#I got him when I was 11….. I’m turning 24 this month. I hardly know life without him

[eiders]

hard to believe he’s 12 years old!!

[hansolmates]

remote learning (m)

summary; working remote sucks, and you would love a little relief. after buying a new toy to blow off some steam, you’re baffled when you can’t cum. however, jungkook thinks you’re doing it wrong, and shows you a thing or two. pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; fluff, humor, slightly insecure mc, this is pure FILTH—use of a remote controlled vibrator, do not and i repeat DO NOT try foreplay during a zoom call in the event u get fired im not responsible, phone sex, jungkook’s a meanie in control, cum eating, doggy, and topping it off with some sweet missionary bc jk has purty eyes, unprotected (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) excessive use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 5.7k a/n; this fic manifested bc of work. and i!! am!! frustrated!! i think we all need a lil jk relief so here it goes! as always ty to @chillingtae​ / @eerieedits​ for this FANTASTIC fic banner, please go check vivi out if u have taste okok part 2: distance learning drabbles; 01

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“Tomorrow morning, same time at 9AM. Remember to have your reports alphabetized and itemized,” your supervisor says, but the only thing you can focus on is the abnormal amount of bonsai plants in his living room. 

“Alright now it’s time for the union to talk COVID protocol,” you frown when Mr. Kim moves ownership of the Zoom call to your union rep, who pulls up a Powerpoint. You feel your eyes burn at the sight: an itinerary containing over thirty-eight slides. 

“For fuck’s sake—” 

You so desperately want to turn off the camera and flop in your bed. Since working remotely you haven’t been operating in the most ideal of workspaces. You live in a one-room apartment with a communal kitchen downstairs, so you really only have four square meters to stretch your limbs around between breaks. You’ve pushed your bed aside and shoved an office chair between the bed and the wall, leaving you to squirm between ten centimeters of space. You have no desk because well, the little rectangle space is prioritized for your portable stove and meals. 

The meeting drones on for another hour, until your brain melts to liquid and your limbs feel like Jell-O. Furthering your anxiety as they talk about protocol that never ends up happening, delays that continue to pile up, and the anger that’s been bubbling between the higher ups and little goldfish employees like you. 

When you finally shut off the camera and fling your laptop under the bed, you still feel unsettled. Probably because your work life and home life have merged together, and it’s hard for you to separate work and pleasure. 

Speaking of pleasure. 

Your hand blindly reaches under your bed, looking for the pretty pink oval you purchased last week. Cleaned and ready to use, the little remote-controlled vibrator sits plainly in your palm. 

Needless to stay you’ve been in a bit of a dry spot these past few months. With a fear to go out and meet someone new, you’ve been left with yourself and your fantasies. That’s fine, but lately your old vibrator isn’t cutting it. It’s unfortunate, you think you’re messing up your libido by buying toy after toy, but you’re horny and lonely. 

Linking your phone’s app to the remote, you ignore the messages that have been beeping your feed since early morning. 

[11:21] Jeon: let’s do lunch! 

[11:23] Jeon: hehe i feel like i belong in mean girls. Do lunch💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️

[2:20] Jeon: u loozer. Come eat dinner with us upstairs @6

[2:24] Jeon: dropping off a snack for u 

Another element of feeling horny and lonely? Jeon Jungkook. 

You two shouldn’t have even met each other. You live off crumbs on the first floor while he and his roommates are livin’ it up on top in the penthouse. One day a few months ago he crashed into you while working out, having run up and down the whole flight of stairs at least three times before deciding to collapse on you between the second and first floor. 

Despite the black mask that hugged his sharp jawline, you had felt nothing but attractiveness ooze off of him. Under his hoodie was nothing but curved muscle. He smelled so soft and sweet despite the fact that he was damp with sweat. 

The rest is history. After that day he seemed to show up everywhere, jogging more prominently on your floor and doing exercises at your level’s gym. He says he likes you, likes your company. He’s wormed his way intermittently, whether he’s seeing you struggle with an armful of groceries or when he hears you screaming over an Among Us match (according to Jungkook, the walls are thinner on the bottom floors.) 

The idea of Jungkook doting on you doubly frustrates you. He seemingly appears as the perfect man, unaffected by the stresses of the world. Jungkook’s job lets him work from home anyway, and he definitely had enough room in the penthouse for his own office. He works out, probably has a girlfriend and enough friends for you to gradually phase out of this weird neighbor interest. 

So you ignore his seemingly harmless messages, focusing on getting the settings right on the vibrator. You feel your pussy jolt a little in excitement, watching the silver and pearl pink oval shake in your grasp. You smile a bit to yourself, immediately finding your iPad for your favorite videos and some pillows to support your back. 

Half an hour later however, that excitement soon goes sour. 

“Fuck,” you bite your lip, frustrated tears streaming down your face, “fuck fuck fuck!” 

This isn’t a set of explicatives out of pleasure, unfortunately. 

No matter what you do, you won’t cum. You can’t cum. Barely wet, hardly a drop glossing your folds. You don’t even want to bother getting out the lube at this point because you are so disappointed. 

The vibrator is going at the highest setting, one that your neighbors can probably hear if they were home at this time of the day. You cease to care at this point, because the job is undone because you haven’t come undone. 

You don’t know why this is happening. Maybe it’s because you’ve had the liberty to touch yourself in complete silence, now that your neighbors have been confined to their homes indefinitely. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve relied only on your touch, that your body is tired of the monotony and needs more.

You bang the heels of your feet against your flimsy mattress, feeling whiny and utterly dissatisfied. Pulling the vibrator from your clit, you glare at the infuriating toy.

“You’re supposed to be helping me out of my dry spell,” you chastise, throwing the toy across the bed, sliding onto the carpet, “I get you’re not Jeon’s dick, but you gotta help a sister out.” 

With a sigh, you fall into a bout of exhaustion. Not from a round of orgasms, but from the week’s stress and no way to let it out. 

You wake up bleary and disoriented, practically melding through the mattress. The sky is pink and blue, washed in a sea of corals and purples. It comes from the incessant banging. 

“Stop it,” you whine more to yourself than whoever dares to disturb your sleep, pulling up your panties and a pair of navy dolphin-trim shorts. “Whoever you are I’m comin’ so stop!” 

Swinging the door open in two strides you’re met with a chipper Jeon Jungkook; looking all cute and sweet in his big hoodie and smelling like a rosebud. 

“It’s 6:30,” he narrows his eyes playfully at you, “dinner’s in the oven.” 

“You left your oven on,” you deadpan, turning around to grimace at the mess that’s your one-room apartment. 

“Yes, so we have exactly ten minutes before my kitchen explodes in flames,” Jungkook chirps, closing the door behind you. 

You don’t even bother to tell him to excuse the mess, ignore the pile of bras hanging on your vanity and the unpacked groceries that sit at the edge of your mini-fridge. It’s far too late to salvage your dignity and Jungkook’s too damn polite to call you out on your state of slob. Although, as you pull out a bottle of wine tucked in the back of your fridge you blurt, “I can hear your fingers tingling to clean up my mess.” 

When you turn around Jungkook stuffs his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, supposedly to stop himself from cleaning up. With a pout he says, “Can’t help it, Jimin says I’m currently manifesting a strong display of Virgo energy this month. Whatever that means.” 

Jabbing your feet in a pair of slides you follow Jungkook out the door. The hallways are quiet and barren, yet the silence isn’t suffocating as you two pile into the elevator. Jungkook opens the keypad underneath the regular boring buttons, revealing a sleek little set of light-up buttons that have the code to the penthouse. Faaaannnnccy. 

“Tryna look?” he jokes, cupping his hands to block your vision. 

You scoff, “I’m sure it’s something easy like 0000.” 

“You’re wrong. It’s 1234,” he replies cheekily. 

The door dings open and you’re met with yet another door. Jungkook presses his thumb to the biometric scanner, and a pleasant ringer tings in response. 

The penthouse smells like a mix of tonight’s dinner, savory, combined with a cinnamon apple candle. Jungkook is a fan of scented candles, ever since he got a whiff of your lavender vanilla burner. 

“Where’s Taehyung?” you ask, more out of your own anxiousness than anything. Taehyung’s  your buffer, the hyper roommate being someone to distract you from Jungkook’s incessant aura. 

“Dunno,” he shrugs, flicking on the oven light to peer inside. You see the telltale signs of a mean lasagna, the shredded cheese on top crisping to a delicious-looking golden brown, “anyway, you’re my friend first.” 

As grotesque as it sounds, Jungkook always finds his way to worm his way under your skin and find homage there. “Possessive much?” you quirk a brow, folding your arms over your chest even though there’s nothing to hide. 

“What can I say,” Jungkook’s legs stretch out as he squats down to your level, “I really fell for you.” 

“Gross,” you try to convince yourself, ignoring the thudding in your chest, “you technically fell on me, weirdo.” 

Dinner is a quick affair. He cuts slices of lasagna and brings it to the couch, where you’re pouring glasses of wine in crystal glasses. They’re so clean and shiny you can see your reflection in the gold liquid. You grimace at the bottle, normally this would be poured in a mug or your sippy cup, tonight your liquid’s getting a high-end pour. 

You two pull up an old anime to fill up the room, but most of it is spent in playful banter. Jungkook prattles on about his day, showing you all the cool updates he’s achieved during work. An app developer. A very on-brand, lucrative job for him. You love your job but it isn’t nearly as exciting as Jungkook’s, so you just let yourself be supportive and ask questions when needed. 

When the subject of you comes up, you shake your head and stuff your face with another cut of al dente pasta.

“Not interestin’ Jeon,” you mumble, groaning at how delicious his cooking is. What can’t he do? “Is this oregano? Is the secret ingredient toasted oregano—” 

“You’re deflecting.” 

Your shoulders slump, “I’m not very interesting, I tell you everything I do during the week and nothing has changed since March.” 

“Oh, not everything,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. You furrow your brows as his hands stuff themselves in his hoodie pocket. Is he upset you won’t tell him about your work stress? “And you’re very interesting, I’ll have you know.” 

“Yeah?” a small smile tugs on your lips. You sink further into his cottonball of a couch, feeling utterly soft and meldable at his words.

“Very,” Jungkook gets up from the couch, looking down at you, “want something sweet?” 

The prospect of dessert has you excited. Jungkook really is the perfect man, so kind and knows exactly when you’re craving something for your sweet tooth. You move to get up, only for you to sink further between the two large cushions of the loveseat. “Help me, ’m stuck,” you pout.

Jungkook giggles, and holds out his palm, “Hand,” he says simply.

You immediately reach for his larger palm, and you gasp when you feel something cold and soft touch your palm. As if you’ve been burned, you tug your hand back. But Jungkook’s hand is massive, the large ink-painted palm curling around your own, and it’s almost painful the way he clutches your hand so fiercely. 

When he’s sure you’re not going to drop it, he releases your hand. 

Nestled in your palm, is the new vibrator you left on the carpet this afternoon.

“Jeon,” you laugh tonelessly, hating the way Jungkook’s neutral expression mocks you, “you found my USB? Thanks, I know—” 

“Know that you’re having a hard time coming?” Carefully extracting your plate from your lap, he places it on the coffee table before Jungkook cages you between the couch. You shrink further into the plush seat, “I tried being a good neighbor, but you didn’t answer my texts. I heard you when I tried dropping off some snacks before dinner. Didn’t know you were into toys.” 

“Oh, c’mon Jeon. It’s 2020 and we’re confined,” well, in this scenario you’re confined, “everyone has a sex toy.” 

“Hm, I don’t have one,” Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, pretending to be deep in thought, “so, can you be my toy?” 

Fuck. 

It’s then that you feel the tell-tale signs of arousal. Your eyes widen, innocently surprised at the fact that Jeon Jungkook contained so much power in so few words. You snap your legs shut immediately, sealing any possibility of you dripping down your panties. 

“I heard how disappointed you were, doll,” his arms have no problems as he bends down so he’s eye-level with your crotch, “it was pathetic, really. You couldn’t even cum on your own? You need someone to help you?” 

“N-no,” you cross your arms defensively, frowning, “you–you’re being mean, Jeon.”

“And what, you’re gonna cry about it?” Jungkook smirks, now sitting on his knees. His hands run over the velvety fabric of the couch, making a beeline for your thighs. Gooseflesh rises to the surface, and he immediately presses down to iron out the little bumps that travel across your skin, “I do wanna make you cry, but not because you can’t cum. You’ll cry because of how good I’m gonna make you feel.” 

You gape, clutching the vibrator in your hand. 

A little bit of your sweet, cute Jungkook resurfaces, softening when he notices your lack of response, “If you’ll let me, of course.” 

You finally drag the words from your throat, “I-it’s been a long time since I’ve… been with someone.” 

He tilts his head, “Same here. I just figured we could break that spell together.” 

What are you going to say? No? A dishonor to your sexuality, that would be. Jungkook’s offering himself up on a silver platter, and even though you do wish it was a little more you’ll take the sex. 

You nod, forgetting to speak again. Jungkook chuckles. 

“I want to hear you say it, doll.” 

Doll. Like you’re his little fucktoy, malleable and bendable to all his whims. Fuck, why is that so hot to you? “Yes, I want to have sex with you,” you declare, your voice sounding more breathy than confident, “a-and, you can be mean. If you want.” 

His thumbs press little light indents in your skin, over and over as if fascinated by the way your skin is so soft and gummy in his grip. “Okay,” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull out his phone, jabbing a few things that you don’t see, “let’s do a little test drive, then.” 

In seconds, the little egg vibrates in your touch. He puts it on the lowest setting, a soft buzz echoing in the large living room, then at a bruising pace that forces you to curl your fingers around it otherwise it’d fall. Your eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s, who’s focusing entirely on the way the pink and silver egg moves, dilated in interest. 

“Fuck, and you thought this thing was broken?” he asks, taking it out of your palm and turning off the app. 

“Maybe I’m the broken one,” you admit softly, wringing your shirt. 

Silence seeps. Jungkook looks at you, brows furrowed as if he’s annoyed. “Don’t ever say that,” when you don’t respond, he grabs your chin, and you gasp when he forces you to look at him, “you’re not broken, doll. Everyone’s body is different, and we’re going to discover yours together. Got it?” 

“Y-yes,” you reply immediately, mesmerized by his seriousness. 

“Good,” he slaps the vibrator back in your palm, “and in case you’re wondering, this goes inside.” 

“I know how it works,” you scowl, “but won’t you show me, just in case?” 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Jungkook gets up for good, piling the dishes in his arms and walking to the sink. You immediately miss his warmth, “but I think patience is a virtue. I have a developer meeting with some clients in America a little bit, actually. So just wait for my call, yeah?” 

You frown, looking down at the vibrator in your hands. How much longer would you have to wait? 

It happens at exactly three in the afternoon the next day, at the start of your staff meeting. You’re so tired of the same information being thrown back and forth, coupled with Brian and Jae having to fight over some mundane subject in the itinerary that no one cares about. For goodness sake, it’s Friday! What else would you possibly need to be meeting about? 

You’re wearing a button-down dress shirt on top, no pants on the bottom. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood floor, antsy. It’s been a long day at work and your back hurts, you’re half tempted to dip out of this meeting and hope no one notices. 

Your phone buzzes on your bed, and you blanch. 

[3:01] Jeon: thanks for waiting, doll. It’s time 

[3:01] Jeon: put it in

Shamelessly, your vibrator sits next to your phone, cleaned and ready to go. 

[3:02] Jeon: need help? Answer my call

Making sure that your Zoom call is muted, you quickly answer the incoming phone call. Jungkook and you say nothing at first, waiting. The phone just ticks with the amount of time passing, one minute, two minutes, and so on. 

Mr. Kim drones unknowingly, “So when we do return to live instruction, expect a strict process when returning. PPE must be enforced so our response team will—” 

“How wet were you last night when you went home?” Jungkook asks languidly, speaking over your boss’ voice. 

Your eyes widen, flickering back and forth between the phone and the camera displaying Mr. Kim’s boring speech. 

“Doll, are you hard of hearing?” 

“N-no,” your lips barely move, eyes glued to the camera and plastering an expressionless face, “I heard you.” 

“Then give me an answer,” he says patiently, “how wet were you?” 

“Very wet.”

“Little more detail.” 

“Soaking wet,” you flush, thankful that your work laptop can only stream in 360p. “I haven’t gotten that wet in such—such a long time. My pussy was practically clinging to my underwear when I washed up that night.” 

A heady, heavy groan resonates through your phone. You feel that voice straight into your panties, jolting the nerves awake. 

“Fuck, you have a way with words, don’t you?” Jungkook chuckles breathlessly, “c’mon, touch yourself for me. Swirl your fingers around your clit, slowly.” 

It takes a second for you to position yourself, spreading your legs in a way that your coworkers don’t question why you’re moving so much. A quick scan over all the tired faces says that you’re okay. Shyly, you press your fingers against your clit, doing as he says. 

“Oh,” you say more to yourself than him, feeling the wetness already coating your fingers. This is earlier than usual. 

“What?” 

“I’m already wet,” you say, amazed, “I haven’t gotten wet this quickly in a long time.” 

He scoffs, “If you’re so wet now, shove it in.” 

You frown. You did tell him to be mean. But the idea of him telling you what to do, giving you all the porn-worthy experiences to accomplish has you relenting. Discreetly grabbing the egg from the bed, you bring it down to your panties. Swirling the cold metal around your clit, you coat it in your juices. 

It’s still a little too early to be putting anything in, but you can take it. Slowly relaxing, you slip the little egg in your pussy, wiggling it a little to make sure it’s secure. It’s a strange sort of pressure, and it pokes against your clit from the inside, but you enjoy the stretch. 

“It’s in,” you reply softly. 

“Good.” 

You wait. You listen to Jae make yet another speech about the importance of masks and gloves, and then Brian has to interject and say that gloves are literally useless because they spread germs around no matter what. Even though everyone else is muted, you can practically feel the misery seeping through the screen. For a second you almost forget about Jungkook on the line. Why isn’t Mr. Kim stopping them? This is the thin line stopping you from the weekend, unbelievable! 

“Eep!” you jolt in your cheap seat, the egg buzzing in your pussy. Your hands fly out, gripping the edges of your computer. 

It hits different when Jungkook is in control. Knowing that with a flick of his thumb he can have you careening, whining for more or less depending on how hard he wants you go. Your folds hug the egg, nestling it a fleshy grip as it brushes against your clit the more you squirm. 

“You look so pretty, trying so hard to hold in your moans,” Jungkook says wondrously from the other line. 

“W-what?” you frown, “you can see me?” 

And immediately, you go to your trackpad to fish between the hundred-and-one employees also in this call. At the very end, you see a very simple name with no mic or camera: Jeon JK. He’s here. 

“Worked in IT, doll. Know a thing or two,” he says, “now, tell me. What are you thinking about right now?” 

“Y-you,” you mumble shyly. 

“So,” Mr. Kim finally ends that part of the meeting, thank goodness, “what’s everyone’s plans this weekend? I’m going apple picking with a couple of my friends from college. Hoseok is a bright bean who loves to take long walks—”

What the hell. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat, hyperaware that Jungkook’s watching your every move. You make glossy, stubborn eyes at the camera, trying not to move when he jacks up the vibrator to a higher setting. 

Jae’s of course the next employee to unmute his microphone, “Well, me and the bae are going house hunting…” 

“Fuck!” you cry, moving the computer to the left so you can pretend you’re picking up something. But in fact you're leaning your head against your mattress, frustrated. “I don’t fucking care about your weekend plans, Jae! Shut the fuck up! You wanna know my weekend plans?” Jungkook’s laughing at you from the other line, but it only spurs you on, “my plans are fucking my super hot neighbor! He’s a hundred times more interesting than you and he’s going to make me come a hundred times this weekend—oh fuck!” 

Your fingers latch onto your panties, drawing random squiggles and letters between the fabric. You’re damp, soaked to the core. You need some sort of friction, a reprieve from this hellish week.

“You flatter me, doll,” Jungkook is definitely grinning through the phone, you can practically hear his shit-eating grin, “I think you deserve a reward. As soon as you put the camera back on your pretty face.” 

Quickly, you sit up to put the camera on you again. Once again, the employees are in a daze, listening to whatever the next person gabs about their weekend. Even though you can’t really see it, you’re sure Jungkook has a 1080p camera upstairs that shows off your blotchy face. You moan a little bit, lips closed as the egg buzzes against your pussy lips. 

“You��re so cute, doll,” Jungkook praises, “you look so professional, holding it in. What could I do to make you unravel? Hm, what if you imagined the taste of my cock on your lips? Fuck, I’d love to slap your cute little face with my cock, baby doll–”

“y/n?” Mr. Kim calls your name, and you freeze, “what about you? Any plans this weekend?” 

Jungkook doesn’t sound angry that your boss has inadvertently cut him off. “Answer him, doll. Be a good little employee.” 

Like a zombie, you move towards the unmute button. “I–I uh,” you shake your head, trying to formulate a coherent response, “I’m going on a date this weekend.” 

Jungkook jacks up the vibrator to high, and your legs are shaking. 

“Awh, a date!” Mr. Park unmutes himself, practically shoving the camera in his face, “how much do you like the lucky lad or lady?” 

“I like him uh—ah—” you pretend to think, covering a hand over your mouth to hide the fact that you feel your orgasm fast approaching, “I like him a lot!” you finally blurt, “I’m, uh, really excited to see him.” 

“Best of luck to you,” Mr. Kim says brightly, “so Jimin, any news on those investors you had dinner with this weekend? I heard a lot of positive things…”

You immediately mute your mic, and pretend to lag as you fumble around with the camera. Shoving the laptop to the side once more you groan into your sheets, “Fuck—fuck yes—” you moan, shaking your head as you dip your fingers into your panties. The vibrator still continues at its bruising pace, spurring you to a high you haven’t peaked to in months.

“Good job,” Jungkook says simply, “could barely notice that you have a little helper fiddling around your dripping pussy.”

“J-Jeon,” you cry, “I’m, ’m gonna cum.” 

“Yeah?” Jungkook eggs you on, “you’re gonna cum around that cute little vibrator? Gonna soak it in your juices?” 

“W-wish it was your cock I was soaking,” you whisper truthfully, letting your orgasm take you at the thought. Your folds flutter around the vibrator, bringing you to a level of sensitivity you’ve only dreamt of, “Ah, yes, Jeon. It feels s-so good!” 

“Yes baby,” Jungkook groans through the line, “feels good, huh?” 

Mr. Kim interrupts for the last time, “And with that, I think our meeting is adjourned. Have a wonderful weekend! Stay safe and—” 

You slam the laptop shut, grabbing your phone and keys. “I’m going up,” you mutter impatiently, already jabbing your feet in a pair of slippers and locking the door to your apartment behind you. 

“I’m waiting,” he replies, eagerness trimming his voice. 

“Password?” you ask quickly, jabbing the elevator door shut once you step inside. Thank goodness you’re alone, you think as you pull your dress shirt further down your ass. 

“Did you forget already?” he teases, “I told you, it’s 1234.” 

Thankfully, the doors zip you up straight to the penthouse. The connection is always a little spotty in elevators, and you sigh longingly when you feel the buzz jolt and leave it’s momentum, quickly losing its rhythm between your dripping folds. Once you get to the top and the elevator doors open the second door immediately swings open, revealing a soft but aroused-looking Jungkook. He looks fresh from the shower, absolutely radiant and delicious looking. 

You don’t hesitate to run up to him, and Jungkook immediately cups his face in your hands, pressing his lips to yours. 

You’re practically on your tippy-toes, and you squeak against his lips when he hooks his arms around your shoulders, immediately lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his trim waist, not wanting to stop kissing him. He’s like the sweetest ambrosia, a taste you can’t get enough of. 

The connection to your vibrator has resumed, and you can’t help but grind helplessly under Jungkook’s clothed abs as he carries the both of you to his bedroom.

“N-need you to fuck me,” you bury your head in the crook of his neck, pressing quick kisses to his jawline, “I want you s-so badly.” 

“Hello to you too,” he husks, shutting the bedroom door with his foot. 

Jungkook drops you unceremoniously, and your limbs splay out on the fresh bedsheets of his feather-soft mattress.

“You look gorgeous like this, doll.” he sighs longingly, a hand going under your buttondown to press against your soaked panties. His hand lingers on the way your pussy moves in tandem with the vibrator. 

“J-Jeon please I can’t take it—” 

“Stop calling me that,” he snaps, hands leaving your skin.

You whine at the loss of contact, “Jeon, no. Jungkook. Kook, my Kook. Please, I need you.” 

That gets him going. His pretty chocolate brown eyes zero in on you, and he immediately shucks off his shirt and sweatpants, “How much do you need me?” he asks, pulling out his phone and pressing some buttons, “how much do you need your Kook?” 

The vibrator stops. You cry out in frustration, unsure if it’s because it’s off or because Jungkook’s taking too damn long. “I need you so much, Kook,” you warble with a pout, moving to undo the top buttons of your dress shirt to reveal your cleavage, “honey, you can have me all you want later today. I want you to slap my face with your dick, edge me until I cry, anything. I’m all yours, I’m your little doll. But please for now, I need to feel you inside me.” 

“Say no more,” his lips latch onto your neck, and you sigh at the skin-to-skin contact. His hand fiddles under your shirt, clutching a breast and slapping it so hard it bounces back and forth, “fuck, you’re so pretty.” 

His hand moves to your plain cotton panties, immediately shucking them off, “doll, you really are dripping,” he’s impressed, surprised when he has to untack the fabric from your glossy legs. He hangs the panties on his wooden headboard, a little ornament for him to jack off to later. 

His fingers brush over your folds, wasting no time to slip the vibrator out. He holds it between your faces, forcing you to stare at the pearly substance that coats the entirety of the egg. “Mm, tasty tasty,” he cooes, pink tongue darting out to lick a long strip across the oval. 

You tug him closer, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes a mixture of his own saliva and your arousal, and you grind helplessly against him. You feel how big his cock is, rock-hard and trying very diligently not to bust. He must have a crazy amount of control, and it drives you nuts. 

“Kook,” you frown, bumping your crotch with his.

“Impatient, good thing I am too,” he shucks off his boxers while you unbutton the rest of your shirt, “knees and hands, doll.” 

You don’t care how or what way he’ll take you. Fuck, he could bend you into an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and you’d comply. 

Arching your back so your ass is in the air, you wiggle around, hoping he’ll take the bait. That’s when you sigh, feeling the tip of his dick brush against your wetness.

“Soaking my cock already, baby,” he says, “you’re so good to me.” 

And finally, finally, he slips in. You don’t even care that it stretches you a little too far and too long, it’s been too damn long since you’ve had decent dick and Jungkooks far more than decent. 

He goes at a quick pace, finally showing how impatient he’s been all this time. Your moans and groans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain as he stretches your walls to the brim. You hold a pillow to your chest, feeling woozy at the way his fat cock stretches you out. 

“F-fuck yeah,” the pace is hard, you practically feel it in your belly, and you love it. “You feel so fucking tight, baby,” he’s all up in your ear, kissing the lobe briefly, “I love the way you suck my cock back in.” 

“Kook,” you press your ass back, “harder, please. I’m your little doll, right? Y-you can fuck me however you want, as hard as you want! Please, ah—! Use me!” 

You cry out when he slips from your folds, immediately flipping you on your back. He wastes no time to wet his dick, lifting one leg over his shoulder to have you deeper. This position is far more intimate, and your noses are practically touching as he thrusts into you. 

You can’t believe you’re in bed with Jeon Jungkook. This must be a dream, a really great, really long wet dream. You crumble in his grip, and you lift a shaky hand to run through his thick black strands. 

“Why’d you make me wait so long?” you cry, staring right into his glittering eyes, “why couldn’t you come for me after your call last night?” 

“Why’d I make you wait?” he grits, crushing the flesh between your hip bones so he can have more leverage to pound into you, “why did you make me wait? Since March, I’ve wanted you. I told you I liked you, told you I fell for you.” 

“T-thought it was a joke,” you warble pathetically, breasts bouncing at his relentless rhythm.

“You think th-this is a joke?” for further emphasis, he glides slower, making you feel just how large and thick he is against your folds, “I want you, doll. Y-yeah, fu-fuck. Want to feed you every day, feed you lasagna, feed you with my cum, make you happy.” 

“I—I want that too, Kook,” you’re a pile of pink mush, and you feel your eyes prick from the overwhelming emotions that have washed over both of you. “Sh-shit, Kook. I think, I think I’m gon’ cum again.” 

