#I HOPE ONE DAY LIFE WILL BE BETTER CLIMB A LATTER MADE OF MY SWEAT AND BLOOD BUT GHE BLOODEATER HUNGERS

[enteragoodnamehere]

you’ll be sitting there thinking I’ve Got My Mental Illness Under Control I’m Handling It Well. and then boom. Bloodeater by Mom

[aby55-of-the-ab5o1ute]

I HOPE ONE DAY LIFE WILL BE BETTER

CLIMB A LATTER MADE OF

MY SWEAT AND BLOOD

BUT THE BLOODEATER HUNGERS

EVERYTHING JUST KEEPS GETTING HARDER-

[nomanwalksalone]

TAKE MY IVY, PLEASE

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

A few years before my excellent state graduate school destroyed the promise of accessible public education and raised tuition to the same levels as the privates, my housemate, complaining that he wanted an experience that I had already had, transferred to Yale. Said experience, one I had never put a name to, was “the Ivy League experience.” I never thought that my undergraduate years at Dirnelli U (known to non-iGents as Brown) amounted to any sort of emblematic experience of the eight universities that compose the Ivies, nor that the sort of experience that expression connotes exists today outside of the imaginations of a few who have closed their eyes to the sartorial realities of college, whether on the campus of an Ivy League or elsewhere.

Certainly by the time I wandered my college town’s streets the idea of an Ivy look that was not the national college outfit of jeans, sweats or even pajamas was ludicrous, even if those wanderings frequently took me past Brown’s last two, soon-to-be-extinct, soon-to-be-unmourned, Ivy outfitters. Despite one of them adding a large wood carving of the Polo logo to its sign, they remained unrelatable enclaves surrounded by the diners with insane hours (midnight to four AM) and smoke shops with Sobranie Black Russians which I remember more sentimentally.

They weren’t welcoming, either, if I ever braved to venture past the window displays with Royall Lyme and defiantly middle-aged Barry Bricken and Tricots Saint-Raphael mufti. Undergraduates were not buying, and that shop, Hillhouse Ltd, closed my senior year. Times had changed to the point that I remember the opening of a Gap on Thayer Street drawing some criticism in the press for that shop’s expected priciness.

Richard Press evokes Hillhouse Ltd.’s predecessor, Langrock, and the other classic outfitters of the Ivy League in his sparkling memoir Threading the Needle, a collection of reminiscences from his posts on the website of J. Press, the ur-classic clothier founded by his grandfather. Even if J. Press is now owned by its Far Eastern licensee Onward Kashiyama, Richard Press remains the face of the firm, and, for all intents and purposes, its breezy, never windy, voice.

Press is ebullient to the point of becoming almost ethereal, a far cry from my memories of the weary heaviness of my local Ivy shops’ atmospheres, their prosaic furnishings and quite mundane merchandise… But then again, my first recollection of Ivy style, recognized in retrospect like a recovered memory, was of my high school English teacher’s tweed jacket, which he opened to lend me a pen that smelt as memorably bad as almost anything I’ve smelt since then, including tanneries and certain institutional wards, suffused as it was not with the Hebridean peat fires that Richard Press insists you could smell in the old Harris Tweeds his father sold, but with decades of spilt coffee and sweat-drenched wool that must have never seen a dry clean, so that his shapeless, indiscriminately patterned tweed jacket bore the pedigree of its soiling. My first experience, then, was of miasma, not Press’s ether.

No wonder Richard Press makes a virtue out of the emptiness of the actual Ivy stores, filling them with ethos and intangible evocations: a sense not just of community but of belonging. Belonging to the New Haven restaurants that only sat university students and staff, not townsfolk; belonging to the boisterous undergraduates who knew that Press’s frequently invoked “Boola boola” is a Yale fight song; belonging to a time when immigrant tailor Jacobi Press and his staff travelled the trails of the carriage trade and visited boarding schools to sell rich adolescents custom suits, the better to lock them in for college and life. Belonging to dangerous road trips between Dartmouth and its sister college in the days before co-education (or good highways) to flirt, or at least hope to loan out a J. Press Shetland wool sweater; belonging to Frank Sinatra’s party one whirlwind evening when the Chairman of the Board sat most of the J. Press New York staff at his table in all the chic watering holes; belonging to the small group of people who have seen Dean Acheson in his underwear… Always, however, the thrill of this inclusion is in its exclusion of others: through codes of language, through the financial means required to pay for custom tailoring (for children who would grow out of it!); through social class. It is a privilege to read Richard Press’ writing, but it would be unwise to forget the privilege his rosy reminiscences required.

Comfort and ease in tailored clothing, then as now, only came at great expense. It does not surprise me that those physical Ivy shops of Providence, untouched by J. Press’s halo, withered and died. Threading the Needle includes Richard Press’s jabs at casualization. He bemoans it as a great swindle on us, depriving us of knowing what to wear, and requiring us to buy cheaper, junkier clothes at much higher margins than what honest traditional merchants like J. Press were and are selling us. But the reason Ivy is dead is because the class that wore this syncretistic American clothing, a dowdy bastardization of Britishness with Puritan formlessness thrown in, reflexively because it was what was done, and what was sold where one shopped, was quite happy to wear lighter, easier, less confining clothing as soon as they could shed the weight of Ivy, the dress code expectations that changed so radically from the 1960s onward, and quite happy to spend less on cheaper casual clothing than on expensive tailored jackets and ties whose silk had to be madder-dyed in England. You may see a few young people wearing a Harris Tweed jacket or seersucker sportcoat on a northeastern college campus, but they are all doing so with intentionality, the intention to recreate something that no longer naturally exists, populating an invented ecosystem with overthought clothing to which they associate a politics that was not at all certain to be associated with it in the days when so-called Ivy clothing was the norm on Ivy campuses.

Press’s essays even give us, in pieces, the narrative of what actually happened to Ivy Style. Once upon a time it was the norm on rarefied campuses of young gentlemen who might continue using the same tailor who had bench-made their clothes in high school and college once they graduated to Wall Street, like a Fitzgerald protagonist. The aftermath of World War II democratized (to a point) college enrollment through the GI Bill, leading many, many more people, of theretofore-unrepresented social classes, to attend college and adopt a similar wardrobe. (Another prep school teacher once informed us that Columbia University had simply called up his father after the war and asked him to attend, allowing him to climb the social ladder.) Innovations in production allowed factory manufacture of Ivy-style ready-to-wear garments as well, so that the increased number of people who wanted to wear Ivy could also afford to wear the Ivy look without having to pay the prices of artisanal one-off work. Ivy became widespread: Press uses the word “heyday” in the titles of several of his essays from this golden age when Ivy was the look. And every fashionable look has its end. Not only did fashions change, but social changes in the 1960s meant that homogenous dressing on campuses was at an end, particularly dressing like one supposed a white-collar grownup would in coat and tie. The 1970s’ upheaval in prep school dress codes broke the back of coat and tie for kids, dealing another blow to Ivy. The Ivy partisans Press evokes who wore it during those decades, doughty men, men of intelligence like Dick Cavett, of integrity like John Chancellor, were middle-aged men who had started wearing the same style of clothes decades earlier as students. (Even Frank Sinatra, who scooped Richard up to his bosom, only lasted nine months as a customer in the late 1960s before sending an emissary to tell Richard Frank no longer wanted to experiment with the Ivy look.) Ivy as a style worn by current Ivy Leaguers, or by American college students pretty much anywhere, no longer existed.

Decades later I, too, wear tweed jackets, but keep them clean (unlike the original Ivy population), and am not a parafascist reactionary (unlike some of the most visible latter-day Ivy practitioners). Savile Row tailors had to sacralize the concept of tweed for me, washing away all its associations of brown, smelly, shapeless and hegemonic, so that my garments in it, strange alpaca Shetland weaves or unthinkable lavenders, are as far from Ivy as possible.  Despite the awful Brown Daily Herald (for which I coined the motto “all the print that fits is news”) carrying a weekly News of the Ivies section, none of us felt any ineffable Ivy-ness. The closest I came to such a feeling may have been reading a cheesy story by Providence’s own H.P. Lovecraft, whose action suddenly shifted to the very room I was sitting in… or perhaps hearing a townie couple at a Spring Weekend concert by the very non-Ivy Violent Femmes mutter about how all the kids in the audience had good teeth.

I do not mourn Ivy, as I do not mourn the shops that died trying to sell it to the college populations that have moved on. I hope my housemate found what he was looking for in New Haven (I did successfully, and evilly, bullshit him into buying two Brigg umbrellas for his move there). Had I been him, no doubt I would have succumbed to some aspect of Richard Press’s winning fantasies, replaying the opening paragraphs of Franny and Zooey in my mind, wool-lined Burberry and all, in search of a possessions-linked romance that reality has no place for in this day and age, if it ever had.

[renzu-valra]

Mindless/Soulless  ;  Obsessive/Possessive (#12)

Characters: Nozaki/Nobushige  ♦  Region: Ishgard  ♦  Time: Present Hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ Warnings: mind-break, blood, mild mention of body horror; non-canon compliant

I had a purpose. A reason for being here—now; drenched in sweat and cold frost. There had been a reason why I ran through the bitter storm and dark unfamiliar streets. Something I had been searching for. Something important.

But the moment I turned my gaze upwards into that second story window, my purpose had filtered away like treated water. My legs lost their balance and my knees hit the ground hard. All that rage and anger which led me here in the first place had been cleansed from my mind, and all that remained was a blank space. A vast, white void where my thoughts used to spiral out of control. I couldn’t think anymore—nor ration these turn of events. For in the closed window of what seemed to be a manse, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes.

And I could not bear it.

I saw my brother.

For years, I had thought about what I would do if I found him again; what it would be like. What I would do and say…how I’d run to greet him and with that one embrace, all the sins I had committed until that point would be expunged from my back. But now that it was finally happening, I couldn’t do anything at all but stare.

He was running a comb through his wetted hair…slowly and with care. Just as I would do for him when we were young. With him seated atop my lap as I wove a damaged comb through his hair gently so as to not tug on any knots. His hair had grown much longer since then. And the comb he used now was of far better quality. Every time he brushed his straight hair down, I felt more of my consciousness slip away.

My ambitions and fears, returning to dust. And then, his neatly tucked night-robe slackened over his collarbone as he set his comb down onto the vanity afore him and made to tie his hair up in a loose ponytail. The white of his silk gown nearly matched the tone of his skin—his smooth, unblemished skin. He appeared as if an angel. A winged goddess of the sky. Even when he rose to stand, his full frame now in view, I felt unworthy. I was but an ant, and he, the radiant sun.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

As he walked away from the window and my image of him began to wane, I pleaded silently for him to stay. My legs knew they could yet run—run to him and force a reunion—but it was as if my brain had willingly severed the connection binding my limbs to my will. I was kept hanging on a thread as he vanished from my sight. Hanging, and so desperately wanting. Wanting, for the noose to tighten.

Like a shotgun pushed against my head, the trigger seconds from being squeezed, he appeared before my eyes once again. A book held affectionately in his slender hands. Forgo the cold and my sub-temperature body. I was at peace. And soon, I would meet my end. As he reclaimed his seat by the window, his thumb making to turn the cover over…as his fingers trailed atop the paper inside…I heard it. The sound of a trigger popping. Bang.

His thin white gown clung tautly against his curved figure, soaking up the remnants of water post bath. The tails of his robe decorated with ornate lace befitting a queen. Nothing like the rags we had worn as children. Everything like what I envisioned him wearing whenever I laid eyes on him after a day riddled with strife and woe. He was beautiful, and I could stare forever at the way his untucked bangs curled and slid against his scaled cheeks. With each flip of the page, I found something new—something old—about him to admire. I had once protested against him wearing his hair up until I realized I could better see his smile. I had wanted him to stay wholly dependent a while longer, until I saw that the first thing he walked towards was me. I had urged against teaching him vocabulary, until I heard him call for me with his fragile, sincere voice. I had fought and fought and fought against his freedom—his separation from me—until this moment. When I was faced with how absolutely transcendent he had become.

Was I finally freed? Forgiven for all my grievances? Was it all worth it?

Bang.

 ----

 Of course I had known. For all my life…you have been a part of it. Though we have both went our own ways and been changed during the journey, I would never have been able to forget you. My dear, older brother.

I let you watch whilst I feigned innocent ignorance to your presence. I needn’t sight to know you were there—gazing through mine window entranced. For a moment longer, I thought. For this small moment more, let us enjoy a tranquil reprieve. Let us forget the truths of our damaged worlds and become sheltered in a temporary lie. For his sake. My brother’s—the one who gave up everything and more for me.

I would smile, as my fingers traced the braille of the page I dedicated to memory knowing that this too was a lie. I was not able to read with my eyes anymore, unlike when I was a child still in his care. My lips curving upwards in a sweet fashion only because I knew he was enjoying this time. That surely, he felt at peace in watching another one of my many acts for him. I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. For him to know that he was safe…and that he would always feel this soothing bliss whenever he returned home to me.

However, this time…I was resolved to put an end to this fabricated fairy-tale. And I hoped that when I did…he would still be mine.

A voice rang out from below. One of the attendants serving at this manse. A woman’s voice, calling out into the front gardens. Demanding that the man laying half-prostrate with his head turned up leave at once. Nothing unreasonable, given the late hour…however…I lowered my head and closed my eyes in knowing farewell. It was time. Time to end this charade. To say goodbye to who I once was, once and for all. And to wish all the best to the me yet to come.

The once certain voice that resonated from the room underneath mine cried out again. This time in horror and desperation. Her screams broken and airy—begging for anyone to help her…until her voice called out no more. A pity, yes…but there would be no one person put to blame for her unfortunate suffering. She had simply been at the wrong place at the most inopportune of times. Mourning her would come later. For now, I had to prepare.

So that when he pushed through my door, he would be made to understand.

His footsteps were already roaring through the long corridors of this stone manor—climbing the stairs in rapid pace as if even gravity couldn’t halt his ascent. Mindlessly, he would barge through each door along the way, having forgotten which room he spied on from below…but fortunately enough, they were kept unoccupied.

When at last he reached the wooden door which served as meager barricade between him and I…

I…

----

 Failure. Failure. Failure. I failed him. I failed him. I’m a failure.

He was—he was; he was…

That fractured bliss which had been shot through my skull only mere moments prior had ricocheted in my brain and sent bits of metallic shells shooting through my synapses. Each one becoming a word—a phrase. A torrent of impossible guilt.

It’s not—it’s not. It can’t be. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

Hurt. Wounded. Sliced—wounded. His arm, his arm, his arm.

All that blind fury had instantly subsided; all my control surrendered.

His skin—white, white, pure white. Purple? Black? A purple-black—torn apart and nearly skinless.

An animal? Monster. Beast. Man. Claw marks. Who to blame? What hurt; hurt; had hurt my brother?

Me. I did. It was all me. I did this. I. Did. This. I did. I didn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop them. Hadn’t stopped them. My brother—my little brother—had the skin of his left arm from his wrist to his elbow peeled off and and and—his chest was marked by a horrible scar. I was a failure, I was, and I couldn’t deny it anymore. I failed, I failed, I failed—

 ----

 I…

I slowly pulled my robe back over my arms and tied it around my waist. Covering myself in beautiful white silks once more before I stepped towards my ailing brother.

I…realized that I too needed this. I needed to witness my brother’s collapse to know that…I had done the right thing.

Wrapping my arms around his shaking self, I was soon brought to my knees as his weight crumbled down atop of me.

“There, there…”

I lovingly caressed him as he squeezed me so tightly he might as well have broken my spine. But surely he came to that same realization too, as his grip waned into more incessant trembling. My fingers stroked through his short, unkempt hair as I held him against myself. His warm hands soaked with the fresh blood of the woman lying dead in the foyer. Staining my white gown in his black-red.

“Big brother…I’m here. You’re home...”

Our horns pressed up against each other, nuzzling in a reminiscent manner. This scene, although set in the present…was no different than it had been in our past. My dear brother…returning home to me after a traumatic affair which struck his very core. Falling onto me in the absence of his mind. Crying pathetically as he clung to me in desperate need of my pure, untarnished love. Whilst the latter was no longer true…what mattered was that he still saw me as such. I was not broken, so long as I viewed myself through his eyes. I was still his god.

And while I yet drew breath, I would never let him go.

[lovelikedestiny]

Happy Birthday @gildingthemoon!!!

I wish you a wonderful day to celebrate and all the best in the world! <3 Today belongs only to you and I hope a lot of people tell you what an incredible human being you are!

I want to gift you with a small, fluffy, happy TOG-oneshot and thank you for being an amazing beta who fights against all errors in my drafts and is delighted by the German sayings I still use unintentionally! I’m very glad to have ‘met’ you! I hope you’ll like the oneshot and you’re grinning like a honey-cake-horse as we say here ;)

*throws a big hug at you* <3

The little things

Under the midnight blue velvet of the night in the empty streets of Malta Joe looks like a celestial being and Nicky feels himself enchanted by his appearance. By his wide, flashing smile, those warm, deep eyes which are surrounded by lovely crinkles and radiate so much emotion that Nicky sometimes has the feeling his heart couldn’t cope with the amount of happiness Joe’s very existence has gifted him with.

