Y/N) carefully removes his jacket, hanging it on a hook behind his bedroom door. She covers him with the comforter, studying him. He seems peaceful. His face, relaxed. No tension is held between is eyebrows. She tilts her head, reaching towards his face. There it is. The strange sensation in her sensors. She gently brushes his hair out of his eyes, almost mesmerized by how peaceful he is, compared to when he's consious. (Y/N) quickly pulls away as he rolls over in the bed, grunting in his sleep. She looks around his room again. It was very unorganized. She walks over to his half empty dresser, pushing the folded clothes back in order. She closes the drawers, gently. VN then, straightens the differnt colognes and pictures frames on his dresser. One catches her eyes. A picture of, what she assumes is Gavin as a teen, and another male. She tilts her head, the male seeming familiar. She straightens the frame, ignoring it.

VN picks up the dirty clothes off the floor, placing them in the hamper in the corner of Gavin's room. She could see the floor now. She turns off the lamp on his nightstand, straightening the things on top if it as well. She looks around the mostly clean room, leaving Gavin's room. She then drags the overflowing laundry basket out of his room. She closes the door behind her, seeing his cats staring at her. She looks down at the Burmese one as it rubs against her leg. She watches them pad off into another room. (Y/N) looks down the short hallway seeing the bathroom. She peeks inside. It was spotless. Strange. She walks into an empty room, what she assumes to be a guest room. It holds nothing. She walks out, going back to the main living room. Papers, magazines, files, newspapers. You name it. She grabs the file box in the couch, picking up all the papers and files, organizing them alphabetically. It took all but thirty minutes an twenty seconds. She puts the file box beside the couch. She puts all of the magazines and newspapers neatly on the coffee table. She picks up all of the empty and half empty coffee mugs, placing them softly in the sink. She would load his dishwasher later. 

(Y/N) straightens his crooked TV on the wall. She then proceeds to organize his movies by type, then alphabetically. The living room was finished. She clicks on the lamp, closing the curtains. The sun was setting outside. It was six twenty-two. Androids didn't need sleep but she decided that when she finishes she would enter low-power mode to pass the time. She heads to the kitchen. It was filthy. (Y/N)'s LED circles blue. She grabs all of the dishes that were dirty and puts them neatly in the dishwasher. She puts the soap in, turning it on. She grabs a trash bag, placing the numerous empty pizza boxes inside. She empties the trash putting the bags by the front door. The cats come back in, hearing her working. "Hello." (Y/N) says, kneeling beside the cats. She looks at their collars. Coco and Bean. Who knew the detective liked cats, owned them, and gave them matching names. (Y/N) stands, beginning to wipe down the countertops, that were dusty and covering in crumbs. She puts the leftover pizza that wasn't old or moldy in the almost empty refrigerator. She rolls up her jacket sleeves disinfecting the grime in the sink. She notices his landlines blinking on the counter. She lets the chemical sit in the sink, walking over to the phone. Twenty new messages from the same number with the name Eli. She concludes it would be best to leave them be. 

(Y/N) had loaded the washing machine with Gavin's dirty clothes. She had taken the towel from the dryer and folded them neatly, placing them in the linen closet. She rinses the sink next. Spotless. The apartment looked organized and neat. Nothing like the detective from the outside. It was currently twelve forty three. She blinks, hearing the dishwasher stop. She unloads it putting the coffe mugs, plates and utensils back in their respective places. Ealier, she had hauled the trash down to the dumpster behind the apartment complex. She was satisfied with the outcome.

(Y/N) completed all of the detective's laundry leaving it neatly folded ontop of the washer and dryer. She didn't want to disturb his slumber by putting away his clothes. She was finished. VN puts the detective's gun in a drawee in the kitchen. She walks over to the couch, sitting down. The cats jumps up, one testing in her lap and the other lying down beside her. She was interested in why the cats liked her so much. She'd have to research it later. She decided to enter low-power mode.

Low-Power Mode Loading...

[Entering Low-Power Mode]

3...

2...

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-LOW-POWER MODE ON-

taglist

@sweet-sage-tea, @bts17army

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Holding Hands

Just dipping my toe into the "faking a relationship for a holiday party" trope. (And blame @shealwaysreads for this cause she was like do it and so I did it.)