“Good, you first,” his hand plays figure 8s with your precious pearl, seeping with arousal and coating his cock in delicious lubrication. 

It doesn’t take long for you to cum. You’re holding him as tight as you can, nails digging into his shoulders as you clench around his cock. Jungkook cums shortly after, and you keen at the sensitivity when his hot cum coats your walls. “Baby doll,” he exhales, thrusting lazily. The both of you feel your combined arousal drip between the two of you, onto your skin and onto his sheets, “y-you’re amazing.” 

His softened cock slips out of you, and his hands immediately reach over to swirl around the heady cream over your engorged pussy. You moan when he brings his fingers to your lips, “Open, doll.” 

It tastes salty yet sweet, and you suckle around his finger with a cute little pop. Jungkook grins brightly, feeling like he won the lottery. 

“Are my walls that thin?” you pout, pressing closer to him when he pulls the blankets to your chest. 

“Very,” Jungkook nods with a chuckle, tucking the two of you in, “now get some rest, doll. You presented a lot of offers to me earlier, and I intend to go through with them.” 

You smile into his chest, melty and feeling utterly sated. 

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Jealousy, Jealousy | Not Rated | 1163 words 

Harry gets jealous when James Corden hold his Louis in his lap and pets him on the Late Late Show. He shows Louis who he belongs to and takes care of him.

2) The X-Factor Judge | Explicit | 1635 words 

Harry watches the X-Factor and gets jealous about Brendan jumping on Louis. When Louis gets home Harry reminds him whom he belongs to. 

3) Didn’t Know You Had It In You | Explicit | 1807 words 

Harry sleeptalks and reveals his kinks which Louis is more than happy to try out.

4) Mine | Explicit | 1979 words 

"So you been single for a while now?" Louis gulped as the vibrator slowed down sending a thankful look to Harry before glancing back at the interview who was looking at him with great interest,

"Uhhh yeah," he replied keeping his answer short and brief. He straightened his back shuffling slightly on his chair as the vibrator shifted inside of him hitting his prostate causing him to let out a small gasp as grimaced at the interviewer who just grinned back. She must be an excellent actress or just stupidly oblivious.

5) In The Moment | Explicit | 2611 words 

Note: This is part 2 of this series.

Where it's their first time and Harry is being all fluffy and encouraging Louis to say his name and other dirty stuff?

6) Salvation Under My Breath | Not Rated | 2858 words 

Louis is pregnant...

...and Horny

7) The Sight of You Brings Forth a Peace In Me | Mature | 3254 words

Louis loses inspiration and goes on a nature walk to find some. The inspiration takes shape in the form of Harry. 

8) Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips | Explicit | 3435 words 

Note: Part one of this fic is #23 on this list. 

Adjusting to one another’s life came as naturally as the sun rising in the morning and brightening the sky, chasing away the darkness that had dared to lurk in its absence. They did not side step each other, did not second guess their instincts once they were finally together. It was the crash of roaring waves - reckless in their paths - but upon meeting had unified into calm waters in the vast sea.

Living with Harry was like a breath of fresh air. In all his years, Louis had never felt alive. He supposed there was some credit to be given to how devoted Harry was to him. The man would rather step in a raging fire than let him suffer even a trace amount of agony.

9) Fuck U (Even) Betta | Explicit | 3568 words 

Note: This is the sequel to this fic.

Harry had sensed Louis was getting antsy all day, prodding and poking at Harry’s psyche like a game of mental whack-a-mole, trying to find that one thing that would flip the switch and push Harry over the edge. Even after all these years Louis still thinks he can get a rise, that he can in any way control the scenario. He couldn’t be more wrong.

10) We Act Like Nothing Is Wrong To Avoid What’s In Front of Us | Mature | 4179 words 

Louis sends nudes meant for Harry to the wrong person on accident. Harry finds out. Rough sex ensues.

11) Love's First Bite | Explicit | 6135 words 

Note: The pairing in this fic is Louis/Zayn.

For Zayn, love was never a part of life’s equation, not when you’re considered a lowly vampire while working in the Vampire’s royalty club, Love’s First Bite. He’s bitter and resentful and sees no point in looking into his past or future. But when Zayn saves a human named Louis, it all changes. He finds something special in him and, more importantly, someone worth giving up everything he holds dear.

12) Your Blueberry Eyes | Mature | 6154 words 

Louis tattoos and Harry falls for blues.

13) Blow Me Away | Explicit | 6471 words 

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

14) Thank You For This Prom Night | Not Rated | 6554 words 

Note: This is part 3 of this series.

It's Prom Night. Stuff happens.

15) Can We Make It Anymore Obvious? | Explicit | 6628 words 

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

16) It's The Way You Love (I Gotta Give It Back To You) | Explicit | 8153 words 

Stretching, Louis finally pulled the duvet aside and let his feet fall onto the plush rug at his feet. Louis lived for soft, comfortable, plush things. From the fairy lights and fake plants to his plush robe and thick socks, everything in Louis’ little one bedroom apartment was carefully catered to his whimsical and soft aesthetic.

17) My Eyes Want You More Than A Melody | Explicit | 8315 words 

Harry’s brain is short-circuiting at an absolutely awful time, the more expressive side of him is falling to pieces for some reason. The only responses he can give are venerated vibrations and nods, the feeling of Louis’ sweaty skin sliping him further into nothingness. Lightly dewy thighs, so muscular and plush— his lips feel just the same, so dangerously soft, a devious intention lying behind it all. “You’d do anything for me,” Louis mumbles, teeth tugging on Harry’s bottom lip, eyes dragging from his sinfully pink mouth when he lets it go to his hooded green eyes. “Isn't that right, daddy?” Harry whimpers— something that’s so foreign to him— but nods, trailing his hands up his shaved thighs, fingertips passing the hem of the dress.

18) Running Is Different Than Going | Explicit | 9018 words 

Note: The pairing is Louis/OMC.

On the run, the last thing Michael expects from a stranger is help. Louis offers him everything he needs so he can keep running, but makes it harder than ever to continue doing so.

19) Quarantine, Baby! | Teen & Up | 9615 words 

Note: There is no smut, but it contains mpreg Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. 

When Harry and Louis get a little too bored in quarantine, they turn to each other for some x-rated entertainment. Then, what starts as a COVID-scare, turns out to be something completely different.

20) Effervescent Horizons | Not Rated | 10676 words 

Note: This is part 6 of this series. There is also no smut, but it contains mentions of bottom Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. 

They go to college together!

21) Moments | Explicit | 10726 words 

Looking back, Louis should’ve known that the universe likes to fuck with idiots like him who think they’ve got it all sorted.

Looking back, he should’ve known that the minute he relaxed and let his guard down, when he thought things were going smoothly, that’s when it would hit him.

Looking back, he should’ve known to be on the lookout for a curveball.

He just hadn’t accounted for that curveball to have long legs, green eyes, and dimples; a curveball named Harry Styles.

22) The Blood Is Rare (And Sweet As Cherry Wine) | Explicit | 14270 words 

Note: The sequel to this fic is #8 on this list. 

"Officer, I see you're giving away my secrets already," Harry said as he entered the room.

"It's hardly a secret," Louis accepted the delicate glass, cutting a glance at the man when the underlying scent hit him, "A little early to indulge in such things, isn't it?"

"You've had a long morning, I'm sure. Merely looking after your health, Officer," Harry smiled.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that."

"Someone has to."

23) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76174 words 

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

24) Truth Behind Golden Eyes | Explicit | 228727 words 

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[ofstarsandfireflies]

I’ve had this half complete for many, many months now, stuck in writer’s block hell, much like the fic I’m working on at this moment.

These movie nights have been a great way to just write whatever comes to mind and brute force my way out of writer’s block 😊

Stephen had realised that Tony was always in danger with him long before he’d decided to do this.

He always gets hurt and one day he's going to get killed all because he was too stubborn to stay behind when Stephen told him to.

So he does the only thing he can do.

He wipes Tony's memory and lets him start anew.

And then, some years later, their eyes meet.

Stephen stared at those brown eyes he had loved waking up to every morning.

What was he doing here?

They didn't recognise him, which he was grateful for, but they were staring at him.

And he was staring back.

The man they belonged to walked up to him and Stephen contemplated making a portal and getting out of there.

He had cast that spell for a reason.

It had been about 3 years since he’d erased Tony Stark's memories of him from that brilliant mind.

Three years of making sure he was wherever Tony Stark, or his Iron Man suit or his Avengers group, wasn't.

Three years of keeping all that wanted to hurt Tony at bay so the man could live a normal life.

And now here he was after Stephen had just destroyed the entity which had escaped its own dimension, in his Ironman suit, so close Stephen could make the slightest movement and be touching him.

Those eyes were narrowed now, and Stephen could see the questions swimming in their depths.

And then Tony introduced himself and Stephen felt like he was about to burst into flames.

How he had missed that voice.

Something shifted in Tony's features when Stephen told him his name.

As if he recognised his name.

But that couldn’t be right.

Tony shouldn’t recognise anything associated with him at all.

His heart was in his throat as Tony tried to place him.

It was no use, Stephen knew that, but…

Had Tony blinked yet?

Had he blinked yet?

Tony's mouth opened again and Stephen quickly turned away and began conjuring a portal.

The faster he got out of here the better.

He shouldn't have allowed that entity to escape in the first place.

He walked through the portal just as Tony flew through it after him, grabbing his shoulder.

And just like that, Stephen was reliving all the fights they'd previously had about Tony's recklessness to dive head first into portals and danger.

Stephen could not believe it.

3 years and nothing had changed between them.

But those 3 years were worth it.

Tony had lived for an extra 3 years.

Saying a short dismissive goodbye, Stephen created another portal and threw it at Tony, watching him disappear.

He couldn't drag Tony back into this life again.

He couldn't fight beside him again, patch him up again, make a portal to the hospital while he bled to death in his arms again.

He loved him too much to be the cause of his pain again.

Stephen rubbed his eyes as they prickled with tears.

He had to let him go. It was the best for Tony.

He took a deep breath and had just started climbing the stairs when the door banged open and Tony Stark walked in without his Iron Man armour and looking pissed.

Stephen stared at him.

How on earth had he found him again so quickly?

Tony stepped closer to him and Stephen felt his entire body break out in a cold sweat, every hair standing on end.

Tony opened his mouth and asked him a single question.

How had Stephen known to send him to his bedroom in the Avengers Compound, when Stpehen had never been there?

Stephen did what?

They stared at one another, Tony repeatedly asking him who he was.

Stephen wanted to tell him.

God he wanted to do a lot of things with Tony standing here before him looking so lost and hurt and kissable.

But how could he?

Stephen closed his eyes and shook his head,Tony's voice breaking as he demanded answers, Stephen's arms shaking with the want to hold the man who belonged in them.

He had to rewind time.

Rewind back to before Tony came in or hell even to before their eyes found each other!

He opens the eye of Agamoto and Tony's hand suddenly clamps down on his wrist.

Tony looks just as shocked as he does.

"You were...you were gonna...you..." Tony was confused. What exactly was it he was going to do? And why had he stopped him?

The hand gripping his wrist was shaking.

Stephen knew he shouldn't tell him, knew he should push Tony away, make him never want to see him again.

He knew he should.

But he couldn't.

Tony was looking at him, pleading him for answers, and Stephen found himself drowning in those eyes.

His free hand took Tony's and pulled him in closer, and Tony allowed him to.

Stephen brought his hand up to Tony's face, running his thumb over his cheek.

He was inching closer to Tony's lips, licking his own.

The last time he had kissed them was goodbye before he'd ripped himself from Tony's life.

He could feel Tony's shuddering breath against his lips as Tony closed his eyes and Strange leant in the rest of the way and kissed him.

Tony suddenly grabbed his robes and held him, Stephen feeling the mouth against his own lift into a smile as he held Tony closer, his tongue licking those lips for entry.

Tony opened his mouth and Stephen groaned, shoving Tony against the wall, pressing his leg between Tony's as his fingers pushed under the shirt to touch at the skin they knew so well.

Tony moaned again as Stephen moved his lips to his neck, nipping and kissing the skin, feeling Tony's chest shudder with each breath he took.

His hands skimmed down the firm chest, touching scars both new and old, his name a single breath between them.

God, Stephen wasn’t going to be able to hold on to the little self control he had when it came to Tony for much longer if he kept saying his name like that.

So, he stopped, and leant his forehead against Tony's, wondering whether now would be a good time to apologise, wondering what he did to deserve Tony's love, even without his memories.

He should pull away.

He should stop this.

He had stopped this three years ago, and this wasn’t good for either of them.

But Tony was clinging to him so tightly, as if making sure he couldn’t leave.

And he was warm.

So warm he didn’t want to leave.

Quotes -

“Random thoughts on Valentine’s Day, 2004. Today is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.”

Tony’s inner monologue

“Do I know you? Do you ever shop at Barnes and Noble?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“That’s it! I’ve seen you, man!”

Tony trying to place Stephen.

“It’s a pretty name though, really is nice. It’s uh, it means merciful, right? Uh, clemency.”

“Although it hardly fits. I’m a vindictive little bitch truth be told.”

“See, I wouldn’t think that about you.”

“Why wouldn’t you think that about me?”

“I don’t know I just…I-I don’t know I just uh…you see nice so…”

“Oh, now I’m nice? God, don’t you know any other adjectives? I don’t need nice. I don’t need myself to be it and I don’t need anyone else to be it at me.”

A conversation shortly after their meeting.

“You’re not a stalker or anything, right?”

“I’m not a stalker. You’re the one that talked to me, remember?”

“That is the oldest trick in the stalker book.”

Tony wondering about Stephen.

A Time for Us

No matter how hard you try, you can’t completely erase someone you love from your heart.

January, February

Missed a Day? Catch up here!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10

Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15

Day 16 Day 17 Day 18 Day 19 Day 20

Day 21 Day 22 Day 23 Day 24 Day 25

Day 26

[fvckyouimaprophet]

nobody loves me (like you do)

Summary: Everybody has a TiMER on their wrist which counts down to the moment they meet their soulmate. When Remus's goes black at 16, he knows it must mean his soulmate died. 

Cue Sirius Black, entering his life like a whirlwind. It's just too bad that he has a TiMER.

Find it here on AO3.

Author’s Note: For @starstruck4moony, whose Wolfstar content keeps me going. ✌️

Remus is lying in the grass in the park, laughing with Lily about something their maths teacher said last week when his TiMER lets out a low, long beep. He blinks slowly and sits up, for a moment unsure that the noise is even coming from him.

“What is it?” Lily asks.

The second that Remus lifts his sleeve and stares at his wrist, everything changes. His chest tightens, and his fingers dig into the ground as he attempts to steady himself. The murmur of the parkgoers is replaced by a ringing in his ears, and it takes him a minute to catch his breath.

Lily’s hand on his shoulder startles him, and he jumps and looks at her with wide, panicked eyes. “Remus, you’re scaring me,” she says.

“My TiMER.” He shows her his wrist, and her face blanches with horror. “It’s gone blank.”

                                                          - - -

Graduating from secondary school and heading off to uni feels like a relief. Remus takes his TiMER off the summer before he leaves. He’s tired of the pitying looks from others. After all, if his TiMER has gone blank at sixteen, it’s almost guaranteed to mean that his soulmate has died.

He had been so close—two years away from meeting whoever it was. His and Lily’s TiMERs had been separated by mere days. They always joked that their friendship had been predetermined, and that was yet another sign of how similar they were.

He makes Lily promise not to tell anyone that his TiMER had gone blank. “I want a fresh start,” he says. “I’m going to tell them that I chose to take it off.” Remus can see Lily’s hesitation. She presses her lips tightly together, and her brow furrows, but she nods.

“If that’ll help,” she says.

“It will.” Remus smiles at her, and her face softens.

His flatmate, Peter, is studying Environmental Science and has a keen interest in entomology. “I promise not to get a pet tarantula,” Peter says. Despite the shyness to his tone, it’s clearly meant to be a joke, and Remus laughs. Peter’s face immediately brightens, and he grins back.

They talk about their experiences growing up as they unpack and the novelty of being away from home. They’ve nearly finished when Peter broaches the subject of the TiMER, lamenting that he has another sixteen years before he’s set to meet his soulmate. “What about you?”

Remus falters as his lamp slips a little in his hand. He quickly sets it down and keeps his back facing away from Peter as he answers, trying to compose himself.

“I got mine removed,” he says, and he hopes that Peter can’t hear the tightness in his voice. His heart pounds in his ears, and he takes a steadying breath before turning around.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Peter asks. He stops what he’s doing as he gapes at Remus.

As best as he can, he lifts his chin defiantly and does his best to look as if he’s uninterested in the topic. “I’m not into the idea of a predetermined fate. I mean, who’s to say we only have one soulmate? Why shouldn’t we get a choice in it.”

Peter’s eyes widen, and his jaw goes slack, and Remus is certain that despite the incredulous look on his face, there’s something bordering on admiration in his expression as well. “You really think that?” Peter asks, his voice a whisper.

“People fall in love all the time while they’re waiting for their soulmate. Maybe the only reason those relationships don’t stand a chance is because everybody just assumes they’re going to fail because the TiMER says so.” His voice sounds oddly assured, even to himself, and it’s enough to allow him to stand straighter. “I don’t want a piece of technology determining my whole life path. I want to be able to be with the person I want.”

For a moment, the words feel curiously liberating, but then Peter’s eyes get cloudy again—lost in thought—and he can feel it slipping away. “I wish I could be that brave,” Peter says. “But there’s something reassuring about knowing that there’s a relationship you can’t fuck up. Someone who’s sure to like you.”

It’s not quite that simple, and if he had a TiMER, Remus knows that he’d push back. After all, a soulmate isn’t a guarantee for life. It’s a promise that this person is as compatible with you as a person can be. There’s always room for human error.

He doesn’t have that guarantee anymore for compatibility, and the thought of relying on his own instincts terrifies him. Besides, he’s certain that no one with a TiMER would forsake the possibility of happiness in the name of free will—as vague as that is.

Remus shrugs and does his best to look bored by the topic, hoping that will nudge Peter to change topics. “I guess.”

Peter bites his lip and looks at what remains for them to unpack. “Want to grab a bite to eat before we finish up?”

Remus sighs, relieved. “Sounds great.”

                                                         - - -

Lily’s TiMER goes off two months after the start of the semester at a cafe. “My coffee went cold,” she says to Remus as they sit in the quad, their books for Topics in Medieval Latin Literature sprawled out in front of them, untouched. “I was staring at my wrist, watching the TiMER count down. He walked in, and they both started to go off. Honestly, he’s nothing like I imagined him.” She frowns slightly as she thinks back. “He seems a bit arrogant. But we’re going to talk more tonight. He had to run to class. It was awful timing, really.”

“Tell me more about him,” Remus says.

Lily glances around them before leaning in and asking in a hushed whisper, “Are you sure? It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“You met your soulmate today, Lily,” Remus rolls his eyes. “I’d be a prick not to want to hear about it.”

She narrows her eyes, but Remus meets her gaze openly. She lets out a small hum, satisfied that Remus isn’t lying for her benefit, and continues. “He told me his full name—James Potter. Let me see if I can find him.” It takes her less than three minutes on her phone before she lets out a triumphant ha.

The Facebook profile photo has two men in it. The one closer to the camera has short, messy black hair, glasses, and a red Liverpool jersey. He laughs, visibly drunk. The other looks purposefully disinterested, cigarette dangling from his lips as he throws up his middle finger at the person behind the camera. Despite the try-hard air that the other man exudes, Remus can’t help but stare.

He blinks, shaking himself out of it and hands the phone back to Lily. “Which one is he?”

“Oh, right. James is the one in the Liverpool jersey. The other one’s his flatmate, Sirius—I think. He was with James when I met him.” She taps on the photo and nods. “Yeah, he’s tagged in this. Sirius Black.”

Remus files that information for later and focuses back on James. “He’s cute.”

Lily looks back down at the phone. “He is, isn’t he?” When she sets down her phone, Remus can tell her mind is elsewhere, and he closes the textbook in front of him, certain that there is no chance of getting work done until Lily leaves. “I barely asked him anything about himself before he had to run off. He said that he hadn’t even realized that his TiMER was supposed to go off then, but I feel like he was just saying that because he didn’t want to seem too eager. Isn’t that odd? Why would he think that makes him look cool?”

Remus laughs. “Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full with this one.”

                                                         - - -

Remus counts down the days to when his TiMER is supposed to go off. He has the date memorized two years later, and the closer it gets, the heavier the feeling on his chest is. He’s thankful that it’s on a Saturday and is even more grateful when Peter announces that he’s going home for the weekend to visit his parents.

He skips class on Thursday and Friday, and if Peter notices, he doesn’t ask. Instead, he opts to stay in their dorm. He can hardly bear the thought of interacting with other people and ignores Lily’s calls and texts until Friday night.

Lily (19:06) If you don’t text me back, I’m finding a way to break in.

Remus (19:08) I’m fine. I’ve just been sick. Flu or something.

It’s a bad lie, and he knows it, but Lily doesn’t call him on his bluff.

Lily (19:11) Fuck soulmates anyway. James keeps trying to woo me in weird ways. He’s half a step away from showing up on the quad with his guitar and play Wonderwall.

The text makes Remus laugh, and he pulls himself up off of the couch in their room and looks at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes look like bruises, and his hair is tangled nest on top of his head from not showering. He runs his fingers through it, wincing when they catch.

Lily (19:14) Maybe your soulmate also removed their TiMER.

It’s a possibility they’ve discussed before, but it seems unlikely. Besides, without a TiMER to guide him, any person he passes tomorrow could potentially be it. He could pass them by without realizing, neither the wiser. The thought makes him shrink into himself.

Remus (19:16) I think I’m going to stay inside tomorrow. If you’re right, it won’t matter. I’ll meet them one way or another.

Lily (19:20) Can I hang out with you? I have a date with James in the evening, but I just hate the thought of you moping around. We can watch Golden Girls, and I’ll bring the 🌿.

Remus (19:24) Well, that’s practically cheating, but fine. You win.

With Lily there, the day would go by faster. Besides, he’s been meaning to hear about how Lily’s date with James went on Wednesday. Remus smiles tiredly and looks around the room. If nothing else, Remus tells himself that this will be a good excuse to force himself to clean up and shower.

                                                         - - -

Lily sighs before reaching over to the bowl of popcorn and tossing a few kernels into her mouth. “I feel like I definitely have to go support him at his races. I still can’t believe he rows.” As much as she’s acting like it’s a chore, Remus is certain that when the times comes, she’ll get wrapped up into the race. He’s seen it before during football matches that come on when they’re at the pub.

“You already seem a little softer on him than you did earlier this week,” Remus comments, and Lily’s cheeks turn slightly pink, and she tucks her hair behind her ear as she purses her lips and thinks.

“There are moments when he stops making an endless stream of jokes and just slows down, and it feels like we’re getting somewhere,” she says. “He told me more about his family. He’s really close with them. We stayed up until three the other day just talking.” A small smile tugs up on Lily’s lips, but before she can say more, she waves her hand dismissively. “Anyway, do you want to roll up and get back to the episode?”

Remus knows that she’s holding back for his sake, but the stubborn look behind her eyes lets him know that he’s not going to get much more out of her today. Before he can respond, however, her phone vibrates.

Her brow furrows, and she chews on her lower lip. “Everything okay?” Remus asks.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” She sets it down and looks at Remus. “James wants to stop by and meet you before our date. I was just going to tell him that it’s a bad time and some other day, so you don’t have—”

“No, I’d like that,” Remus says, surprising even himself.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re giving me crumbs here. Honestly, I can’t believe I haven’t met the guy yet.”

“He won’t be here for another hour or so. You don’t have to say yes.” Her eyes search Remus’s face, trying to find some sort of confirmation that this won’t send him spiraling again, and he reaches out and places a hand on her forearm and squeezes.

“Lils, yesterday, I couldn’t imagine getting through the day. I have been dreading this day for two fucking years. But it’s here, and the world didn’t end.” His eyes burn, and he pauses to take a steadying breath. Lily squeezes his forearm back and offers a reassuring smile. “I still feel like shit, but if you’ve met the guy you’re probably going to spend the rest of your life with, I want to know him.”

Lily tosses her arms around Remus, and Remus feels his resolve crumble. He buries his head in the crook of her neck, and when he starts to shake, her hands tighten around him until he can barely breathe. They sit there like that for minutes, saying nothing. Remus cries until he feels depleted. “It’s not fucking fair,” he chokes out and hangs limply against her as she rocks him.

“I know.”

When they pull apart, he excuses himself and steps over to the sink. He splashes the water on his face and stares at himself at the mirror above the sink—eyes puffy and red and splotchy cheeks. For a moment, he doesn’t feel present in his own body. He stares, oddly disconnected from the person that stares back.

“You okay?” Lily’s voice jars him, and he blinks several times as he settles back into himself.

“Fine,” he says. He wipes his face with a towel and moves back over to sit next to Lily. “Need help rolling up?”

“Between the two of us, you know I’m better at it, right?” She grins and nudges his shoulder, and Remus goes with it.

Forty minutes later, they’re floating when there’s a knock on the door. They startle, and Lily checks her phone. “It’s James. He called me ten minutes ago.” The look at each other and burst out laughing.

Remus stands up and smooths down his shirt before opening the door to his dorm room. Next to James is the boy from the profile photo—Sirius. Remus swallows, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth is—from the weed, no doubt—and steps to the side. Over his shoulder, Lily spots Sirius as well and groans.

“Don’t worry,” Sirius says, though his eyes don’t leave Remus’s face. “I’m not crashing your date, Evans. I just came here to meet your famous hermit friend, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I’m not a hermit,” Remus says and flushes.

“We’ll see about that.” He winks as he brushes past James and steps into the apartment.

Only then does it hit Remus that he’s yet to introduce himself to James. He sticks his hand out, and James laughs. “Sorry, I probably should invite you in or something,” he says, aware of the bemused look on James’s face.

James shakes his hand and steps in as well. “You can smell what you two are up to down the hall. No need to apologize.” He turns to look at Lily. “Didn’t know you were such a rulebreaker.” There’s a thrilled edge to his voice, and Remus glances away from them to give them privacy.

He settles on Sirius, who seems to be too busy looking around the dorm room to notice. He’s wearing all-black—a tight black shirt that hugs his shoulders. Any self-restraint he might have otherwise had has disappeared in the fog from the weed, and Lily’s text from yesterday flashes in his head.

Maybe your soulmate also removed their TiMER.

His eyes drop down to Sirius’s wrist, and his chest tightens. The TiMER is clearly visible on his right wrist. He does his best to ignore the growing ball of disappointment in his stomach and turns his attention back to James and Lily.

Despite her put-on attempts to look blasé, Lily leans forward, eyes fixed on James. Remus knows her well enough to know when she’s biting back a smile. She remains oblivious to the fact that they’re being watched—enthralled in her conversation with James—until Sirius speaks.

“Why do you have this?”

They all turn to look. He’s holding a glass globe with a large, metallic beetle suspended in the middle. His fingers tighten around the glass, and when his hand flexes, Remus feels his heart speed up.

“My flatmate is interested in insects,” Remus says and rubs the back of his neck. “He told me the name, but I don’t really remember.”

“I guess it’s better than an ant farm,” James says. “Those things creep me out. I mean, what if the glass shatters? Then you just have hundreds of ants everywhere.” He automatically scratches his arm.

“It’s kind of cool,” Sirius says. He looks at it for another moment before setting it down carefully back on its stand. “So, he’s the bug guy. What are you interested in?”

“Nothing too interesting.”

Lily scoffs from the couch. “You don’t need to pretend to be modest, Remus.” When Remus says nothing, she continues. “Remus is getting a joint honours degree in Astrophysics and Classics."

“Wow, Lily told me you were smart, but she didn’t tell me you were a fucking genius.” James lets out a low whistle.

Remus laughs and feels heat crawl up from his neck to his cheeks. “It’s not nearly as interesting as it sounds.”

“Why both of those?” Sirius asks from behind him.

“I think it’s interesting to see how other civilizations saw and responded to the world around them—how they tried to make sense of it. I’m especially interested in mythologies and how they create meaning in the unknowable. Sometimes it feels like we’re doing that with the universe too.” He wonders whether the answer is too much and chuckles awkwardly. “Or maybe that all sounds really pretentious.”

James shakes his head. “Hey, if you got it all figured out, more power to you.”

“Plus, I think it was a little predestined when your parents called you Remus,” Sirius adds.

Remus glances at Sirius over his shoulder, but Sirius is already looking elsewhere around the room, flipping through Peter’s DVD collection. “What about you?” he asks James.