When they're out and about and the sun makes Joe's golden skin glow and kisses his silky-soft curls with warm rays, turning his eyes into obsidian and onyx, just so much more precious than all jewelry in the world, Nicky occasionally forgets how to breathe. Of course, after more than 900 years, he knows what his love looks like and knows him better than himself, but that doesn't change the fact that Joe is still beautiful. Beautiful and a constant at his side, who always manages to lead Nicky out of any darkness back into the light.

A cheerful, warm constant that walks by Nicky's side tonight and is the most beautiful thing Nicky has ever seen.

He promptly stumbles over the sidewalk and staggers a few steps before he manages to get hold of himself, hears Joe giggling behind him and has to grin too.

They’re not totally drunk. 

The pleasant warmth in his stomach and the feeling of lightness confirm Nicky in his conclusion and he tightens his grip on Joe's hand as the latter helps him regain his balance. They are only slightly drunk, if at all. Drunk? No. Tipsy! That's the word Nicky was looking for. They're tipsy, he states with satisfaction.

"Careful, my heart," Joe says with a chuckle. “We don't want you to fall on your pretty face. It would be a real shame if you’d hurt yourself today. I like the blue shirt.”

"Really?" Nicky asks, lips curled up into a small grin, pulling Joe a little closer, who willingly follows the movement.

"Really," Joe says grinning and lets his eyes slide so clearly over Nicky's appearance that he thinks he can feel Joe's gaze like a delicate touch. “It accentuates your eyes and your shoulders. And those pants…” He flicks Nicky on the ass. "... also emphasize an area of ​​yours that is very close to my heart. I could easily come up with ideas.”

Nicky shudders when Joe looks at him from below through his eyelashes with a look he knows all too well. Heat surges through his veins and he smiles mischievously and nudges Joe's nose. "I hope they are good ideas."

"Hm," Joe hums approvingly and hooks his fingers into the loops of Nicky's belt to pull him closer. "Very good ideas."

It's so easy to tilt his head, angling it just right, and put his lips on Joe’s who has already moved towards his mouth. Flowers of red fire bloom behind Nicky's closed lids, shooting stars of silvery light and suns of golden embers.

He enjoys the passion that surges through his veins, a steady stream that has never stopped flowing since Nicky first kissed those soft lips, which can enthusiastically recite poetry, are twisted in concentration while drawing, can smile so warmly that Nicky's heart glows, showing him how much Joe loves him when they get lost in each other's bodies amid sheets and pillows.

Nicky is convinced that they are doing good in the world. They protect the innocent, they are their shield in battle and their sword when they cannot hold one themselves and he believes in what they are doing. Just as much as he believes in his family, in Joe. But even if they can make a difference in everyday life with their good deeds, there is something essential that should not be overlooked.

The little things.

Like the sultry air that dances around them through the warmth of the day and the dark sky in front of whose midnight blue canvas the moon shines large and silver. Like Joe's elegant artist hands, which he could feel blindly and which lie firmly and securely on his hips and pull him closer to the glowing, muscular body. Like the fruity taste of good wine on Joe's tongue and the salty sweat from dancing on his lips. Like the familiar tickling of his beard on Nicky's chin and the soft texture of his curls, in which Nicky buries his fingers and elicits Joe a rumble, which Nicky catches and tastes in his mouth.

It's those little things that should be cherished.

Distant laughter causes them to break the kiss, and Nicky tries to fight the urge not to pounce on Joe again when he whines softly and tries to hold on to Nicky.

Some time ago it wasn't even possible to hold Joe in public or simply to interlace their fingers. And even if there are still people who make the world more terrible than it could be, Nicky is infinitely grateful that in most countries he is allowed to kiss the other half of his heart. To kiss Joe and laugh and dance and live with him.

As soon as Nicky thinks that, Joe starts humming and grabs Nicky's hands just to rock them gently back and forth. His eyes are soft with tenderness and Nicky can feel his heart cramp from the affection he feels towards Joe.

Even though they have been together for more than nine hundred years and Nicky knows Joe better than himself, there are still new things they learn about each other. New habits that they develop, new preferences that they discover. In moments like these, when it's just the two of them in their own bubble of peace, Nicky finds no doubt about their relationship, their solid bond that binds them invisibly and is as strong as ever.

Of course, he is much older than most people on this planet and accordingly has a lot more experience, but uncertainties still exist. It is not uncommon for Nicky to lose himself in thought because nagging doubts about a decision he has made corrode him from the inside. They make mistakes in their jobs doing good because they are human. Everybody makes mistakes.

Joe is the only thing in Nicky's long life that he never doubted. An indispensable support that gives him security, just like Nicky will always have Joe's back.

Because Joe is his heart and soul.

Too many words to say and too few words to express how Nicky feels about Joe are on his tongue, so Nicky joins Joe's humming before he starts to sing softly.

Nicky has no problem with being the center of attention, but he prefers to disappear into the background and watch everything from there. If you overlook him or he does not attract attention, others tend to underestimate him and his abilities and he has already used this to his advantage several times.

Joe is the only audience Nicky will ever need, and the knowing flash in Joe's eyes and glowing smile are the only applause Nicky really wants.

Although he and Joe often sing songs together - evenings when Nicky cooks and Joe assists him while they use a wooden spoon as a microphone and Joe starts swinging the kitchen towel while dancing are one of the best - Joe stays silent.

Swaying them gently, Joe's whole focus is on Nicky, who continues to sing a song as old as time itself, tied to precious memories that only they and no one else share. Nicky sings for Joe like he often does when Joe asks him to or he sits down in the kitchen while Nicky can't get rid of a catchy tune while cutting vegetables.

Nicky sings for Joe because Joe is the song that springs from his heart and is embedded in his bones.

As he turns Joe around, Joe laughs exuberantly and the sound reverberates in Nicky like the precious echo of a long-forgotten chiming of a bell.

"I love it when you sing," Joe says, releasing Nicky to give him a little applause, for which Nicky gives an exaggerated bow. It is not easy to stay on his feet, but since the alcohol doesn’t exist that long in their body due to their healing, Nicky doesn’t worry too much about his balance.

"I love you," Nicky replies and Joe dramatically presses a hand on his heart.

"People call me the poet, but it's your words that take my breath away, habibi." He winks at Nicky and Nicky is pretty sure that he looks back with a stupid grin.

Nicky doesn't know if it's such a good idea to climb the rock at the side of the street, but before he can change his mind he has reached the top and looks down at Joe, who is watching him with amusement.

"I could take your breath away with something other than words," he says bluntly, enjoying the effect it has on Joe. Joe swallows hard, blushing slightly, which Nicky doesn't even need to see to know it's happening. Just like the dark fire that makes Joe's eyes burn.

"Is that a challenge?" Joe asks roughly and bites his lip with a grin, causing Nicky to almost fall off the stone. He catches himself in time, but would have had no problem with falling into Joe's arms.

"A promise," he corrects smirking and Joe takes a step towards the stone and tilts his head back slightly to meet Nicky's gaze.

"Are you being funny tonight, Mr. Al-Kaysani?"

"With such good company, indeed, Mr. Di Genova."

They both giggle like silly teenagers and Joe raises an arm in the air and paces up and down in front of the stone like he's on a stage. “Standing like a Greek God on a rock,” he begins to recite. "Moonlight pouring over you and you have a beautiful..."

"Cock," Nicky finishes deadpan and Joe gasps and runs into a nearby street lantern.

"I didn't mean to say that!" He protests with a meaningful smile on his face and helps Nicky jump more or less graceful off the stone.

"You thought it, I said it," Nicky says and blinks innocently at Joe, who laughs and sways slightly.

“We complement each other perfectly, huh? Such an extraordinary coincidence.” Joe nudges him right in the side where Nicky is ticklish and the snorting laugh bursts out of Nicky inexorably as he tries to turn away from Joe.

“Didn't you read the contract? A perfect match has to be guaranteed in order to be in a relationship for nine hundred years,” Nicky says snickering and Joe pretends to be amazed.

“I had no idea about that! I always leave paperwork to you.”

Nicky nods, playing seriously. "Furthermore, the contract requires that I enjoy a cuddle at least three times a week."

"Phew, luckily I have received the world cuddler Award."

"I know. I can rightly confirm that you truly deserve this title."

It is uncertain what the night will bring them, they have made no plans. Nevertheless, the random brushing of their hands and the lingering of their pinkies on the back of the other’s hand are certain indications of what the rest of the night might look like.

"I don't need any more than confirmation of my love."

"You deserve all the acknowledgment in the world because you are expensive."

"Expensive? Do you mean ‘worth it’? ”Joe frowns. “Or was it precious? Who knows what we oh! That was an alliteration!"

"What?" Alliteration sounds a little bit like alligator in Nicky's mind, and he really hopes Joe hasn't seen one. "What was what?"

“An alliteration, you know. When we want words which...haha! Another one!”

Nicky follows Joe's gaze. "Where? Oh, that's just a cat."

"Ah, Nicolo." Joe shakes his head slightly and laughs softly to himself.

"What is it?" Nicky doesn't remember saying anything funny. "Do you want to share your thoughts? A nickel for your thoughts or whatever they say."

"I think it was a coin for your thoughts. Or dollars?”

Nicky has to snort and Joe starts laughing too. "It does not matter. We could continue this conversation at home.”

"Continue it at home?" Joe repeats indignantly. "Nicolo, we were in the middle of a conversation about stilistic means!"

"Okay, uh...if you’re able to come up with another alliteration, I'll do the thing with my tongue at home," Nicky says without thinking, completely relieved of the worries the world has in store for them, through Joe's mere presence and Malta as their retreat.

Joe laughs and raises his eyebrows. "The thing with the tongue? Ya amar, I have no idea what you’re ta- oh. Oh.“ When Joe understands, he stops abruptly, eyes widening. “Lima? Do you mean...Do you mean Lima?”

Nicky nods and keeps walking, grinning, causing Joe to pull himself out of his freeze and rush after him. "Do you really mean Lima? Oh my god, you can't just say something like that and keep walking!”

"So you are not interested?" 

Joe almost chokes. “Not intere...Nicolo! It is impossible that I am not interested in it! The thing with your tongue, Lima, sweet heavens! That was...that was…” Joe seems to remember Nicky's condition and squints his eyes in concentration. "On it. How much time do I have?"

While Joe is thinking hard, Nicky indulges in the serenity of strolling and reaches for Joe's hand, which Joe withdraws and places on something else.

"Yusuf?"

"Yes?"

"That is not my hand."

"Oh sorry, I guess I got a little confused in the dark," Joe says, grinning, but doesn't take his hand off Nicky's ass.

It’s the little things, Nicky thinks by himself as he watches Joe muttering under his breath and then throwing Nicky a beaming smile when he has an idea for another alliteration. It’s the little things that make this imperfect world so perfect. 

[peraltasames]

your love’s put me at the top of the world

He’s beyond relieved that he made it back in time, but even more relieved when Amy lets out one final cry of agony and everything falls silent for a split second before the unmistakable cries of a newborn fill the room.

That’s his son. His son is here.

prompt: 💐 - buying each other flowers

read on ao3

There’s never been any doubt in Jake’s mind that Amy is a superhero.

Her first month at the Nine-Nine, he saw her tackle a perp twice her size without breaking a sweat. It was both awesome and insanely hot, though Jake suppressed those feelings as quickly as they arose when she yelled at him to cuff the 250-pound man she just smacked down on the pavement.

She’s saved his life multiple times, whether it be by always having his back in the field or shooting him in the leg in the thick humidity of the worst state in America (he wasn’t overly fond of the latter, but he was very appreciative of avoiding a bullet in the head).

She’s had more emotional endurance than anyone Jake knows, remaining his steady guidepost during his time in WitSec and his prison sentence and everything else life has thrown at them, even when he knew it was just as hard for her. Her strength and hope never wavered during the long months of failed attempts at getting pregnant.

Still, despite all this, he’s never been more in awe of her than he is seeing her give birth to their son, in the damn precinct, without any painkillers. She’s glowing, an absolute vision of beauty, but he knows better than to tell her that while she’s swearing like a sailor and squeezing his hand so hard he thinks she might break it.

He’s beyond relieved that he made it back in time, but even more relieved when Amy lets out one final cry of agony and everything falls silent for a split second before the unmistakable cries of a newborn fill the room.

That’s his son. His son is here.

Of course, more chaos ensues after that - he’s pretty sure they had enough chaos for a lifetime tonight, but they’ve also had a lot of crazy days that have made for good stories, so he decides he can handle a little chaos as long as his wife and their little boy are okay.

There’s an ambulance ride and several tests run by several different doctors. There’s the entire squad visiting and the reveal of their son’s name - Mac Peralta, after John McClane, of course. There’s Roger and Victor arguing over what Mac’s middle name should be (even though they decided on Raymond weeks ago to avoid upsetting either of their fathers) while Camila and Karen fawn over Amy and the baby.

Eventually, there’s just the three of them again. Amy falls asleep soon after, very understandably considering all her body’s been through over the past few hours, and Mac is happily dozing in the bassinet next to her bed.

Jake’s in the midst of responding to a dozen text messages and trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s really a father when his stomach starts to grumble, a casual reminder that he hasn’t eaten since lunch and it’s nearly two in the morning.

“Detective Peralta, you’re free to go grab food or coffee.”

The nurse standing next to the bassinet, monitoring Mac’s vitals, seems to have read Jake’s mind. He would kill for even a bag of chips from a vending machine right now, but he also really doesn’t want to leave the baby unattended while Amy’s sleeping.

“We’re keeping a close eye on your son and your wife, so there’s no reason to worry.”

He’s got half a mind to try to recruit her as a detective with the mind-reading capabilities she’s got going on (although it’s possible his instinctual need to protect Amy and their baby really is just that transparent) but he simply nods in appreciation and bends down to kiss Amy’s forehead before slipping out the door.

He’s determined to make it as quick of a mission as possible, eager to return to the room, so he makes a very Amy-esque list in his head: food, coffee, something more comfortable and clean to sleep in.

He knocks off the first two very quickly with a cold sandwich and a cup of stale but decently warm coffee from the cafeteria. It’s certainly not a Charles-approved meal, but he’s still riding on such a high that it tastes like the elixir of the gods right now.

The gift shop fulfills his need for comfortable clothing - sweatpants with the New York Presbyterian logo and an I ❤️ NY hoodie. It also offers a wide selection of stuffed animals, and even though they already have way too many for a newborn to appreciate at home from Amy’s baby shower, he can’t resist grabbing a tiny teddy bear that says I love my mom.

That’s all he intends to buy, but the bouquets of flowers positioned conveniently near the checkout catch his eye immediately. He does have a more significant push present for Amy planned, a signed copy of Marie Kondo’s new book that Gina managed to score for him accompanied by two tickets to Hamilton and reservations at a very fancy restaurant in Midtown four months from now. He really feels like his wife having just undergone tremendous pain and physical exertion to bring their baby into the world means she deserves something now, though, so he carefully peruses the selection.

“New dad?” the lady behind the cash register asks, smiling at him.

Jake nods proudly, glancing briefly at the teddy bear in his arms. “As of like three hours ago, yeah.”

“Go for the gardenias. They symbolize joy, your wife will love them.”

Jake has to read the little tags to identify which ones are gardenias, but he’s pleased that they’re the pretty white and yellow bouquet in a small white vase that his eyes were first drawn to.

“Thank you,” Jake smiles, quickly swiping his credit card and gathering his purchases.

He carefully creeps back into the dark room so he doesn’t accidentally wake Amy or Mac, who he pauses to stare at in awe for another long moment before going to the bathroom to change. After tossing his dirty clothes in Scully’s big hospital bag, he attempts to lightly place the flowers down on the bedside table, but even the slight disruption of the silence causes Amy to stir.

“Sorry, babe,” he winces, setting the teddy bear down next to the bouquet. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You got me flowers?” Amy smiles, shifting up on her elbows slightly to get a better look. “Jake, they’re beautiful.”

“The lady at the gift shop said they symbolize joy, so...”

His eyes wander to the bassinet, soaking in every second that he can of admiring their very own bundle of joy.

Amy smiles wider, reaching for his hand to pull him towards her. He settles in on the bed beside her, carefully wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You were so amazing,” he whispers into her hair. It’s not the first time he’s told her that tonight, but he doesn’t think he could ever say those words enough to encapsulate just how in awe of his wife he actually is.

“You’re a pretty good baby daddy,” Amy murmurs into his chest. “I mean, you were literally my knight in shining armour riding in on horseback tonight.” He chuckles, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so glad you made it in time.”

“Me too,” he sighs, pressing kisses to her hairline and temple and cheek.