This is unbeta’d. Please be gentle with me.

*

Draco waited. The silence that had fallen a couple of minutes ago was still loud. The fire in the hearth kept spitting threateningly instead of just crackling quietly and sweetly like it should. The fairy lights around the tree twinkled gently, slowly, throwing golden patterns over Potter's skin, his dark hair.

They were sat across from each other in front of the hearth, Draco in his armchair upholstered in silver-grey velvet, and Potter in the plushy green armchair he had conjured when he'd arrived. Their drinks were sitting on the spindly-legged table between them.

Potter looked very politely confused, a tiny smile on his face, a thin line between his brows. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his long, strong fingers clasped together neatly, his full attention focused on Draco. He looked...like he was waiting for Draco to finish speaking, to...explain.

Draco licked his lips and tilted his head a bit. "Erm...?"

Potter's smile widened a bit. "Yes?" he said eagerly. Draco blinked and shook his head imperceptibly. Potter's confusion deepened. "I'm...waiting for you to...you know--" he waved his hand vaguely and then grinned, "--laugh," he finally said, a tad lamely.

Draco frowned. "What's funny?"

Potter's mouth fell open on a stupid gape. "I mean... I thought..." He pushed his glasses up his nose and then scratched the back of his neck. "So, what was it you were saying? What are you asking me?"

"Did you not hear me, or are you feigning stupidity?" Draco asked coldly.

Potter frowned, bristling a bit. "I heard you, Draco, and I feel like you're taking the mickey."

"I'm doing no such thing. I explained my predicament and asked you a simple yes or no question. Would you be so kind as to grace me with an answer?"

Potter shook his head irritably. "Stop talking like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like... Like a fucking ponce. That's how you used to speak to me." Draco just looked at him. "Can you just be normal, please?" Potter snapped.

Draco spread his hands out. "I am being normal."

"Uh huh." Potter was still frowning. "So, you're saying--" He broke off and shifted in his seat, straightening up. "So, you're saying..." Trailing off, he just sat there looking like a fucking idiot. "What are you saying?" he finally asked.

Draco picked up his brandy and took a sip before leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, lifting his chin high. "Fine. I will ask you again. Since you're a bloody troglodyte, apparently." He had to gather the will and courage all over again to repeat himself. "Will you accompany me to my parents' Christmas party as my boyf- partner? Meaning, they'll think you're my partner. We’ll just have to pretend."

"You...said something before that earlier."

"Oh. Yes. Well, when my mother asked me if you and I are lovers, after she read that article about us in the Prophet, I simply said yes." He'd managed to say it without displaying any emotion the first time. Now, however, Draco could feel heat rising up his neck and face.

Potter was looking particularly stupid as he stared with his mouth open. "Your parents think we're dating?" Draco nodded. "And they want to...meet me?"

Draco brushed imaginary lint off his trousers. "If you consent."

Potter leaned back, slumping in his chair, knees spreading, his arms hanging over the sides of the chair. He blew out a long breath with a whooshing sound, his lips very pink as they formed an 'o'. Then, rather abruptly, he chuckled, rubbing his face and making his glasses jump onto his forehead.

"Which bit did you find amusing?" asked Draco with feigned politeness.

"The whole thing."

"Oh?"

"Draco," Potter said on a laugh, "can you stop talking like that, please? It's fucking hilarious right now. Especially because that's not how one talks to their 'lover'."

Draco knew he was probably purple in the face by now. It was embarrassing. He ought to have told Potter right after he'd confirmed the rumours to his parents. They'd have laughed about it, and then asking him to go to this fucking party now wouldn't be such a fucking task.

Because they're friends. Close friends even. And Potter was probably going to say yes. He never denied Draco anything. He was always indulging Draco; taking care of Draco. Siding with Draco when that fucking Weasel ragged him. Always promoting Draco's label in his interviews, endorsing his little boutique. Trusting Draco enough let him dress him for important events even though Draco knew Potter had the most basic, unadventurous sense of fashion.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Potter was the softest, most indulgent person and he was probably going to say yes. But that didn't make any of this any easier. Because obviously Potter thought it was funny that the two of them might be lovers. He found this whole thing really amusing.