“If we’re talking about uni, then Psychology, but I also row.”

Remus bites back a smirk when Lily’s eyes meet his. “Lily’s mentioned you’re on the team.”

James visibly puffs up and grins at Lily. “Did she?”

“Something like that,” Lily says. “You have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Just wait until you go punting with him,” Sirius says. “He’ll find a way to make it competitive. He always does.”

James scowls. “Well, on that note, we’re going to head off.” He turns and looks at Lily. “If you’re ready?”

She stands up and grabs her backpack. “I think I’m good to go.” It takes her a minute to make sure that she’s not leaving anything behind, and then she steps over Remus and pulls him into a tight hug. “You gonna be okay?” she asks, voice low so that only Remus can here.

Remus nods against her before whispering back, “Thank you.” She squeezes tighter before dropping her arms and giving him one last reassuring look. The knowledge that he will alone again hits him, and Remus swallows thickly and hopes his face doesn’t betray the growing gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“It was great to meet you,” James says as he steps forward. He throws open both arms for a hug. “Is that okay? I feel like we’re going to be good friends.” The way he says it, so matter-of-fact, makes Remus believe him, and he steps forward into the hug.

“It was great to meet you too,” he says.

James grins and looks over at Sirius. “You headed back, mate?”

Sirius glances over at Remus for a moment. “Mind if I stay a little longer? You can feel free to say no and kick me out if I’m overstepping,” he says.

Remus shakes his head as a feeling of relief washes over him. His thoughts haven’t been kind to him lately, and he’ll take the excuse to delay sitting alone with them again. “Not at all.”

“Well, you two enjoy,” James says, and with one final wave from Lily, they leave, door shutting behind them.

“Not that I mind, but why?” Remus asks. “You look like someone who has places to be on a Saturday night.” With that, he navigates himself back over to the couch and sits down.

Sirius laughs, loud and unrestrained. “Well, I’m more of a social smoker,” he says, pulling out a Ziploc bag from his back pocket. “And I saw you were watching Golden Girls, and if you add some butter chicken in there, it doesn’t sound like a half-bad way to spend a Saturday night.” He pauses, and his eyes narrow slightly as he considers his next words. After a few seconds, he adds, “Plus, not to be presumptuous, but you look like you could use a friend right now.”

It’s unnervingly perceptive considering that Sirius has spent the last fifteen minutes flipping through objects around the room. Before he can respond, however, Sirius sits down next to him and pulls out his phone.

“There’s a great Indian place around here that delivers. My treat if you roll up.” He tosses Remus the bag without looking up, and Remus smiles. By the time he has a workable joint, Sirius has ordered them food and has scrolled through the list of episodes to find one he likes.

“So, what are you studying?” Remus asks as he hands it Sirius along with a lighter.

“Literature, with a focus on creative writing.”

“Any particular time period?” he asks, but he shakes his head when Sirius opens his mouth. “Wait, I bet I can guess what kind of literature you’re interested in.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t even known me for an hour, and you think you have me pinned down? Tell me, what do you think I’m into?”

“Gothic literature. Maybe Oscar Wilde too.”

The silence tells him that he’s guessed right. For the first time, Remus senses a crack in the unmoved, pristine image Sirius has put together. Nonetheless, Sirius manages to compose himself and straightens his back, though his cheeks remain flushed. “I’m keeping my eye on you, Lupin.”

“Picture of Dorian Gray?” Remus asks, and Sirius’s scowl deepens. “Oh, I’m too good.”

“It’s a great book!”

“Oh, I agree. One of my favorites too.” At that, Sirius’s face brightens, and he tilts his head as he takes in Remus. Remus waits for the comment, but it never comes. Instead, Sirius hits play on the episode and moves, almost imperceptibly, closer to Remus as he lights up the joint.

                                                         - - -

It’s pouring rain when it hits midnight. James lets out a loud whoop and pulls Lily into a hug, spinning her around in a circle. Remus clinks his bottle with Peter and Sirius’s, and they down their drinks.

“Happy New Year,” Peter says as he holds a hand above his head, as if to block out the rain. He frowns and squares his shoulders.

“You want to go back in?” Remus asks, and Peter, after looking around guiltily, nods.

“We’re going to head back in and dry off,” Remus says to James and Lily. Lily pushes against James’s chest and pulls back from kissing him to give Remus a sheepish grin.

“Happy Near Year, Remus,” she says, and Remus steps forward to give her a hug, ignoring the huff he earns from James.

“Mind if I join you?” Sirius asks.

“Not at all,” Remus says. He hugs James as well, as does Sirius, and they make their way off towards campus.

“It’s cold,” Peter says after a moment. Remus meets Sirius’s eyes and bites back a laugh. He’s not wrong. Remus can hardly feel his toes, and his coat will take days to dry. But he can’t find it in himself to care.

“If you complain now you’re going to bring yourself bad luck for the whole year,” Sirius says, and Peter scowls.

“Next year, I hope we watch the countdown on the telly.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of fun?” Remus wraps an arm around Peter as the walk. “We’re almost there anyway.”

Soon enough, they make it back. The campus is mostly empty and eerily quiet, and they manage to make it upstairs without running into anyone. They stumble into their room, and Remus lets out a satisfied groan as soon as he walks into their room and is hit in the face with a wave of heat. Before Remus has had a chance to hang up his coat and place his shoes in a corner, Peter disappears to change.

“So, do we think James and Lily are going to turn to giant ice sculptures glued at the face?” Sirius asks.

Remus laughs as he grabs two sets of clothes. “Here.” He hands Sirius a set, and Sirius gives him a warm smile. “The joggers might be a little long, but they should work.”

“Thanks.” Without missing a beat, Sirius turns and pulls his shirt off. From this angle, Remus can only see the profile of his face, hair stuck to it. He does his best not to stare, but his eyes drift lower to his shoulders and his back, watching the way they move as Sirius grabs the dry shirt and starts to put it on.

“I’m going to go take a quick shower if that’s okay,” Remus says, pulling his eyes away before Sirius starts to change his pants.

“Take your time,” Sirius calls back to him.

Remus stands under the water until he can feel himself thaw out but makes quick work cleaning himself and washing his hair. Every time he closes his eyes, he can picture Sirius standing drenched in his room, and he swallows thickly, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

By the time he makes it back—no more than fifteen minutes later—Sirius presses his finger to his lips and points over at Peter, fast asleep on his bed. He grabs them each a hoodie and a beer from the minifridge, and they move to the hallway.

They walk over to the stairs and sit down. They sit, bodies half-turned and legs pressed up against each other in the narrow space, yet Remus feels oddly comfortable despite it. Sirius uses his lighter to open both bottles and leans back. “So, dare I ask—any resolutions this year?”

Remus laughs. “Fuck, I hadn’t even considered.” He shakes his head. “Get back to me in a few days.”

“That’s not how resolutions work,” Sirius says and takes a swig from his beer.

“I didn’t know you were the expert.” Remus wraps both hands around the bottle and leans his head back. “What about you?”

“Finish writing a book I’ve been working on,” Sirius says immediately. “I’ve been working on it for years. I always mean to, but you know how those things are.” He shrugs. “Maybe reconnect with my brother, but that’s another conversation. Other than that, have more fun. Sleep less. Drink more.” It’s a clear deflection away from earnestness, but Remus grants it to him.

“I’m sure you’ll finish it,” is all he says.

Silence falls between them for a minute, and Sirius clears his throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s the deal with your TiMER? I asked Lily once, and she said it was none of my fucking business, and then when I asked Peter, he said you were making some sort of statement.” Remus startles, surprised that it’s never come up with Sirius before. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Sirius says.

“No, that’s not it. I guess I just assumed we talked about it at some point.” He takes a long drink from his beer and considers telling Sirius the truth.

“Peter said it was something about free choice.

Or not. Remus hopes his smile doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Something like that,” he says and takes another sip to stall, ignoring the dip in his stomach. The last thing he wants is for Sirius to look at him differently.

“You’re really going for an air of mystery, aren’t you?”

Remus chuckles. The story comes to him naturally now. He’s perfected the art of telling it—not too impassioned or detailed but not too detached either. “I took it off when I turned eighteen. I decided I didn’t want someone else to tell me how I should live my life. So many people’s lives don’t begin until their TiMER beeps. I don’t want that.”

 “Tell me more.”

“It’s just—why should the cosmic powers that be get to decide who you end up with? How is that fair? Maybe you can have a shot at really loving someone else, and maybe it’ll be imperfect, but you chose it, and isn’t that better?” The breath knocks out of him, and he feels his eyes water. It hasn’t felt fair for two years now, he wants to tell Sirius.

No one wants to give up on their soulmate. In the end, after all the short-term relationships are over, all it leaves him with are the other people who have also had their destiny taken from them. That’s doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels like surviving.

Sirius tilts his head and stares at Remus, his expression inscrutable. “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Remus squeezes one hand into a fist in his lap, and a wave of anger hits him. “Huh.” He repeats Sirius, his tone sharp and hard.

Sirius’s expression doesn’t change. “It just doesn’t seem like you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think you believe everything you’re saying. Hell, I do too. You just don’t seem like you’d be the type of person who’d take off your TiMER as a matter of principle.”

Remus is about to confess when they hear voices near the bottom of the staircase. They both scramble to get up and step out of the way as two other men walk past them. “Happy New Year,” one of them says.

“Happy New Year,” Sirius says and waves. As soon as they pass, he turns to face Remus again. “That was rude. I don’t know why I’m questioning you. I believe that you removed it out of choice. I guess I just—” He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

When he nudges Remus’s arm with his shoulder, Remus sucks in a sharp breath and tries to discern whether the feeling in the pit of his stomach is relief or disappointment.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and they settle back down and continue to drink.

                                                         - - -

They decide to celebrate their move off-campus their second year with a marathon of Lord of the Rings. They don’t get started until late in the afternoon, and by one in the morning, they are nearly halfway through The Return of the King.

“I’m pausing this so I can grab some snacks,” Sirius says and picks up the remote.

“You’re disrespecting the scene!” Peter says and leans back in his spot on the couch. “C’mon.”

“Anybody need anything?” Sirius glances around the room, purposefully skipping Peter.

“I’ll take some more Jaffa Cakes if you have them,” James says.

“Have any more Jammie Dodgers?” Lily asks.

Remus stands up automatically. “Let me help you.” They walk quietly to the kitchen, and Remus leans against the doorframe as his eyes drift shut. “I’m so tired from unpacking. All I want to do is sleep. If I didn’t think Peter would kill us, I’d see if we could finish the movie tomorrow.”

“You want tea?”

Although it sounds appealing, Remus knows it’s too late for a coffee. With a sigh, he concedes. “Tea sounds great.”

“Let me see if anybody else wants any.”

Remus closes his eyes. Sirius’s footsteps pass right by him, followed by the muffled, distant sounds of conversation. He’s started to drift when Sirius sets a hand on his shoulder. “M’ awake,” Remus says, though he doesn’t open his eyes.

“No cream one sugar?” Sirius asks, and Remus nods.

“How’s Benjy?”

“I have no clue. We broke up yesterday.”

It’s enough to jar Remus to open his eyes. He straightens his back and clears his throat before asking anything. “What happened?”

“I mean, obviously we’re not soulmates,” Sirius says, waving the active TiMER on his wrist. “But also, it just felt like more of a summer thing.” He shrugs. “He didn’t seem particularly devastated either."

“So, he was a little devastated?”

Sirius grins. “He also seemed to be bored with it. Is that better, you pedant?”

“Much, thanks,” Remus teases back.

“Well, you certainly seem less likely to pass out now than you did three minutes ago.” Remus winces, but Sirius laughs before he can apologize. “It’s not a knock.”

There’s a glint in Sirius’s eye, and it’s enough to pull him out of any remaining drowsiness. His breath quickens, and he peels himself off of the doorframe and takes a step towards Sirius. Sirius does nothing to stop him, and it’s all the encouragement Remus needs. He closes the gap with one more step and cups Sirius’s cheek in his hands.

Sirius’s fingers close around his shirt in a tight fist, and Remus sighs against Sirius’s mouth, his lips falling open. It’s the only invitation that Sirius needs to deepen the kiss, and he worries Remus’s lower lip between his teeth and pulls Remus close until they’re flush against each other. His heart beats in his throat, so hard that Remus is certain that Sirius must feel it in their kiss. Although his hands are shaking, he drops one to the back of Sirius’s neck, and his thumb runs up along his hairline. When Sirius shivers, Remus feels dizzy.

“Hey guys,” James calls out, his voice alarmingly close. They pull apart just as James rounds the corner. “I changed my mind. I want tea too.” If James notices anything, he hides it remarkably well. He moves past them and grabs the Jaffa Cakes and Jammie Dodgers off of the counter. “Getting peckish,” he says as an explanation and disappears again.

Remus finally takes the deep, shaky breath he’s been holding been, and he grip the counter behind him until he’s sure his knuckles turn white. When Sirius doesn’t meet his eyes, Remus’s stomach drops. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” he says, and Sirius’s head snaps up.

“Are you kidding? You didn’t do anything.” Despite himself, Remus’s gaze moves up when Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

If neither wants to apologize, Remus wants to ask what’s wrong about it. But the tea kettle clicks as the water finishes boiling, and the wave of exhaustion that hits him again reminds him that perhaps his judgment isn’t as sound as it should be for something he can’t take back. After a moment, Sirius nods, and Remus wonders whether the disappointed look he sees in Sirius eyes is just wishful thinking.

                                                         - - -

Remus stumbles his way into dating Edgar Bones in his third year. Although he’s also completing a Classics degree, they haven’t had a class together since their first year. After a month of striking up a conversation before the start of each Travelers to Byzantium class, Remus asks him out.

He’s not the first person that Remus has hooked up with. That title goes to Mary Macdonald when he was seventeen. But Edgar is the first person he dates.

Edgar doesn’t have a TiMER on his wrist. His family doesn’t believe in forcing it upon them—believes it should be a choice. Everyone in his family is given the option to implant one once they turn eighteen. “I didn’t see the need to get one by then,” he explains with a small shrug. “So much of the soulmate thing feels like a frame of mind. My parents didn’t have them, and they’re happier than some couples who found each other with their TiMERS.”

Dating Edgar feels familiar right away. They get caught up in long conversations about why Anne Carson’s If Not, Winter is the best translation of Sappho at one in the morning. And when Edgar shows him his prized possession—both volumes of The Atlas of Ancient Rome—they spend the next four hours leafing through maps and relating it to things they’ve discussed in other classes.

“Hello, earth to Remus?” Sirius asks. “Did you hear anything I’ve said for the last two minutes?”

Remus blinks slowly and does his best to put together the bits and pieces he picked up on. “You’re worried that Caradoc is going to ask you to meet his parents,” he says, although it comes out as more of a question.

Sirius sighs. “He already asked me. I’m just worried he’s up here, and I’m down there.” Sirius one hand above his head and the other on the table as he speaks. “You really weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“Edgar and I going on a double date with Frank and Alice tomorrow, and I realized that I hadn’t made the reservation yet.” The frustration is obvious on Sirius’s face, and he folds in slightly, feeling guilty. “Sorry I’ve been so spacey.”

Sirius’s face softens a little, and he reaches out and squeezes Remus’s hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Want to get the reservation out of the way?” Remus nods and pulls out his phone. “So, you’re kinda on the opposite page with Edgar then?”

Remus laughs. “I guess. I met his parents on Boxing Day.” For the first time, it strikes Remus that the relationship has progressed past anything casual. “How seriously do you think he’s taking this?”

Sirius’s pulls the hair tie out of his hair before pulling it back up in a tighter bun. When he’s done, his hand drops to the table, and he fiddles with the edge of his book. “Do you see it as serious?” Sirius won’t quite meet his gaze, and Remus frowns, unsure where the sudden timidity is coming from.

He considers for a moment before responding. “I suppose somewhere in between. I really like him, but—” Remus cuts off, uncertain what he trying to say. “There’s nothing specific. He does make me happy.” He bites his tongue before another “but” comes out. It’s not that he even knows what comes after it. On paper, Edgar is everything he wants. He makes him laugh, he’s earnest, and he approaches things wholeheartedly and without restraint.

“It’s okay if you don’t really have an answer,” Sirius says, and Remus can’t help but wonder if that’s an answer in itself. The question hardly has time to linger before Sirius straightens himself in his chair and continues, “Frank and Alice, though. What do you think about that?”

“Sirius, it’s not nice to talk about it behind their backs.”

“Remus,” Sirius repeats, in the same scolding tone, “They openly talk about it. You’re the one acting like it’s bad.”

“I don’t think it’s bad!” It comes out louder than he intends it to, and people at the nearby tables stare at them. The librarian looks over as well, and Remus shrinks in his chair and tries to look studious until he sees her look away from the corner of his eyes. “Their TiMERs matched when they were nine. I didn’t have a concept of ‘the rest of my life’ meant at nine. I don’t think I do now,” he whispers.

“I asked them once what it was like meeting their soulmate that young,” Sirius says, and Remus gapes.

“You just asked them?” When Sirius says nothing, Remus bites the inside of his cheek, curiosity getting the better of him. “Oh, alright, what did they say?”

“You know you’re just as much of a gossip as I am,” Sirius says, nudging Remus under the table with his foot. A small thrill goes through him, and he scoots to the edge of his chair and leans his lower calf against Sirius’s.

“Maybe.” Half a minute passes, and Sirius says nothing. “And?”

“And what?” The second the question passes his lips, he realizes, and he pulls back his leg and shakes his head. “Oh, right. Well, first Alice said that everybody thinks it, and even though it was rude, she appreciated my bluntness.” He grins, amused by his own actions. “And then they said they didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?”

“Well, they said they were so young when it happened that it was always kind of the normal. Same way we can’t imagine them, they can’t imagine us.” He shrugs. “Made sense to me. They also said they couldn’t imagine trusting anyone more than they trust each other.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” Remus says, dropping his attention to his sweater and fixing the sleeve.

“I don’t. I have you.”

“What about James?”

“I love him to death, and he’s loyal to a fault, but his pranks sometimes get the better of him.”

“You’re involved with most of them!” Remus hisses, and Sirius smirks in response. “Besides, I trust you too, but that’s different.”

“And how so?” Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, and a small crease appears between his eyes.

“You’re my best friend. They’re soulmates.”

Sirius’s eyes harden, and for a moment, he’s sure he’s said the wrong thing, though he’s not sure how. His stomach drops out from underneath him, and he worries his lower lip between his teeth.

But the moment passes. Although he remains slightly stiff, Sirius rolls his eyes, and he nudges Remus’s foot with his again. “So, if I tell you about Caradoc, do you think you can actually listen this time?” he asks.

“I’ll try my best.

                                                         - - -

When he graduates, Remus moves to London to get his doctorate in Astrophysics at University College London. “Mind if I join?” Sirius asks, and Remus feels a wave of relief.

Sirius gets a job at a nearby coffeeshop and another working as a part-time editor at a small publishing company, and Remus dives into classes. Even though they live together, the year of classes leaves him exhausted and busy.

Sirius (17:23) I miss you. 😭 You, me, and E tonight?

 Remus laughs as he walks toward the Euston Square tube station and texts Sirius back.

Remus (17:26) Sounds perfect.

The pizza he orders arrives before he does, and when he gets home, Sirius greets him holding a half-eaten slice in one hand. “You should surprise order pizza more often,” Sirius says. “I was just thinking about how hungry I was when the buzzer went off. Truly serendipitous.” He grins, wide and dog-like, and Remus laughs.

“I’m glad it hit the spot.” The moment he’s rid himself of his bag and washed his hands, Remus dives in as well. It doesn’t take them long to eat, but by the time they’ve finished, Remus has gotten so caught up in the conversation that it startles him when Sirius pulls out a small bag with two pills.

“Teddy bears. Aren’t they cute?” Sirius asks as he dangles it in front of Remus. When Sirius pulls them out of the bag and hands him one, Remus can see the pill more clearly—purple and slightly misshapen. He twirls it in between his index finger and thumb and rolls his eyes fondly.

“Something like that.”

Twenty minutes later, it hits. Sirius insists on playing Portishead’s Dummy, and they’re halfway into “Sour Times” when Remus sits on the floor, leaning back on the edge of the couch and staring up at Sirius’s face from underneath. The chorus hits, and his chest wells as he watches Sirius’s mouth move as he speaks.

Sirius looks different from this angle—upside-down. It’s like staring at a reflection in a mirrored screen and seeing your movements in reverse, Remus decides. He blinks slowly and rights himself, disoriented by the change in perspective and suddenly dizzy. “Come down here,” he says, and Sirius titters as he slides down inch by inch until he’s on the floor as well.

A sudden squeeze alerts him that Sirius’s hand has fallen to his arm, and he feels the sensation seep slowly up his arm and into his chest. Without asking, he reaches out. His hand stops centimeters away from Sirius’s face, and the air in the room vanishes. Tentatively, Sirius stretches and arm and runs his fingers through Remus’s hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

A small gasp escapes Remus’s lips as his eyes flutter shut. A thrill runs down his back, and he instinctively moves closer. His hand drops to Sirius’s shirt—an open flannel—and he tugs at one end to pull him closer. Remus giggles as he runs his hand, fingers splayed, up Remus’s shirt. The sensation overwhelms him, and when his fingers first brush against Sirius’s collar and neck, he jolts and pulls his hand back.

“Fuck it’s been a while since I’ve rolled like this,” Remus says, and he twirls a strand of Sirius’s hair around his finger.

“In a good way, I hope,” Sirius says, and his voices jars Remus to look up. He feels like he’s never noticed how long Sirius’s eyelashes are, although he’s sure he must have at some point. After a moment, his eyes flicker down to Sirius’s lips, slightly red and puffy, and he whimpers. His thumb runs up along Sirius’s jaw, and over, until—carefully, with the pad of his thumb—he grazes Sirius’s lower lip.

Sirius’s lips part, and the tip of Remus’s thumb lip slips in. The beat drops in "It Could Be Sweet", and Remus feels it vibrate through the floor into him.

“In a good way,” he breathes, and Sirius whines.

“Remus…” His voice trembles, and although he doesn’t stop Remus, it’s enough to give Remus pause. The touch of Sirius’s skin against his makes his skin buzz, and he chews the inside of his cheek and drops his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

And then Sirius is leaning in. He kisses him, hard and needy, and Remus melts against him. When Sirius tilts his head and cups his cheek, it sparks through him. His fingers tighten against Sirius’s shirt as he deepens the kiss. He holds on tightly, knuckles white, terrified to let go, and Sirius must sense his desperation. Their eyes meet, and any doubt slips away with the room until all he can feel is Sirius here against him—his.

Sirius’s hand slips under his shirt, palm flat on Remus’s stomach. When Sirius slides his hand further up, Remus jerks, overwhelmed by the sensation of Sirius’s skin against his and the roughness of the pads of his fingers. The music pounds through him, and he tugs Sirius with all the strength they can muster until Sirius is on top of him.

Remus’s rolls his hips forward, and he can’t help but smirk when he’s met with a moan against his lips. But Sirius pulls back, and though he makes no move to stand up, a glimmer of something Remus can’t quite place flashes in his eyes.

“I want to,” Sirius says, “but I’m not going to wake up tomorrow to learn you think this was a high mistake.”

“It’s not,” Remus says, and his lips jut out slightly as he tries to concentrate on looking as straight-faced as possible.

“I don’t think it is either, but I am somewhere in the stars right now, and I think you are too.” With that, Sirius pulls himself off and moves himself back on the couch. The sudden lack of weight against him hits him hard, and Remus reels. It takes him a moment to collect himself, and when he stands up, he moves towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water for each of them.

“Okay.” He doesn’t know what else to say. “Did you not want to?” he asks when he hands Sirius his glass. Only when the water hits his lips does Remus realize how dry his mouth is. His head spins, and he sits down next to Sirius on the couch and folds his legs under him, though his knee bumps against Sirius’s.

Sirius’s eyes drop down to that, and he gently settles his hand on Remus’s knee. “I cannot tell you how much I want to.” His fingers tighten around Remus’s knee before he jerks his hand away and takes a shaky breath. “I need to be able to trust that we’re both clear-headed before we do something we can’t take back.”

Any protests die on his lips, and he nods and deflates. “Can we still kiss?” he asks.

Sirius considers for a few seconds, but the hand on Remus’s waist, pulling him forward gives him all the answer he needs.

                                                         - - -

Lily and James decide to keep the reception small—just among friends, but Lily insists that Remus be her best man. “Why should only James get one of them?” she asks. “Haven’t we moved past any of this gendered nonsense?”

They get their TiMERS removed ahead of time and use the metal from them as the base for their wedding bands. Despite his best efforts, Remus tears up as they exchange their vows, and when he glances over, he can see the concentrated effort on Sirius’s face as well.

He doesn’t get a moment alone with Lily until they’ve finished with their meals, and she turns to Remus and beams. “So, you and Sirius?” She does little to mask her excitement.

“We’re here for your wedding, and you’re asking me about my relationship?” Remus rolls his eyes and pulls her into a hug. “I’m really happy for you, Lils.”

“I’m happy for me too,” she says, and she looks over at James.

“You didn’t do half-bad for yourself,” Remus teases and nudges her lightly. She laughs.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the second you two got together,” she says and gives him a stern look. “I shouldn’t have to find out through an RSVP. That’s almost just as bad as finding out on Facebook.”

“You were busy with wedding planning. I didn’t want to distract you.”

“I could have used a distraction. I have never had to look at more tablecloths and cutlery in my life. If I had to say no to one more paisley print, I was sure I was going to lose my mind.”

“Well, it was clearly worth it in the end. I was a fan of those cute little dessert forks.”

“My mom chose those,” Lily says and reaches up, smoothing down a stray hair that had gotten displaced.

“They did scream Ms. Evans.” They reach a small lull, and Remus folds. “I should have told you. I think we just wanted it to ourselves for a while.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just happy for you. You know James and I called this back in second year?”

Before Remus can say anything else, Peter and his new girlfriend walk up to them. “Lily!” Peter exclaims and pulls her into a hug. Remus waves at her over their shoulders and goes to find Sirius.

He finds him on the dance floor with James, shimmying to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”. He waits to the side, hiding his smirk behind his hand until the song ends. His loud hoot gets Sirius’s attention, and Sirius winks at him before walking over.

“Why don’t I ever get to see those moves?” Remus teases and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“They’re only for special occasions.” His eyes rake down Remus’s frame, and Remus feels his cheeks heat up. “You should wear a suit more often.”

“Is it doing something for you?” He means it as a joke, but Sirius’s gaze darkens, and Remus falters. “Oh.”

Sirius leans in and presses his lips to Remus’s ear as he whispers, “There’s a single stall bathroom on the first floor.” Remus stands, frozen to the spot, and Sirius walks past him and disappears into the crowd. He’s certain that the pink of his cheeks must give them away, but when he tries to discretely look around, no one seems to notice.

There a handful of people waiting outside of the room where the reception is being held, but the first floor is empty. His dress shoes click against the tile of the floor and echo down the halls. It takes him a minute to find the room Sirius had mentioned, and the second he knocks, it opens.

“What would you have done if I was someone else?” Remus asks.

Sirius shrugs. “Stepped outside and waited for you to come down.”

“What if I didn’t?”

“You’re here. Isn’t that answer enough?” A devious smirk spread across Sirius’s face, and he locks the door behind them and pushes Remus up against the wall. His hand traces the hem of Remus’s blazer until it reaches just above the buckle of his belt. “Look at you, all put together,” he says, his lips mere centimeters from Remus’s.

“You’re one to talk.” Remus tries to make a move for Sirius’s waist, but Sirius grabs his wrists and pins them to either side of his head. It’s enough to make Remus’s head spin, and he leans back and lets Sirius take control. Any pretense of cockiness drops, and he stares at Sirius taking short, shallow breaths.

“The things I want to do to you.” Remus wants to ask, but Sirius presses his lips to his neck just where the collar of Remus’s blazer stops, and Remus whimpers instead and tries to resist the urge to roll his hips forward. He kisses his way up and pauses just behind Remus’s ear. “We’ll see just how put together you look when I’m done with you.”

He run the tip of his tongue along the edge of Remus’s ear, and Remus buckles in his arms. When one of Sirius’s hands drops to his belt buckle and pulls it open, Remus squirms. He takes his time moving up Remus’s jaw, and when Remus is certain he has nowhere to go but his lips, Sirius lifts his other hand and presses his thumb into Remus’s mouth, parting his lips.