Amy shifts over slightly, making as much room in the bed as she can for him, and his desire to be close to his wife is overruled by the interest of her being as comfortable and non-crowded as possible.

“Ames, they said they could bring a cot for me. Or I can sleep in the chair, I really don’t mind.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “There’s plenty of room.”

“You just had a baby, I want you to be comfortable.”

“Jake,” she says, more firmly. “Speaking as your wife who just had a baby, I want you to sleep here with me. That’s an order.”

He knows he’s fighting a losing battle, so he kicks off his shoes and climbs under the covers with her. It turns out to be kind of perfect - he has just enough space to comfortably stretch out and, once he’s wrapped his arm around Amy and assumed the big spoon position, he has an unobstructed view of Mac.

“We’re really parents,” Amy sighs happily, lacing her fingers with his.

Jake nods and smiles, his eyes reluctant to close just yet while he absorbs the last moments of the most important day of his life.

He kisses her cheek once more before settling into the pillows and letting his eyelids droop.

“I love you guys so much.”

[jamkookies]

Recruits - drabble #1

Every year on the first day of September, a gang group called ‘Panthers’ recruits young boys to train them for special missions. Will this year be any special? Blood and murder are awaiting.

Pairing: BTS X OC

Genre: action, thriller, mystery

Warnings : blood, torture, annoying young boys.

Word count : 2,2k

Pic credits: here

In the whirlwind of emotions I'm feeling, only three prevail above anything else; fear, claustrophobia and hunger. Well, the last one is not really an emotion so it doesn't count but hey, I can't touch it, can I?

The eerie murmur of the dozens of boys around us snaps me out from my reverie. They seem to be deep in conversation about what's happening. That makes me think: what is happening? I move my head in a semi-circle, trying to get a better view of the cave-like arena we're in. Twenty minutes ago, I'd climbed down a flight of very slippery, rusty old stairs to get here and now all I can think of is if it was really worth it. My third emotion seems to agree as my stomach rumbles loudly. I haven't eaten anything in the last eighteen hours and that's saying a lot, considering how unsatisfied of a glutton I really am.

"I told you we shouldn't be here, man! Now what?!" Jimin shouts in a whisper right into my poor ear. He's been panicking like a lost gazelle ever since we stepped foot in this place and thinking back on it, he had all the right in the world. This place smells like medicine, a thick coat of dust covers every surface in sight and rust! so much of it that it's all I can see. Rust on the chairs, rust on the floor, rust everywhere. That bloody brown stains my vision like a blob in a feverish night. Jimin's right. We never should have gotten here.

"Too late now, " I whisper and turn my eyes back to the main scene. The ring of young boys seems to be heating up in their arguments as they get louder and louder with each passing minute. They're all here for the same purpose as we do. To be recruits. But the thing is, they don't look scared. Not even close. In fact, their excitement is through the roof. Anyone can tell by the way they talk animatedly with each other or the way their eyes glint with mischief. And by the way that-

One of the doors on the far corner bursts open, a man stumbling backwards from it. He crawls on the floor for a few seconds, then finally gets his bearings and lifts his head. The crowd gasps. One side of the man's face is completely covered in blood, but there are no cuts or wounds.

The blood is not his.

Jimin hangs on my sleeve for dear life, but I'm too busy staring at the scene to notice his worry.

I hold my breath as faint footsteps come from within the room, becoming louder and louder as they meet their end. My breath hitches in my throat. It’s him.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” Khan smiles. He lets out a delightful laugh, as if he hadn’t just blown a man through the door five seconds ago. It felt weird to finally see that image of him materialized right in front of me. Listening to the countless stories made for this middle-aged man, I’d spent hours thinking about what he would look like. Never would I imagine he’d seem so…normal. His luscious locks are carefully swiped on the side, not a single hair out of line, his clothes are neat and tidy and what surprises me the most is that genuine smile that wrinkles his eyes into half-moons. He looked just like Jimin whenever I gave him an extra portion of meat. Perfectly innocent.

“I hope you didn’t get bored waiting for me, “he continues.

The young boys are left speechless, too caught on the spot to dare answer the mighty Khan. The latter’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He links his hands behind his back and starts trotting towards the man on the ground. “Well, to make things more interesting, I will call my dear right hand to put on a little show.”

The man groans in pain and I can’t tell if it’s from the beating or the fear.

“Haru! Come here, my dear!” Khan shouts to where the door is. The words have barely left his lips when suddenly, a dark figure appears. He can’t be more than eighteen but I’m not entirely sure as a black robber-hood covers his face, leaving two small holes for where his eyes should be. He’s not very tall but his body is well-built. I can tell that much from his steady walk and from the hard-core clothing. Cargo pants, a multiple-pocketed jacket and combat boots. Typical recruit uniform. The boy called Haru takes two more steps and bows his head slightly after stopping by Khan’s side.

“Haru, the suspect is not cooperating. Can you show the audience how to make him cooperate?” Khan calmly asks. He takes a seat on one of the rusty chairs and pours hot tea into a cup that I hadn’t even noticed.

Haru-boy bows once again and slowly heads towards the man. It takes him three long strides to reach the spot and just like that, he pauses. Waiting.

The man quickly stands up. “I already told you I don’t know anyth-“

Snap

With one sharp movement, the boy has moved behind him and kicked his knees from the back, splatting him flat on the floor once again.

A collective sound of surprise escapes everyone’s lips, including Jimin’s, who I’d almost forgot standing right next to me.

“Oh, Haru come on now!” Khan protests, exasperated as he adds another sugar cube in his cup of tea. “No need to be in full uniform all the time. You’re not making this fun at all!”

Haru tilts his head towards his master, seemingly puzzled by his request and then sighs so loudly, it echoes across the walls of the arena. His hand reaches up and snatches the hood from his head, revealing long flowing blonde hair. I can’t believe my eyes. There’s a girl standing where a boy should have been. A girl, in flesh and bones! Her skin is a rich golden- brown, darker than the average pallid complexion we’re used to seeing. It suits her hazel eyes perfectly, complementing their beautiful almond shape. Every single person in the room is stunned into silence. Everyone except for Khan. He smiles knowingly, challenging anyone who dares meet his eyes with a proud look.

Haru takes that as her cue to start undressing. She rips off the heavy jacket in a quick motion, leaving her with nothing but a black tank-top underneath. In that exact moment, the crowd goes crazy. Hoots, whistles and teasing laughter explode from every single corner, making the arena sound like a showdown match. All eyes (and hormones) are on the girl and her ridiculously good figure. Protruding collarbones hug her wide shoulders and her waist slims into a dorito-shape. I just know for sure that all the guys are way too busy staring at her breasts, which in all honesty are not that exposed, unless you especially look for them.

However, despite all of the ruckus surrounding her, the girl stays perfectly calm in her shoes, observing the scene with a cold look and paying them no mind. Her face betrays no emotion, no feelings. A statue made of rock.

“Talk, “she quietly urges the man squirming in pain. When he makes no effort whatsoever, she lowers herself onto his level and looks him straight in the eye, waiting yet again.

The man spits in her face.

Jimin and I freeze. It seems like every single person in the crowd is holding their breath.

Haru is a slab of stone. She doesn’t even flinch, spit still dangling from her nose and cheeks. Then, she quietly gets up and lifts her tank top to wipe off the disgusting saliva. With just a flash of her toned stomach in sight, the boys go into hysterics. Their laughter and appreciative whistles follow Haru even as she grabs something from the nearest rusty table and puts it in her hand. My eyes go wide open.

Iron handcuffs.

Their infamous sting had been known for a long time among recruits. They used them regularly as their go-to item.

Haru doesn’t even wait for a reaction, swinging her fist right into the man’s face. With a satisfying crunch, the latter falls backward and fondles his nose, wailing in agony. I wonder if the walls are soundproof enough to block his miserable screams. The girl immediately goes for another punch, this time not even letting him breathe. She climbs on top of his body and keeps his hands from moving by using her knees.

Punch

Punch

Punch

One hit after the other, her toned back is glistening with sweat, making her muscles move with the motion.

Punch

Punch

The ominous sound is the only thing heard. The crowd has stopped talking among themselves, the man has stopped whimpering. All eyes are on the torture scene.

Haru pauses her beating and support herself on her palms. “Talk,” she orders, just as calmly as before. “Where is Recruit nr. 23?”

I raise my head to steal a glimpse from the man’s face and almost throw up my lunch. His face is beyond recognition; swollen nose and eyes, blood all over the place. His skin is ripped off and hanging in certain places. I doubt he can even talk anymore. But he does.

“Dasan S-s-street, the b-Bloody bar,” he finally stutters.

Haru immediately retreats. She rises to her feet and goes by her master’s side, the blood still staining her hands.

A brilliant smile overcomes Khan’s features. “Good job, my dear.” Then he faces the crowd, with a new sort of entertained look on his face. “This, my boys, is how to make someone cooperate. Watch and learn from her.”

I see him tuck a stray hair behind her ear and whisper a few words that are too low to make out. Haru’s face is as serious as ever. “Yes, sir,” she obeys and starts walking towards the crowd. She points her finger at some of the boys and gestures for them to follow her.

And then her eyes lock with mine. “You,” she announces and pivots on her heel. The floor seems to sway under my feet. I choke in a mumble of indiscernible words and suddenly forget how to speak.

Me?

Wait a minute, what am I supposed to do? Should I follow her? What about Jimin? He didn’t get chosen.

“Wait!” I squeak. Just like that, all eyes are on me. I try not to think about them and glance at the frightened sight of Jimin instead. He looks at me in awe.

“H-he’s with… m-me,” I say. “If you take me, you have to take him, too.”

Haru stops dead in her tracks and turns around, shooting invisible daggers from her eyes. Her expression hasn’t even changed one bit but I can tell I’ve pissed her off. She starts taking slow steps and trots her way to me, stopping right into my face. Our difference in height is noticeable but it actually looks like she’s the one towering over me.

I try to keep my eyes up but they naturally stoop down to steal a glance at the fair sheen of sweat on her chest. She’s not skinny, but rather muscular, well-built. Even a fool can notice the hard work she’s put into carving the perfect body for herself. Her biceps intimidate me.

“Haru, Haru….,” I hear Khan sing-song as he puts his cup down after a small gulp. “You’re really intolerable sometimes. If they are so fond of each other, you should take them both. We’re not here to break people apart, are we?”

Haru’s sigh is loud but her face still does not change. She breaks the tension between our eyes and switches them to Jimin instead, flicking her head on the side and gesturing for him to move along.

He wastes no time and quickly falls into line with everyone else. In the meanwhile, I’m frozen in my spot as Haru’s eyes stare deep into my soul.

“What’s your name?” she demands.

I gulp. “Jungkook.”

[lebromaah]

“Is There a Reason Why You’re Gawking?”

Pairing: Zoe and Kayn (Zoyn)

Rating: PG/PG-13

A/N: This is a one shot I’ve had in my head for awhile, so I decided to put it into words! It’s not perfect, but I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoy it too!

The sun was setting now; its bright yellow hues grow dim with a mix of oranges and pinks. High up the plateaus that litter Ionia, wind currents weave through each of the structures’ large frames. Howls hum through the heights as the gales mix with each other, like a pack of wolves storming through its rocky edges. Sitting on top of the large formations, amber grass along the small pastures bend to and fro, as if dancing in tune to the wind’s tide.

His skin welcomes the cool air onto its sweating surface, causing a ripple of goosebumps to erect along his tiring muscles. He couldn’t tell if it was relieving, or troubling, considering the sudden change of temperature tempts his muscles to tremble.

A single quake of his bicep, a small hitch of his breath, a quick lapse of will could ruin his one-armed scale form, especially after maintaining it for two hours straight.

Training during the day was never a hobby of his. In fact, he loathed it. He could always feel his prowess for shadow magic weaken while dwelling in direct sunlight. That weakness made him sick. For the longest time, he thought the only solution was to avoid the light to remain strong.

But he was wrong. Though balance in the art of peacekeeping during war is foolish, it’s practicality in fighting and nurturing oneself was always essential. His master taught him this, despite the contempt towards such teachings. There has to be balance in all things. Where there is a light, there is a shadow.

‘The stronger and brighter a light faces you, the more grandiose and abyssal your shadow will become.’

He’s relying on this philosophy now. If he is to hone his shadow magic to a tee, he would have to learn to find his balance, even in unfavorable conditions. The young acolyte couldn’t be more proud of this new found teaching, having already written it down as a core teaching for shadow acolytes that will call him ‘Master’ some day. They will indeed become strong.

Suddenly, his ear catches wind of what sounded like chimes behind him. He curses to himself, disappointed that he couldn’t ignore her presence longer than two minutes.

His companion has been staring at him for a solid thirty minutes. He feels it; her eyes scratch the edge of his skin like tiny blades of grass on a windy day. Though he has adjusted to her now constant residence in his training, taking a drawn out stare from her made him uneasy.

Not so much because of her critical eye, as if she was judging his form; his form was perfect. But because of that eye; the one soaked in rich-purple twilight.

He now understands why Rhaast always chastises her for looking into his fiendish eye; it felt like it was boring into his very being, his very soul, even to the point where she could see the brevity of his life compared to her’s.

That eye, is the one that makes him precarious.

He is nearing the end of his training, where his muscles are at their most tested, ready to give way at any moment. He couldn’t afford anymore distractions. It’s time to say something.

“Is there a reason why you’re gawking?” He hisses between fixed and calculated breathes.

His words causes the floating girl behind him to jump, despite her advantage over gravity. Her reaction told him two things; she didn’t mean to be caught, or she didn’t mean to stare. Judging from how obvious she makes her gaping, it’s probably the latter.

“W-what are you talking about!” she blurts out clumsily as she turns herself right side up in the air. Was she looking at him… upside down?

“Nice try, Zoe,” he responds, not bothering to turn his head to verify his suspicion, “,but you make it obvious.

“Make what obvious!” Zoe exclaims, unnecessarily resonant. “The fact I wasn’t looking? Cause then, you’d be right!” She straightens herself out, placing her hands on her hips confidently, as if she thought she outsmarted him. “Sharp as always, Kayn. Very sharp.”

Kayn rolls his eyes. Usually, he would ride her case in an attempt to assert himself over her. But through trial and error, he’s learned that such a tactic doesn’t work on her naive disposition. She likes to brag, rather than try to affirm her strengths over his.

Participating in such useless banter wasn’t his usual preference, so there was no need to try to outsmart her. He knows who’s better, so he decides not to waste his breath.

He pauses before speaking up again. “Why are you still here anyway? I thought you hated waiting around while I train.”

“Well, I-I’ve never been here before,” she explains, a hint of fluster still present in her chirpy voice. “I already checked out the field of flowers down there; even tried talking to the farmers,” she sighs. “But they ran away.”

Kayn’s throat emits a short hum. “That’s no surprise. If an annoying girl came flying up to me wanting to share her non-existent message, I would run too,” He asserts with an edgy tongue.

Zoe doesn’t bother giving attention to his remark. Instead, her head perks up, causing her free flowing hair to flutter after it. “But you didn’t.”

Kayn’s arm nearly gives way in response to his heart skipping a beat. What a lousy time for her to be saying such things...

She continues before he could defend himself. “To be fair, you weren’t nice to me either. You wanted to kill me!” She cheeps with a giggle. “But I got slick moves and an endless mass of stars on my side!” She slings her right arm, and after, her left, to simulate her Paddle Star as she rambles. “Too bad.”

Kayn’s scowl only grew as she kept bragging. Not only because she was annoying him with her ranting, but because he knows there’s truth to her swagger. She was slick, quick, and unpredictable. Fighting her only spelled a humiliating defeat by her leaving him in the wilds to dream her magic-filled dreams…and the flower crown… the flower crown.

Kayn exhales, as if expelling the creeping lapse of concentration from his very being. “You lose if your magic is silenced for a split second, you know. Don’t talk like you’re invincible.”

“Oh I know; Too bad you don’t have that ability,” she sasses, smiling confidently with a thumbs up.

There’s that look again. Her eyes were wide, radiant, and colorful; as if twilight itself was nestled in her irises. That cheeky grin she flashes annoys Kayn - while also making him a little nervous.

He was aware of that feeling, bringing it up to himself in his meditations. Unfortunately, his sub-conscience has yet to reveal why that inclination rears its head when she looks at him so... boldly? What was the word?

Before he could be troubled any further, the sun finally disappears behind the hills; his training is officially over.

Zoe’s eyes light up when she sees Kayn lower himself to the ground. “Are you finally done!”

Kayn sighs as he opens and closes his human hand, relieving it of its stiffness. “Yes. Training is over.”

“Woo hoo!” Zoe shrieks as she rolls her body in the air and into his personal space. “I’ll make a portal and we ca-“

“I’m afraid not,” Kayn interrupts as he quickly places his Darken finger on her lips. Zoe cheeks puff as his gesture before she furrows her eyes at him. The way her large oracles glower at his gaze brings the most modest bit of warmth to his cheeks.

“How did I get up here?”