There was a thin strain of hurt somewhere in Draco's chest but he ignored it.

"So how long before you say yes like we both know you're going to?" Draco drawled.

Potter grinned widely. "What am I going to be wearing?"

*

The Manor was an absolute wonder to behold. Draco was sure even Hogwarts was never this heavily decorated for the holidays. Fairy lights, glittering icicles, ice sculptures, wreaths, ostentatiously decorated Christmas trees, more lights - the whole house, inside and out, was dripping in red, green, gold and white.

Potter stared around in silence, his expression very serious. He was dutifully holding Draco's hand (just like a lover might) and was taking in the sight of the gigantic ballroom they were in, guests milling about sipping golden champagne from crystal flutes, house-elves trotting around between people's knees holding up trays of hors d'oeuvres; the four gigantic, glittering Christmas trees in each corner of the room, the ice sculpture of a delicately carved fairy, her wings spread, in the centre of the room, sparkling fairy dust falling from her hand and disappearing mid-air.

To Draco this was just about normal, if a tad bit overdone (for the enjoyment of the guest of honour he'd brought along with him, he supposed), but he still blushed in embarrassment when he looked around with Potter's eyes; he was probably convinced now that his parents were pretentious or something. Feeling a bit timid, he glanced sideways at Potter.

He was looking very, very handsome tonight. He had on robes of deep, royal violet - dark enough to nearly pass off as black - with intricate gold embroidery that Draco had spent hours working on himself. He'd let Draco clip a matching cape, embroidered and lined along the hem with fur, onto his shoulders with matching brooches that glittered under the light of what had to be at least a thousand candles hovering above them. He'd made a decent attempt at taming his hair - not a successful attempt, but Draco gave him credit for trying anyway. He'd switched his usual clunky glasses out for the vision correcting spells that Draco knew he hated but it meant his eyes were shining so bright and green that it made Draco's stomach clench a bit with something he’d always staunchly ignored.

Then, his parents spotted them. Lucius was in black as usual - the material expensive, but still black - and Narcissa looked decades younger than she was in robes of pale lavender and silver. Draco smiled as she beamed at them, gliding over alongside her husband.

"Darling." She feathered her lips over Draco's cheek. "Fashionably late, I see. And fashionably dressed," she added, turning to Potter and holding out her hand, her smile small but her eyes warm.

Potter bent over her hand and brushed his lips over the back of her hand briefly - just like Draco had instructed him to - before straightening up and smiling politely. "Thank you for inviting me to your wonderful party, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You are very welcome - literally. And please call me Narcissa."

Lucius had watched and listened in silence, his hands clasped behind his back, his serious gaze fixed on Potter. When Narcissa stepped back, he slowly extended a hand to Potter.

Draco held his breath. They hadn't discussed this. He had no idea how Potter was about to behave with his father but he knew he wouldn't blame him for anything he said or did. Potter was a much better man than his father. This was fact.

But Potter simply shook hands with Lucius and nodded. Draco felt his shoulders relax.

They mingled. Draco had to repeatedly 'introduce' Potter to people as though they all didn't already know who he was, who his fucking parents were. It was laughable. But this was a stupid fucking formal Pureblood soirée and Draco still had his manners. What surprised him was how well-mannered Potter was being.

Potter was also being very loyal to his role as Draco's partner.

"He was such a little terror as a child, bless his heart," said some old crone, patting Draco's cheek with one wrinkled hand. Draco wanted to hiss at her like a cat.

"Aren't we all, at that age?" Potter said calmly, smiling.

"Oh, you're very dedicated to him, I see" she simpered. "Such a pleasure to see. You hardly ever find this in you youngsters these days."

"He doesn't give me much reason not to be dedicated to him."

Potter was still holding his hand.

"Draco doesn't tell us anything about how the two of you put your rather unhappy history aside in order to accept your...softer feelings for each other." Narcissa looked like she'd been bursting to ask Potter this all evening; she'd finally gotten a chance now that she was done making the obligatory rounds amongst her guests.

Potter looked at him, and Draco, his face hot, returned his gaze, trying to apologise wordlessly. But Potter just grinned.

"Well, I don't know about him but," Potter smiled down at Narcissa, looking handsome and charming and, well, fuck, "it was just a natural, automatic thing for me, really. The more I got to know the real Draco Malfoy the deeper I fell in love with him."