“You look pretty like this,” Sirius says and slips a hand down and wraps his fingers around Remus’s cock. This thumb runs over the tip, and Remus jerks. The bemused, calculated look in Sirius’s face sends a shiver up his spins, and when Sirius drops his hand and kisses him, Remus closes his eyes.

Sirius runs his hand down and back up the length of Remus’s cock once and deepens the kiss. He stills again, and Remus opens his eyes again and frowns, frustrated. He knows better than to ask considering the look on Sirius’s face. Sirius raises an eyebrow, impressed at Remus’s restraint.

When Sirius drops to his knees and looks up at him, his hand twitches towards Sirius’s hair, but Sirius swats it away. “If I have a single hair out of place by the time I’m done, you’ll regret it later.” He smirks, and Remus bites his cheek, desperate to take him up on the challenge. But he doesn’t. He stills his hand instead and braces himself against the wall when Sirius’s mouth wraps around the head of his cock.

Sirius makes quick work. He takes Remus down far until his nose is pressed into Remus’s skin and his eyes aren’t visible, and Remus tightens his jaw trying not to thrust his hips forward. The pace he first sets is infuriatingly slow, and he meets Remus’s gaze when he runs his tongue along the underside of his cock and over the head, pressing his tongue down slightly at the tip.

Remus comes with a breathy whine, nails digging into the palms of his hands, but Sirius continues until he’s oversensitive and jerks. When he pulls back, Sirius wipes his lower lip with the back of his left hand and stands.

“Can I make you come?” Remus asks.

“Later,” Sirius says. Any protest that begins to bubble up is immediately quashed when Sirius cups Remus over his pants. “Oh Remus, you should know by now that I know how to slip things in our suitcase when you aren’t looking. We’ll make full use of our hotel room tonight. I can wait.” With that, Sirius drops his hand over to the sink. When he’s finished washing his hands, he walks past Remus, brushing shoulders, and out of the bathroom.

The door closes behind him, and Remus shuffles over to the and does his best to smooth out the fabric of his suit. He does his best to calm himself down with several long breaths before straightening his back and stepping out.

He almost feels guilty that he can hardly wait for the reception to be over.

                                                         - - -

Remus paces across the apartment, anxiously tidying up the space. “Are you really sure you want to try to spend Christmas with Regulus and his wife?” he asks. “You said he’d invited your parents as well. What if they come?”

Sirius runs a hand through his hair. His brow furrows as he follows Remus with his eyes, and Remus does his best to ignore the look of concern on Sirius’s face. “Can you sit down?” he asks, and Remus ignores him, frustrated that he’s changing the topic. “Remus, if we’re going to have this conversation, can we at least have it face-to-face?”

Sirius stands and moves over to the blanket Remus is folding by their couch. He places his arms on Remus’s shoulders, and Remus stills and collapses against him. “I don’t like this.”

“I know. You’ve made that clear.” Sirius pulls the blanket out from Remus’s hands and finishes folding it himself before setting it down. “But it isn’t your call to make. Reg is allowed to invite whoever he wants. I know what I could be getting myself into, but I want to try to figure out some sort of relationship with him. Part of that is accepting the first olive branch he’s given me since we were eighteen.”

“You’ve been so careful not to see them for eight years,” Remus says. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Then you can go to Lily and James’s Christmas party, and I’ll go to my brother’s. That way, you won’t have to see it,” Sirius snaps. The regret floods his face immediately, but Remus tenses and shakes his head, trying his best to swallow the flash of anger that comes with it.

It doesn’t work. “So, you want to spend Christmas without me?” he asks, his voice bitter. “You can just say it if that’s what you want.” He intends for the accusation to hurt, and it does. Sirius takes a step back, and his shoulders turn slightly inward as he tightens his jaw and looks at Remus.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it! Why do you hold me at arm’s length?” Sirius yells. “You always act like I’m halfway out the door, but that’s not me. That’s you. I’m right here.”

“Because in a few years your TiMER is going to go off, and then you won’t be, and we won’t be spending Christmas together anymore.” The room falls quiet after he speaks, and Remus’s chest gets tighter until he’s not sure he can recall how to breathe anymore.

After a minute, Sirius sits down on the couch, and he motions for Remus to sit next to him. Remus shakes his head, but when Sirius looks up pleadingly, he folds.

“I have to tell you something, and you have to promise not to be mad,” Sirius says, staring down at the floor. Remus wants to tell him that it’s too late for that, but he doesn’t. He says nothing instead, and after a moment, Sirius continues, his voice unsteady.

“When I was fourteen, I fell in love with a guy. His TiMER was set to go off when we were sixteen, but we vowed we wouldn’t let us stop us. It feels really dumb looking back now because you hear that sort of a thing, and you just know how it’s going to end. I mean, we were fourteen for fuck’s sake.” Although Sirius rolls his eyes and tries his best to look as if he’s telling nothing more than a casual story, his eyes seem to water. Before Remus can get a good look, however, Sirius’s hair slips past his ear and hides his face.

“Anyway, his TiMER went off, and he told me that he was sorry, but blah, blah, blah. Had to be with his soulmate. And I lost it. I found a sketchy place that would do it, and I got my TiMER taken out.”

Remus inhales sharply, and when he closes his eyes, all he can hear is the sound of his heart beating hard against his chest. “But your wrist? You have a TiMER.”

“It’s a fake. I got it put in before I started at uni. I didn’t want anyone to ask any questions. I was eighteen. Ten years seemed like far enough away that I didn’t really think about it when they told me to pick a date.”

The world goes still, and Remus’s skin feels oddly cold. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and turns Sirius by the shoulder. “When did you take it off?” he asks.

“I was sixteen.”

“What month?”

“August. Remus, seriously, what’s going on?”

A high-pitched ringing fills his ears as his eyes move from the TiMER on Sirius’s wrist to the scar on his own. “August 6th?” he asks, his voice small enough that he’s worried that Sirius doesn’t hear.

“What?”

“Was it—”

“How did you know?” His face contorts after a moment, and he stands up and takes a step back. “Did James tell you?”

The room spins around them, but Remus shakes his head wildly and stands up too. “I didn’t take off my TiMER to make a statement. My TiMER went blank when I was sixteen—on August 6th. I assumed my soulmate died. I took it off before I went to uni because I was tired of everyone pitying me.”

He watches as the words settle, and the anger vanishes from Sirius’s face and his jaw goes slack. “Oh.” Just as quickly, something else starts behind his eyes, and he points a finger at Remus. “I knew it. Fucking hell. I knew it.”

“Huh?"

“New Years. I asked you about your TiMER. I had this feeling that it was you, but then—”

“I remember. I was going to tell you the truth, and then those two guys came up, and I didn’t.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Sirius says.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

They stand for a moment, transfixed and unsure, on the precipice of the truth, too afraid to say it, as if speaking will undo it. As the weight of the implication strikes him, it strikes Remus that certainty is no less terrifying. The shaky breath he releases, as quiet as it is, fills the space between them and disrupts the stillness.

“So we’re—” Remus can’t bring himself to say the words, and he starts to shake as his eyes burn.

Sirius steps forward, arms wrapping Remus until it’s all he feels, warm and familiar. “We’re not here because of that. We’re here despite it. I chose you, Remus. Life didn’t choose you for me.”

He feels himself fall loose in Sirius’s arms as he starts to cry. His body trembles, and he lets himself, for the first time, put his full weight against Sirius, trusting him to keep him from falling. He gasps for breath against him and weeps until the shirt pressed against his face is wet.

When he finally pulls back, Sirius cups Remus’s cheek and brushes his thumb under both eyes, wiping away tears. “I chose you too—you know,” Remus says, his voice hoarse.

“I know,” Sirius says, and when he kisses him, Remus doesn’t think about a number on Sirius’s wrist. Instead, he focuses on the feel of Sirius’s lips on his and the touch of his thumb as it brushes against his cheek and settles on a spot behind his ear. For the first time, the future doesn’t matter to Remus Lupin. Everything he needs is in the present.

[bush-viper-cutie]

The Pond

Pairing: young!severus & fem!reader

Word Count: 1,223

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot:  Lonely and disliked Prince Severus Snape befriends a village girl in the forest just outside his castle’s woods.

Warnings: None

A/N: For Snape Appreciation Month, prompt 11: Snape is an actual prince. @snapeloveposts​  (Part 1??? I kinda wanna make a flash forward one shot of this :o maybe)

Posted: 6/24/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Prince Severus normally spent most of his days in the woods outside the kingdom walls, walking through the forest looking for mushrooms, leaves, or the elusive biheaded orange rock slug. Everyday, while his brothers received lessons in dueling or ruling, he was sent out by his tutor to find his own ingredients for the potion of the day.

He wasn’t upset that his older siblings got most of the attention, not truly. He understood his oldest brother was heir to the throne, and that his next three brothers would inherit lands for them each to rule. His youngest older brother, born just one year before him, was the most liked in the village and was the most interested in politics and so his path was clear as well: a royal advisor to the soon-to-be King.

He, however, was the youngest brother, of age fourteen, and not at all liked by the village. They found him secretive because he didn’t like attending balls or festivals. They preferred the looks of his brothers, taking after his father, except they all had his mother’s nose whereas he looked like his mother except he had his father’s nose.

The contrast between them was so great he spent most of his life hiding away, hating the comments he would occasionally hear, “The runt of the litter.” He hated that word, “runt”, like a failed attempt at a sophisticated and attractive Prince. A failed attempt at someone useful to the Kingdom.

He sat down on a log and rested his elbows on his knees. His tutor expected him back in an hour with all the necessary ingredients to start on a new potion, but he could barely walk a few feet without forgetting his purpose and thinking about the outdoor ball he was supposed to attend at nightfall.

Normally the King and Queen excused him from events, seeing as he wasn’t much missed ever, but this time they were adamant about his attendance. The towns people were starting to spread rumors about him, and that apparently wouldn’t do for King Tobias or Queen Eileen.

The night will go terribly.

. . .

The castle gardens had been transformed and people from all over the kingdom were in attendance, walking through the rose bushes, smelling the tulips, and dancing in the center as the band played summertime songs that made even the blue birds sing along.

His brothers were out talking to a group of noblemen from an allied kingdom while he sat by his mother’s side next to her throne. He took out his potions book and reread the ingredients and their description from that day’s lesson.

The ball went on as expected, and the village people seemed satisfied at his attendance, only giving him the occasional sneer or squinty-eyed look. Nosy bastards. As the sun set it was getting harder to read, even with all the dancing flame balls above their heads.

He headed behind the gardener’s shed and sat on a stump, looking up at the top of the trees, wondering what it was like to always be the last to feel the sun’s warmth as it dipped beneath the earth. If trees could talk back, he’d lose his voice talking to them… or perhaps his voice would disappear from underuse, knowing he would rather listen to their ancient stories. He never had anything worth saying anyways.

There was a rustling in the bushed up ahead and a cute girl with shoulder length brown hair came out, covered in pine needles and leaves, carrying two stones. He quickly stood and winced in regret, seeing how terribly scary it must be to have a shadowy stranger jump out from seemingly nowhere.

She recovered from her jump and bowed, realizing who stood before her, “Prince Severus! I’m so sorry… I-I was just exploring…”

Severus nodded. He didn’t know what to say to her. He barely spoke to his own family, let alone strangers, and even less rarely pretty girls with plum color lips and cheeks as pink as rose petals. He stammered trying to say a mixture of ‘Hello’ and ‘It’s alright’, saying something along the lines of “Hitso,” and trailing off.

She laughed, “You have a beautiful pond back there.”

He nodded, remembering the one; the fish in it glowed like soft stars. “Did you leave because it got dark?”

“Yes. The fish seemed to put their lights out and I thought it would be best to leave just before I couldn’t see my way back…” She looked down at her hands and held out the two rocks, “These were on the pond’s edge and… I wanted to take a memento.”

Severus noticed their green and blue shades, “Their great… Did… Did you know the pond glows again after the sun has set?”

She smiled, “Does it really?”

“Yes. I can show you… The toads glow like suns on the rocks and logs, trying to attract the mosquitos.”

She set the rocks down on the stump and slid her arm around his, “Lead the way, then.”

Severus lead her deep into the forest, wand held out for light as the woods turned dark. Once it was pitch black her fingers pressed into his arm, but he was careful with every step he took and called out roots before they even became visible.

He took her to the spot. His favorite spot. The smooth stone by the pond’s edge that rested between two cherry blossom trees. In all of the woods no one could encounter any tree that didn’t have thick brown trunks and dark green leaves, except for these two trees. He often thought of the trees as guardians of the pond, but they were only reachable by one path.

She gasped when she saw them, their petals illuminated on the water’s surface by the distant glow of croaking toads. The moon reflected bright white and the petals danced all around it, swirling with the ripples.

Before finding the pond, Severus always felt the forest was silent and eerie, but any time spent by the pond would teach anyone different. The rustles and broken twig sounds could never maintain their creepiness after witnessing all types of creatures venture out to the pond to play and tussle with their friends and family.

They sat on the rock and remained quiet, watching how the toads stuck their tongues out to catch the unsuspecting bugs and critters that dared to invade their space. He kept looking over at her and drummed on his knees.

His mouth opened and released his thoughts unfiltered, “Would you like to be friends?”

She smiled for a second, but it vanished as the fire behind her eyes died out, “I’m just a village girl… You can’t be seen with me. It’s not proper.”

Severus looked down at his fingers, “Well, I’m hardly seen at all.”

“Then let’s meet here again, every night,” her smile was as bright as her eyes again.

“I’ll make a trail for you, from the village’s forest entrance to here. I’ll make it safe for you to follow at night,��� Severus’ excitement got the better of him and his voice was the loudest it’s been in months.

“In that case, I’d love to be friends with you,” she held out her hand like they were sealing a deal.

He shook it gladly.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

[popculturebuffet]

Mission Hill Review: Plan 9 From Mission Hill or I Married a Gay Man From Outer Space!

Commission for @weirdkev27​. Hallowen Havoc marches on! For my first commission ever, I take a look at the cult classic mission hill’s final produced episode and one of it’s most loved. Kevin’s visit to an x rated movie pays off less with boobs and more with a friendship with his elderly gay neighbor and film buff wally and a new appreciation for cinema, only for this new friendship to nearly end over Kevin’s good natured attempt to spotlight Wally’s only film, the man from pluto. Gay spaceman, a touching gay love story, and a surprisingly likeable guy with a neckbeard insue. Spoilers and full recap FROM PLUTO, under the cut. 

Well this was a nice suprise. After the utterly draining process of my review of “Let’s Get Dangerous”, it was a nice suprise to find out one of my handful of fans had tried to comission me a while back and I hadn’t realized it, and I was happy to oblige him. I was even happier when I found out what his commission was: Plan 9 From Mission HIll, an episode i’d planned to cover for pride but got squeezed out due to how little i’d planned the month out in advance, a lesson I still REALLY need to learn. Regardless not only was it a nice, funny, and heartwarming ep to cover after the sheer amount of analysis and recapping the last one took, I realized it ended up fitting the spooky season, as there’s just as much fun to be had in truly fantastic horror movies like “Nightmare on Elm Street”, “Get Out”, “Child’s Play”, “Tales from the Hood” and “The Thing” as there is from so bad it’s great horror films like “House (The Japanese one), C.H.U.D. II: Bud The Chud, Terror Toons and House Shark. Seriously watch House Shark i’ts hilarious. Hell I fully plan on watching the Gary Busey film Hider in the House tomorrow. I mean it’s a film about hollywood’s favorite nutball  living in the walls and attic of someone’s house. What’s not to love? Maybe it might be entirely boring but that’s the risk you sometimes take to find so bad it’s gold filmaking. Plus cheeestastic films like these are the reason we have the classsic and incomprable mystery science theater 3000 and it’s succesor rifftrax. So while I need to watch more of them, I have a spot in my likely overtaxed heart for this kind of film, and as a result this episode resonated with me on rewatch in a way it didn’t the first time around, even if it was still my faviorite. 

Backing up a bit as usual I like to give my history with a show first time covering it: Mission HIll was one of a handful of shows picked up by Adult Swim in it’s early days. Since most of Adult Swim’s early originals were 11 minutes at a time when this was still a new and radical thing they were doing having 11 minute shows that weren’t sold as half hour pairs of 11 minute episodes, they likely needed more shows to fill up the air and clevelry simply bought the rights to several shows that had only had one season, along with Family Guy and Futurama which as history would bear out both made the shows into huge names in the animation industry but brought both back.. though in Family Guy’s case sometimes dead is better. Point is, several shows got a second life thanks to Cartoon Network if sadly not more seasons, with the sole exception of the utter classic Home Movies which I really need to talk about at some point, and thus are really more associated with Adult Swim than their original networks. Hell before doing this review I genuinely didn’t know what Mission HIll’s original networks. But now you know the framework this show came out in what IS Mission Hill anyway? 

MIssion Hill was a cartoon from the wonderful brains of Bill Oakely and Josh Weinstein, no relation to the MST3K one who due to this confusion now goes by J. Elvis Weinstein instead, who showran the simpsons and did some great episodes, my faviorte of there’s being $pringfield, aka the casino one. 

The show was about Andy, a 24 year old slacker whose happily lazing about after college in his loft with his friends Jim, a stoic but friendly stoner played by Brian Posehn, and Posey, a sensitive hippie. However when he goes to pickup his childhood dog he ends up with an unexpected roomate: His nerdy, sheltered and neurotic brother Kevin, who has a love of sci fi, a type a personality and a habit of going bling blong to focus when studying or just whenever. He’s also voiced by future robin and future psychopath claming to be robin Scott Mellinville. Also in the building are Carlos and Natalie, an unemployed artist and college professor and their baby Nameless.  I forgot they existed.  And of course saving the best for last we have the brother’s neighbors, and a very early gay couple for animated television Wally and Gus, played by the legendary Tom Kenny and Nick Jameson who hasn’t done much of note but does a great job anyway. Wally is a fastudious, Gus is angry and very brooklyn, but the two genuinely love each other, makeout frequently, with their first showing off the two as a gay couple, and are an adorable but very beliviable couple. It’s part of WHY I wanted to spotlight them. The late 90′s/early 2000′s, the show originally aired in 99 and into 2000 and aired on adult swim in the early 2000 for the curious, were not a great time to be gay in animation with most gay characters used as punchlines and hardly any queer stories. Not only that but just a year earlier will and grace had to have one overly camp chracter and one “regular” gay character in order to get made. Granted that show has it’s issues but still, the point stands having a gay couple that plays fairly realistically, is shown to both be sexually active and love each other and who’ve been together for decades was a hell of a step for a medium where Family Guy around the same time had a joke with the punchline “Whoa transvestite back off!” Granted Family Guy would do far worse to both the gay and trans communities, but we’ll get to that someday. Or sooner if you commission me, but I swear if you do I will pull a gary busey on your house. Point is not only is it INCREIDBLY forward for it’s time but it holds up even now. There’s a reason the creators are working on a spinoff/revivial focused on the two and a reason these two tend to be one of the most talked about elements of the show. That and frankly their hilarious having realistic banter.. and also having one episode where Gus has a knife in his head for a whole episode. It helps that this episode, their spotlight one and the last one produced, is also one fo the series best. So with all that build up let’s take a look shall we? 

We open with Kevin passing a theater showing x rated movies and are shown, over a bunch of times of him passing it him condeming it publicly but his tone clearly telegraphing the classic battle between a teenage boy and his dick. Dick wins and Kevin heads inside and gives us... this. 

.... If you will excuse me, please enjoy the musical stylings of the late great Zorak while I go shower the “EeEEEEEEUUUUGGggggggHHHhhuuuuuuggghhhhhhhhewwwwuuuuugggghhhhggooooodddddddwwwyyyyyy” off me. 

God rest his soul. Okay i’m good now. Thankfully this isn’t an episode about Kevin getting addicted to x-rated theater, and they already did an episode about him masturbating. No really it actually had a good message as Kevin was so embarassed about the incident, he nearly let two other guys, granted not remotley good people who were stealing from there anyway, take the fall. Andy even ends up giving a great speech coming to his defense

“People, you mock this boy, but it's your fault he's here today. Your hypocrisy has made this boy a prisoner, terrified of his own sexuality. So much so that he'd rather send two relatively-innocent men to prison than admit he looks at pornography! He thinks his natural urges are filthy and perverted, and why? Because of your conspiracy of silence! Nobody dares admit the truth - that you're all just like him!”

IT’s a damn good moment and a good message. That sadly is still relevant as America still views sex as worse than violence for some weird reason. At least he has the internet now. Anywho when Kevin goes to see what’s up he runs into Wally who explains the confusion: He’s just showing old “X-Rated films”. Now some of you are probably wondering “Wait non-porn films used to use that?” Or “Wait what’s an x-rating?” Well while I knew some films did used to do that I was honestly curious myself as to why it was retired and why porn films got to use it and took a quick hop to google to find out reading both the wikipedia article for the rating and this vulture article on the subject to get a slightly deeper look at it. 

It’s actually quite intresting as I genuinelly also didn’t know when the MPAA ratings started for films: When the rating’s board started in 1968 there were four raitings: G, GP (Later flipped to PG), R and X. X was the modern equivlent of today’s R really, and films like Last Tango in Paris, Midnight Cowboy and a Clockwork Orange, with Orange even having a poster up at the cinema in this episode and Midnight Cowboy being part of the plot very soon. We’ll get to that in the moment. Point is it allowed filmakers to push the envelope break barriers all that good stuff and makes me curious about those very films, which is a good thing as i’ll admit to not being exactly a film buff.  But as Kevin’s confusion here shows, eventually the porn industry took a hold of it, using the X as a way to get sex movies into regular cinemas and have an air of legitimacy, hence why Debbie Does Dallas was a mainstream hit.. and yes that’s an actual film that I only know about thanks to I Love the 70′s. If your wondering why the MPAA just couldn’t you know, tell them to know or why they didn’t take over other ratings it turns out for some weird reason why the G and R ratings were owned by them, and later PG , they forgot to trademark X and by the time they even thought of it it was too late. Hence terms like XXX rated and what not or the ungodly stupid XXX porn parodies. Just.. just give them actual names and slap “A porn parody” ont he end if you want to avoid a lawsuit.  Naturally the film industry struck back and X soon went from a way to have daring, interesting films.. to basically a threat by the MPAA that your film wouldn’t be carried by any major distributors if it had one, with Dawn of the Dead having to just go unrated just to get distributed. The 80′s brought the killing stroke: With the rise of big theater chains, mall theaters with restrictions I wasn’t aware of, and big home video outlets like blockbuster that didn’t carry porn, the x rating was well and truly dead and the MPAA lukewarmly added NC-17 which serves the same bullshit purpose as theaters still refuse to carry them and the MPAA still uses it for essenitally the same reason. Nothing changed! If your wondering why people sometimes have problems with the MPAA, yeah there’s your answer, as they could’ve campaigned harder for NC-17 but clearly enjoyed having a raiting to hold over films heads. 

So yeah if you don’t know, know you know bud, let’s move on. So yeah Wally explains the confusion and decides to educate Kevin on film by showing him Midnight Cowboy, with John Voight “Before his head looked like a radish” and Dustin Hoffman. Also Andy brings up Sphere.. a film I also know nothing about. Hang on... checking Letterboxd and okay. It’s a Dustin Hoffman starring Sci-Fi film about a research team investigating a mysterious sphere at the bottom of the sea. Huh.. I prefer Cube myself but to each his own.  But once Kevin clams up he really enjoys it. Will grant the episode lays it on a tad thick, with Kevin comparing the film to , of all things, Armageddon. I mean I get MIcheal Bay is a good metric for crowd pleasing schlock but still, even nerds have standards. My standards aren’t very high at times mind as I still want to watch this sometime today. 

But I still think even awkward teens have better standards. Then again one of my faviorite films at the time was Saving Silverman which while I can’t hate it due to nostalgia , having watched it from 5th grade well into my teens, I can see was not very good. Though it did have R. Lee Ermy being both really funny and turning out to be gay so that was awesome. 

And he does make a good point that heroes like Ratzzo Rizzo don’t go well on Taco Bell cups.. though it also feels weird to me in 2020 where while not big sellers films with deep stories and unlikeable heroes are some of the biggest on tv and one of them was one of the greatest animated series of the last decade, so things must’ve been pretty damn bleak in 1999. The two also run into Gus who wants dinner and a fight ensues between the couple about the fact Gus owns a restraunt, could just bring his lunch etc. It’s hilarious and as I said I like how they feel like a couple you’d meet in real life. Sadly I don’t have an elderly gay couple in my neighborhood but here’s hoping. Or maybe i’ll be the neighborhoods wally when I grow up who knows. Also Tom Kenny’s delivery is great. 

Kevin later relays his fun day to his loftmates, with Andy expressing genuine suprise at Wally’s job and love of art house cinema, as none of them knew what he actually did. Andy’s genuinely shocked and mildly appalled they’ve lived near Wally for so long but having no idea what he does.. but really I had a sweet old lady, Delores who lived next to me for almost my entire life before she moved to be closer to her family, visited her house frequently pet her cats, went to her house after school at one point.. and I cannot tell you what he did, so it’s incredibly relatable. However in a scene that’s both hilarious but also really, really sweet, the three relate that they do know him well and due to being neighbors after all and know Gus and Wally’s morning routine: They wake up at 8, Wally brews the Coffee, Gus reads him the funnies, then they shower together while singing college fight songs, and then, with Jim saying this part so picture it in Brian Posehn’s voice please you won’t regret it, argue or have gay sex and then it’s off to work. It’s really sweet, both in showing off their well worn dynamic with each other, and the fact that the loftmates really DO know these two even if they dont’ know everything and they are close in their own way. Kevin can only give out a “Hm” in response... which is probably the closest he can get to saying touche without breaking into nerdy giggles. 

Cue the good times montage as Wally introduces Kevin to Ingmar Bergman, who I have heard of even if i’ve never seen any of them, and some director I never heard of who made old timey comedies apparently. IT’s a really nice sequence. Kevin also shows 2001: A Space Oddesy to his friends, who are bored to tears by it while Kevin’s enraptured. Which I would say was another heavy-handed swipe at late 90′s cinema but being a teen myself who had mostly watched things like Star Wars, I did not gel with 2001 and need to rematch it at some point, so I totally relate to his friends utter boredom and confusion with it given it’s rep. It’s a visually stunning film. I will however stand by not liking Star Trek: The Motion Picture, as that film TRIES to be 2001 but is instead just really, REALLY boring. 

But naturally things can be entirely good natured bonding between an elderly gay man and , as Wally puts it in the best line of the episode “The son god never wanted me to have”, as Kevin notices a film coming up that Wally apparently made, and looks to star gus. Wally panics and shoos his young protégé away... which yeah he could’ve just you know told him he doesn’t like the film or anything else and prevented this episode but then we wouldn’t of seen the gay equilvent of plan 9 from outer space so fair enough. 

At the Gus’ Diner, the loftmates and their neighbors I mentioned earlier look over the poster, and we find out from Gus that that is him, and he starred in a movie.. and naturally Wally explained never showing it to his husband in the simplest way possible: By claming a shark ate it. You know while I watched the show I didn’t quite get it when I was younger and it’s probably why it took me decades to revisit it.. but I wish I had sooner this show is REALLY damn funny and i’m really looking forward to that spinoff with Wally and Gus. 

Wally continues to dodge Kevin, so Kevin, trying to find info about the film and it being lost, goes to the video store.. back when those existed. Something I have to give the show is honestly the use of vhs, visits to video stores, and the movies Kevin mentions are the only things that really date this film. While swapping another Dustin Hoffman film in proved impossible, it is plausible Kevin would see it streaming somewhere. and it’s easy enough to swap Armageddon for Rise of Skywalker given that film’s just as good.. Last Jedi was excellent though. Point is this story REALLY holds up, which is the sign of a good story: where even if some elements are stamped to the time, the story itself could easily be told again with few changes. It’s also why i’m not AGAINST Reboots, as my coverage of ducktales makes obvious: As long as stories can still be told or you can retell a story in a unique and intresting way, it’s fine to reuse something. I do think hollywood overdoes it, but I’ve never thought there was genuine harm in it or reviving old franchises. It’s all in how you do it.  But yeah while the local video store dosen’t help at all, Andy happens to know just the man for the job, though Jim and Posey nope out of going with them. Also something to note is the series animation: It’s animated like an old 30′s cartoon or a comic strip, modernized a bit in color and realisim, but still having comic strip stuff like shaking head lines, heat lines coming off coffee that sort of thing.  I really love it. 