She blinks as Kayn softens the pressure from his finger on her lips, allowing her to speak. “You… climbed?” she answers sheepishly, as if he was asking her a trick question.

“Ok,” he smirks. “So how am I getting down?”

Zoe blinks twice as her brain processes and accesses his answer hidden in the question. Then it hit her; her body gives into gravity and her curious expression switches to one of disappointment. “You’re not… climbing… down?” Her voice trails off sheepishly.

Kayn’s finger releases her lips. His eyes never leave her pleading gaze as he loosens up his arms, then his legs, smirking as she pouts her little lip.

One of his guilty pleasures was always to deliberately tease his impatient partner. Sometimes, completely unaware of this, he goes out of his way to bedevil her just to see her little scowl. She gets her way most of the time they’re together anyway, so Kayn never sees any harm in trying her patience.

Zoe groans, her eyes not leaving his teasing stare, that is until he flexes his arms and chest during his warm up. For a split second, her eyes dart across his torso and arms before starting back to his eyes.

He catches on to her look-see. “Pervert.”

Zoe gasps, her eyes growing wide once again while her cheeks flush bright red. “NO I’M NOT!” she screeches. Kayn chuckles before starting his descent, completely unaware of how charming her blushing face is to him.

[caps-lockdown]

Sweater Weather Part One

Sweater Weather

Hey everyone here is the next series I’m working on, mostly inspired by how %#$@ hot it has been here in Kansas (And everywhere else, the world is on fire). This story takes place over the course of a weekend (I know, I like weekend worst case scenarios okay? Leave me be), so it’ll probably be 5-6 parts. Hope you like it!

Pairings: Steve Rogers x PottsRelativeFem!Reader

Ratings/Warnings: Hard R 

For everything from language, crude jokes, ADULT situations/impure thoughts, booze (because it’s pretty much a staple in my fics at this point.), arguments, and an extremely overprotective Tony Stark. Very little angst, as I try to keep most of my fics light humored. But of course there are some insecurities/unsure feelings, as well as sad feels from everything with endgame/ the decimation. Also dead parents.

Also AU in the fact NO ONE DIED during Endgame/Steve didn’t go back. Also as much as I adore Morgan Stark, she isn’t around yet. I didn’t know where this would fit timeline wise, so just ignore the timeline. Kay? Cool.

Slow(ish) burn. Lots of pining

Words: 3,476

Summary: You’ve just moved to New York after a long 3 year stint travelling the world and helping with various charities, taking a new job with Stark Industries thanks to your cousin Pepper. A trip out to surprise Tony and The Avengers for the weekend turns from good to terrible when the a/c at the compound breaks. How will you beat the heat for the record breaking weekend?

It’s in Y/N Y/L/N format, any pictures, outfits, gifs, and marvel characters just assume I don’t own them. Also no Beta, as I don’t ever have one, so the mistakes and reader are all my own.Also her friend Kate isn’t mine either, she’s based after a very close fantastic friend. Enjoy!

Part one

“You just had to get the apartment on the top floor with an out of order elevator?”

You dropped the last box labeled “Kitchen” haphazardly on the floor, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand as you turned to watch Pepper Potts shut the door behind her comment.

“You were the one who wore heels today, dear cousin. And besides, the movers did most of the work.” You stared pointedly at her, before bringing your eyes to sweep over the piles of boxes that filled your apartment. A sea of cardboard that came with the faint scent of permanent marker and small notes of your truck’s air freshener flooded the small hallway and living room areas. The floors were bare otherwise, you not having any furniture at the present moment. “You should also know the elevator will be fixed this weekend while I’m out at the compound catching up with everyone.”

“Doesn’t help our damn case now though does it?” The redhead complained while looking at her tired feet.

“But did you die though?” You raised an eyebrow, turning back to look down the hall. “I just gotta pack a bag for the weekend and then we can head out. You sure it’s going to be ok? Me going out there and all?”

“Are you kidding me?” Pepper looked confused at your sudden question, shaking her head and grabbing your shoulders. “Tony is going to be so excited to see you! No one has seen you since the wedding! Not to mention these team building weekends never really get anything accomplished.” You giggled as you waded through the boxes to your mostly empty room, shuffling boxes as you looked through ones with “clothes” written hastily across them in doctor worthy handwriting.

“I should change. It’s hot as fuck outside.” You muttered, opting to switch out your gross sweatpants and stained-to-hell white shirt to a pair of short jean shorts and a curve hugging blue tank top. Your mind wandered to everyone you hadn’t seen in so long. Three years. It had been three years since you’d been back, spending that time traveling the globe and helping charities after the decimation. Pepper and Tony always called you, kept you updated. You honestly never believed you’d move back to New York. But things change.

The only reason why you had come back was after the whole Thanos thing six months ago Pepper had offered you a job as a receptionist at Stark Industries, you decided that day it was time to settle down. You made sure everything was good with the charities you had been helping out with before putting permanent plans into action though. Purchasing a small apartment in the heart of New York City, your cousin and you kept everything quiet as to your return. You wanted it to be a surprise, mostly to see Tony’s face. Maybe someone else’s. Shoving a few days worth of clean clothes in a duffel bag, not forgetting your swimsuit as your cousin promised you some sunbathing time, you opened the door to see Pepper grinning widely at you.

“You know blue is Steve’s favorite color right?” You smirked knowingly as you moved to the bathroom, throwing your toiletries into the sack and zipping it shut. Of course you knew. The blonde avenger was one of the only things that had gotten you through these tough last few years. When everything went down with Tony, you had decided not to pick sides, but you and Steve fell apart regardless. It started slowly, the two of you drifting from good friends to mere strangers. It hurt but you understood. It’s not like you were dating, or like he would ever see you as girlfriend material. Not that you would ever turn him down if he had just asked you. He was definitely boyfriend material, and him looking the way he did certainly helped things too. You had always harbored feelings of some kind towards him, even if you weren’t sure what they actually were. When the decimation happened, you knew the whole team had enough on their plates to deal with. So after a couple years and more importantly Pepper and Tony’s wedding you vanished off the map, putting your people skills and nurturing personality to good use. It’s not like anyone missed you terribly.

Shutting off the bathroom lights you lugged the bag over your shoulder, reaching to take a stuffed Panda bear, obviously worn from years of travel, and grabbing your keys and purse.

“Got everything? What’s the bear for?” Pepper asked as you double checked the deadbolt after you had shut the door.

“A girl in England gave it to me after I found her some relatives to live with. She couldn’t have been more than seven at the time, yet she had managed to deal with her parents turning into dust a hell of a lot better than some of the adults I had seen. She said Mister Stuffins was her favorite and that he would be my friend so I wasn’t alone. Sweet girl. She wrote me when she got her parents back. I cried for a week.” You turned the small bear over in your hand and placed in the front pocket of your bag, remembering her strength in such an awful time of her young life.

“What was her name?”

“Evangeline, but she demanded to be called Evan.” You snickered as you recalled her nearly ripping off your partner at the time’s head for calling her by her full name. The spirited small child had almost made you forget about the seven flights of stairs awaiting you. Your face fell flat upon remembering, Pepper shoving your shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll race you.” You gaped as the red head went barreling down the stairs, deciding to give her high heeled ass a head start before you ruined her self esteem. She’s going to hurt herself and I’m going to have to help her dumbass to the truck.

~~The Compound, a few hours later~~

“Jesus Christ Tony watch where the hell you’re pointing that damn thing!”

“That’s what she said.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky, watching the comedy unfold before them. Sam sat on the ground, tinkering with a standing Tony in his iron suit, the latter barely missing the former’s head when his repulsor rays misfired on accident. They had been at this for hours, Sam trying to help the billionaire with fixing something that was wrong with his right leg. Tony continued to bark orders at the man who was only growing more irritated by the minute. To be honest Steve didn’t have the faintest idea what was wrong or how they were planning on putting it right, but he wasn’t the one doing it. So he, Banner, and Barnes all simply stood back to watch.

“We miss anything?” He turned his head slightly to the left at the sound of Natasha’s voice, Thor and her returning from unloading the Quinjet for the weekend.

“Tony missed Sam’s head again, but I think they’re about…”

“DONE! Eat a dick Tin-man.” Sam shouted suddenly, hopping up from his feet and clearing the way for a smug looking Stark, who only looked down at his leg and shook it. He turned to give Sam an iron clad thumbs up, who only flipped him off in return, heading over to join the rest of the group that had gathered on the compound’s grounds.

Since Thanos’ attack, the compound had been rebuilt but wasn’t nearly as massive in size anymore. Only one large building that offered housing, training, mess hall, laboratories and a few holding cells sat next to the pad that held the Quinjet. Tony decided that since the battle had leveled most of the original compound, building something a little more simplistic would be the best course of action. Everyone had agreed with him, and Steve felt like it was little more like home this way. And he’d rather be inside right now than standing outside in this hellish heat wave.

The sun was high in the sky, the temperature only climbing and it was already uncomfortable outside. Steve could feel the beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck, the forecast calling for record breaking highs for the weekend. He wasn’t looking forward to it to say the least, and knowing Tony they would be doing absolutely useless things to pass the time. He would pay for a distraction at this point.

The roaring of a large truck engine forced the super soldier from his thoughts, the impressive vehicle pulling sharply onto the compound parking lot with minimal effort. Dust settled as Steve’s blue eyes caught the familiar sight of Pepper Potts exiting the passenger side, fist pumping the air to loud rock and roll that was blaring out of the windows. Very unlike her.

“Honey uh who’s truck is that?! Are you leaving me!?” Tony coughed as he climbed out of his suit, the large mass of metal’s motor being shut off and the driver door thrown open.

“Of course not sweetheart. You wouldn’t last a day without me.” His confused look had the team chuckling as he kept darting his eyes from Pepper to the vehicle.

“Then who the hell is that?!”

“YOUR SURPRISE!” Tony raised an eyebrow as to why his wife was shouting all of a sudden, clearly not catching on.

On cue you jumped out of the truck, just like you two had discussed on the drive up to the headquarters, beaming at the large group of people.

You’d remember Tony’s elated smile for the rest of your days.

“SHORT STACK?! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You laughed as the brunette man came sprinting towards you, the nickname ringing in your ears as he picked you up slightly, pulling you into a spine crushing hug and making you drop your bag. In all the years you had known him, Tony had been like the older brother you never had. When Pepper started working for him you were visiting with your parents and the two of you hit it off instantly. After their unexpected death due to a car accident a year later, Stark and Pepper were some of the only ones there for you, you three becoming inseparable. It had killed a part of you to leave after the decimation, but he had reassured you it’s what your parents would have wanted you to do. You blinked back tears as you hugged the man fiercely.

“Hiya Snark. I’ve missed you too.” The two of you broke apart, Tony leaning back to hold you at arm’s length, taking in your well toned and tanned body.

“Look at you! I mean look at you! Was there something in the water overseas?” You smacked his arm as he went to hug you again, his obviously excited demeanor spreading over the others, although there was a small hint of nervousness in the air.

“Move it Stark, she’s got a line.” Nat scolded, pushing the man away from you so she could hug you herself, a girlish giggle leaving you as you returned it.

“Dig the hair Nat, you break my record yet?”

“I gave up three weeks in. Pinball just pisses me off.” She shrugged, reaching to give your shoulder a squeeze. Thor threatened to break you in half as he embraced you, Bruce choosing to shake your hand. You decided that the new version of the doctor would take some getting used to, but at least he was wearing shirts now. Your eyes met the uncertain ones of who you assumed had to be Bucky, Steve’s friend. So they brought you home after all huh?

“You must be Barnes. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Y/N.  Roger’s talked you up a lot.” He took your outstretched hand firmly, giving you a small smile and nodding.

“Did he now? Funny he never mentioned how he let your gorgeous face slip through his fingers.”

Your jaw went slack as you stared at the man, eyes widened in shock as he shamelessly raked his eyes over your figure. Sam took the chance to rush you, your breath escaping your lungs as he all but tackled you. Everyone laughed as Pepper went to grab your overstuffed duffel off the ground.

“Y/N I’m so happy to see you! It’s been years!”

“I know Sam, I’m sorry I stayed away for so long, just had to think of the bigger picture for awhile.”

“Please Y/N. You were helping people, kids with finding family, rebuilding businesses and houses. Even running soup kitchens for Christ’s sake. Don’t apologize.” He met your bewildered expression with a sincere smile. “Pepper kept us updated. You really didn’t think we would miss you?”

“I had to think of…”

“The bigger picture. We know.” You wanted to remove Sam’s smile off his perfect face when a certain tall blonde walked into your sights. He looked nothing short of amazing, even after these last few years. His hair was swept back into its usual style, his blue jeans and simple t shirt combo making you light headed and he got closer to you. Steve Rogers looked damn good. But you had always thought that.

“You got a hug for me too Doll? Or are you all out?” Your breath hitched at hearing his deep voice, his challenging tone making your heart race.

“Not sure Rogers, why dontcha come over here and find out?” You challenged back, his eyes glittering in amusement as he moved to wrap you in his arms. It never came though.

The large explosion off the side of the main building of the compound caused everyone to jump, panic taking over your senses as Tony reassured you no one was inside.

“That’s good to know Snark but what the fuck was that?!” Your nickname for the man only made him smile before he went speed walking off to go investigate, the rest of you following suit. The blown line of a/c compressors sizzled and popped angrily at you as you got close, Steve darting an arm out protectively in front of you. You let your eyes drink the sight of his large limb, the muscle groups flexing deliciously against the material of his shirt. Tony didn’t look amused.

“What the hell is your arm going to do Cap? You protecting Y/N or flexing your freakish flesh for her?” Tony snapped, the captain lowering his arm guiltily. Rolling your eyes at your cousin’s overprotective nature you stepped forward to take a gander at the busted machinery, the sparks and smoke rising from the group of metal. Tony ran his hand over his face with a sigh.

“Looks like I get to track down some new compressors. Y/N, come with me.” Stark commanded, your face looking to his in confusion as he began to head back towards the main doors.

“Me? Why me?” You asked, not understanding the clearly cranky male’s logic. He scoffed.

“You’re better at people than I am. And I don’t like how Rogers keeps staring at your ass.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, not even sparing the embarrassed blonde a glance as you hurried to catch up with the angry brunette. You could feel Steve’s heated gaze on your back as the two of you walked away, Tony turning around to shake his head at the soldier.

“You better put your eyes elsewhere before I knock them out of your skull soldier!” You contained the giggle that bubbled in the back of your throat as you heard Steve groan, the rest of the team looking on at the two of you and sharing curious expressions.

Later

“Yes I will let him know, thank you so much!” You hung up the phone with a defeated sigh, tossing it to Stark as you paced the living area of the compound. The sun had started to make its way towards the horizon, and after five phone calls you were finally gaining traction on your current mission.

“How many does that make?” Tony questioned, repositioning his sunglasses on top of his head like a suburban soccer mom and scribbling something down on a small note pad.

“That makes the six we need. Six compressors, three deliveries, two electricians to set it up come Monday. I’m sorry but that’s the soonest I could get them here.” You slouched onto the couch next to him, the billionaire lovingly patting your leg. You let your head rest on his shoulder, thinking about how F.R.I.D.A.Y had said earlier you had about 12 hours before the outside temperature would start to affect the building. That was about an hour ago.

“So much for a team building weekend, we should let the others know. I wish there was a way to punch hot weather in the face.” You muttered aimlessly as Tony continued to crunch numbers. His head shot up at you suddenly, a wide smile covering his tanned face.

“That’s it! Short stack you are a genius!”

“You’re welcome?” You nearly fell over on the couch as Tony leapt to his feet, offering you a hand before pulling you out of the living area and down the hall into the kitchens where the rest of the Avengers remained.

“You guys Y/N figured out how we still make this weekend work!”

“Oh yea? Does it include leaving this place until Monday and getting some actual sleep?” Came Nat’s sleepy reply, Bruce pouring her another cup of coffee.

“No! We’re going to work together to beat the heat!”

“Y/N I highly doubt this was your idea.” You shook your head at Sam, clearly you and Tony had completely different ideas on how you all were to spend the weekend. “And Tony it’s supposed to reach nearly a hundred and ten! Why the hell would we willingly be stuck here, with no a/c for essentially two days, in a hundred and ten degree heat?!”

“Because whoever is still here at the end of the weekend doesn’t have to come back for the next four months of team building.” Came your cousin’s response, everyone looking at Pepper with a look of admiration, well everyone except Tony.

“Alright I’m in.” Nat agreed, slamming her coffee mug down, Bruce giving his confirmation alongside Thor. Bucky looked warily at his teammates before sighing, nodding his head curtly in submission. Sam and Steve also agreed reluctantly, not really having a choice in the matter.

“What about Y/N? She’s not part of the team and she shouldn’t have to be stuck here with us!” Sam directed everyone’s attention to you, a small lump forming in your throat as you realized they were absolutely right. So how would you spin this to where they’d let you stay without thinking you were crazy? Chewing your bottom lip in thought, you didn’t miss Steve’s eyes darting from your eyes to your lips repeatedly, a darkened expression on his face before Bucky managed to lightly nudge him, motioning to Tony who was watching him like a hawk.