Draco felt his eyes widen a bit. He wanted to look at Potter to figure him out, to try and discern just how much he was bullshitting. He wanted to read Potter because Potter was supremely easy to read. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. Draco could always tell, just from one glance, the kind of mood Potter was in.

Trying to appear casual, like Potter hadn't said anything that made Draco's breath catch, Draco looked sideways at him. Potter was smiling, his eyes honest and soft and crinkled at the corners. He was nodding along to something Narcissa was saying.

And he was still holding Draco's hand.

"Very well done," Draco muttered, once his mother had wandered away into the crowd.

Potter smiled and squeezed his hand. "You said you'd give me a tour of the gardens," he said. Draco nodded and led him out.

They strolled in a leisurely manner. It was snowing but there were charms in place which meant that the snow never actually touched them, instead disappearing about a foot over their heads. The gardens were decorated too, lights twinkling everywhere, lighting up the paths.

"This must've been a great place to grow up," Potter eventually said.

They turned the corner and in the distance was the turret-shaped gazebo, hung with white-gold lights. Narcissa, when the weather permitted, loved to paint in the gazebo. Draco smiled.

"It was." Then, guiltily, "I mean... I don't mean to brag or any--"

Potter laughed. It was a low, deep, familiar sound that made Draco break out in gooseflesh.

"Draco," he said gently. "You don't have to feel guilty every time you talk to me about your childhood."

Draco lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "'m not guilty," he mumbled.

"No? You're still that insufferable, obnoxious little shit you were in school?"

Draco actually felt his face fall. He turned to Potter, unbothered about sounding vulnerable. "That's what you thought of me?"

Potter laughed. "Can you blame me? Do you remember you back at school?"

Draco slumped a little. "I suppose." They were nearly at the gazebo now. Together, they turned onto the path that led to the steps leading into it. Then, "That's...not what you think of me now, is it?"

"Draco," Potter's voice was gentle, yet teasing, "Everyone thinks you're a prat. You have to know this."

"Yes, but you?" They climbed the two steps and walked into the gazebo.

"I think you're a prat too." They were still holding hands. "But you're my prat."

Draco turned to look at him but Potter, with a sharp yank, was pulling Draco to himself. With a soft 'oof', Draco hit Potter's chest. Now they were holding both hands.

He quickly pulled himself together although Potter could probably feel his heart galloping in his chest. "Am I, now?"

"Isn't that what we've just spent the last hour and a half proving to people?"

"Well," Draco said slowly, "I was under the impression that it was an act."

"Well," Potter said quietly. "I'd rather it...be real."

They were standing pressed together in the centre of the gazebo, fairy lights surrounding them, Potter's green, green eyes reflecting them as he stared intensely at Draco. He looked like he was challenging Draco, like he was daring Draco to laugh in his face and carelessly brush aside what he'd said. Because that's what Draco Malfoy would do when Harry Potter declared something like that, right? He'd stomp on Harry Potter's proffered heart and revel in it.

Draco couldn't even imagine doing something like that. Especially not when Potter was holding his hands and smelt so good and looked at him like he was promising him so, so many things.

"You were very convincing tonight," said Draco.

"It was really easy," said Potter.

"You held my hand throughout."

"I wasn't about to give up the chance I had."

"Thank you for coming with me tonight."

"I wasn't about to give up the chance I had."

"Potter?"

"Shouldn't you be calling me Harry if we're together?"

"Would you like that?"

"I would love that, Draco."

"You've called me Draco for years now."

"I have."

Draco looked down at the lines of gold thread on Harry's chest, gleaming against the violet silk. "I think I'd like to call you Harry," he admitted.

When his gaze lifted back to Harry's, he was smiling at Draco. Then he looked up above them.

"Mistletoe," Harry said simply.

Draco's ears were ringing as though he'd been struck.

"Oh," he said, his voice quavering.

Harry just smiled again, and slowly let his head drop forward so that their foreheads touched. Then he brought his mouth up to Draco's brow and kissed it.

"Oh," repeated Draco.

They were just gazing at one another now.

Damn it, thought Draco as he broke first and kissed Harry full on the mouth.

They were still holding hands.

*