Anyways the brothers head off to a funky out of the way video store, I wish there were more hole in the wall used media stores where I lived. We mostly have chains like Vintage Stock and Half-Priced Books, though I genuinely love both of those stores and VIntage Stock is the modern equilvent of places like blockbuster honestly. Anyway after Beardo confuses Kevin for an Employee kevin asks him about the man from pluto which Beardo reveals he knows about but is very rare and has few prints. I like Beardo.. he’s a neckbeard who seems more liable to complain abotu some reboot on the fact their rebooting it again rather than “gasp” women are involved. I prefer my neckbeards just a tad pretentious rather than you know, sexist, homophobic, deranged assholes with nothing better to do. I mean i’m still living at home and didn’t get out much before the pandemic either but you dont’ see me bitching every time a franchise gets a female lead. 

Anyway, Kevin is inspired by that and with help from everyone gets the word out about the film. As you’d expect though this can’t end well, as Wally tries avoiding the premire entirely (And we get a great bit where Jim happens to see him trying to flee down the fire escape and Wally’s expression is priceless) 

Huh.. I bet that’s what Rob Reiner when North had it’s premire. As you can probably guess the showing dosen’t go well: The film itself is a hilarious combination of the day the earth stood still (the general plot as we’ll find out more in a second) and Plan 9 From Outer Space (A cheestatic no budget film with a hulking man brute who can’t act as the lead), and in catching the feel of a b-movie it’s utterly perfectly done. This film would go perfect on MST3K and the audience’s howls of laughter agrees with me. 

Wally however is utterly humiliated and doesn’t want to speak to Kevin which.. yeah is about the only issue I have with an otherwise marvelous episode. While I get Wally’s humiliation was Kevin’s fault.. Kevin GENUINELY meant well. While Kevin is book smart at his core he’s a dumb kid who didn’t know any better and didn’t realize Wally hated his film and it’s Wally’s own damn fault for not telling him.  Sure Kevin should’ve picked up the hint, but given the kid is oblivious and didn’t even know what an x raiting is it’s clear he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box when it comes to life experince. Wally had every opportunity to just explain his story but didn’t. And I put most of the blame on Wally when he’s you know, the adult. He’s a 60 or so year old man. He should know better. But it really doesn’t take away from the episode entirely.  But the loftmates clearly love the film and are quoting bits from it, with jim having a fishbowl on his head, when they run into Wally, though Wally is fine with them admitting it’s crap and he knows it is. We then get what REALLY makes the episode and really makes me primed for a spinoff: Wally and Gus’ backstory, which also makes it obvious the crew was probably going to use the two more had the series got another season. 

Anyways it was the 50′s, Archie Andrews was an average teen and not shredded both in muscle and by a bear that one time, Fonzie was out and about and eyying, and Wally was a first unit director given a shot as the studio asked him for a script having utter faith in him. HIs script was a day the earth stood still esque parable on the Cold War.. until he met Gus who, naturally for Gus, was outrunning a ton of police having stumbled on set and likely defeated them all bare handed because Gus is as incredible as the hulk and likely also comes back through a glowing green door when he dies.  So Wally made the tragic mistake of mixing his love life with his career, and lost both Kurt Douglas, who he bumped down from lead for Gus, and Charleton Hesston who just walked off and they got a dinkier stage and worse actors as a result. The resulting film ended Wally’s career but he was able to sell the rights to cinemas to make enough for them to start over in mission hill and buy the diner.. and at least they had each other. It’s a really great story that explains why it upsets Wally so much: This was his baby and while he dosen’t even for one second regret meeting gus or the life they’ve had, he regrets that his one film was a total trainwreck and goes off to the theater to mope as he plays his film for laughing crowds, as it was naturally held over. I mean when you get the next plan 9 from outer space, this was a bit before the room mind you, you hold onto that shit. 

Kevin, who heard the whole thing, goes to mope by watching what is likely a MIcheal Bay film, who was a target even then folks. Oh you poor poor fools you knew not how much worse it could get... i.e. robot testicles. Just.. robot testicles. And their MAKING A DELUXE MOVIE DEVISTATOR. Why. Just.. why who wanted this after that scene. He’s sworn off good movies as he feels he no longer deserves them. Andy however bluntly tells him to cut the pity party, while he’s moping his friend really needs him and when you love somebody, you put your pants on for them. When you love somebody you see it to the end, when you love somebody the conclusions forgone when you love somebody you put your big boy pants right onnnnn! ... I’ll put the song at the end. Point is Kevin goes to help his friend, and as Wally is moping in the projection booth and wonders what he was thinking Kevin tells him the obvious truth: He was thinking of how far he’d go.  “You taught me the best films are personal stories.. and this film is your valentine to Gus” While Wally starts to break a little, he does point out it doesn’t make it good.. but Kevin rightly counters that he’s not so sure of it. Wally sees the audience enjoying the film and goes down, with all of them carrying red light bulbs like the one gus has to show when he’s mad in the film. And Wally finally realizes waht I got to in the beginning: It doesn’t matter if a film’s good or bad, what matters is someone enjoys it. A film can be utterly terrible, and still be good. It can be a mess and still have merit. And Wally finally realizes it doesn’t matter if it’s the film he wanted, it’s the film he made for his future husband, it’s a film that brings laughter and sticks in people’s heads and really  brings them a godo time. It’s a film worth remembering and Wally finally accepts that and his film as his own.  Later that night Kevin and Wally exit the theater, with Wally no longer mad at him and the two still friends or as Wally puts it in the second best line of the episode “As close as an elderly gay man and a straight boy can be” Awwww. The two depart and we get a touching final scene as Wally comes home and finds a bottle of wine and a note from gus saying he has a suprise for him> Turns out Gus put on his old space helmet.. but fell asleep in it. So we get a really nice tender moment as Gus takes the  helmet off, smooches his husband on his bald head and smiles brightly as the episode ends.

Final Thoughts on The Man From Pluto or I Married a Gay Man From Outer Space: Before you ask each episode had two titles for funzies, the first one to get past the censors and the second for fun and likely what they would’ve gone with if they could. As for this episode.. it’s spectacular. It holds up well even 20 years later, it’s touching, sweet and really damn funny and makes me want to rewatch the show as a whole again. I highly recommend seeking it out and hope mission hill is eventually made officially available somewhere. Till then you can find the whole series including this episode on YouTube and despite being the last one you could easily watch this one first if you want and it’s a decent enough intro to the show as a whole. I highly recommend it, an utter pleasure to watch.  If you liked this review, you can comission your own by PMing me on this very blog, just mention you want to do a comission and we can talk it out. As this review proves, it dosen’t have to be a show i’ve done before or even one that’s remotely recent. Hell i’d gladly do Fonz and The Happy Days gang, the animated happy days spinoff that’s like dr. who but with the Fonz. Yes really. Whatever you want i’ll do it as long as it’s not porn for just 5 bucks an episode and 10 for a movie. YOu can also join my patreon, and for 2 dollars a month get acess to my discord (that i’ll start once I get patreons) and once I get enough patreons exclusive polls or 10 bucks for all of that and a review of your choice each month. You can find said patreon right here. And even 1 buck a month would be apricated if you can spare it and if not simply reblog this and share it around.  You can also follow this blog for weekly ducktales, loud house and amphibia coverage as they come out.  I’d also personally thank WeirdKev27 for both being a long time fan of this blog and for the comission. 

Until we meet again say safe, wear a mask, check your atttic for Gary Busey and happy Halloween! Play us out Mr Heere!

[riaflicke]

The saying went something like, monsters are created not born. And that was exactly how Ria Flicke felt about the demon - or demons, plural, depending on the day - inside of her. It wasn’t always dark, but it was fed enough that it grew and grew until she didn’t know what it felt like to not have the darkness inside of her.

Some of the creation was self-inflicted. It wasn’t like she knew how to walk away from a bad situation or how to let the light win out, no, she let the darkness win and that was her own fault. Over the past few months of alone time and wrestling with questions and curiosities, she managed to figure out how and where the darkness was cultivated, fed and nurtured by the people that were meant to protect her.

AUGUST 17th, 2010, FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT (14 years old)

Move in day for Faircrest Preparatory School. Day one of one million of learning to be a spy. Mariana thought that it would be a good idea for Leon to drive Ria to move in. After all, he worked at Faircrest, and she thought it’d be good for the younger Flicke to finally get to know her father. 

Needless to say, it did not get off to a good start. Ria knew two things: her mother was cryptic about her father and the only way to get adults to pay attention to her was to be annoying. And she had lots of questions for Leon which meant she would be extra annoying. 

“Don’t put your feet up there,” Leon turned over to his daughter, who had perched her feet on the all white car dash. “You’re going to get it dirty.” “What?” Ria didn’t dignify him with even a glance, she instead focused on picking a scab on her calf. “Maria-” “Ria.” “Maria,” Leon huffed, “Take your feet off the dash or we’re not leaving this driveway… What did you do to yourself anyway?” “Fell off my bike.” “Don’t you know how to ride a bike?” Picking at the scab until she got it to bleed again (because it definitely made her dad cringe), “Yes. I let go.” “Why?” “It made mom freak out.” She finally moved her feet from the dash, pleased with the furrowed brow her father now had. “And why in the world would you want to do that?” Leon asked in a deadpan tone, clearly frustrated with his daughter’s antics. “It proved mom cares. Somewhere. She got worried.”

The frustration on Leon’s face morphed into one of pride, but in the blink of an eye it was back to neutral. “You’re already thinking like a spy. What has your mother taught you so far?” “Nothing, I’ve known for all of like, three months.” “Alright. Well, we have about six hours ahead of us-” “Joy.” “Don’t interrupt me, Maria. I can’t have my daughter not knowing anything about spyhood. You’re already starting Faircrest at a disadvantage.”

That spoke to the competitive side of Ria and all, but she thought that this ride would be a way to get to know the man she’d wondered about for years. “You’re going to spend six hours talking to me about spy stuff and not like… anything about me?” “I didn’t say that. Anyways, I’ll see you all year on campus, we have plenty of time to get to know each other.” “Ooookay. Weird, but, fine, talk to me about your spy life or whatever…” Her voice trailed off into silence.

Leon glanced over at her, “What were you about to say?” Chewing on her bottom lip, Ria was silent for a little longer before speaking up. “I wanted to ask you a question.” “Fine, ask it then.” “Do you love me?” The words sounded sharp to hide the fear inside. “I don’t know.” Sitting up straighter, the blonde’s face dropped, “How do you not know? I’m your daughter.” “We just met.” “So?” “So,  I need time to decide.” “Do you think you ever will?” “We’ll see.” And he wouldn’t. ‘I love you’ were three words he’d never say. “Fine… Tell me about this spy shit.” “Language.”

JUNE 8th, 2010, FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT (17 years old) Whether she wanted to listen to her father or not (spoiler: she didn’t!), Ria wanted to be top of her class. Success was something she could control. Success gave her purpose. Success made it all worth it. So as much as she hated Leon Calder with everything in her being, she kept note of all of his rules and the subsequent tests and trials in a tiny leather bound notebook. It was a pale pink, embossed with “Maria” on the cover - which she had since scratched up with pens and keys until it only read Ria.

With graduation on the corner - and a four year break from spyhood (her parents hated that one) on the horizon - she flicked through the pages, a walk down a very bumpy memory lane.

Rule 1: Control the conversation What’s it mean: - Have conviction in what you say - Stand by your words, even if they’re questionable - Don’t get stuck in webs of lies - Take pride in attention - good or bad - throws people off their game when you embrace an insult

Rule 2: Head not heart What’s it mean: - Don’t lead with emotions ever - Look at things logically bc that’s trustworthy, emotions are fickle - Tears are weakness - avoid at all costs!!!

8/30/10 - first week @ faircrest, dad got me a xanax prescription. told me it’s better to feel nothing than something. haven’t tried it yet 2/1/12 - (middle of soph. year.) - i think i’m addicted  4/29/14 - i’m graduating in 2 months. Idk how to feel bc i don’t think i’ve felt anything in four years. 8/2/14 - i don’t trust my own head

Rule 3: Don’t have a blindspot What’s it mean: - Falling in love means youre caught up in another person - Getting caught up in another person is a weak point - A lover will betray you or will be used against you - Lust =/= love, lust is ok.

11/1/13 - i don’t think ive cared about a single person ive slept with. like at all.

Rule 4: Know what you’re walking into What’s it mean: - Awareness is key - Evaluate every situation in full - ALWAYS keep your guard up or you’ll get backstabbed

12/21/10 - was @ home for christmas, dad snuck up behind me and threw a knife. i ducked in time. said i need to get better at awareness. Wtf.

After twenty or so blank pages, one page of the notebook had a few words written on it in all capitals. They were written more cleanly than the notes and scribbles of yesteryear, clearly written by an older Ria with stronger penmanship.

I THINK IM A MONSTER.

SEPTEMBER THROUGH NOVEMBER, 2020, ROSEVILLE, VA (24 years old)

The fires the year prior had been the first time that Ria remembered crying in over ten years. Something cracked inside of her as the buildings and all she’d used to ground herself started to fall and crackle apart. It was what pushed her to look inside of her. To know why she held so tightly onto the lessons and learnings from two people that couldn’t care less about her. It was what sent her to therapy. 

There were no diagnoses to be found, apart from a self-inflicted dependence on unhealthy relationships and her vices. She lacked the remorse and violence to be a psychopath, and she didn’t have the swings of anger that hallmarked aggression disorders. What was there instead was a shell, a guard that presented itself as sociopathy - but she knew what she was doing, she had remorse, that was where the questions began. How could you display every trait in the book but be ‘normal’ inside? 

The revelation of Blackthorne as a school for assassins had opened up even more of a can of worms, but she ignored it until the start of her third year, as she continued to try and understand what was going on inside of her head. Leon had gone to Blackthorne, yet the alumni didn’t seem to recognize his name. Something was up.

With the help of one of her Faircrest friends, Tobi, she was able to find more on her father. More on his employment records and his history. He’d begun going by his middle name after graduating Blackthorne, Leon Calder instead of Malcolm Calder. Hardly a criminal offense. He had a cross listing with the MI5 (expected, she knew her parents met in London) and a private agency ‘Atkinson Associates’. Further digging revealed it as a hitman agency, one that her father was still actively employed with. 

Once she had that, and access to the files of the company, she went to dig on her own - not wanting to pull anyone else deeper into the mess. The employee roster and files were what she really wanted. Clicking on her father’s, she read through the notes, feeling a gross pit building in her stomach as she learned more. Kill count: 117. Use for: High profile, quickturn jobs. Works both individually and with partners.

Noting that the word partners was linked, Ria clicked on it, skimming quickly over unknown names until she settled on the name of a former partner. One she knew too well. Mariana Alice Flicke.

“No…. no no no…” But she couldn’t stop, she had to know more about her mother. Kill count: 2. Use for: Track erasure and evidence destruction. 

She didn’t know if it made her feel better or worse that her mother was typically non-violent… Even if she condoned the violence. Blue eyes kept scanning the profile of her mom. Employment Terminated: September 30, 1995 Reason: Pregnancy.

“No wonder he hates me so fucking much.” She took Mariana out of the field, she took his partner away… But that wasn’t her fault! Hovering over the word pregnancy, Ria’s brow furrowed. Another link. There was no reason that needed to be linked. Everyone knew how pregnancy worked!

After a long stare off with the link, she finally clicked on it. The curiosity eating away at her. It pulled up what looked like an incomplete profile, one with nothing but the key statistics. And she didn’t even need to read them, they were ones she knew by heart. Name: Maria Grace Flicke Date of Birth: June 6, 1996 Start Date: To Be Determined.

She wanted to stop scrolling, but her hand kept moving, the answers were finally there. Whether she liked them or not. 

Current Status: 

Atkinson Associates Case study 001.:  Nature versus Nurture

- Developing the mindset of an assassin from day one - Utilizing upbringing to control later characteristics, thought processes, and disposition

None of her mania was an accident. It was all part of a bigger plan that she never wanted to be a part of. Each demon was planted inside of her by the people that were supposed to love her most.

And the only way she could deal with this was to let out an ear-piercing wail.

[heli0s-writes]

V. Exhibit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  After all your hard work, the day is finally here. A/N: Part 5 of Mystery of Love.

The following month passed by in a hurry, as your thoughts were dominated by the constant thrall of work. One month was truly not enough to prepare, but you knew the implications of waiting until June passed- those positions in the fall would likely not be available; June was late enough.

Tony eagerly sprang into action and helped you transform your guest room into a photography studio, begrudgingly folding to your “outrageous peasant demands” of simple lighting, and two solid backdrops. When it was fully set up, you held a meeting with the team and prepped them over procedure and your proposal. You spoke plainly.

The show to view your work post-travels was primarily a guise to get a glimpse into their lives more intimately; you were under no illusion that it was anything else but 1) a shrewd plan for elites to rub elbows with other elites and 2) an opportunity for you.

Honesty was the best policy, and you knew they would appreciate it.

“If you consent to have your posed portrait taken by me in a studio setting- something we haven’t done before, thank you. If you don’t, I don’t blame you or hold it against you. It can be unnatural, uncomfortable, and I understand. Be aware- these images will be auctioned off. They will not, however, be duplicated. They are single prints.”

“Please make me rich.” Tony grinned as he spun freely in the swivel chair, “I mean, richer. Please make me richer.” After a round of glares from the team, he fessed, “Oh fine. Yes, you’ll receive a portion of the payment. You greedy little assholes.”

It didn’t take much more convincing for everyone to be on board. You were eager to begin and spent the first few days of June taking note of the kinds of images you wanted from each member. You thought about the representation of duality of Avenger and “being” whether it was human, super soldier, or an enhanced- or in Thor’s case, a god. But in the end, you decided on listening to Bucky’s advice and give ‘em hell. They were going to play by your rules.

Halfway through the month, you were so engrossed in the work, you’d barely had time to spend with either Steve or Bucky. They were sweet enough to make sure you had plenty of coffee on your days at the compound and would try to call before bed if you were in the city. Other than the occasional dinners together and their own photo sessions (which you were adamant on keeping strictly professional-save for a very stubborn session with Bucky), you hardly saw them.

Steve was called away on a diplomatic assignment with Natasha in Paris on the 13th. You were happy to hear that he wouldn’t be in any foreseeable danger and a tiny bit glad that he’d be busy doing something other than worried about your sleeping and eating habits. By the 24th, everything was nearly complete, and the only thing left for you to do was buy a dress and set up for the night of. You felt like a pile of wet rags and had even lost a few pounds from the stress and exertion.

-

The morning of the 26th, Steve and Natasha landed at the compound, disembarking from the quinjet. You were taking the day off to find a dress in the city; Tony had given you his credit card. It was a tremendous gesture you wanted to refuse until he reminded you that truthfully, you were doing him just as big of a favor as he was doing you. He had even encouraged you to get a custom gown early in the month and even passed the message along to various designers, but you adamantly refused, reiterating once again that it was not about you. Tony would have to face the disappointment of being the only one in a custom-made ensemble.

At 11, while rifling through a rack of silk and lace beauties, you received a call from Bucky.

“Hey, you,” you smiled. He’d been texting you all morning, updating you on Steve’s jet lag. “Can I come to you for lunch?” You sucked in a deep breath. “Buck, you sure? I’m in Manhattan.” “Yeah. Send me your location.”

There was no arguing with him when he made up his mind.

When Bucky arrived on 5th Avenue, he wore a black long-sleeve and jeans with his usual combat boots. You couldn’t help but smile at the classic cap and sunglasses combo as he plodded through the throng of tourists- looking very much like one himself. His hair was tied back to avoid sticking to his neck in the heat. He kissed your shoulder at the entrance of the store and you grazed his stubbled chin with a finger in response.

The walk to your favorite sandwich shop was relatively short, and Bucky let you lead the way, keeping a hand on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you sat at the bar near the window after your food arrived and you let him know your surprise at his offer to meet you in the city. He shrugged it off as he took the sunglasses off his face.

“When I was on the run, I placed myself in different locations, but it was often smartest to hide in plain sight. Bucharest has a population of over a million people ‘n they’re so busy they don’t pay attention to much else; I don’t go into the city mostly because I don’t like it, hon’.” He took a bite of his sub and you did the same, snorting in delight when a bit of lettuce hung from his chin. Bucky rolled his eyes and sent you a lopsided grin before closing his mouth again over the sub, muttering. “You’re a punk.”

You felt laughter bubbling up in your chest as he swiped off the lettuce and flung it at you.

This was the Bucky you liked the most- playful, mischievous, still sweet in the center. Not to say there were parts of him you disliked, but you were careful with his more jagged pieces. The Bucky who scanned every room he entered, who always strapped at least three knives to his body, who scowled on impulse, who automatically put himself in front of you in response to loud noises needed more tenderness. The Bucky who texted you at three in the morning “just to see if you were awake” needed more tenderness, too.

The first time you woke up to one of those messages, you joked that he reminded you of a college boy making a booty call. Only after seeing him bleary eyed and on-edge did you ponder more deeply about it and ventured to ask if he had trouble sleeping because of nightmares.

He admitted he truly saw little in his dreams, but felt chasms that threatened to swallow him up, and the terror of that blackness kept him awake. You knew what awaited him in that blackness. Since then, you’ve always kept your phone on loud.

“Stevie got you a dress from Paris,” Bucky mumbled, wiping the corners of his mouth with a brown napkin, hiding the slightest hint of a smirk. “I don’t think it’s your style, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, sweeping bits of crust into the empty wrapper of your lunch. “Oh yeah? Steve picked it out? What’s it like?”

“It’s red. ‘S real nice, but it’s also red.”

You scrunched up your nose in concern. “Oh… I hope it won’t hurt his feelings if I don’t wear it.”

Bucky went to throw both of your crumpled trash piles away and returned with an understanding smile, “Nah. He’s a big boy. Party’s in two days, though. If you don’t find anything you’re gonna get stuck with it, hon.”

Sighing, you stood up and brushed off your shirt, “Yeah. I’ll look some more. I put a dress on hold earlier so if I don’t find anything else, I’ll go back to that one. Thanks for having lunch with me, Bucky.” You pulled absentmindedly on his shirt sleeve and tugged the wrinkles out of the elbow. Bucky took the opportunity to bend down and plant a kiss on your jawline, whispering that he missed you into your cheek.  

“I’m not leavin’,” he said, removing the sunglasses that were hanging from the collar of his shirt, “Haven’t seen you in days, doll. I’m not leavin’ yet.”

The definitive statement was punctuated by another one of his keen stares. You swallowed as his clear blue eyes flitted back and forth between your own, finally settling on your mouth as you nervously breathed out a soft “Okay”. Your heart swelled in your chest as he smiled. You couldn’t help but lovingly follow the sly arc of his lips across and up to those joyful creases you so adored running from his eyes. Happy Bucky was your favorite Bucky. You wanted to make him look like this all the time. You felt so terrible that you’d been so busy and avoiding him.

Impulsively, you reached up and kissed him on the lips.

It was quick, and you stood back flat on your feet, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. Fearfully, you took a chance to peek at him. The two of you stood there next to the window staring at each other for a few seconds before Bucky broke out into a wide toothy grin.

You flushed from head to toe. Your first kiss. In a sandwich shop. The banality of it all dawned on you and before you had the chance to say anything, Bucky broke the silence with a hearty laugh. Soon enough, you joined in, burying your face in both your hands. People were starting to glance over to the window and stare, so Bucky grabbed you by the hand and briskly stepped out into the street. He caught your waist to turn you to face him, pressing your back against the brick wall of the shop. The chatter of Manhattan whipped around both of you in the background, full of footsteps and yelling, honking, dogs barking, construction. Bucky Barnes held tight to your sides as if you might get torn into in the sea of people behind him.

Under the shade of his cap’s bill, you could hardly see his eyes, but the light illuminated his mouth, which was pressed into a thin line.

You squinted as sunlight fell over your face, “Buck?”

The intensity of Bucky crashing his lips to yours ripped the breath from your lungs. He stepped forward into your body, pressing his broad chest against you, flesh hand pushing your torso against his. In the middle of the sidewalk, he erased all the noise of Manhattan. You could only hear his breath on your mouth as he parted and returned again and again. Three deep kisses later, he let you go.

You gulped, heart stammering, lost completely in ragged breaths and desperately trying to ignore the eyes of passing strangers who’d witness your moment of public affection. You had seen this coming for a while now, but it was still a shock.

Ever since the day on the couch, you had been trying to avoid physical intimacy, but it had been difficult to experience growing closer with Bucky and simultaneously disregard his longing for your touch. He was always holding back, like a predator in the tall grass.

“I wanna do so much more than that…” He whispered in your ear. His voice was deep, and you could hear his throat clenching as he swallowed. The sound burrowed its way into your brain, sending currents scampering through your body.

Bucky ran his hand along your jaw, one final kiss landing on the shell of your ear as he muttered, “When you’re ready, I will. Come on, you lead the way.”

All you could do was nod in response as he guided you in front of him, one hand resting again on your back as you tried to stay calm in the crowd. In a few mere minutes, the street changed as you turned a corner. Your heart was beginning to slow down again.

“I’m curious, doll,” Bucky called from behind you, running a finger up and down the small of your back, “What color was that dress you put on hold?”

From the way his words sounded, you knew he was smirking. “It was black.” You swerved to the side to avoid a man pushing a stroller and Bucky followed suit. Craning your head back to see his expression, your heart sped up again either by his tightening grip or his subsequent praise:

“Atta girl.”

-

The last Saturday in June was the 28th. Pepper had demanded that you stayed at your apartment until the evening of, setting you up with a full-day spa appointment on Friday. According to her (and your very exhausted body) you needed rest and pampering before the big night. She also insinuated that Tony was being incredibly high-strung with setting up; he wanted it to be a surprise, and if you’d step foot on the campus before he was ready, he might completely “lose it Bridezilla-style”.

You’d been video-chatting Steve at night on the phone before bed since spending the day with Bucky. He was at first disappointed that you decided not to wear the dress he’d gotten you but ultimately understood why: red was a high-profile color. He sheepishly admitted that he was a bit old-fashioned, and was a sucker for women in red. It was cute. You suggested that he ask Natasha instead.

Your heart swelled any time his face came on the screen and you couldn’t help but stupidly grin every night into the phone. He told you about the trip and his desire to one day take you to the city, glossing over the details of the errand itself. You didn’t mind- it wasn’t your job, and you likely wouldn’t have understood its significance. He brought up how he was concerned at first that the distance would cause discomfort- but perhaps it was the consent to distance that changed the rules. You knew where he was going and accepted it, and so neither of you were pained by the separation.

“Maybe on the more peaceful missions, you might like to come with me? It’d be like travelling again, huh?” You agreed, eager to see another endearing smile break across his face. You loved the way Steve closed his eyes as he smiled, long lashes folding to graze against his raised cheeks- it was a habit of his, and it made you curious to wonder what he thought of during those blissful expressions.

After your long spa day you ended your night with another video call, feeling the excitement growing closer and closer, emboldened by Steve’s encouragements. More changes were coming on the horizon and you felt ready to face them. You were glad to have both men by your side.

 Promptly at 5, Pepper sent a car outside to wait outside your apartment door. The invitation you’d proofread for Tony stated that doors opened at 6:30 with a cocktail hour and viewing period before any announcements were made. You would be giving a talk at 8, unveiling the main auction piece at the end and then there would be a bidding period before the night unwinds with dancing. The event supposedly ended at midnight, but you were sure that was Tony’s way of ushering out the guests. You weren’t going to assume he’d turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of 12.

Blotting on the final layer of your lip stain, you swept over it with a coat of high-shine gloss. Your make up was done simply: filled in, full, arching brows; barely-there contouring to emphasize your bone structure; peach blush; and a single smooth black line over both your eyelids. Your hair was brushed back and tucked behind your ears, flowing over your shoulder in neat waves.

You wanted to be sleek and able to blend in, with just a touch of red-lipped-conspicuous.

Stepping into the lobby, you felt as if transported into a different world. Tony had transformed the chamber into a flawless gallery setting with your photographs, framed and displayed along the perimeter of the open-spaced room. He’d put in wall panels here and there along with several benches where viewers could sit, arranging it perfectly to where there was plenty of walking space and room to mingle. Along the right wall was an elegant backlit bar manned by three sharply dressed bartenders with dazzling smiles. Close by was a stage with a band plucking a lazy acoustic tune in their warm-up routine, accompanied by a harpist. Gorgeous floral arrangements stood tall on pedestals, their sweet scent hanging in the air. Servers wandered casually, silver trays in hand topped with hor d'oeuvres and champagne.