“I don’t have anything else to do. I don’t start work until Monday and I kind of wanted to catch up with all of you,” You smiled to all of them, Bucky looking extremely pleased with your answer as Stark raised a finger.

“Question. Where are you working and how come I wasn’t made aware that you’re staying here indefinitely?!”

“Don’t worry Snark I won’t be far, I just moved into my apartment over the last few days and I…”

“Last few days!?” Your cousin in law threw his hands up, “When did you decide you would be moving back?”

“Uh…five months ago?” The noise that emitted from Stark’s mouth couldn’t have been English, his eyes narrowing at his wife who only smiled brightly at her husband in kind. She was within good reason to feel accomplished, usually secrets never stayed silent when Tony went snooping.

“Well I for one am all for Y/N staying. We’ll need all the estrogen we can find to deal with you lot this weekend.” Nat chided, coming to stand next to you and patting you on the shoulder.

“Great it’s settled then.” Pepper smiled warmly at you, rounding the island in the kitchen and going to pull out supplies for a meal big enough for a small army. “Now who’s helping me cook dinner tonight?”

A rousing chorus of “Not it!” was heard as Tony took off running in the opposite direction, Steve and Bucky following suit. Within moments you found yourself alone with your red headed relative, the rest of the team becoming scarce to avoid having to cook or prepare.

“I didn’t want them to help anyway. This kitchen would end up looking like the compressors outside.” The two of you laughed as you turned on some light music and got to work. It felt nice to be back.

Tag list: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more

[modernmisterdarcy]

An Unfortunate Turn

“Yes!”

It seemed almost, perhaps, a bit too easy. Then again, he had suffered so much in his relatively short life-- why shouldn't one thing come easily to him now?

 “But I didn’t get you anything,” said his fiance. “Here,” she said, and suddenly her embroidery hoop was in his hands. Adrian stared at it with a raised brow, quizzical, looking from the piece, to the girl who had given it him. “       It’s…hideous –” she admitted. “But it’s .    something?”

 “I’m sorry,” Eirene said through a sheepish smile, not giving him the chance to respond. “I’m acting strange. Only– You see, I’ve never been proposed to before. And neither have you! But I didn’t propose to you. What I’m trying to say is– I cannot wait to be your wife, and I will do anything to return the happiness you’ve given me.”

“But-- you've no cause to give anything to me, except-- well, except what you have given already.” Adrian's face relaxed into a smile, and he clasped the awkward embroidery to his chest. “Your hand in marriage is more than I could have ever asked for, Eirene, be sure of that. And thank you for your-- er-- kind gesture.” He held up the embroidery. “I believe traditionally the man is the one who does the giving, but I appreciate it all the same.” Gingerly, he set the hoop aside, the better to take Eirene in his arms, and lay a tender kiss on her forehead.

Then they talked a while. The Duke spoke softly of redemption-- of how in Eirene he found redemption for all the long years of suffering he had endured, of having no regrets for anything any longer, as every happenstance had made him into the man who had, that day, earned her enthusiastic consent to marriage.

Adrian stayed a while, visiting with Eirene, whispering sweet nothings to her, a completely changed man from the cool and distant creature she'd met the night of the Astleys' gala. At some point, the Earl rejoined them, and a teatime was passed with a distinct celebratory air hanging over it.

The ensuing days and weeks saw Adrian an attentive and able suitor for Eirene. He called as often as decorum allowed without seeming overbearing-- perhaps every other day-- as his business allowed. Sometime they passed teatime in the Kings' parlor. Sometimes Adrian took Eirene out to a tea room, or a cafe, or simply on a promenade, though the latter were infrequent and often brief, owing to Adrian's diminished ability to walk well enough to enjoy a promenade.

Other times, he invited Eirene to accompany him to various social engagements in the evenings, whenever she was available. It was here that Adrian performed the heroic work of not only restoring Eirene's reputation, but bolstering it, making it shine, speaking of her own sort of heroism and grace, of how brave she'd been the night of her party, and of how satisfied everyone was to see Tobias finally put in his place.

Wedding plans, too, were discussed. They talked of a date some six months hence, and Eirene was sent to a dressmaker's to begin constructing one of the most important garments of her life.

The engagement had been announced formally in the papers just a few days after the Duke's proposal, however, the formal celebration-- the engagement party-- was to take place some six weeks after the proposal.

Plans for that, too, progressed smoothly, though as the date drew nearer for Adrian and Eirene to appear before society as a formally engaged couple, the Duke began to show signs of dreadful fatigue. Between the engagement party plans, wedding plans, his business at parliament, his attentions to his fiancee, and attending practically every social engagement in London, his meager energies were exhausted utterly, every day. A fever crept up on him, and he pressed on, until one day, he collapsed in a friend's parlor while on a call with Eirene, and forthwith went home and begrudgingly allowed the physician to be called.

Adrian insisted he'd be well again in a few days, but in this, the Duke was horribly mistaken. A few days more saw him weaker than he'd been in months, suffering violent coughing fits which wrought rivers of blood from his lungs, tormented by fevers so severe that they left him delirious, at times numb and confused, other times raving and half-mad and seething despite his weakness.

Not a week before their engagement party, the Duke had been so ill that the doctor warned the Earl and his daughter, that any day now might be Adrian's last. The doctor advised that the brother be written, and that Adrian, when lucid, ought to speak to his solicitor to ensure his affairs were in proper order.

Ghastly pale, bathed in a cold sweat, his eyes glimmering with fever, and his lips stained an uncanny shade of red, Adrian called Eirene to his side.

“Knowing you, and being engaged to you, has been one of the sweetest pleasures of my life,” he whispered, his eyes heavy at half-mast. “If I should survive this relapse, Eirene, I... I hope you'd consider--” Adrian broke off, coughing, choking dangerously on his own blood, with scarcely enough strength to turn and expectorate into the basin. “If indeed you still intend to marry this terrifying creature you see before you, I should hasten to do it... much sooner than we had before planned.”

But what the date might be, would be determined if and when the Duke should rally, for at that moment, he fell unconscious, and did not wake for at least a day. The outlook was very grim indeed, and preparations were being made, now, for a funeral, instead of a wedding.

*

Life at Finley Sanatorium had been torture thus far. It had been but five weeks, and they were the most unendurable weeks of Tobias Wolfe's life. He had come a drunk, and now, he was a dry drunk, having had nothing to drink but water and tea since his arrival. There had been a period of intense withdrawal, shaking and vomiting and fits of near-hysteria, but by now, Tobias had calmed.

Well, calmed was perhaps too generous a word for it.

The withdrawal symptoms had abated, but Tobias felt the entire time like a caged animal. The sanatorium was quiet, clean, and confined. There was precious little to occupy an active young man like Toby, and even now in late February it was far too cold to go swimming in the lake on the campus. Toby did not care for reading or painting or any of the other sedentary and dull occupations the staff at Finley would have had him do-- he wanted to ride, to walk, he wanted to drink, dammit, and go back to his usual life back in London, but nay-- he was here under his brother's auspices for the foreseeable future. Though Toby was there to “recover his sanity”, he was certain that another two months in the place would have him simply losing it instead.

All this to say that when he had news of his brother's sudden and serious illness, Toby nearly welcomed the distraction, then hated himself for it, because he knew Adrian would only permit them to write if he was near death. The thought was a frightening one. Toby left immediately.

The scene which Tobias encountered upon his return was a familiar one, and one he did not care to see, now or ever again.

The house was far too quiet, it felt cold, the fear of Adrian's death looming over the place in a pall. Without bothering to change from his traveling clothes, Toby immediately went to his brother's room, only to see Adrian in the grips of a horrendous coughing fit, with blood on his lips and trickling down his cheek.

“You ought to have a nurse,” said Toby; the first thing he'd said to him since leaving Adrian the night of Eirene's party.

Adrian choked by way of response, lurching to one side so that he could spit blood and phlegm into the basin. He nearly fell from the bed, but for Toby holding him steady until the fit passed. He eased Adrian back into bed, and began cleaning the blood from his skin.

“Why is no one tending you?” Tobias demanded. “You oughtn't be in here all alone like that.”

Adrian could not respond; he breathed raggedly, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he fought unconsciousness.

Toby forsook the seat by the bed, and fell to his knees. He took Adrian's hand and kissed it, appalled by how cold it felt.

“Please, brother, don't leave me!” he whispered. “Adrian, you mustn't-- you mustn't--”

“I'll not die, I assure you, until there is a more respectable heir to the Duchy of Bainton,” Adrian muttered, able to speak at last but too weak to draw his hand away, but his fingers curling into a loose fist as Toby clasped it. “Get off the floor, I cannot bear for you to ingratiate yourself.”

“Ingratiate? I-- I do not ingratiate myself, Adrian, I... I'm frightened for your life!” Still, Tobias did as he was told, climbing to a slightly more dignified posture in the chair.

“Unhand me.” Adrian's voice was but a rasp, hollow and weak in his chest. He frowned slightly at Toby. “I cannot bear to be touched like this.”

“You're delirious,” Toby muttered miserably. “Your fever has made you so mean.”

“It is not the fever.” With a grunt of effort, and a wince, Adrian removed himself from Toby's grasp. “It is your touch which wakens my meanness, Tobias.”

The younger of the brothers Wolfe slowly drew his arm into his body, as if it were wounded; though the wound was in his spirit, not in his body. His heart ached as if it had been stabbed, and for the hundred thousandth time he wondered why Adrian acted so. Why he spoke so. Why he spurned Toby's undying love, over and over, and said such wretched things.

“But... why?” he finally said.

Whether it was the fever or not, Tobias would never know, for when he glanced over, Adrian appeared to have succumbed to his weakness. His eyes had closed, the bitterness had left his features, and he had gone still. For a dizzying moment, Toby wondered if Adrian had broken his promise and died; he leaned over, and strained to listen. But yes, the deathly-sounding wheeze in Adrian's chest told Tobias that his brother still lived, however tentatively.

Toby wanted to cry, both for his brother's life being in danger and for the ugliness which had just happened between them. He was tempted to, and a few tears escaped him, but he stifled them with a sniffle upon hearing Eirene's step in the hall.

Tobias composed himself somewhat, though his features betrayed some measure of his inner turmoil. Before he stood, he bent over Adrian and kissed his brow, then went into the hall.

“Hello, Lady King,” he said softly. “I trust you'll want to be alone with my brother. He does not do well, only just now he fell unconscious again.” Tobias's eyes fluttered a little as he bit back another wave of tears. “But I have no doubt that your very presence does him well, were you inclined to sit with him a while.”

[aby55-of-the-ab5o1ute]

.

It feels like I'm underwater

Not content to do whatever

I hate every little choice I made

So I got no choice but to keep moving forward

I hope one day life will be better

Climb a latter made of my sweat and blood

But the bloodeater hungers

everything just keeps getting harder

[jellyfitzjelly]

Let me assure you that you are always - ALWAYS - welcome to send Joplittle porn to my inbox. ALWAYS.

Well, as it happened I was struck by a very filthy idea. :) (psst this is also for @whalersandsailors who kindly wrote me some Joplittle!!!! thanks mate!) Under a cut because this is explicit.

Edward squeaked whenthe strange object was finally buried to the hilt in him. It pressedinsistently against his prostate.

“Keep it onfor the rest of the day,” purred Thomas in his ear as he kneaded his rear.

“All day?!”he spluttered, because oh god there was no way he could keepthis thing inside him until night.

His loverslapped his buttocks with a dark growl, perfect in his role of the wicked,devious high-ranking seducer. It was a game they loved to play, even more sonow with the euphoria of knowing themselves on the way home after the icy nightmarethey had endured. Edward had found a life-saving delight in giving up his freewill to Thomas, in being able to be blissfully, blindly obedient. His Tom was agood lieutenant, even better than himself (he will be a captain one day, Edwardknew it, and the best of all), and a good man who never considered him any lessfor his desire to submit rather than lead.

“I want youto be ready for my cock at any given moment,” Thomas growled wickedly as hetucked him back into his trousers. “Understood?”

“Yes,Lieutenant Jopson.”

“Good boy.”

Oh, it wasagony. Pure, delightful, awful agony. It was both not enough and too much atthe same time. As his muscles kept contracting around the alien object insidehim, the pressure on his prostate varied continuously. The feeling wasdreadfully teasing and yet not enough to bring Edward any real, strongpleasure. Walking proved a chore, with each of his step faltering as the devicemassaged him. He felt as if everyone could guess his predicament and every lookin his direction brewed a dread that sharpened his pleasure. He regularlybecame half-hard, his trousers a maddening friction against his flesh. Hedesperately ached to jerk himself furiously to completion but his duties didnot give him a moment. The whalers who had rescued them were all too happy tohave additional sailors and officers on board, and there was plenty of work tobe done. Thomas himself seemed as occupied as he was, which crushed all hishopes of getting pulled into a storeroom and buggered all the way to Sunday.Every nerve of Edward’s body was aflame, pulsing. His nipples were taut andtender against the fabric of his shirt; the seam of his trousers scratchedagainst the skin of his thighs like Thomas’ stubble; the wetness of the oildripping between his buttocks was matched by the sweat running down his spine.

Dinner wasa confused haze. Edward tried desperately to focus on the conversation ratherthan on the pressure on his sweet spot making his hands shake. God, he longed topress his palm between his legs and rut. Instead he gently rocked his hips inhis chair, trying to get some sort of friction on his half-erect manhood or tosteady the ever-changing flow of pleasure inside him. From the other side ofthe table, Thomas hid his smile in his glass. His eyes were crinkling however,gleaming with that devilish spark full of wicked promises. When hemouthed “soon” at the end of the dinner, Edward had to bite the inside ofhis cheek to keep himself from weeping with relief. The fifteen minutes spent waitingfor him in his cabin felt like endless days, his agony rendered acute by theprospect of impending relief. When finally Thomas slipped into his room, therest of the ship going to sleep around them, Edward all but crashed his lipsagainst his. He was met with a hunger matching his.

“Have youbeen a good boy?”

“I kept iton, like you ordered me to, sir.”

“Really?”Tom arched a suspicious eyebrow as he palmed him to full hardness through histrousers.

Edwardnodded earnestly and his lover hummed in approval. The ever-warmer weather andheating system on board allowed him to rid him of his breeches and smallclothes. Thomas licked a path of nips and kisses down to a nipple as heunbuttoned Edward’s shirt. He suckled on the sensitive nub before his teeth grazedit, wrenching a strangled whimper from Edward.

“You werequite distracted today, Lieutenant Little,” Thomas said as he took him in aloose grip. “Look at you, you wanton thing. Your prick’s like a mainmast.You’re going to leave a mess if you keep leaking like that.”

He squeezedhis eyes shut as the words shot straight in his groin, his flesh twitching inhis lover’s hand.

“Youcarried your duties in the most appalling way, sir. Quite undeserving of yourrank as first lieutenant. We cannot leave you set such a bad example for themen. You need to be punished.”

Edward’seyes snapped wide open, a moan caught in his throat. Thomas licked his lips,his eyes darkening with undisguised lust. He nodded toward the bunk.

“Hands onthe berth, legs spread.”

“Sir, please-”

He yelpedwhen his lover pinched his nipple.

“Now,” hegrowled darkly with that firm edge of authority that never failed to makeEdward’s knees turn to jelly.

He did ashe was told, bending down over the bunk. The sharpening pressure on hisprostate wrung a whimper from his lips. Thomas ran an appreciative hand overthe curve of his rear.

“I want youto count,” and with no other warning he slapped him hard on the ass.

“O-One!” hestuttered, knocked breathless by the surge of pleasure as his muscles clenchedaround the object and drove it hard against his spot.

Thomas seta punishing pace as he slapped him again and again, the pain and the pleasuremaking Edward’s prick hang hard and heavy between his legs, dripping soprofusely he was leaving a damp patch on the bed linens. Soon the numbersblurred in his mind as he spiraled down in sweet agony. By the time Thomasstopped and gently pulled him upright, he was half-sobbing.

“What agood boy you are, taking your punishment so well,” Tom’s voice pierced throughthe thick fog of lust. “You deserve a reward.”

Even hazyas he was, Edward caught on his meaning immediately. He was about to settlehimself down on the bunk when his lover stopped him.

“Ah-ah,” hetutted with mock disapproval. “Don’t you think you should help me preparefirst, Lieutenant Little?”