The first few guests were arriving, picking up pamphlets from the stand near the door and meandering through the maze of photos. The team was scattered around the room, dressed beautifully, all smiles. Natasha hypnotized in the stunning red gown Steve picked out. It was striking with an elegant sweetheart neckline and brocade skirt. Pepper wore violet tulle. Wanda was smoldering in a lacy brown long-sleeved dress.

The men were simply dashing, in various dark suits offset by their own choices of silk bowties and shirts. Sam’s collar brooches glimmered- two mirroring silver wings clipped neatly to the points of his muted garnet shirt collar.

Halfway to the bar, you came face-to-face with Steve, who wore a fitted deep navy suit and dress shirt, complimented by a silk burgundy tie. His hair- which had grown longer since you’d last seen him in person was swept back and to one side. He was clean shaven for the event. You realized you were staring, but it helped that he was staring right back.

“You look...”

“Oh m...my” You attempted to finish the sentence for him. Steve laughed, shrugging one shoulder, the drink in his hand sloshing around.

“Not quite what I was going to say- but very close.” He paused, looking you up and down before sweeping you up in a one-armed hug and whispering in your ear “I’ve missed you so much. You look incredible.”

Once back on your feet, you smoothed the front of your black dress and shyly smiled in response, feeling your heart flutter. The snug gown was made of a satin blend, moving and shifting ethereally and just barely swept the floor. Two hair-thin spaghetti straps held it in place, crisscrossing over your back. The neckline was a darting V-shape, stopping just half an inch above Steve’s mark.

You’d convinced yourself to be calm and cool, playing the part of a professional artist giving a talk, but it was hard to not be giddy when Steve looked so damn good. His arms were practically bulging out from the sleeves of his jacket. And the lightly spiced cologne he wore was filling your head up with smoke.

“Where’s um, Bucky?” You ventured to ask, steeling your voice.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Bucky rolled the last ‘r’ into your ear as he placed his cool metal hand on your bare shoulder, middle finger drumming against the thin strap. You stirred at the temperature, burning against your back as he moved to your right side, smirking at Steve. They must have planned this, you thought, or perhaps brevity between old friends was enough to place them on the same dangerous wavelength. You felt like a fresh carcass, exposed under sunlight while two ravenous vultures circled overheard.

He was dressed completely in black, save for a blood-red pocket square neatly tucked into the breast of his suit. His hair was left loose, one side tucked behind his ear, and he donned his signature 5 o’clock shadow. He didn’t bother to cover his metal hand tonight, which made him all the more fearsome-looking. Bucky must have made it his mission to personify the word feral.

Half-lidded eyes drank in your figure, appreciatively scanning up and down before catching on your left bicep. “You’ve covered up your arm,” He noticed. “Why?” The was an edge of hurt he tried to hide.

The offending black cuff glimmered in the light. “Same reason why I didn’t wear the red.” You replied. You lifted your chin to regard Bucky and he raised his eyebrows in surprise at your declaration.

Steve bobbed his head, just enough to share the message that he understood before plucking a champagne flute from a passing server and placing it in your grasp. You sipped and signaled to the entrance of the exhibit with your stiletto-encased foot, where Kristopher Byrne had just entered with a pamphlet and Tony Stark. “I’ve got to go say hi. Thank you for supporting me.”

It was a conclusive statement, and the thanks, although sincere, was a comment of courtesy to lighten the mood. You quickly squeezed both of their arms before stepping away, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders. The show had just begun, and you were expected to be engaged and conversing all night; you couldn’t kick it off with a lovers’ quarrel in the middle of the floor as much as you wanted to resolve the matter. Bucky would have struggled and there were, unfortunately, other pressing concerns.

The band began to belt out a tune, mellow and full of slow, savory notes. The lobby was half-full at this point, and more were waiting by the door. The boys watched you go, exchanging glances. Bucky was scowling.

“Don’t be like that,” Steve warned, “You got to spend all day with her, pal.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He was being petulant, he knew. It was easier to be angry than to admit that his feelings were hurt. “Don’t lecture me, Stevie. Just wanna fuckin’ be with her. I’m tired of all this… shit.”

Steve chuckled into his glass as he took a sip, savoring the taste and looking at his friend through the curved angle of the rim. He’d experienced his fair share of Bucky’s seething tantrums; he knew it’d pass.

“Gotta admit, Buck. I liked seein’ ya miffed. You need a firm hand.”

Bucky scowled deeper at his friend’s cheeky comment as he watched your back make nice with a stranger. The itch inside of him was growing darker with every step you took away. He’d been good, played it safe and slow by your- and Steve’s rules, but every time it felt like you might scratch the surface of his desire, you’d backed off. Seeing his mark covered up on your arm only made it worse.

Sending Steve a pained look, Bucky quietly retreated to the bar.

 Kristopher Byrne was a tall and lanky man with silver hair, fingers studded with multiple rings and designer glasses sitting low on his nose-bridge. The suit he wore matched Tony in embellishments, and it was obvious by that alone that they got along swimmingly. Immediately after introducing yourself to him, his solemn expression softened into an ecstatic one. He kissed your hand, raving about how he’d been a fan for years but that you’d always eluded his grasp. You immediately thanked him and asked if he was ready for a stroll through the displays.

Byrne was very interested in the photos you’d taken in Russia, pausing to talk about the social unrest there regarding sexuality. He applauded your shots in Thailand, complimenting the rich colors of Chiang Mai and the quiet moments you captured.

You spent the next half hour walking through the photos with Tony and Byrne, chatting here and there with other guests who had questions. The information cards next to each picture was brief and explained a little bit about the image but hearing it from your point of view was much more valuable to them.

Tony set up the exhibit to first show your Peculiar Pairs series from the travels before introducing the Avengers photos. The range of colors started at full spectrum and highly saturated with your travels before slowly changing into the black and white portraits you shot of each member.

Upon entering the space of black-and-white portraits, he was greeted with a three-by-four-foot framed photo of Steve in stark lighting. He stood in front of a black background in a white t-shirt, looking into the distance as a bright halo illuminated him from behind, catching the fine contour of his lashes and the tip of his sharp nose. The features of his face were lit by another light in front. His expression was almost angelic with parted lips and the barest hint of a smile.

Byrne’s eyes widened as he regarded it, eager to uncover more information about the man captured in the image. The info card in the corner simply read Steven Grant Rogers.

You watched on as Byrne rotated himself around the frame, pondering deeply at Steve’s aspects. Tony smirked and made a snarky comment about how he hoped Byrne was this excited about his own picture.

“Captain America,” Byrne finally exhaled, “Looks like … someone you could sit next to on the subway. Wow. Fantastic.”

You thanked him. Perhaps it was your bias speaking, but you casually mentioned that it was one of your personal favorites. Tony stifled a barking cough.

Byrne led the way down the path, soliciting your process with each session. You were tight-lipped but let loose of what was necessary to keep him interested. It didn’t take much; there was nowhere else neither he nor any other guest could find a close-up portrait of Natasha wrapped tight in a bathrobe, hair wrung-dry and damp, chin resting on her fist, making such fierce eye-contact as if challenging the gaze of the person who’d caught her in a private moment.

Or Tony, a face well-known to smirk, sneer, and blow kisses, suddenly severe and deep in thought, tinted glasses hanging from his teeth.

Thor grinned behind a half-empty glass of beer in his portrait. Sam was reading a book. Bruce was cutting up a breakfast of an omelet and potatoes.

Bucky’s photo elicited gasps from Byrne as well as the crowd he’d started to draw around him. The session you had with him was rather difficult, since he challenged you at every turn. So many images from your roll you’d deemed too stern, an aspect that you didn’t want captured of Bucky. The Winter Soldier was grim and ominous. Bucky, your Bucky (as hesitant as that statement was), was not. You refused to let him resign himself to the Soldier’s shadowy persona, especially not after knowing just how bright he could be.

It had taken almost two hours of careful conversation for him to let you turn off the lights and put on music. You chose to play one of your favorites- a collection of Bill Withers’ essential hits, letting the suave compositions fill the room. He was ready to argue when the first few notes came on, but you strictly shook your head and brushed out his hair with your fingers before moving on to massage his tense neck. Jagged edges, you chanted in your head, take care of those jagged edges.

It was an intimate moment from anyone else’s point of view- but you were so occupied with ensuring a good photo, you had willfully ignored all signs of pleasure from your subject. He leaned into your touch the harder you pressed, and when you reached down the round collar of his black shirt to feel the muscles of his back, he had started panting hard and fast.

You asked him to freeze and quickly ran back to snap a few shots. Then, certain you’d gotten what you needed, you ushered Bucky out of the room with a short apology before anything escalated.

The resulting photograph was Bucky’s side-profile leaning back on the palms of his hand on a stool, grey background blurred and out of focus. The collar of his shirt was stretched and warped around his neck under dense wavy hair. His eyes were half open, distracted by something in the distance, lips closed, corners turned down in a wanton pout. The muscles in his arms were thick and contracted as he gripped forcefully on the seat. There was a fuzzy shadow cast over him, just enough to obscure a corner of his shoulder and clenched jaw.

The card read, James Buchanan Barnes.

Kristopher Byrne clapped and ran the back of his hand over his forehead.

“This one… just takes my breath away. This is really Sergeant Barnes? The Winter Soldier? He looks so helpless… So unlike the image I have of him.”

You searched across the expanse of the room to find the sergeant in question. Next to him, Steve firmly patted his shoulder as they watched you stand beneath Bucky’s picture. With a slight swing of your hips, you unflinchingly moved on.

-

At 8, the band winded down their percussions and a spotlight found Tony at the center of the lobby, microphone in hand. Guests gathered around as he began to speak. Two workers wheeled out a display that was covered up by a black cloth.

“Everyone, may I please have your attention.” When the crowd settled down enough for his liking, he continued effortlessly. “I’d like to formally welcome you to the exhibition. The photographer of the night is a friend of mine; you might know her as the visionary behind the popular Soulmate Series and the subsequent Peculiar Pairs- wow, what a mouthful, huh?” A round of soft chuckles was raised.

You stood next to Natasha and Pepper, taking a final sip of your third champagne flute before handing it off to a server and thanking him. Your heart was picking up a rhythm in apprehension of your approaching time to speak. Tony was leaps and bounds more charming than you, and you could only hope you wouldn’t trip over your feet on your way up.

“She’s taken the world by storm with her humor, wit, and sensitivity on a subject we’ve all heard before, and continues to shed a novel light on Soulmates. To us here at the Avengers Facility, she’s our lovable Public Relations twerp, near and dear to our hearts.” He paused. You were positive you were tearing up as pinpricks burn your nasal passages.

“Please give a warm round of applause to the one, the only…”

Tony flourished his pointer finger over the crowd before finally settling on you, the spotlight zooming over to shine on the water pooling in your eyes. He finally called out a boisterous thundering of your name as the room erupted in applause.

The room blurred as you stepped towards Tony. Mechanical movements and muscle memory guided your actions when he gave you a loving hug and kiss on the cheek. The microphone was suddenly in your hands and you began to speak, praying for whatever god above (or here- Thor, if this might be your territory) to bless you with grace.

“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. And thank you Tony and Pepper, who’ve made all of this possible for me.”

It felt like there were half a million eyes staring. You only needed to find your footing in four blue ones. Pressing onward, you continued, hoping the quiver of your throat would flatten itself out as you began to chronicle your body of work. It was a speech you’d given before in multiple interviews, you just needed a lead into the meat of the lecture.

“The photos you see tonight of the Avengers were taken with a simple message in mind: humanity. So often we regard them as these supernatural saviors- which they can be and frequently are; Thor, for one, is an Asgardian god.” The crowd lightly chuckled, and Thor, in the back, raised a sizable glass of wine in the air.

“I didn’t want to create more cults of personality around them, I wanted you to see the parts of them you could identify with, juxtaposing the abnormal with the normal. Your heroes eat breakfast, read books, take baths... just like you.” There was contemplation gazing back at you in the massive sea of unblinking eyes. Some people chewed on their lips pensively. Others were nodding along in agreeance.

“They hurt, like you.” You looked at Bucky, who met your gaze with a silent apology, “They love, like you.” You looked at Steve, who bit his lips in a smile. “They have soulmates, like you. And with that, we come full circle.”

You turned your body to face the shrouded display and pinch the cloth between two fingers.

“I’d like to start the auction period off with piece de resistance. As with all our photos tonight, when you bid on them, know that if won, they will be singularly yours. Forever. No duplicates will be made; the files have been destroyed.” Tugging on the sheet with a flourish, you swiftly pulled it off the polished stand to reveal a framed photo of the Maximoff twins. The discarded fabric tumbled to the floor with a flutter.

Pietro stood shirtless and defiant in the photo, black jeans hanging from his hips, the barest hint of his boxers peeking out. His body was smooth and hard, naturally flawless thanks to his inhuman healing abilities. Next to him, Wanda faced away from the camera in a black racerback, her head turned to regard her twin. Her hand drew a line across his chest, wrist relaxed on his far shoulder, polished black fingernails lovingly twirled a bleached curl. Their Marks were in full view, and the audience collectively sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff: Avengers, twins, soulmates.”

The room erupted once more in applause. You handed the microphone back to Tony and disappeared into the crowd.

-

You felt ill.

Clutching on the smooth marble countertop, you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dim yellow lighting from the shell-shaped wall scone flooded the room and made you look even more jaundiced. You had held it together for a whole three hours but now it was time to dump your entire stomach’s contents into the closest toilet. You barely made it before the champagne and bits of cheese ejected violently from your mouth.

You waited briefly for the nausea to pass and when it didn’t you returned to discharge the rest of your vomit into the bowl. In the stall a few spaces down, someone flushed before cautiously exiting. Three clicks of footsteps closer and there was a very light knock on the door that separated you from them.

Wanda stood over you, eyebrows tightly knitted in concern. She hoisted you up and the toilet flushed automatically upon registering movement. You wobbled to the counter again, opening the various cabinet doors before finding some mouthwash to gargle.

“Can I help you?” She asked, taking a cloth napkin from the wicker basket in the middle and dabbing around your red mouth after you’d spit into the sink. You sighed deeply, holding your hand over your torso. “It’s been a long month… that was actually more cathartic than traumatic.” She nodded in support.

You took the napkin from her and viciously wiped off the lipstick with it, peppermint smell lingering from your mouth. Your eyes began to focus and un-focus competitively and ghostly trails of color floated all around your head. Wanda followed your gaze with her eyes before pressing a warm palm to your temple.

“I can take it away, if you’d like,” she held up a splayed hand, fingers crackling with that ghostly energy of hers. Exhaling, you only nodded as she returned the heel of her palm to your forehead. A rush of tingles travelled up your body and into her hand, and you feel every inch of your skin crawling towards her. You’d forgotten how exhausted you’ve been for the past month as your head throbbed and ached against Wanda’s touch, mumbling what you hoped was a sincere-sounding thanks.  

When she finishes, Wanda lifts up your head with her finger and smiles. “All better, no?” When she walks you into the lobby, you feel yourself renewed with each step.

-

Steve thinks he can find you in any universe out there. Any timeline. Any dream. He’s got the shape of your body branded inside his brain. Every eyelash, every fine line, every damn pore.

When you cross the room with Wanda on your arm, smiling, he notices the lipstick has been rubbed off and your mouth is pink and raw. When you catch sight of him watching, Wanda departs gracefully and whispers into your ear a sweet note, wishing you a fruitful night onward. Your mind stills at her words, and your heart picks up a slow, steady beat when your feet end up in front of Steve at the edge of the room.

Steve knows he can.

He bends over to pull a lock of wavy hair into his hand and kiss it. The room is silent, conversations have long muted because of auction taking place. You’re no longer present, long gone from the party and adrift only in the blue-green sea of his gaze.

Steve allows the strands back onto your shoulder and they cascade over your back. He lets the scent of clean shampoo and something that is purely you wash over him. The crisp smell of seafoam and orange peels, summer rain, warm laundry in the sun. There’s a sheen layer of sweat in the dip of your neck that he’d love to get a mouthful of. The flame in his chest triggers.

He’ll have to thank Wanda later. Your posture is the most relaxed he’s seen you all night. The stiff square shoulders and domineering gait was a side of you he hadn’t seen before, a sight he couldn’t help but feel proud of as you commanded the room. However, he loved the natural you in front of him now most.

He doesn’t have to hear your words to know how you feel, but listens anyway.

“Thank you,” You smile, looking only at him, vaguely gesturing to the room full of people. Your voice has dropped low and earnest and you squeeze his hand just a little bit before anyone else sees. “I... I couldn’t have done this without you. I would have never done it.”

He nods and bows his head ever so slightly, peering at you through lashes. “I’m happy to have helped. You know that, sweetheart. I know you’re capable of so many great things… I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He rubs the edge of your mouth with a finger.

“Yeah.. I guess you’re used to seeing me like this, huh?” You giggle, embarrassed and remembering all the times you’ve thrown up because of his presence.

“I think even then, I had a feeling. Just… too afraid to come forward. After I learned how to use a computer…” He’s smiling at the memory, “..I used to spend all night looking at your photos… trying to find a picture of you somewhere.”

The thought of Steve, back then, already captivated by anything to do with you causes your breathing to pick up. You suck in air through your nostrils quickly as if you might be suffocating. A long moment passes as you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Honey?” He asks with a smile. He knows what’s coming.

You’re spellbound in his gaze, trapped like a moth, wings already soldered off by the flame. “I’d like to stay the night, I think. With you... and … B-Bucky.”

Steve plucks your hand from your side and kisses each knuckle. “Of course. Tony already said he’ll handle the rest of the show and paperwork. Let me know when you’re ready to go. We’ll take it slow.”

It’s a promise, and he doesn’t have to wait for your next words to know what you want. But he does so anyway. He needs to hear it.

“I’m... ready now.”

When Steve slips his hand over yours and feels the familiar pulse of your thumbprint, he knows. In this universe, this lifetime, or the next, or the next after that, he’d be able to find you. He is yours; you are his. With every step, he lets the fantasies he’s been occupied with disperse, focusing his attention solely on your figure at his side. The hallway muffles the sounds of the party and each step grows louder as you depart hand-in-hand.

 -

In the darkness of his room, your Soulmate kneels and unbuckles the strap of your stiletto, letting his fingers graze over your feet. He’s meticulous as he slips them off one at a time before trailing those calloused palms up your calves underneath the dress. The silky cool fabric brushes his knuckles, a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. You’re trembling against his hold as he continues upward, resting them on the back of your thighs, squeezing gently.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking.” He presses two kisses to the top of each thigh underneath the dress. His hot breath sends tingles slinking upwards into the pit of your core. “We can stop any time. We can stay in bed together and just sleep. I’d love that.”

You shake your head and place your hands over his, pulling them up even higher, over the apex of your bottom, brushing over your underwear, and catching in the tightness of the fabric. The motion is all he needs, and Steve deftly reaches up to untie the knotted bow at the small of your back.

The satin falls off your shoulders and pools at your feet.

Next Chapter

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

the words you drown (3/3)

season 11 fix-it fic

Read the first chapter on tumblr, AO3, or ff

Read the second chapter on tumblr, AO3, or ff

Read this chapter on AO3 or ff

_____________________

Throughout the course of Ziva’s visit, something seems to be… building. Everyone is happy for her and happy for Tony—they all say they’re not surprised—but the question of what now? sits unspoken in the back of each person’s throat. Tony and Ziva hardly have any answers to give, and though they’re both aware of the gossip going on all around them, there’s little they can say… so they try their best to ignore it.

Instead, Tony tries to go about life as usual and Ziva attempts to make time for everyone she has missed in the last few months. In between, she shoves aside the tension she feels lurking between herself and Tony because they’ve decided so little in the way of logistics; she’s not sure when that tension will reach a boiling point, but it will be soon, she’s sure.

It’s only a matter of time.

_____________________

With a few days left of Ziva’s trip, she meets Ellie for lunch like she promised earlier in the week.

She settles uncomfortably into a booth at a little cafe near the navy yard, rubbing her aching back. Her hotel room doesn’t have the most comfortable bed she’s ever slept in; though several of her NCIS friends offered to host her, appalled to know that she’s staying alone when she could be catching up with family, she said no to them all, and now she’s paying the price for her stubbornness. 

Truth be told, while being back here and seeing her loved ones is undeniably sweet, the dark cloud that led her back to Israel in the first place is still hovering above her. She’s not confident anymore on how to interact with the people who matter most, and, avoiding awkward moments, she holds onto the solitude of her hotel room as a safe place in case she needs to escape.

She’s interrupted from her musings about it all by the arrival of Ellie Bishop, a sunny smile on her pretty face. “Hi, Ziva!” she chirps, sliding into the booth across from the former agent. 

“Good afternoon, Ellie,” Ziva greets; her smile is smaller than the blonde’s, but it’s no less warm. 

“How are things going? Is it nice to be back?” Ellie wants to know. She picks up the menu in front of her and idly scans the first page, making her tone light as if she’s not burning with curiosity.

Ziva catches on anyway, and she keeps the little smile on her face, shrugging. “It is… mixed, yes?”

“Now that is something I understand,” Ellie agrees softly. 

They’re interrupted briefly by a waitress who arrives to take their orders, and it gives Ziva a little time to think. By the time she’s given her order—tea and toast and nutella and eggs, a particular craving today—she has settled on just how open she wants to be.

“I am sure you are curious,” she starts after the waitress departs. “Do you have questions?”

It has been a long time since she’s had many female friends, and this new agent comes across as entirely trustworthy. If nothing else, Ziva could use an impartial confidant.

“It doesn’t bother you to talk about… everything?”

Ziva shrugs noncommittally. Some things still bother her, but she’s trying to be better about not keeping everything to herself. She’ll never heal if she doesn’t process things.

“Alright,” Ellie says, raising her eyebrows but not arguing. “I do have questions, if you really don’t mind.”

“Fire ahead.”

Ellie grins, suppressing the urge to correct Ziva’s English—she’s pretty sure the other woman meant ‘fire away’—and she nods. “So, you and Tony, were you always…?”

Ziva chuckles. “You are not the first person to ask, and the answer is… complicated. Tony and I have cared deeply about one another for many years now, and that is all I can say with certainty.”

Ellie nods, accepting this and comparing it to her own experiences in seeing the team as it still grieved her predecessor. “Tony, he… he missed you a lot.” She’s uncertain whether she’s betraying Tony by sharing, but she saw him in the weeks and months after Ziva’s departure. She knows how much it hurt him—how much it probably still hurts him, though he’s gotten better at hiding it. 

“I know he did.” Ziva’s voice is soft, maybe a little apologetic. “He has been the hardest part of all of this.”

“Are you going to… or is he going to…?”

Despite the questions being incomplete, Ziva gets what Ellie is asking. “We have not figured it out yet,” she admits. “When I return to Israel, Tony will prepare to take an extended trip to Tel Aviv, too. He will fly out shortly before my due date and stay with me for at least a few weeks after Tali’s birth… at least until we make more permanent decisions.”

The thought makes Ellie smile. “That’s in, what… a month or two?”

“Six weeks, if my due date is accurate,” Ziva confirms.

“He’s going to make a good dad, isn’t he?”

“The best.”

Ellie considers the other woman, hesitating. 

“What is it going to do to him when you leave again?”

Ziva shakes her head; that very question has been troubling her. “I do not know,” she confesses.

_____________________

Ziva is awoken shortly after two in the morning her last night in Washington by a knock on the door of her hotel room. Instantly alert and suspicious, she creeps out of bed—a knife held loosely at her side—and peers through the peephole in the door. The knocker is Tony, standing out in the hall and looking kind of… wild.

Bewildered, Ziva opens the door. “Tony, what are you doing here?—it is very late, yes?”

“How’s this going to work?” he asks, ignoring her question and brushing past her into the room without waiting to be admitted. 

“I already said that I do not—”

“I know, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Should I move to Israel? Should I quit my job? I mean, I’ve got a kid coming. I’ve got a kid coming in six weeks. I’m going to be so bad at this! There’s a lot to—”

“Slow down,” Ziva interrupts gently, getting over her mild surprise and closing the door. She gestures to the bed, trying to get him to sit, but he seems to have worked himself up... he completely ignores her; instead of sitting, he starts to pace. 

The boiling point has been reached, apparently.

“There’s no time to slow down, Ziva!” Tony informs her, shoving a hand through his hair as his feet wear a hole in the carpet. “I don’t know the first thing about babies. I have so much to learn. How do you change a diaper? How much do they eat? How often do they eat? How do you know what they want if all they can do is cry to tell you—”

Seeing that the gentle approach will not work for now, Ziva interrupts again, this time by standing directly in Tony’s path and placing her hands firmly on her shoulders. “Stop walking and stop talking,” she commands authoritatively. 

Maybe remembering that he’s talking to a real human and not to himself, Tony does stop, and something in him seems to relax a smidge when he meets Ziva’s steady gaze. “Now that I have your attention,” she starts, a smile appearing on her face that’s a touch too amused for Tony’s liking, “I have some things to say. Sit first, however. Please.”

This time, he does sit, perching on the edge of the bed, and Ziva sits beside him. She’s had some of the same fears about herself. “You are not the first new parent to feel unprepared,” she promises her old partner kindly, empathetic, “and you will not be the last. Do you want to know what I think?”

Tony considers her for a moment and then nods.

“I think that you will be a wonderful father. The fact that you are worrying so much… well, that only means you care, and caring is the most important thing you can do.” They both know that her own father didn’t care nearly as much as he should have, the repercussions of which they’re still dealing with to this day. “You are right to feel a little anxious—it is a big responsibility that we are taking on—but I am not at all worried about your ability to parent.”

“You’re not?”

Ziva finds herself growing tender, believing her own words even more as she speaks them aloud. “If I could choose anyone in the world to be Tali’s second parent, it would be you.”

A bit of a smile turns up the corners of Tony’s lips, something like budding pride and maybe hope growing in his expression. Ziva can see at once that her confidence in him is precisely what he needed—as much as he may put on an arrogant front about most things, this is something he can’t fake. “You mean that?”

“More than you will ever understand, I do.”

She thinks back to the years they’ve known one another—how many times has he rushed selflessly to her aid without a thought to the consequences? How many times has he stood up for her, believed in her, staunchly disagreed with anyone who questioned her? How many times has he challenged her when she was bullheaded, how many times has he pushed her to be a better version of herself?

It would be impossible to add up, but the math is clear: Tony DiNozzo is a man capable of great love and loyalty, and there’s not a doubt in Ziva’s mind that he will adore and protect their daughter with every bit of strength he possesses. The rest is just… details. 

“Thanks, Ziva.” Tony pauses and then takes Ziva’s hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. 

She squeezes back and—after a slight hesitation of her own—she leans in to kiss his cheek. He smiles at her, and his expression becomes a little sheepish. “I still don’t know how to change a diaper, though,” he admits.

Ziva can’t help it—she giggles. “I can teach you,” she promises.

_____________________

Half an hour later, they’re at the nearest 24-hour Walmart, slap-happy with sleeplessness as they roam the aisles looking for something. 

“What are we here for?” Tony asks for the third time, greatly amused by the single-minded way Ziva is searching.

“You will understand in a moment,” she dismisses, perusing the toy section.

“I thought you were going to teach me to change a diaper.”

“I am.”

“I know you’ve been out of the country a while, Ziva, but kidnapping is still frowned upon.”

“Hush, Tony.”

“Hushing.”

Less than a minute later, she’s handing him a Cabbage Patch doll. “Hold this,” she says imperiously.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” Then she’s marching off again—waddling, really, though Tony knows better than to say that word out loud.

“Is that your mom voice?” Tony wonders aloud, trailing after her.

“Maybe.” That makes her grin.

Tony finally understands what Ziva is going for when they arrive at the baby section; they’re going to buy diapers, and she’s going to use the doll to teach him what to do with a real baby. When he figures it out, he laughs. “So…” he glances at the ‘birth certificate’ visible in the box, “Shelby Noelle is going to be a stand in for Tali?”

“That is the plan, yes.”

“Innovative,” Tony compliments, amused. 

“I have been known to come up with good ideas every now and later.” She grins back and ushers him to check out.

“Now and then.”

_____________________

As it turns out, changing diapers is a fairly straightforward process, and it only takes Tony a few tries to get it down once they start practicing back in Ziva’s hotel room. Ziva does it once first and then stands over his shoulder, barking orders like a pregnant drill sergeant and making Tony laugh as he learns the proper way to do what he’ll be doing regularly in a few short weeks.

Ziva watches his progress and gravitates closer once he’s done. “See? Easy queasy.”

“Easy peasy.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.” Tony laughs and Ziva shakes her head. 

“Easy peasy, then. This hurdle was a small one, but you managed it with no issues, yes?”

“I guess that’s true.”

“You will handle the rest with just as much aplomb, I am sure of it.”

Before Tony can respond to this, he catches sight of Ziva wincing and sees her hands moving to her abdomen. “What? What is it, what’s wrong?”

She laughs, though the expression on her face is still slightly pained. “Tali kicked me. Of course, she kicks often, but this time, it was rather forceful.”

Though he feels for Ziva, Tony has to grin. “She’s strong. She’s a DiNozzo.”

“That she is, and a David, too,” Ziva agrees, though she sounds a little put out about it, making Tony chuckle. 

“What does it feel like?”

“Like…” Ziva screws up her face, trying to think of the right way to describe the sensation, but she comes up short. It’s very late—or early, depending on how she looks at it. It’s nearly five in the morning and she didn’t get much sleep before he interrupted. “I cannot find the words to tell you. Here, you can feel.”

“Wait, really?”

Ziva laughs and grabs his hand, using it to tug him closer so he can lay his palm flat against the left side of her belly, right where Tali is still kicking on and off. “I don’t feel anything.”

“That is because she is not moving. It is not constant. Give her a moment to decide to kick again, yes?”

They wait another few beats, but Tali has gone curiously still. Tony opens his mouth to ask a question, but Ziva cuts him off. “Remember what I said she likes?”

“Voices?”

“Precisely. Talk to her and she may very well move for you.”

“What should I say?”

Ziva laughs. “I have never known you to struggle for words, Tony. Just say whatever comes to mind.”

“Okay.” Tony looks glances from Ziva’s belly to her face with a little hesitation, but then he seems to decide something to himself and he nods resolutely. “Okay,” he repeats. “Hi, Tali. This is your dad. I know we haven’t, like, met or anything yet, but… I can’t wait to get to know you. You’re half me, which is crazy—I’m afraid to see what you’re going to inherit from my side of the family. I just know that given who your mother is, I’ll have to be careful not to piss you off, little lady. You’re going to be a force to be reckoned with.”

Ziva’s chin starts to tremble—for some reason, hearing Tony talk to their baby girl is giving her a surge of emotions that she wasn’t expecting. It’s going to be so damn hard to leave him again.

Fortunately, Tali seems moved by his words as well, because as he finishes, she gives one hard kick in the direction of Tony’s hand. His eyes widen and he immediately looks up at Ziva, floored. “I felt it!” he cries, an expression of almost childlike excitement appearing on his face. “She kicked me!”

Ziva’s answering laugh is shaky but quietly happy all the same. “That she did,” she agrees warmly, looking down at her bump. “I think she may be saying that she is excited to know you, too.” Then she looks back at Tony, and he’s close to her and he’s so clearly thrilled and he has her heart.

It’s so natural to lean in and kiss him.

It’s hesitant but sweet, and he kisses her back with exactly the same pressure. After a moment, he breaks away a little. “Is this a bad idea?” he asks. 

“Maybe,” Ziva concurs cautiously, but it’s as if the last seven and a half months of longing have built something up inside of her; suddenly, she wants him very badly.

She can see in his eyes that he feels the same way. “Maybe not, though,” he hazards.

“Maybe not.”

Then he’s the one kissing her and she’s sighing into his lips and his hands are falling naturally to her sides and the bump between them is strange but more than good... It’s wonderful. For the first time in many months, all Ziva feels is peace and desire.

That’s true until Tony breaks the kiss and leaves her side, though, picking up the Cabbage Patch doll and leaving to put it in the bathroom. As he comes back, he very seriously says “Shelby Noelle does not get to watch.”

Then all Ziva feels is peace and desire and the strong desire to laugh at the ridiculous man who still has her love after everything they’ve been through.

When they kiss for the third time tonight, she lets go of all her worries and starts unbuttoning her shirt.

_____________________

The sense of deja vu when Tony takes Ziva to the airport a few short hours later is so strong, sudden, and painful that it takes Ziva’s breath away. Her hands fall to her belly, and she drops her gaze to the ground in front of her, avoiding letting Tony see the way her eyes have filled with tears. She feels an exceedingly gentle hand land on top of hers, though, and she knows that he knows anyway. 

Kindly, he doesn’t say anything, instead simply leaning in to kiss her temple.

After a moment, Ziva’s emotions settle out, and she takes a deep breath. “Thank you for, um…” her voice dies for a moment before she finds it again. “Thank you for driving me to the airport. Again.”

She knows that she’s not the only one remembering other airport scenes.

“Any time,” Tony answers firmly, a promise in his voice—he absolutely means what he’s saying, and it isn’t limited to airport runs… whatever she needs, day or night, here or in Israel… he has her back.

It’s something of a pity that though he has her heart, too, she’s still getting on a plane to leave him yet again.

“I will see you in—”

“Six weeks, give or take,” he finishes for her.

She nods, looks up at him and then away again. Saying goodbye feels daunting, especially after all the progress that they made last night. Tony seems to feel the same way, because he doesn’t interrupt her thoughts with chattering like he might any other time. 

“I will call you if anything happens,” Ziva promises finally. 

“You’d better call me regardless,” Tony teases. “I let you go once, okay? You’re not getting away from me that easily again.”

“I will call often,” Ziva corrects herself dutifully, drawn to smiling despite herself. 

“Good. Well, you have a plane to catch, right?”

There’s something in Tony’s voice that Ziva can’t quite decipher, but she can guess nonetheless—he’s not happy that she’s leaving. Frankly, she’s not thrilled, either, but though her heart wants to stay, the darkness still swirling in the back of her mind reminds her to go. “I do,” she agrees softly.

“Then you’d better get going.”

“I should.”

Still, neither of them moves for a long moment. Then, ever-so-gently, Tony catches Ziva’s chin in one hand and brings her face up to meet his own, giving her a soft kiss. This is less fierce than their last kiss in Israel as he left to get on a plane, less… questioning. He’s accepting her departure, she realizes. He’s giving her permission to go, letting her do what she needs to do.

Somehow, that breaks her heart more than when he begged her so many months ago to come home again.

“Bye, Ziva,” Tony murmurs. His voice breaks a little, but there’s no hesitation in his words. “See you soon.”

“Bye, Tony.”

Tony’s other hand, still resting on Ziva’s on her belly, gives one last caress and falls away. “Bye, Tali,” he adds.

Ziva gives him a shaky smile, equal parts affectionate and pained, and turns to go before she can change her mind. It’s now or never.

“One, two, three, four—”

She turns back, only a few steps away, to see Tony counting and grinning at her. “What are you doing?” she asks, frowning.

“Counting to a million, of course. Figured it would make the next six weeks pass quicker.”

Her mind flashes back, just as she’s sure Tony meant for it to. Count to a million. I’m on my way. It was texted to her right before he spent months tracking her down, following her all around the Middle East as she tried to resolve the pain and self-doubt that had plagued her for months. 

“What am I doing?” she murmurs to herself, shaking her head.

“What was that?” Tony questions, looking mildly confused. It’s only then that Ziva realizes she was speaking to herself both out loud and in Hebrew.

“I just said…” she pauses. “What am I doing?”

“Getting on a plane?”

“Leaving you.”

A little surprise registers on Tony’s face, afraid to hope. “Not so sure you want to go?”

“Tony,” Ziva answers softly, “I have never been sure.”

“But you—”

“I am sure of what I need, but I am not sure how to obtain it.”

“What is it you need, then?”

“I need… peace. I need space to figure out what is happening in my head. I need to find a way of life for myself that does not involve taking the lives of others.”

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but Ziva raises a hand to silence him. “Just… a moment, please, Tony,” she requests quietly.

She knows what he wants to say—why can’t she have those things here? He tried so hard back when Tali was conceived to convince her that she could, to convince her that no matter what, she was better off at home. 

After a week here, she realizes quite suddenly that some of the tension she’s been feeling is internal—it’s a nagging sense that he might be right. 

In many ways, Ziva is better here amongst those she loves; the solitude of the past months has been wonderful, and she has certainly made some steps in the right direction, but here… here, she would be pushed to grow. She’d be gently nagged into going to therapy, into talking it out, into not becoming a recluse who was fearful of the world around her. 

Maybe Israel was where she needed to be then, but maybe Washington, D.C. is where she needs to be now.

And Tali? 

Tali already seems to love the sound of her father’s voice. She kicks more when he’s around and talking than Ziva has known her to do for the rest of the pregnancy, and Ziva has no doubt that she’ll be wrapped around his little finger as soon as she’s born. Tali deserves to have her father around, even if Ziva is afraid of staying.

Honestly, what is she doing?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling her flight ticket from her bag and tearing it into shreds.

“Ziva?”

“I am not going. I cannot go. I cannot leave you, not again.”

The look on Tony’s face says he’s not sure he believes her, and without another word, she drops her bag carelessly to the ground and crosses the short distance between them. Then she’s standing on her tiptoes and putting a hand on the back of his head to pull his face down toward hers, and she’s kissing him.

She doesn’t know how it’ll work. She’s not even sure it will work. But one way or another…

They’ll figure it out together.

fin.

[phanomeheart]

do u have any recs for good omens blogs or fics?

Anon, I have SO MANY good omens fic recs!

I’m gonna put them under the cut, but this inspired me to finally make a spreadsheet of recs that will autofill from my master spreadsheet of GO fic with fics I’ve finished and recommend.

On to some specific recs, if you’re not wanting over 150 fics to wade through:

First and foremost, I have to rec the first good omens fic I ever read, Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by @drawlight. This fic made me go from adamantly insisting I wasn’t going to get into good omens fic yet cuz I still had to finish my thesis to now having read 245 fics in less than 2 months (send help). I’m going to go ahead and rec all of their fics and can so far personally attest to the brilliance and soul crushing beauty of: Quiet Light, Ad Astra, Alegría, and I Will Get Up Now And Go About The City. I consistently need a minumum of 24 hours to recover after reading something of theirs.

The rest, in no particular order:

small infinities and all that (M, 13.2k) by @billypotts: And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them. Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

lit in the darkness (M, 40.5k) by ToEdenandBackAgain: Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak (M 17.1k) by triedunture: "Yes, exactly. Retire." Aziraphale reaches for the last remaining tartlet brimming with summer berries. "Somewhere along the south coast, perhaps." Or: Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape (G, 14.2k) by @mortuarybees: After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives. 

Something to do with these sacred words (T, 11.k) by Solshine: Crowley confesses early, and Crowley confesses often. Aziraphale never knows quite what to say.

Anywhere You Want to Go (E, 9.9k) by Aria: Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud. It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore.

Slow (T, 9.4k) by @theirdarkreturning: It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

At Least Eleven Second First Times (M, 8.8k) by enjambament: Aziraphale deals with the consequences of having a brand new body after he'd broken the last one in for 6,000 years. Crowley helps. Taking a drunk-on-life Aziraphale on an impromptu road trip through French wine country to the North of Spain for a beach holiday is definitely helping, right?

An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually (G, 7.5k) by @theladyzephyr: “Why does it bother you?” Crowley asked. “Even if you can’t get to them in time to wipe their memories, it’s not like anyone’d believe them. Kid goes running to her mum saying Ooh, I’ve just seen a bloke with three heads and a sixteen-foot wingspan, what do you think’s going to happen? Chances are they’ll just pat her on the shoulder and tell her what a vivid imagination she’s got.”“That’s not what worries me,” said Aziraphale.

it's the light (it's the obstacle that casts it) (T, 5.8k) by Handful_of_Silence: It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is. Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

every angel is terrifying (T, 4.8k) by punkfaery: “Why does it bother you?” Crowley asked. “Even if you can’t get to them in time to wipe their memories, it’s not like anyone’d believe them. Kid goes running to her mum saying Ooh, I’ve just seen a bloke with three heads and a sixteen-foot wingspan, what do you think’s going to happen? Chances are they’ll just pat her on the shoulder and tell her what a vivid imagination she’s got.” “That’s not what worries me,” said Aziraphale.

a city wall and a trampoline (T, 4.7k) by kafkian: In their cottage in the South Downs, when Crowley eventually succeeds in getting Aziraphale to use a laptop, it takes Aziraphale literal hours to get past the default Windows screensavers of picturesque locations because 'oh, look, isn't it lovely, Crowley!' 5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse.

Morning Has Broken (T, 3.9k) by @dwarven-beard-spores: The year is 1972 and the last surviving member of Aziraphale’s gentleman’s club has passed away. (Warning for this one: heavy discussions of death and mourning. These are things I normally avoid for personal reasons, but this fic was gorgeous and just the right kind of painful on this topic for me.)

Love Hath Made Thee a Tame Snake (E, 3.5k) by @thehoyden: He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.

An Invitation You Can't Decline (E, 2k) by @thehoyden: “I have standards,” Aziraphale huffed.“Don’t I know it,” Crowley sighed. And then, like he’d done it a hundred times before, he covered Aziraphale’s hand with his.

You, Soft and Only (E, 9.4k) by @thehoyden: He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

the deft, sweet gesture of your hand (E, 12.1k) by @mortuarybees: Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale's door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

the technology is neutral (E, 6.9k) by @deputychairman: “Stand up?” he echoed, incredulous but too undone by sensation to express the full force of his disbelief. “I can barely even remember my own name after that, and you want me to stand up?”“Your name is Anthony J Crowley, apparently, although you never did tell me what the J stood for so I can’t help you there,” he said, not hiding his smile. “Do stand up, I promise you’ll like it.”

Sudden and Surprising Moments of Overwhelming Affection (G, 2.7K) by @forineffablereasons: Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.

get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) (G, 4.3k) by @brinnanza: So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

Wings and How to Hide Them (M, 10.1k) by triedunture: Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

i know i've kissed you before (but i didn't do it right) (G, 4.8k) by @gallantrejoinder: They'd given it a go once. Ages ago. And they'd both agreed it wasn't for them.

I’ll cut myself off there, but the Good Omens fandom is distressingly full of amazing fic, and there are so many more I love too (see the spreadsheet)! All of the above fics have personally ruined me and I cannot rec them highly enough. Don’t forget to leave a comment if you feel up to it! 

In terms of blogs, I don’t know that I’m a great source for that, but some blogs I follow: @rafaelafranzen, @forineffablereasons, @drawlight, @thehoyden. I’m realizing that’s really it on the primarily GO focused blogs. I also have a GO sideblog, @sansevieriatri, but I don’t know if I’d rec it, as it’s mostly me reblogging art and fic I love and screaming about it in the tags (so basically like this blog).

Thanks for the ask! I enjoyed this more than I think probably anyone else will, lol. (Also, my constant disclaimer, if I’ve made any mistakes let me know.)

[brucethecrocodile]

This is my story and art so please don’t repost on other sites thanks

Behind the Door

WARNING: This story is not for the faint of heart.

It all began one thousand years ago, in the small tribe of Shamungga, in West Africa. The Shamunggan shaman’s apprentice was reciting a spell, which he thought would bring rain to the tribe when in actual fact it was a spell to release the Hashnawa, a terrible demon that devourers all beauty, life and soul from everything. When the spell was complete and the Hashnawa was released, chaos and ruin took Shamungga, hundreds were killed and the rest wounded. The chief banished the apprentice and the remaining people sought refuge with the shaman. The Old Shaman with her powers vanquished the demon, but she died of exertion. What the people of Shamungga did not know was that the Hashnawa was not killed but lay in wait for the day where he would be freed from his prison and destroy anything and anyone in his path.

Now we come back to the present day where I’ll introduce our five victims, did I say victims because I meant to say…uhhh…”heroes” that’s it sorry, lost my train of thought, but let’s continue. Shall we?

Our first person is a lowly man by the name of Cadmus, he is 42 years of age, single, balding from the back forward, has no friends, his family really dislikes him, he is obese, his skin colour is white, has no children (but likes children) and he works as an underpaid cook at a fast food place.

Our next person is a very depressed man, who is fabulously rich, by the name of Richard Richie Richmond, he is 24 years of age, single(but has adoring fans who love him), blonde hair, grey-black eyes, well built, his skin colour is white, has a tremendous amount of fake friends, he is an only child, when he does see his parents they are always on the phone, hates children, is cruel to his employees and under pays them, he owns dozens of fast food places and he would like to hire an assassin but has no one to kill.

Our third person is a beloved, kind actress by the name of Erica Patience; she is 40 years of age, married with 3 teenage children, she looks half her age, pitch black hair (no grey/white hairs), strikingly green eyes, her skin colour is black, has a close group of true friends, a loving family, is kind to everyone and anyone, hates violence and can’t dance or sing.

Our fourth person is actually three people by the names of Nutella, @ and Cyanide Cornfoot-Bonefat, they are 24 years of age, blonde, brunet and fiery red coloured hair, they have heterochromia eyes which are blue and brown, brown and green and green and blue, they are studying to be doctors, all of them are single, their skin colour is black, are orphans, they have friends but are their own best friends forever, they are passive, timid and aggressive and hardly ever do as they are told.

Our final person is a criminal of high security he has 50 life sentences his name is Bobby Bill, he is 11 years of age, doesn’t have a family anymore, has no more friends left, his eyes are black with hatred and pleasure, his heart has no more colour, his conscience…what conscience he has none, his hair is a cruel colour, his skin is so sickly white it is translucent, his teeth are a vile shade of yellow-green, his ears look like rats have chewed them almost completely off, his nose is like a rats, his face is quite rat like with his beady little eyes, rat nose, whiskers and mouth, he smells of rotting flesh and garbage, he has a skeletal appearance and has the warts a toad would be grossed out from.

So now that you know our “heroes” let’s start our true story. Let’s bring the chaos…an archaeological dig, in west Africa have found the ruins of an ancient tribe, where lies the remains of hundreds of humans and a cave with a passage written in the Shamunggan language of tyticky, the archaeologists did not know that the text was indeed the spell that set Hashnawa free and the warning to NEVER read the spell aloud. The archaeologists sent the text to a master of deciphering dead languages. It took a month but the “master” finally deciphered the text and gave it back to the archaeologists, and they read it… aloud. With that one little mistake they endangered the lives of everyone and everything in the universe.

Hashnawa curled up under the tribe in his prison. In that moment opened his eyes for the first time in one thousand years.

Cadmus had an appointment with his boss; he wanted to ask for a raise because he has worked there for so long. When he stepped into the office building he felt a sudden rush of fear, flood through his veins. After about an hour of waiting in the waiting area, he knocked on his boss’s office door. The office was on the top level of the tallest building in the city and the whole one wall was made of glass, which gave it an excellent view, the desk was close to the window and was an antique black oak writing desk. Cadmus’s boss, sat in a black leather swivel office chair, he was facing the window so you couldn’t see his face.

“Please come, sit…I don’t bite…usually.” joked, Cadmus’s boss in a deep sinister, masculine voice that was unquestionably smooth and suave. Cadmus gulped and gingerly took several small baby steps forward, toward his boss. “Now…uhhh…Cadmus is it?” asked, Cadmus’s boss in that same voice, “um…y…ye…yes…sir.” Squeaked, Cadmus awkwardly saluting his boss’s back, his boss slowly turned his chair around to face Cadmus, with his blonde hair and penetrating grey-black eyes that seem to stare right into your soul.

“Now there Cadmus, no need for those formalities, you can just call me Mr. Richmond. My friends either call me Richard, Richie or RRR/triple R. But obviously you can’t call, ME that now…can you? So now Cadmus, hilariously stupid name by the way, what have you come to ask me, today?” inquired Richard, with an obnoxious look on his face. “Well, sir I mean Mr. Richmond. I have come to…well…uhhh…um…I have come to ask you for a rai…” started Cadmus. “Now let me just stop you right there, what makes you think that I’m going to give YOU a raise… huh! Why do you deserve it?! Tell me, don’t just stand there looking at the ground like an idiot, and tell me already…no well ok then this meeting is finished I have a movie premiere to go to.” interrupted Richard.

Richard stood up and stormed out, mumbling about the likes of Cadmus…as he was passing Cadmus. Rude much, I mean he didn’t even say goodbye and have a good day. Anyway, Cadmus decided to follow his boss and try to “persuade” or in other words “beg” and “plead” his boss for the raise.

Meanwhile at a high security prison just outside of town, a certain deadly prisoner is “making a break for it” or he is trying and succeeding at breaking out of prison.

Yet at the movie premiere a crowd swarm as they try to get a glimpse, of the celebrities walking down the red carpet. In this swarming mass of people is someone unlike anyone else there, because they are a three headed girl. Some might call them conjoined triplets; they might call them a three headed freak of nature.

The star of the premiere was walking around, by herself, nearby the premiere, her family was already inside. She passed an alleyway and she heard a sound as if someone had ran and hid. “Hello…is anyone there…” Erica Shouted cautiously, as she stepped toward where the sound came from. She suddenly heard another sound right behind her and she felt as if she was being watched. She turned around…slowly. “AHHHHH!” she screamed as she got the shock of seeing the little 11 year old boy for the first time.

Erica was shocked at how this boy looked and smelled she was even slightly scared of this boy, who looked almost like the devil incarnate. Erica soon found herself again. “Hello there. Sorry I screamed, you just startled me that’s all. What is a young boy like you doing in an alley way late at night, and all by yourself to?” asked Erica, to the small terrifying boy.

“I’m hiding, from the pol…uhhh…bullies who were...picking on me. They are very violent.” lied the strange looking boy. “But why are you out here, and not at home? And where are your parents?” Erica asked suspiciously, with a raised eyebrow. “Well I…uhhh…don’t have any parents there deceased and I...live at a…orphanage. The thing is the orphanage is awful and everyone bullies me because of how I look, they…uhhh…call me names like freak and rat-face and rodent boy.” explained the boy with a sad, innocent look on his face. Erica asked the boy one last question “So what is your name? Mine is Erica Patience.” He answered with a smirk “Erica, my name is Bobby Bill.”

Cadmus followed Richard to the premiere, but he couldn’t go in through the front door, because he didn’t have a ticket, so he snuck in the back door through the staff entrance. The conjoined triplets were inside, and took their seat next to Richard. Erica and Bobby sat with Erica’s family, who were coincidentally next to Richard and Nutella, @ and Cyanide.

In the middle of the premiere Cadmus suddenly was on the stage with a mic and told everyone what Richard told him. The security dragged him out of the premiere, but little did they know that he would not give up there.

Most of the people who were at the premiere went to the after party; this includes Richard, Nutella, @, Cyanide, Bobby and Erica. Erica’s family went home but she had to stay because she was the star of the movie. Cadmus followed soot.

Keep in mind that our “heroes” still have not properly met except for Bobby and Erica, and Richard and Cadmus.

Richard went straight to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks for himself.

Nutella wanted to dance but Cyanide wanted to drink and @ just wanted to leave, so Cyanide drank, on the right shoulder, while Nutella danced, with their feet, she was on the left shoulder, and @ was just there, in the middle looking awkward as ever.

Erica tried to persuade Bobby out of the shadows to dance with her, but he was unwilling.

A little while later, Erica had given up and was dancing, Bobby was still in the shadows. Richard was almost drunk, at the bar ordering more drinks. The conjoined triplets getting tired of dancing headed to the bar, on the watch for cute guys. Cadmus was inside the gates, trying to think of how to confront his boss…without getting fired.

Richard had just had his third drink and was a…wee bit tipsy. When these three girls came up to him at first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him because these girls had one body. There was a red head with a pixie cut that was very punk rock, she had one blue eye and one brown eye she was on the right, holding an empty drink and she looked quite fearless. The girl on the left had brunette hair styled in that tight 60’s curl, with one green eye and one brown eye she held herself confidentially bopping her head to the music. The last girl was in the middle, she had one green eye and one blue eye, and she hid behind her long straight bleach blonde hair and looked shy and awkward. They were wearing a short tight red dress with black heels.

The girls sat down next to Richard at the bar. “Can I get a drink…please?” yelled the girl on the right with the fiery punk hair; she sounded like she had already had numerous drinks. “I don’t think you should drink anymore, you’ve already had lots.” shyly whispered the girl in the middle, looking down at their hands. “What did you say? Are you trying to tell me what to do?” Spat the first girl. “No…I mean yes…I mean…I don’t know.” mumbled the second girl. “That’s what I thought your just a little scaredy cat, you know what I think you’re just…” “Stop it right now!?” interrupted the girl, with the 60’s do, in a passive but serious tone.

After the girls had cooled off Richard introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Richard…and you fine young ladies are?” inquired Richard. Blushing they answered one at a time, “I’m…@.” giggled the girl in the middle. “I’m Nutella, it’s a pleasure to meet you Richard.” blushed the girl on the left, sticking out her hand to shake formally. “I’m Cyanide, and are you…single? Because we are.” drunkenly stated the girl on the right. “Uhhh, yeah...ok. Do you guys want a drink?” awkwardly answered Richard. “Yes thanks, we would love a drink.” exclaimed Nutella.

Just as Nutella finished her answer there was a low pounding sound, like giant footsteps, coming closer and closer. Until, finally this colossal reptilian looking beast with six legs, stood in front of the party goers. Standing on its hind two pairs of legs, it had raptor like talons, a skeletal tail with no flesh at all just the bear bone, on the tip of its tail a venom excreting mace, its twenty blood-red eyes were plastered onto the front of it gnarled scar ridden face and as it roared its unruly, blood-curtailing, deathly roar it unfurled its satanic bat-like wings.

This dreadful beast was in fact Hashnawa, the terrible demon, in his full strength, for the first time in one thousand years. He devoured all the beauty, life and soul from the people that were near him. Their lifeless bodies slouched over, with stark white eyes and hair. Hashnawa leaned over and grabbed a carcass in his powerful jaws. He crunched down shattering the bones, tearing the flesh, muscle and skin to shreds with the person’s blood cascading down both sides of his jaws, meeting on the tip of his chin, only to drip down onto the floor.

The crowd screamed and ran as fast as they could trying to get far away from the beast, but our “heroes” stood there frozen staring up at this 100 foot monster their feet bolted to the ground, their eye transfixed on this thing. They only snapped out of the creature’s hypnotic trance by an ear-splitting scream as a girl cried out as she was deprived of all her beauty, life and soul. Cadmus sprinted to his car and shouted out to the others “GET IN THE CAR, BEFORE YOU GET EATEN!” and they hurried to squash into Cadmus’ car, and he sped away without any hesitation.

After they were a safe distance away from the creature Cadmus slowed down. “What was that...that thing?!” yelled Nutella. “I don’t know...but did you see what it did to those poor people.” exclaimed Erica. “Hey you’re Erica Patience the actress, it is a great honour to meet you.” chorused everyone, except Bobby and of cause Erica. “Thank you all, it is always great to meet a fan. Now you all know me but the only person I know is Bobby here.” smiled Erica pointing to the small 11year old disgusting boy, who was sitting next to her. They then introduced themselves, before telling each other about themselves.

That night Bobby stayed with Erica and her Family.

The next morning on the News.

News reporter: “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with some professors from the University of Archaeology, who say they can explain the recent rash of disappearances. So professors what’s the verdict?”

Professors: “Stay home lock your doors, bolt your windows no one is safe from the wrath of Hashnawa the demon who devourers all the beauty, life and soul from everything. He will bring chaos and ruin like he did to the ancient tribe of Shamungga, hundreds were killed and the rest wounded they were only saved by their shaman and she could only imprison him. Our best advice to you is run and hide, go underground if you have to just save your selves and your loved ones.”

News reporter: “ok...so they are crazy...oh they’re now singing the song ‘it’s the end of the world as we know it’ so that was a dead end...I’ve just got news that this has happened in West Africa, where people suddenly started disappearing. So I guess that’s all from me now back to you Earl.”

Erica turned off the TV, gobsmacked she had to sit down.

When she was finally herself again she phoned, her new friends from last night and told them what the news had said. They were all shocked too. They later decided to meet up for lunch and talk, she brought Bobby with her, since he wasn’t going to school. When they were all at the café they discussed it fully, but as they were getting up to leave...they heard a terrified scream and they all turned to see what the fuss was about, and what they saw shook them to the core.

The army was called in but as the tanks and soldiers, were about to fire. The tanks stopped and the soldiers collapsed to the ground like human ragdolls. One by one they were eaten in shocked silence the only sound was of the crunch, snap and crack of the Hashnawa eating the lifeless corpses of the soldiers. Then the beast roared its horrible roar, and continued eating. In that moment the human race saw its defeat, some gave up, some ran and hid, but the few that didn’t give up banded together in rebellion, they then tried to fight Hashnawa with weapons...it did not work and they were killed then ripped to shreds then eaten.