He sat downon the edge of the bed as he unbuttoned his trousers, eyes burning with desire.Edward sank to his knees and guided him eagerly to his mouth. He was much lessskilled than him in this, no matter how hard he tried to imitate the caresseshe had received from Tom’s mouth, but he more than made it up with enthusiasmand dedication. He pushed his length further and further down his throat,choking and yet unwilling to let go. Tears were stinging his eyes. It was worthit, completely worth it. Thomas was groaning and panting, undulating his hipsagainst his mouth as his thighs quivered under Edward’s hands. It was only whenhis balls drew close that he yanked him back by the hair. At this point theywere beyond words, their mind clouded by the raw need they felt. Thomas let hisplace to Edward as he fetched the oil to slick himself; his lover climbed ontothe berth, settled himself with his back against the wall, pushing the pillowbehind him to get more comfortable before spreading his legs and drawing up hisknees with his hands. Tom pulled out the object with shaky hands, drawing along, way too loud moan from his lover. The latter bunched up his shirttail andgagged his mouth with it as Thomas settled between his thighs.

Edwardwailed against the cloth on his tongue as his lover buried himself easilyinside him. He was thicker than the device, deliciously so, and he rubbedagainst his spot with an almost painfully regular firmness. Soon the pacebecame brutal as Thomas sought his pleasure, apparently uncaring of tending toEdward’s. Yet the pleasure mounted steadily higher, even though his prick wasleft untouched between their joined bodies. Edward screamed and sobbed againstthe gag as his body contorted, his nails digging into his calves. His releasetook him by surprise and he came hard and untouched, shaking like an earthquakeas he kept spending and spending. Somewhere in the blissful storm he wasvaguely aware of Thomas grunting into his ear and slamming his stuttering hipsone last time into him. After that he blacked out.

When theyboth regained enough of their senses and willpower, they arranged themselves soTom was neatly encased in the embrace of Edward’s arms.

“Thatwas...good,” he exhaled dreamily as he welcomed the bone-deepexhaustion.

In his arms,his lover yawned and nuzzled his throat.

“I justhope Commander Fitzjames won’t notice my borrowing his property until I canproperly clean it,” he whispered against Edward’s pulse. “I would very muchlike to ask him where he obtained such a wonderful toy.”

[kachuwritings]

A Night to Remember

a/n: It is finally here; my Stray Kids Halloween special,,,5 days too late. I’m sorry, real life got in the way, I procrastinated like mate, stop procrastinating and I underestimated the amount of work this would cost me. With that being said, I worked my ass off for this special and i hope you all like it since I put my blood, sweat and tears into this. <3

word count (all 9 parts): 11.5k

main part: 1.8k+

summary: A story in which Stray Kids take you to a Halloween-themed amusement park on the night of October 31st and there’s different kinds of attractions you can go on. This is a 9 part series with this here being the main part and one part for each member. In the end, click on the attraction you want to go on and get your date with a surprise member.

=> moodboard credit to the lovely @marriael who made it specially for this series.💖

It was definitely a Halloween spent differently this year. No trick or treating, no giving out candy, no dressing up or Halloween parties since this time your friends decided to take you out on a trip to a Halloween-themed amusement park on the spooky night of October 31st. Claiming they wanted to make the first Halloween they get to spend with you special and a night to remember, whatever that was supposed to mean. Literally the only information they gave you regarding this trip was that it’s going to be at night and they had promised it to get spooky but the latter just sounded like an empty threat to you. After all, you knew your friends, and they were bigger cowards than you, yourself, especially the one whose looks resembled a squirrel.

Apart from squirrel boy there was also a sneaky one who seemed to be attached to squirrel boy in your group of friends, an overly enthusiastic yet sleep-deprived leader, an ethereal, gorgeous angel you still weren’t sure was actually human, then this small bean who claimed to be dark and intimidating, though everyone could see he was actually quite the opposite of it, his freckled best friend with the voice of a demon, an innocent-looking boy who could roast you better than any BBQ ever would, and not to forget the braces-wearing baby. And now, tell me again you weren’t at least a little bit worried about what’s going to happen tonight. They could’ve at least provided you with the name of the amusement park or its location but as soon as you asked, Chan only replied to you in a suggestive whisper, saying it was a secret.

What had you gotten yourself into?

Hyunjin texted you this morning to be at their dorm at 6pm, so you still had enough time for the one-hour long drive, and now that you were standing in front of their door, you already felt the excitement bubbling inside of you. Sure, you’ve been to amusement parks before but never at night and on top of that on Halloween. You had sworn to yourself to kick the butt of whoever was going to scare you, no exceptions made.

Not long after you knocked on the door, footsteps could’ve been heard from inside the room, approaching the door. A tall boy with messy black hair revealed himself after opening the door to let you in. He looked classy and fashionable even in a simple black and white striped sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. His hair seemed to still be somewhat wet since you could see little droplets of water glistening among the mess of black strands.

“Good evening, Hyunjinnie.” You smiled, lifting your hand up to ruffle through his messy and still slightly wet hair, making the boy giggle.

He reciprocated your smile and greeted you as well, following you into the living room of their dorm, after you disposed of your shoes next to the door, where you then plopped down comfortably to wait for them to get ready.

While you made yourself comfortable and fetched your phone out of your bag, Hyunjin disappeared into the kitchen just to appear next to you seconds later again with a glass and a bottle of water, which he both placed on the coffee table right in front of you, before heading in the direction of their rooms and the bathroom, getting ready himself, or so you assumed.

“You guys are worse than girls getting ready for prom. We’re going to a Halloween-themed amusement park and not a catwalk…or wait, are you now telling me you’ve played me and we’re heading somewhere completely different?” You rambled on as they finally showed up in the living room, all styled and ready to leave.

“First of all, hey!! We’re not worse than girls,” Changbin pouted.

“Exactly. And no, don’t worry. We’re taking you to that amusement park for sure.” Though something about Minho’s smirk while saying that made you worry after all.

The drive to that ominous location where the amusement park was supposed to be located at turned out to be funnier than expected and it actually calmed your nerves down a lot, almost to a point where you laughed about yourself for thinking those eight dorks would really try to scar you for life. You were all listening to the whole I am YOU album, which they had just dropped around a week ago and jamming along to all the songs. Jeongin was a smiley baby as always and screamed the song lyrics together with Jisung while Felix sang everyone’s part in his deep voice with Changbin, Hyunjin and Seungmin trying to imitate him. Minho looked at them in amusement, though with a raised eyebrow and then gave you a look that equalled an eye-roll, to what you grinned back at him. Sure, it was loud inside the van but it was also a blast and everyone seemed to get more than hyped for an unforgettable night.

Finally, the van that Chan was driving came to halt and you looked out of the window to discover that you actually headed to an amusement park, its name already visible from afar due to the huge, ascending neon sign on top.

Scream Shadow Land, it read.

‘Sounds promising,’ you thought with a hint of sarcasm.

Chan, who had already climbed out of the van from the driver’s seat, shooed everyone out and guided you to the entrance. The big neon sign gave the surroundings a light orange glow which made you think of pumpkin soup, or maybe it was all the pumpkins standing around as decoration that suddenly made you feel hungry.

After Mr. Bang was so nice to pay for everyone’s entrance tickets, you entered the big park and came to an abrupt halt after walking through the gates. The park looked huge and there were so many attractions, you didn’t even know which one to go on first.

“It's beautiful, right?” Chan suddenly appeared next to you.

“Yes, it's mind-blowing. Thank you for taking me here.” You replied in awe.

The park was lit up by all the attractions and streetlamps, there were even glowing pumpkins standing around. It wasn't packed but there were definitely quite some people who wanted to spend their Halloween night the same way as you planned to.

“You need to keep an eye open, y/n, sometimes they try to scare you and suddenly jump out from a dark corner in a creepy costume.” Jisung advised you with a grin.

“And if you're not careful, they'll kidnap you and bring you to their dungeons.” Minho chimed in from the other side next to you.

“Guys, are you trying to scare me now because you’ve realized this amusement park is rather beautiful than scary?”

“We might,” Seungmin whispered into your ear, making you turn around hasily, slightly startled at him standing right behind you all of a sudden.

“Jesus, don't give me a heart-attack, Minnie.” You exclaimed while dramatically clutching your chest.

“I want to ride the roller coaster,” Jeongin whined from a few feet away from you.

“I'll pass,” Jisung gulped, getting reminded of that time they went to an amusement park during their reality show.

“C'mon guys, let's get going!” Chan announced, signalling the rest of you to finally get away from the entrance and start the adventure.

“Since we came here to surprise y/n, they can choose what ride they want to go on first and then we'll just see who'll go with them, okay?” Changbin suggested, giving you the opportunity to choose freely.

Now that made you nervous. Not the part that you could choose, that was awesome, but the part when he said that someone would join you then. Of course you silently hoped for a special someone but how big was the chance to pick exactly the one ride he wanted to go on, too? 1 in 8, so you had to choose wisely.

You were here with eight dorky but wonderful guys and you would've been lying if you said they didn’t make your heart beat faster. After all this time you had spent over at their dorms as their friend, you felt so close to each and everyone of them though there was this one member you had always felt a bit different around. You didn't want to admit it at first but over time you had to be true to yourself and give in to your growing crush on him. Whenever it was the two of you alone, you felt your heartbeat speed up and your hands getting shaky. When he touched you casually or brushed his hand against yours, a wave of electricity shot through your whole body, and someday, all of these signs became so painfully obvious that you had to admit it to yourself.

“Look at all those attractions! Which do you want to ride first?” Chan asked you, inspecting your profile from the side and unknowingly shaking you out of your little reverie.

You did look at them. But how on earth would you be able to choose. There were at least eight different attractions that piqued your interest.

There was a dark and huge building if you took the path to the far left, it was clad in spider webs and looked really spooky. In front stood a person dressed in a skeleton costume with a scythe and there was a pool with blood red water right next to the entrance from which green light and a lot of smoke came out. Next to it was a similar building but instead of an actual haunted house it looked more like a dark ride. It had drawn ghosts all over the façade and seemed inviting for a little spook. You weren't really sure which scared you more though. If you took the path right in front of you there was a huge carousel with three different floors first and right behind it you spotted two tall towers, one being a gyro tower and the other one a drop tower. Those attractions seemed more or less harmless and fun. Last but not least there was also a path to the right which led you to a roller coaster and a swing ride. If you followed the path even further it would lead you more into the centre of the park where the giant and cliché Ferris wheel was located, from which you could see all over the whole park and even more. You were beyond amazed by all these attractions.

“Which one do you choose?” Felix beamed his contagious smile at you, tearing you out of your thoughts.

“Uhh... I think, I choose…”

Roller Coaster | Haunted House | Drop Tower | Gyro Tower | Dark Ride | Ferris Wheel | Swing Ride | Carousel

“Oh really? I want to go there, too!!” A familiar voice sounded from next to you.

“Alright, let's pair up and meet here again in two hours!” And with that, everyone went their own ways in pairs.

[airis-paris14]

Redemption 9

A/N: It’s back!! I know this took forever and sorry if thi chapter sucks, but it’s kind of a bridge into the middle part of the series. Things are gonna be a little fluffy as happy for a while. So enjoy it.... while it lasts.

Summary: One person, a secret, and and ocean tore them apart. Six years later, they find their way back together. But a rekindled love is not Redemption.

I knew she was safer away from your father!”

“You had no right!”

“I had every right!”Isha shot up, her finger centimeters from the king’s face. “T’Challa if someone had told you what your father had done, you would not have believed them. You idolized that man with every bone in your body. You sang his praises with every breath you took.”

“I loved her!” His fist slammed into the wall where he stood. His shoulders dropped allowing his head to slide down against the wall.

“Then you should be glad she got away from him,” Isha hissed, “he wanted her to abort the baby T’Challa.”

“No!” The king roared, the fire turned a new in his eyes.

“She was made to leave because she insisted on telling you. Insisting that she was keeping her son.”

“My father would never-“ the king began. “You’re father should never! Just like he should never have killed his brother,” pause. “But he did T’Challa. He should never have done a lot of things. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do them.”

“My father knew how much I wanted a family!” The king argued. “He knew how much having a family would distract you from your training. Jeopardize your favor with the people!” Isha insisted.

“Family makes you stronger!”

“But family is your weakness! The same as it was his!”

Silence filled the room. “He broke every moral law for you. He lied to the woman he married. Lied to his son. The same way you would do anything for Aiden and you’ve only met him three days ago.”

“I didn’t-“ The king began. “I know, there was no way around it. But you are here now.”

“I know it’s down here somewhere.” A voice traveled down the stairs. Preluding it’s owner entry into the living room. Zari rushed excitedly into the room. Her parents in tow. “What are you looking for?” T’Challa stood joining her hectic rummage through the desk. “My photo albums,” she shut the drawer. “Aiden’s baby pictures?”

“Yes, but mine as well. Graduation photos, my portfolio…” she quickly moved to the other side of the desk. Check the bottom drawer. That’s where you kept everything else.” The king kneeled beside her. “Of course!” She quickly pulled open the drawer. She removed the box of letters before pulling the prized items out from under it. “You are a genius!” She pressed a kiss to cheek in excitement.

Plopping down on the couch, she pulled T’Challa down beside her and cracked open the first album. The pages slid open. The scratch of plastic filling the room. In the glossy photo case Zari stood on an old ferry. An infant Aiden strapped to her back. smiling as the Statue of Liberty loomed in the background. “This was shortly after I met Melanie. She convinced me to go explore the city.” Zari explained quietly, gently turning the page. The page displayed various other pictures of She and Aiden around the city. In some Melanie appeared at their side. She flipped another page and their she was. Sitting in her bed with Aiden. The baby wrapped in a cloth, Zari’s skin glistening with sweat. Her eyes were wet with tears as her new baby boy gently gripped her finger.

The various pictures from that day included the midwives and Melanie. The latter aiding the mother to be in pushing. T’Challa quickly wiped a tear from under his eye. Various other pictures of Aiden graced the pages that followed. From school programs to birthdays. Days in the park and backstage photos from shows. The past six years of Zari and Aiden’s life flashed before T’Challa’s eyes. Zari passed the book to her parents and cracked open Aiden’s baby photos. “He looks just like you Zari smiled. Slowly turning the pages. “He does,” he smiled. “He looks exactly like me as a baby .”

“I’ve never actually seen your baby photos,” Zari glanced up at him. “That’s something we will have to fix isn’t it. Maybe when you come back to Wakanda?” T’Challa grinned. “We’ll see,” Zari nudged his shoulder. “These are beautiful Zari,” Isha lanced up from her friend portfolio. The pages graced by various sketches of dresses and designs. Shirts, pants, outfits and accessories on full display.

“Thank you! I’m just glad I was able to find something I’m good at in this city.” Zari blushed, moving to sit next to her friend. “I’m happy for you,” Isha smiled.

“Zari, who is this?” Her mother called. The designer moved to see who she was pointing at. “Oh that’s Melanie. We were roommates during college, we became really close and then when I had Aiden, and moved back into the house, she kept in touch.”

“She was there to help you give birth?” Her mother asked. “Yes, She was of great comfort,” Zari admitted. Isha’s smile fell slightly. “Well babygirl I hope you have room for us tonight,” Zari’s father yawned, gently closing the photo album. “Always Baba. You and mama can take the guest room at the top of the stairs. Isha can have my room, if you don’t mind sharing a bed with me. T’Challa can have the other bed in Aiden’s room.”

“Actually,” Isha interrupted. “I’ve gotten too used to sleeping alone. I just sleep all over the bed” the woman exaggerated. “I’ll take the twin in Aiden’s room.” Isha stood raising her arms in a long yawn.

“But that means-“

“Come on mama and baba.” Isha ushered her adoptive parents out of the room quickly, throwing a wink over her shoulder at the couple. “Did she just…”

“I think she did,” The young king laughed. “I can sleep on the couch. “No it’s fine, we can share a bed…”

“No I insist it’s really not a big deal,” T’Challa tried again. “T’Challa,” Zari burst, “ I want you to sleep with me.” The mother admitted. “Oh,” The king breathed. He swept one arm towards the stairs, “Lead the way,” he smiled shyly.

Minutes later, the couple found themselves wrapped in each other’s arms. “Are you sure this is ok?”The king double checked. Zari rolled over in bed. Her hand reaching our to trace the side of his face. “I’m positive. I know that this hasn’t been easy. And I haven’t been as welcoming as you may have wanted. But I know what I want. I want you. I’m just afraid.” The mother mumbled.

“ What if i've forgotten how to love? I have problems trusting, depending on other people. Not being in control,” Zari started.

“Then let’s start from the beginning.” T’Challa smiled. “Zari Abu. Will you go on a date with me?”

“Are you serious?” Zari beamed, her smile shining through the dark. “Only if you want to entle,” he reaffirmed. “I do,” she nodded. “So, may I take you out Friday night?” T’Challa grinned.

“Sure, but I think there is something you should know.”

“What would that be?” The king cocked an eyebrow. “I have a son.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I like kids then?” He teased.

“I guess so,” Zari smiled snuggling deeper into T’Challa’s side.“What was it like?” T’Challa asked his thumb tracing circles on Zari’s shoulder. “What?”

“Giving birth,” The king clarified. “Painful, tiring,abhorrent,torture,crappy,sucky… but when I saw his little face, I wanted to cry. He looked so much like you. It crushed me that I couldn’t be with you.” Zari explained. “Zar, I am so sorry.”

“There is nothing that can be done now. We’ve found each other again. We should be thankful.” Zari sighed. “I am. So much more than you could ever know,” T’Challa hummed. “Zar?” The brown woman hummed in response. “Would you want to have another?”

“Now? Don’t you think it is a little early T’Challa?”

“No in the future. I want the chance to finish my family with you. We started with Aiden, we just have a few more to go.”

“Just how many is a few?” Zari teased. “You know 4 or so.” The king smiled. “Four? You better hope for twins,” Zari sassed.

“You know how many women would die to carry my children?

“We’ll go find one of those heifers to carry your children!” Zari day up and started to get out of the bed.

“But I want you to carry my children,” T’Challa caught her hand and pulled her back. “Like I said, you better start praying for twins.” Zari asserted, laying back on the bed.

“You know, I’ve heard twins take alot of practice,” T’Challa began moving down the bed. “Is that so,” Zari grinned. The king hummed in response. One hand lifting Zari’s shirt to kiss her stomach. “What if there is a baby in there right now?” T’Challa raised a dopey grin to Zari’s eyes. “I’d like to speak to its creators because it is not my baby.”

What if it was our baby?”

“It can’t be. It’s not possible your majesty.”

“Then let’s make it possible,” a devious grin slid across the king’s face. “My parents are in the room next door!”

“That didn’t stop you in highschool,” the former prince grinned. “T’Challa!” Zari exclaimed, grinning as she slapped him upside the head. Silence fell upon the couple as T’Challa climbed back up the bed to Zari’s side. “We’ll get there eventually T’Challa. I’m just not ready yet.”

“Please, do not apologize. I am here, whenever you are ready. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

Taglist : @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @nyneebee @hutchj @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @strictlyashley @afraiddreamingandloving @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @gorjiss @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @yoyolovesbucky @derangedcupcake @builtalongthewayside @ilcb7 @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @dopegalkk

[your-rose-highness]

Tell me what is love- ch. 4

Baekhyun's head felt heavy. Lying down on his side of bed, at 3 a.m that night, he suddenly felt his chest close up, making it harder to breathe. His manager had sensed his mood become sombre as he climbed into the car that night, but refrained from saying anything.

Like a bird caged in.

A scene kept replaying in his head and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

*Few weeks ago*

"You shouldn't have been so rude, tae-"

Taeyeon snorted before she spoke, "Oh so now it's my fault! You sound more like her husband rather than mine."

"She came even though she was busy. And, will you please stop taunting me? I told you, she WAS my girlfriend. How many times do i need to tell you? We're a family now so--"

"Baekhyun, i don't want you to meet her.", she spewed, astonishing him.

He looked at her in surprise. "I have one friend-"

"Friend? Really? Look into my eyes and tell me you see that woman as a friend.", Taeyeon said abrasively. "Can you? No. you can't Baekhyun!! Do you take me as a fool?"

"Tae!", he said loudly, "it's different! She has been a major part of my life. Hell, i wouldn't be here if not for her. It's just that- I've missed her.", Baekhyun admitted cornered. "But that's my past... why are you bringing her into this now."

Taeyeon turned to him suddenly and asked, "Do you love me?"

Baekhyun stood silent for a second, before muttering as sincerely as possible, "Yes, i do."

Taeyeon's shoulders relaxed at his words, posture melted and she tried to embrace him, "I don't want us to have troubles, sweetheart. We were already going downhill, but after Sarang, I feel like you're becoming a little more attentive towards me. Out of the blue this HyeHee comes to make things sour again."

Baekhyun hugged her, without saying a word, swallowing his true feelings, possibly to hide them from himself too. Yes, he had Sarang now too. He wanted to at least be a good father to her if nothing else.

Since that day, he hadn't met HyeHee, only occasionally dropping her messages. Lost in his thoughts, he glanced at the crib beside him, watching his daughter peacefully sleep. Drawing a chair, he sat beside her observing her tiny body rise and fall as she softly breathed. It calmed him. Having only heard about the effects of their children on their parents, a small smile played on his lips, before he found himself crying. Surprised by the tear drops that fell on his arm, he let out a chuckle. Sarang shifted by the sound of his voice, bringing his attention back to her. He slept well that night.

*one and half year later*

"Sarang!" Baekhyun's yelled dropping his bags in the hallway while getting off his shoes. His call was immediately met with a scream that had travelled all the way from the first floor to the hallway. He giggled hearing her voice, her scream seemed like a blessing to his ears.

Their nanny Alice, walked down the stairs with the excited Sarang in her arms, who held out her arms towards her daddy.

"Hi, baby. How are you?", Baekhyun mewed, kissing Sarang. "All good Alice?"

"Yes, sir. She's able to support herself for a few seconds now. I guess she'll walk soon.", Alice reported with a smile.

"Oh!! Sarang's getting so big.", he said. "Where's Taeyeon?"

"She went out to a charity event, mostly will be back by 9."

"Okay. thank you, Alice.", he said picking up Sarang in his arms before walking into the kitchen. "Actually, if you want, you can take the day off. Since i'll be with her today."

"Are you sure, sir?"

Baekhyun looked at her, hurt by the question. He was never around much to have taken care of Sarang much. Guilt playing in his eyes, he nodded, determined to do better.

"Yeah Alice. Go home. I'm taking my girl to the park today."

He dressed her and felt happiness travel through his veins. Sarang's laughter put him in a state of bliss that was so high, he forgot about everything.

Walking down the gravel path lined with beautiful cherry blossoms on both sides, holding Sarang in his arms with a mask covering his face, he was hit with another wave of reminiscence.

"Baekhyun. Stop. i'm warning you. Baekhyun!! DON'T CLIMB THAT TREE!!!", HyeHee screamed at Baekhyun, while the passionate young man instinctively decided to get his beloved a bunch of cherry blossoms.

"Will you please trust me? I can do this.", he reassured her.

"When i say the flowers look pretty doesn't mean i want you to climb and get me some."

He plucked a prettily blossomed bunched and jumped handing his girlfriend the flowers proudly.

"Thank you.", HyeHee smiled looking at them.

But Baekhyun wanted to be thanked differently. He bent his head, asking a kiss on his cheek for his effort. HyeHee had kissed him on his lips instead astonishing him.

Sarang distracted him by trying to pull off his mask, when they sat on a bench.

"Baekhyun?"

He turned around at someone call his name, finding HyeHee struggling with a huge golden retriever.

"HyeHee!", he called out shocked to have found her when only minutes ago he was thinking about her,

"Hi.. ", he said softly meeting her eyes, after he picked Sarang again, the latter trying to touch the dog's nose.

They awkwardly smiled at each other, not knowing what to say next, while the dog tried to ditch HyeHee and run off behind the pretty yellow butterfly that just sat on his head.

"You got a dog?", Baekhyun asked, taking the dog from her, who seemed to be giving her a very hard time.

"No.", She panted, "it's my landlady's. She's usually not this hyperactive. Guess she got too excited to be out of the house.."

"Why are you here in the middle of the day walking your land lady's dog?", Baekhyun extended the reigns, letting the dog wander a bit more, smelling things.

"....oh.. I'm between jobs. My last company got shut down. They said something about some scam... i don't know... anyway, so yeah, I'm jobless right now.", She nervously chuckled.

"I can actually see if I can get you one at SM if you want..", he wondered, hoping she'll say yes.

Her eyes sparkled in response, "Really!? You can do that?! Thank you baeekkk!", She screamed, hugging him unable to resist happiness.

It was just an instant, but Baekhyun felt different. A whiff of her hair, the feeling of her skin and just her being within such close proximity, it drove him to a point where it felt like the time had stopped. She pulled away seconds later, a lifetime later for him, only to realise that she probably made a mistake. Observing it all, Sarang sat perplexed, staring at her father, before she mewed to get his attention.

"Oh. Sarang, this is my best friend...", he paused, glancing at HyeHee.

"Hi baby.. She's SO cute. Sad i never got a chance to play with her."

"You can now.", he gently smiled, unable to say anything more.

They walked a little, later sitting at a bench close by when Sarang insisted to touch the dog.

"How are you?", HyeHee cautiously asked. "I've been better.", he replied with a sigh. She didn't prod him further, afraid that she might cross a line that wasn't supposed to be crossed. "Coffee? There's a cafe close by.", He suggested gleefully, and she agreed. "But the dog?" "Let's drop her back at your place and go?" "Baekhyun, can I go there in these clothes?", She wondered, looking down on her sweat shirt and pants. Baekhyun on the other hand had on, what seemed an expensive t-shirt and track pants. "Don't worry they'll still give you coffee if you aren't dress to kill. Besides, you look great.", He teased. Sarang gladly sat with HyeHee, playing with her hands while Baekhyun drove back to her apartment. "What's her name, appa?", The curious Sarang asked after Hyehee left with the dog and Baekhyun waited in his car downstairs. "She's appa's best friend. HyeHee. Song Hye hee.", He informed, combing his daughter's hair back as she listened. "She's small and pretty like my Yuji." "Like your play doll? Hahaha. That's quite a comparison, Sarang. Why don't you tell that to her when she's back?" Hye hee stumbled into the car right that moment, quickly having changed to jeans and a t-shirt. Baekhyun shook his head with a smile playing on his lips. "Don't give me that look. You're very well dressed. I was threatened." "and that's what you decided to wear?", he chuckled. Hye Hee's jaw dropped and stared at him with disgust. "So mean..", she whispered quietly, which made him chuckle more. "You look like my Yuji.", Sarang said, demanding Hye hee's attention while Baekhyun looked at the both of them with adoration. Something about this scenario gave him so much satisfaction. ".... I did see. You tore open your shirt..." "I didn't 'tear' anything. It was supposed to be that way.", He defended. "Pfft. Please. You were scanning if all the girls were looking at you or no." "Yeah I made them for them to see." "Freak.", She snorted. Baekhyun smiled and threw his head back in distrust. He would never be able to win with her. Sitting at the cafe's very private cabins where celebs frequently came for getaways and spend an evening away from the hustle bustle of their daily lives and be normal for a few hours, Hye Hee and Baekhyun spent the evening laughing and talking about various things earning glances from the staff working there.

".... hahaha, really now? That's what you're going to tell me? Hold on, Sarang is going inside the kitchen. Sarang! Baby girl! Don't go in there. Come here.", Baekhyun called out after catching his daughter in the most adorable manner, making Hye Hee feel warm. He's a father. A good father at that. As much as she'd love being with him, she still saw a look of terror in his eyes. A terror that was so evident that he had no idea what he was doing, sinking minutely in his own despair. Because of her. They loved each other, but sometimes some turns force us to go down a path we would dread, but can never retrace.

Buying a tiny strawberry cupcake for Sarang, Baekhyun headed back to his seat, joy sprouting on his face.

"Someone's getting really naughty..", Baekhyun said tickling Sarang, while she giggled uncontrollably.

"Baekhyun..."

"Yeah?", Baekhyun sensed something after he met her eyes. It was always astonishing when they understood the other just by their tone.

"You have to live. You're only pretending. Sarang and Taeyeon, both need you. And, you've chosen them. It's going to be a long life. I know you love Sarang. Try harder Baekhyun. Try to live. Maybe, along the road, you'll find so much happiness. Don't run after something that'll only give you despair. Find your happiness..."

Baekhyun swallowed her every word and only let out a smile looking down at Sarang who played in his lap. Hye Hee studied him careful not to hurt him. He looked away, and Hye hee saw a glint in his eyes. Reaching out to hold his hand placed on the table, she comforted him.

"Are you telling me not to see you again?", He questioned suddenly, his eyes red.

Hye hee gulped nervously, "No. I didn't mean that. But if that helps, do it..."

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. A tiny teardrop trickled down his face and caught Sarang's attention.

"Appa.. ", she softly murmured.

"I can't not see you, Hye Hee. That's it. No matter how much you try to push me away, i won't. Not anymore. I've had enough."

Walking to his car, Hye hee stopped mid track.

"Go ahead, I'll take the bus home." she said.

"I can drop you."

"It's really okay. I can go. Go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

Hye nodded.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the urge, he hugged her. His best friend, his first love, she mattered to him in ways she didn't understand.

"I love you.", He whispered.

"I love you too, Byun."

The past nickname made him smile. Hye hee felt her heart wanting to burst into pieces as he let him go, clenched her jaws together to refrain from bursting out into tears, begging him to choose her. But despite it all, this was the right thing to do.

Has he drove away, Hye Hee walked slowly home. Something about today was so exhausting. And she needed the time to just clear her mind. Feeling her chest tighten, she took heavy breaths to feel lighter.

"Oh hey, when did you get back?", Baekhyun called out Taeyeon when he got home.

"A while. Where had you been?", She tiptoed to hug her husband and give him a kiss.

"Sarang and I went to the park.", He mumbled.

Taeyeon took Sarang in for a bath, while Baekhyun restlessly pranced across the hall. Hye Hee's words rang in his head and as much as he hated it, he decided to speak to Taeyeon about it.

Putting Sarang to bed, Taeyeon made her way to the kitchen where she found her husband making dinner for them already.

"Rest up. I'll finish this quickly.", He added. His behaviour puzzled Taeyeon and she looked at him with curiosity.

Both starving, they ate in silence, eyes on the TV. Baekhyun notices that her hand is inches away from him, somehow cannot bring himself to hold it.

"Baekhyun."

Taeyeon was looking at him while he was contemplating holding her hand.

"Huh?"

"Do you want to say something?"

"....yeah.", he quietly said.

"What's wrong?"

"Tae... I'm sorry.", He paused gauging her expressions.

She sat still, unable to come to a conclusion. Baekhyun explained why he was so distant and that he now wanted to do better. The both of them, talked out a lot of things they had held back previously. Taeyeon cried as he hugged her, obviously having missed him.

The couple went to bed soon, promising to work at their relationship better.

Hye Hee on the other hand, began obsessively drinking with Minseok. Being the type to never discuss her hardships, Minseok quickly texted Jane to come tend to her friend.

Jane knew enough to not attack her friend for answers that night. She took her home, and thanked Minseok for making sure of Hye Hee's safety. Being too tired from an assignment she was working on, before she received a call, Jane quickly finished it and decided to sleep next to her friend for the night.

One post drunken morning, Hye Hee woke up to a huge headache and a mellow tone song coming for the kitchen. She woke up half out of curiosity, though she knew it would be Jane. Jane was on the side kitchen counter, with her phone in her hands, but to her surprise, somebody else was cooking hurriedly in the kitchen.

Baekhyun.

"Baekhyun?", She asked surprised way too much.

Both of them turned to look at her, Baekhyun gleefully staring.

"Hey you! Come sit! I'm almost done.", Baekhyun responded as though this was the most common sight.

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Linear Challenge - Day 2: First Conversation

clI technically wrote this yesterday as the end of the bit on first impressions, so today I had intended to write the scene that I envision coming after that one. It wouldn’t be in the same fic, as that fic is intended to follow the Five Times format like I did for “Five Times Christian Eriksen Helped His Teammates With Their Problems”. What I worked on yesterday is the opening scene of part 1 of the sequel to that, which will be called “Five Times Christian Eriksen’s Teammates Helped Him With His Problem(s)” and is basically five vignette sorts of scenes of Christian figuring out and coming to terms with his feelings for his teammate.

I also wanted to tell their getting together story from Vincent’s POV, so some of it was going to parallel what happens in that fic, but looking at the same situations and conversation through Vincent’s lens, as it were. Basically, what I meant to write today was a scene that came after this initial terribly awkward meeting where Jan and Mousa are being trolls and Toby is going along with them (for now) and while Christian was off in the dressing room calming himself down, they invited Vincent to join them (Mousa, Jan, Toby, and Christian) for dinner. Except no one has told Vincent that Christian will be there and Christian doesn’t know they invited Vincent so they get to have SURPRISE! Awkward Conversation 2.0, and that’s what I meant to write today.

Instead, I spent FOUR HOURS writing close to 4000 words of Vincent’s POV of the exact same first meeting and conversation on the training pitch between the two that I wrote yesterday.

It started out well, but I lost steam at the end (because I have been writing for FOUR HOURS), so it probably needs some work and is making leaps in logic that no one can follow but me.

But I did it and here it is from my fingers to your eyeballs uncut and unedited and filled with Vincent waxing poetic and being deep in his feelings, as usual. Also, I went deep into MY OWN FEELINGS about the KNVB and Dutch football. Not sorry.

Truthfully I haven’t even read through it so possibly it makes no sense at all.

Enjoy.

"Dank je, wel--um, I mean...thank you," Vincent said, climbing out of the black cab and stepping onto the curb.

He took a moment to stare around himself at the scene before him--street filled with people talking and laughing together in the evening sun, the hiss of traffic and occasional shout or horn blast from the street behind him. On all sides of him brick and stone buildings boasting columns rose up out of the sidewalk, and he scanned around to look for the right one.

The nearly hour-long ride from his hotel room near the Enfield Training Centre had been slow and traffic-laden, but uneventful beyond that. Vincent, who'd spent the last few years of his life in and around Amsterdam, thought he'd gotten used to heavy traffic--there was a reason everyone in Amsterdam owned a bicycle--but it was only when he'd looked up the route on his phone and saw that the distance from Enfield to here was only half the distance of his daily half hour commute from his apartment on the outskirts of Amsterdam to the training complex in Alkmaar that everything sunk in.

This was London. A single city the size of the entire Randstand in Holland. Buzzing with the energy of over eight million people. A far cry from his childhood in Oss or even his more formative years at the football academy in Rotterdam.

London. Home to English football. Tottenham Hotspur. The beautiful club he'd dreamed of joining for so long, and now here he was, meeting some of the legends of AFC Ajax for "a celebratory dinner and drinks."

He didn't know what he'd been expecting when he rocked up to the much-lauded Enfield Training Centre to make his commitment to Spurs official, but he didn't think it was this. He'd been through this process only twice before in his short career, and of course it was different this time than either of the previous affairs.

At Almere, he'd been reluctant and reserved, knowing he was making the right decision not helping him resent it any less. He'd ended up there after making the most difficult choice of his entire life to that point--admit failure and walk away from the sport he'd loved since the first moment his father had rolled a ball to his feet or graciously accept that things hadn't worked out the way he'd planned and regroup in the lower leagues. He'd chosen the latter, and while it had been the correct choice, and one that had re-kindled a fire in him that he thought had long since died, although at the time it still felt an awful lot like admitting defeat.

Instead, he'd turned up at the club ready to do his time, prove himself, and escape as quickly as possible. He was better than lower-league football. He'd lifted a trophy at Feyenoord and then promptly been told he no longer had a place with the club. He'd been nineteen years old and ready to set the world ablaze, then been forced to drag himself into a club whose existence he'd barely registered and pretend he was honoured to be representing them.

His attitude had changed swiftly, of course, once he'd settled in, and he'd honestly enjoyed his time in Almere and still treasured many of the friends he'd made in those three years. It hadn't been what he'd wanted at the time, but it had turned out to be exactly the opportunity he needed to find his feet, get his head back on straight, and focus on moving forward in an environment where there wasn't such a constant, crushing pressure to give more and push harder and get ahead. Not that they weren't expected to give their best--Vincent could never been accused of not putting one hundred percent into his training every day--but the expectations placed on even the top players at Almere City were nothing compared to those placed on you at a club like Feyenoord.

When AZ had come calling, Vincent's Almere teammates had bid him goodbye with smiles and wishes for the best, and he'd bid them all the same. Almere was never a club anyone planned to stay with for long, so no one had any hard feelings about any of them moving on. Vincent would miss his friends there, but it was time for the next step in his career, the Eredivisie, and he was ready to take the league by storm.

At AZ, everything had been different. The club had sold much of its first team from the previous season and brought in a fleet of new signings, all of them learning to re-adjust to life at their new club together. Everyone had been unsteady and uncertain at first, all of them getting to know their new surroundings, finding housing, and exploring the city together, all of them trying to figure out where they fit in within the city and the culture. Vincent, along with many of the new signings, had settled in Haarlem, and they'd all formed fast friendships as they met up for meals and explored the town.

And now, London. Tottenham Hotspur. Vincent's stomach had been in knots and his heart pounding so hard he thought it might be audible even on the videotapes being recorded of him putting pen to paper. He'd been so nervous in his post-signing interview that his mind had gone blank of all words, Dutch and English alike, and his only memory of the moment was of him saying the words "beautiful club" on repeat for lack of anything else.

A beautiful club in a beautiful city with his beautiful teammates.

That wasn't the reason he'd chosen Spurs, or so he told himself. Sure, it happened to be where a certain ex-Ajax player currently plied his trade, but it wasn't about that. He'd wanted the opportunity to play in one of the best leagues in the world and train at a top-class facility along with top-class players. At Spurs he could learn and improve every day. He'd be pushed harder than he had been in years, maybe harder than ever before, and he was ready for the challenge. Pochettino had spoken with him and convinced him he was just the sort of player Tottenham was looking for, and, coincidentally, Tottenham was just the sort of team Vincent was looking for.

That Christian Eriksen happened to play there was just an added bonus.

It hadn't occurred to Vincent that after signing his contract and giving a few interviews and promotional photos, he'd actually be expected to speak to Christian Eriksen. Intelligently. As a teammate and a peer.

Instead, when he'd stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and found his eyes automatically drawn to the too familiar twisting, turning run he'd spent far too many nights laying on his bed and watching on repeat, rolling the recorded footage back over and over again and memorising every shape, line, and detail of Christian's lean, beautiful body, he realised he'd possibly made a grievous error in judgement.

He was Christian Eriksen's teammate. Christian Eriksen whose post-match interviews he'd nearly committed to memory. Christian Eriksen who made Vincent's legs weak and his blood rush from his head to his groin with nothing more than the way he moved his body on the pitch. And now Vincent would be here, every day, doing his level best to somehow manage to co-exist on the training pitch with that body live and in-person, darting around defenders to find the best angle and passing the ball to Vincent's feet and...oh, he wasn't ready for this.

But he'd gotten through it, somehow. Had forced himself not to stare at Christian and only Christian, his straw-coloured hair dampened with sweat to a honey brown, clinging to his temples even while the front still stood up in its characteristic quiff. Instead, Vincent had forced his face into what he hoped was a pleasant smile and carefully tried to keep a polite distance, fumbling through his English as he provided the usual platitudes about how glad he was to be joining the club and how much he was looking forward to the coming season. All of it true, of course, but none of it really resonating through the blood pounding in his temples and the voice in his head screaming about how much more striking Christian's wide, almond-shaped eyes were from only a few metres away.

And then...Vincent surrounded by new teammates, all of them shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder and welcoming him to London and to Tottenham. The handshake, he'd learned, was one of Pochettino's hard-and-fast rules. Everyone on the team was expected to greet everyone else with a handshake at the start of every day, a way to build camaraderie and fellowship among them all. The names flew at him from all sides, and he'd known many of them already, of course--Michel Vorm, who Vincent already knew from his short time with Oranje over the past few months,  Dele Alli and Eric Dier and the famous Harry Kane, revered AZ club legend Mousa Dembele with ex-Ajax phenoms Toby Alderweireld and Jan Vertonghen not far behind. And from there...

“You have to meet Chris,” Jan said, not even bothering to look back as he reached behind himself and tugged another teammate forward to join their group, and oh, god, Vincent was not ready for this.

His heart resumed trying to slam its way out of his ribcage and his vision went a bit black as his legs threatened to stop holding his weight at any moment. Mouth dry, body trembling, and he was more glad than ever that he'd not had time to eat a proper meal yet that day, because he wasn't at all convinced it wouldn't all be threatening to come back up. And wouldn't that make for a fabulous first introduction. "Hello, sorry my first act as your teammate was to vomit all over your boots, it's just that I think I've been a bit in love with you since I was sixteen years old and I'm not at all sure how to process any of this."

Instead, Vincent swallowed down the rising panic coursing through his entire body, hoped the wide smile threatening to take over his entire face didn't make him look like some sort of maniac, and stuck out a hand towards his new teammate.

He must not have looked overly threatening, because Christian--and here Vincent was already thinking of him as Christian in this overly familiar way, as though they were long-time friends or something--flashed him a shy smile in return, and it was all Vincent could do to hold himself together.

Breathe, Vincent. He's your teammate now. This stupid teenage crush was all well and good when you were sneaking about trying to pretend you absolutely detested all things Ajax, but you're not a teenager anymore and those days are over. You'll never make it here if you can't get past whatever this is and start acting like a god damned professional.

That harsh truth was all well and good, but it didn't mean Vincent's palm wasn't sweating and his knees weren't about to spontaneously give out from underneath him at any moment. He'd have to hope Christian either wouldn't notice or would think the slight sheen of sweat and the slick skin of his palm was just due to the heat of the day.

And then Christian's hand slid into Vincent's own, and Vincent's body hummed and buzzed with the feel of it, his mind spinning with all the times he'd imagined this--well, not quite this, so much as something a bit less appropriate for two people stood on a practice pitch surrounded by teammates, but that was perhaps beside the point. The feel of Christian Eriksen's skin against his own. Long, slender fingers brushing against Vincent's palm. Heat seemingly radiating from Christian's hand and spreading up Vincent's arm to his shoulder and eventually into every centimetre of Vincent's body.

“Uh…Christian. Eriksen. Chris. Good to meet you.”

He spoke in English, and it took Vincent a moment to even register the words. Voice so familiar in Vincent's ears, as though they'd shared thousands of conversations throughout the years instead of just a few mumbled words in passing.

Christian stared up at him, blue eyes wide, and from this distance, Vincent could see that they were shot through with flecks of grey and green and gold and so much more dazzling than he'd ever noticed before, and he had to force himself to look away a bit, changing his focus to stare down at their still clasped hands.

And oh, right...handshake. Doe normal, Vinny.

He forced his hand into motion, pumping Christian's arm up and down with perhaps a bit too much vigour, but he figured it was probably better that than standing there holding onto a teammate's hand while staring mesmerised into his eyes.

“I know this," he managed to say after a few seconds of trying to kickstart his brain into remembering how to form words. "That is...you are Christian Eriksen. So of course I know.”

Not his best work, really, but he supposed he should be glad anything came out of his mouth at all besides 'Hello, I think you're absolutely gorgeous. I'm not asking you out or anything, don't worry, it's just that it's something I've been thinking about for years now and I thought I should let you know.'

Still, Christian was looking a bit baffled and slightly overwhelmed at this point, so Vincent took a deep breath and started over. For whatever that was worth.

“Het spijt me," he said, the apology coming out in Dutch on instinct before he remembered that this was England.

"I was...at Almere for a time, " Vincent said by way of some kind of explanation. "I saw you play...with Ajax. You were...I...um...remember you. It is...an honour to meet you. I am looking forward to playing together.”

Not much better, but hopefully he'd saved himself from coming off as some kind of weird stalker and maybe at least earned himself a downgrade to oddly endearing superfan.

Except...he realised at that moment that he was still shaking Christian's hand and had been for a bit too long for it to come off as casual.

He released it, then flashed Christian an apologetic smile and dropped his eyes to the grass in between them, trying to regain some measure of composure--not that he was sure he'd had any in the first place, at least since the start of this conversation. He ended up, instead, staring at the fluorescent yellow and orange of Christian's boots. Which...was better than returning to gaze into his eyes, he supposed.

“I…” Christian said, dragging the word out a bit, as though uncertain of how to follow that up. Vincent didn't blame him. Nothing about this conversation was going the way Vincent had imagined it.

Which...didn't surprise him, really, but still. Every time he'd thought about his first real conversation with Christian, Vincent had remained cool and calm and composed--a bit distant and detached, as though he'd been about to do something else, but might as well blow it off for a brief exchange with someone moderately interesting. He'd been confident and alluring and had ended their brief exchange with the perfect witty send off, and hopefully an exchange of contact information so they could continue the conversation at a later date.

Instead he'd managed to linger too long over a handshake while his palm positively dripped with sweat, stare into his new teammate's eyes for a beat too long, and stumble through a litany of English words that made him sound like a bit of a twat.

Honestly, even though they were teammates now it would be a miracle if Christian ever initiated a conversation with him again.

“That’s...well...thank you?" Christian said, the end bit coming out as more of a question. Probably because he was beyond baffled by this entire situation. Vincent didn't blame him in the least. When he glanced back up at Christian--he might as well start getting used to carrying on what passed for a conversation while looking him in the face if they were going to be teammates--his expression was blank, his head tipped slightly to the side, his blue eyes wide as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

And damn, if Vincent wasn't going to have a hell of a time adjusting to that, he thought, as his blood once again started migrating towards his groin. He was still clad in a simple white t-shirt and jeans that had started out tight and were growing tighter by the second. Thankful, he supposed, that at least he hadn't been expected to change into training gear yet where the slightest sign of arousal would be more than apparent, he shifted his weight slightly in an attempt to at least re-adjust into a more comfortable position.

"Welcome to London," Christian said at last, releasing his bottom lip and quirking his mouth into a strained-looking smile. "And Spurs. Jan and Toby are also from Ajax, so...”

He trailed off, glancing around himself a bit as though seeking out his friends and former teammates. A buffer between himself and this oddly over-eager new teammate.

“Oh, yes, I know this," Vincent said. It almost certainly didn't make him come across as any less of an obsessed fan, but at least maybe he could pretend it extended to the entire club? And oh, Vinny, what would your friends think of you now? 'Yes, of course I love Ajax. What a club. My only regret is that I was never fortunate enough to be chosen as een Godenzoon.' Honestly, it was enough to make him a bit disgusted with himself.

Best change tactics before he got too far down that road to have any hope of getting himself out again. He may have long since lost any loyalty he'd once had to Feyenoord, but he'd rather quit playing football on the spot than proclaim his allegiance to Ajax.

“It will be nice to have friends here who know Amsterdam. I was not raised there, but I enjoyed my time in the city. I am so thankful to come to a club where I can feel like I have a piece of home as it were. You know?”

“Ja,” Christian responded, catching Vincent by surprise as he shifted their conversation into Dutch.

Not that Vincent wasn't well aware of Christian's proficiency with the language. He spoke it nearly as well as Vincent, judging from the promotional videos and post-match interviews he'd done during his time in Amsterdam.

“Let me know if I can help with anything,” Christian continued, his face and tone pleasantly neutral--one teammate welcoming another to a new city. “Where to eat, shopping--although that’s not really my thing, but I can try--if you want to know the best neighbourhoods for your house or anything. I mean, it’s not like I get out much, but I’ll do what I can.”

He'd always loved listening to Christian's Dutch--soft and silken and fluid, with the slightest hint of a slur around the edges of the syllables. It was no different now, although his accent had shifted a bit during his time in London. Still, Vincent was captivated by it, and found himself staring at Christian's lips as he spoke, much the way he'd always done when watching Christian's interviews on the screen.

“Your Dutch is good.”

And, honestly, Vinny? A mere, 'thank you for the offer, I will let you know' would have been fine. You were both finally starting to settle in a little bit and you had to go and make it uncomfortable again.

Thankfully, this actually earned him a surprised "oh"  and a small smile from Christian whose eyes flicked up to meet Vincent's once more before quickly darting away once more.

“Thank you. I feel it’s important to learn the language wherever you’re playing, so I worked on it a lot before I moved to Amsterdam. These three still correct me all the time, though.”

He tipped his head towards the trio standing behind him--Mousa, Jan, and Toby all of whom, by report, were seemingly inseparable both on and off the pitch.

“Because your pronunciation is terrible,” Toby teased and the others all laughed.

Christian opened his mouth to respond, but slammed it shut as Vincent dropped a hand to his shoulder. He hadn't meant to reach out for him like that, it had just sort of happened, his body moving on instinct, sliding into the sudden lighthearted ease of banter and teasing of the conversation.  It was an overly forward gesture, considering they'd only been speaking for a few moments, and Vincent readied himself to yank his hand away and offer profuse apologies as he felt Christian's breath hitch in surprise and his body tense. But Christian didn't pull away, so Vincent let his hand remain.

“Never listen to Belgians on the right way to pronounce Dutch,” Vincent told him, “I think your pronunciation is just fine.”

And, Godverdamme he definitely hadn't meant to sound that flirtatious. Once again, instinct had taken over and it had slipped out, his tone teasing and flitting and light and definitely not the right way to speak with anyone you were just meeting unless you planned on trying to take them home at the end of the night. Here Vincent was, trying it on with a teammate, no less.

He felt the hot flush creep into his cheeks at the thought, letting his hand drop from Christian's shoulder.

Christian's eyes widened even further before he ducked his head and stepped away from Vincent and towards the safety net of his friends.

He flicked a desperate glance to the side, swiveling his head slightly until his eyes fell on yet another teammate--this one with dark hair and a pale, squareish face. He reached out a hand towards the man and tugged him closer, much the way Jan had done to him what felt to Vincent like hours earlier, but in reality couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

The other man, for his part, let out a startled yelp and a shout of "oy, what the--?" but Christian seemed to pay him no mind. He all but shoved the man towards Vincent, all the while angling around to put the other man squarely between himself and Vincent.

“I...thanks," Christian said, his eyes still wide and his shoulders hunched in. "Um. Have you met Ben? You two should meet. I...I have to go, I’m sure I’ll see you at training this afternoon.”

With that, he'd flashed Vincent an awkward sort of half wave and then nearly tripped over his feet as he turned to jog quickly away towards the training centre, leaving Vincent, the three Belgians, and this new man--Ben, Vincent guessed--staring at one another in confusion.

No one said anything for a few moments until Ben flashed Vincent a dazzling grin full of perfectly straight, white teeth, stuck out a hand, and said in lilting English, "Well, that was something. Ben Davies, nice to meet you."