News reporter: “It has been a month since the demon Hashnawa arrived, there is now no electricity. Our numbers are declining and we suspect that he will not stop, he will wipe out everything on the face of the planet, if the world is listening then...go underground and hide because there is no one to save us.”

Our “heroes” lives are quite different now. Erica’s family has moved away to safety, it is just her and Bobby, they keep each other company. She still has no idea that Bobby is actually a wanted criminal of high security. Cadmus now has friends and he got the raise, not that it matters now anyway. Richard now has actual friends and is a better person; he is dating Nutella, @ and Cyanide and it is serious, he still has no one to hire an assassin for though. The conjoined triplets have graduated university. They have all stayed in contact and are great friends.

*1:00am* ring, ring...ring, ring “Hello, yeah this is he...yeah...hmm...ok...how come...sure but...hmm...I know...I’ll try...ok bye.” Richard sighed and phoned his friends.

“What do you mean we have to try and defeat Hashnawa?! It’s suicidal...but why us, why you this makes no sense...I know but...sure...yeah but...ok...right...I know and you’re right...ok see you tomorrow then bye.”

The next day the friends set out on their mission, they were all terrified. “Ok let’s do this.” They shouted together, to pump themselves up. They charged Hashnawa to get his attention, and then they led him out of the city and into the dessert. Once they were far enough away they began shooting at him from all angles always moving so he couldn’t kill them. “It’s working, it’s actually working. This is great! Hey you guys, I haven’t told you this before but you’re the only friends I have ever had.” Cadmus shouted over the roars of Hashnawa. “Cadmus you are an awesome person, and we’re lucky to be your friends.” Everyone chorused.

Just then Hashnawa was about to hit Erica, but Cadmus saw this and ran to save her and pushed her aside shouting “Noooooo...” before being hit with the fatal blow, in the middle of nowhere miles from anywhere.

His friends cried out when he was hit. Bobby Bill, who had grown attached to the kind, obese man who was balding from the back forward, tried to run to him but got held back by Erica and the others. So he just cried out in vein. Bobby was hoping, wishing and pleading that his friend was still alive, yet after he didn’t stir and say something like “don’t worry ‘bout me l’il chipmunk I’m a tough old geezer.” That’s when Bobby knew he was gone forever and he cried. He cried until there were no more tears left to cry, when that happened he just then moaned, heart breaking moans of sadness.

“At least he died with a smile on his face.” Said Richard who had knelt down next to Bobby, who was kneeling next to Cadmus’ crushed and deformed pale body and Richard gave Bobby a comforting hug. “Let’s destroy this monster, once and for all!” shouted Bobby angrily.

By sunset they and Hashnawa were tired. Richard fired a shot gun at the demon and it fell down. The friends leapt in victory, Richard went up to Hashnawa and did a little dance. Hashnawa quickly slammed his mace tail down on Richard wounding him then he devoured all the beauty, life and soul from him.

He hit the triplets with his tail as they ran to the body of Richard; they were flung into a rock and couldn’t move they had a venom injecting spike stuck in their stomach. @ died with her eyes and mouth open, blood rolled out of her mouth her sisters cried out in sadness. Nutella was the next to die. Cyanide was the only one left, she screamed in pain and sorrow and told them she was sorry for being mean to them and she died with her eyes closed hugging her sisters bodies in her arms, a single tear ran down her cold lifeless cheek.

Erica suddenly pushed Bobby away and shouted to him “run and be safe.” Those were her last words to him, because after that Hashnawa ate her in one clean bite in front of him she had been waving goodbye to him, when it happened with tears in her eyes and a proud motherly smile on her face. He cried and cried for what must have felt like hours, he had found himself a family after so long and then one day it just vanished. He remembered everything they had been through together, only to cry some more.

He felt himself stand up and grab all the remaining weapons and he just fired them blast after blast at the demon while walking closer and closer then he activated all the bombs strapped to him and let himself be eaten.

Bobby died. The demon Hashnawa was never seen again.

On our “heroes” grave stones it read:

R.I.P Cadmus at 42 years old, Richard Richie Richmond at 25 years old, @, Nutella and Cyanide Cornfoot-Bonefat at 25 years old, Erica Patience at 40 years old and Bobby Bill on his 12th birthday.

Saviours of humanity. Beloved by many, known by few.

But what no one knew was that the Hashnawa has hundreds of thousands of demon spawn in his cave...

By,

Shayna M.

[stephissalty]

clumsy with your heart

Pairing: Iwaoi

Rating: T

Warnings: Language

Words: 6600

Summary: Oikawa Tooru is fine. Okay, maybe not really. He's running on empty, his work is literal hell, he hardly sleeps or eats, and he could very well collapse at any given second. But! For all intents and purposes, Oikawa Tooru is fine.

Except, he's not, and Oikawa is hurting his best friend by hurting himself, but he doesn't see the damage he's causing. And Iwaizumi's rope is running just as thin as Oikawa's.

AO3

clumsy with your heart

He probably got a little bit greedy. Yeah, that was probably it. He’s always been too greedy, too pompous, and it bit him in the ass when he got too close to the sun and fell back to earth, leaving a path of pain in his wake. Flew too close to the sun, picked up too many responsibilities, played with a few too many hearts. Looking back, that’s probably what ended him up here. He tried to play god, tried to split his own heart in too many directions when it could really only go one. He pushed the one person who would go to the end of the earth for him too far.

That’s how everything went wrong and how he lost his best friend.

God, he hated himself.

The other deserved better than him.

Fuck.

-

Oikawa Tooru is fine. 

“Oikawa, we need you to stay late tonight.” He agrees even though it’s the third night this week.

It’s fine.

“Tooru, you haven’t called in weeks.” He’s been busy, he says. It’s the truth, but his energy is running on empty.

It’s fine.

“Oikawa, come out tonight; you need fun.” He says no, quoting something about being tired.

It’s fine.

He’s fine. 

-

“Tooru, you haven’t left your bed in two days.” Iwaizumi pokes his head into Oikawa’s room, where he’s made himself a nest of blankets to make the best of his long weekend. Even though he’s “relaxing,” he still has his laptop and is doing his homework for the upcoming week so he doesn’t need to worry about it. “Please come out.”

“I’m recharging for another week from hell,” he responds. Iwaizumi is the only person who’s ever seen him like this. Weak. 

“We can watch that American crime show you’ve been wanting to watch,” Iwaizumi offers. Not for the first time, fondness blooms in Oikawa’s chest for his best friend at how hard he’s trying. He’s the only person who hasn’t given up on Oikawa.

Oikawa considers the offer and cocks his head. “Okay.”

He slowly peels back his layers of blankets, very aware of Iwaizumi’s concerned gaze from the doorway. Carefully, he stands and makes his way to his friend, who has a soft smile on his face as he wraps an arm around Oikawa’s waist. Together, they walk over to the couch and settle into their usual position. Oikawa lays his head on Iwaizumi’s lap as Iwaizumi runs his hand through the other’s soft hair.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan,” he whispers part way through the show.

He draws one of Oikawa’s hands up to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss to the backs of his fingers. “Anything for you.”

His heart flutters slightly as he directs his attention back to the television. Iwaizumi shifts to reach for a blanket, which he drapes over Oikawa. Oikawa grabs onto his left hand - the hand that isn’t petting him - and doesn’t let go. 

-

“Oikawa, nice serve!”

He serves the ball and the volley begins, bouncing back and forth between both teams until Iwaizumi spikes it down in the other team’s court. 

Today’s practice is fairly standard, if not tedious. They’ve been doing practice games a lot recently, which he supposes is better than laps of diving drills, but his head is starting to hurt from the constant court analysis. Regular practice drills wouldn’t be a bad change of pace, he thinks, and then cringes at the thought of some of the especially miserable drills.

“Nice practice, wrap up! See you guys tomorrow morning!” the captain shouts. Right now it is nearing ten o’clock, and morning practice starts at five tomorrow. Barely seven hours. 

“Hey, I’m going to run some serve drills if that’s alright,” Oikawa calls over to him. He can feel Iwaizumi’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t say anything.

Once all of his teammates have left, he hits ball after ball over the net, most of them staying in bounds, but still not as powerful or as controlled as he wants. Iwaizumi is standing by the ball basket, drinking water as he carefully regards Oikawa’s energy state. 

After a particularly poor serve, he swears, “Fuck.”

“Tooru.”

“I’m not done, Iwa-chan.”

“It’s midnight. You’ve been at it for two hours. Your knee is going to give out. We need to go home and you need to ice your knee.”

“No, it’s not good enough,” he argues, feeling his voice catch slightly.

“Tooru.” 

He goes to pick up another ball but discovers that the basket is empty - he’s already emptied three so far. Oikawa doesn’t allow his annoyance to show on his face as he makes to duck under the net to pick up a few of the balls on the other side of the court, but there’s a harsh pull at his collar.

“You’re done. Stretch, asshole,” Iwaizumi demands. He starts picking up all of the balls around the gym.

“Iwa-chan, I’m fine. You really don’t need to worry about me so much.”

Iwaizumi looks back at him. His undereyes are slightly darkened, but Oikawa figures it’s because it’s getting late. “Don’t I, though? C’mon, we’ve gotta get home.”

When they get back to their apartment, Iwaizumi pitches an ice pack at his face with a towel wrap, demanding that he ice his knee. Oikawa reluctantly agrees.

He struggles to sleep that night and instead tosses and turns until it’s close enough to the time when he’d have to wake up for morning practice anyways. Iwaizumi notices, of course.

-

05 December, 11:13

To: Oikawa Tooru

From: Kindaichi Yuutarou

Subject: Recommendation Letter

Hi Oikawa-san,

I hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if, when you get a chance, you’d be willing to write a recommendation letter for me? I’m looking at applying for some internships and co-ops, and I think that a recommendation letter from you would benefit me greatly.

Thanks,

Kindaichi

05 December, 12:39

To: Kindaichi Yuutarou

From: Oikawa Tooru

Subject: Re: Recommendation Letter

Kindaichi-kun,

Absolutely. Attached is the letter. Feel free to save it and use it as you need. If there is anything you’d like added to the letter, I can do that. Good luck in your future endeavours.

Best,

Oikawa Tooru

Marketing Supervisor, Social Division

-

Received, 17:00: Yo are you coming out tonight?

Delivered: 17:31: no i’m staying late at work and then i’m gonna workout

Delivered, 17:31: thanks for the invite tho

Received, 17:34: Okay, you’re always welcome to join

Delivered, 17:48: thanks

Delivered, 17:48: miss you and mattsun

Received, 17:50: We miss you too

-

19 December, 15:09

To: Oikawa Tooru

From: Social Division Management

Subject: Activity Report

Good afternoon,

Can you draw up a report of your division’s activity for the last eight months? Include all new hires, reports written, complaints filled, write-ups, articles, successful marketing schemes launched, unsuccessful marketing schemes launched, and schemes in progress in addition to anything else you see fit. We need this by tomorrow morning.

Social Division Management

19 December, 16:55

To: Social Division Management

From: Oikawa Tooru

Subject: Re: Activity Report

Good evening,

Attached is the report. I’ve put it in an Excel file format, but I can convert it to a PDF or different document format if that would better suit your needs. If there is any missing information, please let me know and I’ll be happy to fix it.

Oikawa Tooru

Marketing Supervisor, Social Division

-

Received, 14:03: hey oikawa, have you finished the assignment for class

Delivered, 14:15: [Photo Attached]

Delivered, 14:15: there you go

-

22 December, 15:32

To: Oikawa Tooru, Volleyball Team

From: Team Captain

Cc: Coach

Subject: New Year’s Tournament

Team,

We have an upcoming tournament on 01 January. Please clear your schedules for 31 December and 01 January and allow for more practice time leading up to this tournament.

Captain

-

[Time Request Off]

31 December

01 January

- REQUEST DENIED -

-

23 December, 10:39

To: HR Management

From: Oikawa Tooru

Subject: Time Off

Hello,

I recently submitted a time off request for 31 December and 1 January, but it was denied. My volleyball team is travelling for a New Year’s tournament, and it is vital that I attend the tournament. I am asking that you reconsider the time off denial.

Thank you, Oikawa Tooru

Marketing Supervisor, Social Division

23 December, 15:24

To: Oikawa Tooru

From: HR Management

Subject: Re: Time Off

Oikawa,

You will be granted the time, but you must be on call at all times on those days. We will not make another exception like this in the future.

HR Management

-

[Time Request Off]

31 December

01 January

- UPDATE: REQUEST PARTIALLY APPROVED, SEE NOTE -

Note: On call 31 Dec and 01 Jan

-

23 December, 16:02

To: HR Management

From: Oikawa Tooru

Subject: Re: Re: Time Off

Hello,

Thank you for granting me the time off I requested. I appreciate it.

Oikawa Tooru

Marketing Supervisor, Social Division

-

Delivered, 17:45: hey i’m gonna be late getting home tonight

Delivered, 17:46: more things have come up

Delivered, 17:46: i should be out in time for practice, not sure tho

Received, 17:50: What can I do to help you?

Received, 17:50: Do you want me to bring you dinner or anything?

Delivered, 17:55: that’d be great

Delivered, 17:55: thank you hajime

Received, 17:56: Always

Oikawa meets Iwaizumi in the lobby of his office building. Iwaizumi is holding two bags of takeout and smiles sadly.

“Are you coming up?”

“Can I?”

“Of course.”

It’s nearly seven now, and Oikawa is one of the last people in his office left. Iwaizumi steals a chair from the cube next to Oikawa’s and wheels over. He looks up and down at Oikawa, taking in his rough appearance, hunched shoulders, dark undereyes, and sunken cheeks. Oikawa knows he looks bad.

“I’m going to text the captain and tell him we won’t be in,” Iwaizumi says quietly after a moment of deliberation. It leaves no room for argument.

“Are you going to go?”

“No, I’m going to take you home,” he responds. He sounds sad, a voice in Oikawa’s head says. “Please stop pushing yourself like this.”

Oikawa whips his head up at that. “What?”

“You heard me.” Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his untouched food.

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re really not, Tooru!” Iwaizumi exclaims, slapping his leg in frustration. “Your boss says run and you run. No matter what it is, you don’t say no to anyone but yourself! You’re killing yourself! You had to beg just to get two days off. When’s the last time you were home before five? I hate seeing you hurting yourself.” His voice sounds thick, and his eyes are wet, Oikawa realizes.

What’s wrong with Iwa-chan?

“It’s just the name of the game,” he mumbles and averts his eyes. Anywhere but at Iwaizumi. “It’s fine, really. I’m a big boy.”

“You’re starting your day at fucking five in the morning at practice, going to classes, coming here, and then either working out or going to practice again! You’re barely eating,” Iwaizumi cries. “I’m your roommate, your best friend, and I never see you anymore. Goddammit, I miss Tooru, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Hajime. I can’t just quit my job for you, though.”

“You don’t even like your job. It’s barely even related to your major.” That is true. Oikawa had changed majors several times - at one point he was a marketing major, but for his master’s he was going for communications. And, of course, Iwaizumi is right. He doesn’t like his job. It just paid well for a job with a fresh non-STEM bachelor’s degree.

Oikawa just shrugs.

Iwaizumi rolls closer to him, invading his personal space, and fiddles with the mouse on his computer. It’s open to a document, so he saves it and shuts down the computer. “We’re going home. And your laptop is staying here. You’re taking tomorrow off. We both are.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a fuck. If your manager has a problem with it, they can deal with your very angry best friend,” Iwaizumi declares. His eyes are bright and angry as he stuffs his trash in his takeout bag. “Home. Let’s go.” He extends a hand.

“Bossy Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts, but there’s no malice behind it. 

There’s no energy for him to have any malice.

-

They make their way home not long after, and Iwaizumi forces Oikawa into bed, quoting something about “self-induced sleep deprivation” and “taking poor care of himself” and “going to collapse any second now.” To be one hundred percent fair, Iwaizumi is correct on all fronts, Oikawa admits. However, he’s fine. He’s dealt with way worse than this before.

Usually they watch shows out on the couch in the living room, but tonight Iwaizumi joins Oikawa in his bed, hip laptop resting on their thighs. Oikawa’s eyes are glazed over and he’s not really paying attention to the show that they’re watching, but Iwaizumi is warm under him and supports his weight on his shoulder.

As Oikawa’s eyelids start to droop around nine o’clock - the earliest he’s gotten to sleep in probably months - Iwaizumi pauses the episode they’re on and sets his laptop aside.

“Stay,” Oikawa murmurs. His sleep addled brain isn’t thinking, but he’s not willing to give up the warmth Iwaizumi is exuding, and that’s all he’s thinking about.

Iwaizumi is quiet for a moment, and Oikawa thinks he hears his heart rate increase. “...Okay. Let me get up and get changed quickly though, okay? I’ll come back.”

“Come back, Iwa-chan,” he mumbles as Iwaizumi man-handles him and moves out of the bed.

“I always do.”

-

Oikawa feels safe when he wakes.

His head is resting on Iwaizumi’s bare chest, and Iwaizumi’s arm is curled around him. Fondness blooms in his chest - he hadn’t expected him to stay the entire night, but he is still here, his face soft and content. After a glance at the clock on his bedside table, Oikawa sees that it’s just past nine in the morning. Twelve hours. That’s the most sleep I’ve gotten in half a year. 

He reaches for his phone, careful not to jostle Iwaizumi too much. Of course, he finds that he has several texts and emails. The first is from his supervisor.

Received, 08:15: Where are you?

Received, 08:19: Oikawa

Nervous, he quickly types out an apologetic response. He’s usually in the office by seven fifty.

Delivered, 08:57: i will not be in today

Delivered, 08:57: my best friend is forcing me to take a day off. i’ll make up all of my work tomorrow.

Received, 09:01: Please put in a time off request next time. 

Delivered, 09:02: yes sir

That’s one down. He sifts through the four emails waiting for him. Two of them are wanting project updates, one of them is out of network requesting info, and one of them is a morning update from an intern. He responds to the intern, thanking her for her work and telling her that he’ll be back tomorrow, and flags the project update requests to work on later. There are a few texts from some of his coworkers asking about him - he hasn’t missed a day of work in over a year - and one text from his mother asking how he is.

Received, 23:19: Hi Tooru, how are you? Iwaizumi-san said you’re working yourself really hard. Please take care of yourself and come visit soon. We miss you.

Delivered, 09:06: hajime is making me take the day off today. i’ll be okay.

Delivered, 09:06: i’ll try to come home soon

He’s about to answer one of the texts from his coworkers asking about a project when Iwaizumi sleepily plucks the phone out of his hand. 

“Mine.”

“Hajime,” he whines softly. “Can I have my phone back?”

“You’ve already been doing work this morning, haven’t you?” he yawns.

“Maybe.”

“Then the phone is mine.” Iwaizumi stretches and ruffles Oikawa’s hair. “Let’s make breakfast, okay?”

“You’re being so sweet to me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases. “How cute!”

Iwaizumi freezes for a nearly imperceivable moment and flushes slightly. “I just care about my best friend’s health, alright?”

“Aww, Iwa-chan does care!” Oikawa’s running on false energy and fake bravado that he doesn’t usually use around Iwaizumi, but he doesn’t do anything to stop it.

“Of course I do,” he replies quietly, but his voice sounds sad. Oikawa’s heart clenches. Iwaizumi walks out of Oikawa’s room wearing only a pair of sweatpants and makes his way to the kitchen, expecting Oikawa to follow.

Oikawa hops onto the counter as Iwaizumi gathers the ingredients for pancakes. “What are we doing today?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Iwaizumi responds as he measures out some flour. “You’re going to rest your mind and body because fuck knows you need it.”

“We could invite over Makki and Mattsun,” Oikawa suggests.

“They’re both working,” Iwaizumi says, not looking up from the ingredients he’s whisking together. “Today is about you, not Makki and Mattsun.”

“Okay.”

Oikawa’s head feels weird, kinda fuzzy around the edges, like it might burst at any second. He considers that this might be the first time in a long while that he’s had more than a second to just sit and be alone with his thoughts. He tilts his head side to side and thinks to himself that he feels a little bit like a bobble head. That’s probably not good. But if he tells Iwaizumi, then that’ll lead to a lot of fussing, and -

“What are you thinking about?”

“My head feels weird?” It comes out as a question.

“Weird full or weird dizzy or weird sad or?” Iwaizumi looks up from where he’s pouring the batter in the pan.

“I think all three,” he admits. “It’s just a lot.” The honesty in that statement hits him like a sucker punch, and he wants to take it back, now Iwaiz -

“How can I help?”

“You’re already doing more than enough,” he says with a weak smile.

Iwaizumi walks over to where Oikawa is perched on the counter and gets into his personal space, looking deep into his eyes.

“H-Hajime -”

“Don’t hide things from me, Tooru,” he says lowly, eyes big and searching.

“What if I don’t know what I’m hiding?” Oikawa’s breathing is harsh, but he tries to conceal how his heart is hammering in his chest. What the fuck? It’s just Iwaizumi.

“Then tell me when you figure it out.” He pulls away and returns to the pan. 

Oikawa thinks he sees a light blush on Iwaizumi’s cheeks.

-

Later on in the day, they’re piled together on the couch as they play MarioKart. Oikawa is leaning most of his weight on Iwaizumi, and their legs are tangled together on the coffee table. A nearly-empty bottle of white wine and two glasses are sitting on the table. The visual scene is actually fairly serene, and both of them stay quite relaxed while playing. However - 

“You fucking shit!” 

“I’ve been betrayed, Iwa-chan!”

“You motherfucker!”

“HA! I won, Iwa-chan lost again!” 

Iwaizumi drops his controller on his lap and rubs his knuckles into Oikawa’s hair a little rougher than is necessary. “Yeah, Tooru, you did. What track next?”

“Rainbow Road?”

“No, I hate Rainbow Road,” Iwaizumi complains but navigates the cursor to it anyways.

“You just hate it because you can’t win,” Oikawa laughs. “Anyways, the track itself is pretty.”

“Of course you care about the aesthetics.”

Oikawa scoffs. “Rainbow Road is for the gays, Iwa-chan!”

…

Shit.

That had slipped out by accident. Oikawa’s heart rate increases and his eyes go big as he meets Iwaizumi’s equally wide gaze. “I mean -”

“You’re -” Iwaizumi starts. “Are you gay?” Iwaizumi asks, a cautious note to his voice.

Oikawa averts his eyes. This isn’t how he wanted this to go. Shit. Fuck. FUCK. “Uh -” he stammers. “Y-yeah.” He looks away in shame and sets his controller on the table, ready to leave and hide in his room for the rest of the day. 

“That’s fine,” Iwaizumi says simply. 

“You… you don’t think it’s weird?”

Iwaizumi scrunches up his face. “Nah. I’m bisexual, so it’s fine. I’d… uh, actually been wondering recently.”

“About what?”

“Your... preferences.”

“Oh.”

The silence is tense, as both men are scared to breathe, as if the moment will shatter.

“Can we play the game?”

“Gay Road, coming up,” Iwaizumi jokes, hoping to break the tension as he passes Oikawa his controller. 

Oikawa laughs, loud and full, hiding his face on Iwaizumi's shoulder. This feels right, he thinks.

Oikawa wins that race, as expected. Iwaizumi wins the two rounds after - Delfino Square and then Toad’s Factory. Oikawa whines about losing two in a row, so Iwaizumi picks Oikawa’s favorite track, DK Summit, which Oikawa then wins. 

They trade on and off with picking tracks for a while, each winning roughly the same amount. Oikawa makes some commentary about some of the tracks, his tongue loosened by the alcohol and after coming out.

Daisy Circuit: “It’s a lesbian undercover hookup.” “Explain?” “All the Luigi shit is a lie to distract from what’s really going on. Don’t be thick, Iwa-chan. Daisy is a lesbian and this track is about the race to a secret hookup with her lover.” “Of course it is.”

Moo Moo Meadows: “The cows are homophobic.” “Huh?” “I’m gay and they’re being mean to me. Thus, homophobic. Honestly, not that difficult of a concept. A fucking cow just dropped me four places!” “The audacity.” “Right?”

Mushroom Gorge: “Do you think Goombas are allies?” “Considering they’re working against us, no?” “Fucking assholes.”

Peach Gardens: “The continued saga of the lesbian hookup!” “How on earth?” “Look at all the traps Peach has put out for anyone who isn’t her lover! Only her lover is meant to get through, and fuck knows no Italian plumber is gonna be able to do that shit.” “You’re right, that’s exactly the story here.” “Glad you can see reason, Iwa-chan!”

Moonview Highway: “Who the fuck put eighteen wheelers on this track?” “Uh… the designers, I think.” “Not the point! I’m gay, I can’t drive! That’s why I play MarioKart, but these fucking trucks are making it too real! What the fuck!” “Maybe drunk gays shouldn’t drive, then. I’ll be happy to take the win.” “Not a chance, Iwa-chan! And I’m not drunk, I’m just well tipsy!” (Oikawa was a terrible real driver, so Iwaizumi always drove them everywhere)

Mario Circuit: “I -” “This is a classic, what could you possibly have to say about this track?” “Mario is a jealous, possessive fuck. Look at all these billboards.” “You’re one to talk.” “You love meeeeeee!” “Mhmm, I do.” 

They’re two-thirds finished with the second bottle of wine when Iwaizumi cuts them off with a laugh. “I think we’re done for tonight. We’re both playing terribly.”

Oikawa drapes himself over Iwaizumi dramatically. “But doesn’t that make it more fun?” He flashes a dazzling smile. Iwaizumi’s own soft smile falters for just a second, but then it’s back.

“Not when we’re both doing this badly. Let’s go to bed, Shittykawa.” 

“Will you sleep with me again?” Oikawa asks without thinking.

Iwaizumi freezes. “Okay.”

-

A few days later, Oikawa arrives back at the apartment after work around six o’clock - damn near a record, he thinks - but the apartment is empty. There’s no volleyball practice tonight, and Iwaizumi should have gotten out of work over an hour ago, so Oikawa is understandably concerned.

He tries to put his concern aside and attempts to make dinner for them. 

Iwaizumi walks through the door around eight o’clock, after the sun has set. “Hey.”

“Where were you?” he asks, offering a plate of food that’s now cold.

Iwaizumi accepts the food and goes to microwave it. He hesitates before answering. “I had some stuff on my mind, so I went for a drive.”

That sets off some red flags - Iwaizumi hasn’t gone driving in a long time, and he usually only goes driving when he’s feeling upset or overwhelmed.

“You want to talk about it?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy,” he jokes weakly. Oikawa notices that Iwaizumi’s dark circles have gotten worse, and his shoulders are hunched. To most people he’d probably look fine, but Oikawa can tell he’s a step away from being on the verge of tears.

“Please, Hajime, talk to me,” he begs. 

Iwaizumi ignores the beeping microwave in favor of petting Oikawa’s hair gently. “I’m not okay, but I’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Let me make it okay.”

Iwaizumi laughs weakly and moves to get his food. “You can’t do that. Trust me. This is all on me.”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed with me tonight? You seem to sleep better there,” Oikawa offers, a strange fluttering feeling in his chest.

“No,” Iwaizumi responds, a bit too quickly. “I - I’ll be fine. But thank you, Tooru. You’re the best friend I could ask for.” He takes a bite of the food and tries to hide a grimace. “But I’ll keep cooking. Thank you for dinner, though.”

Oikawa doesn’t push it any further. Iwaizumi goes to bed right after he finishes eating, leaving no room for any further conversation. 

Oikawa lays in bed for a while thinking about Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi has always told him whenever he’d be home late; he’s never just not sent him a text and come home that late. That was usually Oikawa’s move. And Iwaizumi had gone for a drive for all that time, which was another red flag. It’s been a few years since the last time Iwaizumi went driving, but Oikawa knows why he does. Iwaizumi had explained it at one time.

He’d said , “I dunno, I just find driving really relaxing. When I feel like everything in my life is really overwhelming and out of my control, when I’m driving, I’m in control of everything that happens to the car. It’s a bad thought, but I’m in control of whether or not I live or die when I’m behind the wheel. And when life’s getting to be overwhelming, I need to regain the control, I guess. There’s also the kind of melancholic euphoria is what I’d call it. It’s the feeling I get when I’m driving twenty-five above the speed limit on the freeway with the windows down, music loud, when I’m alone and sad and scared. Like, I’m going just fast enough to just barely scare myself into paying attention, and the wind and music are fun, and there’s a kind of melancholic overarching aura to the whole thing because I’m alone and sad in the first place. I don’t think it makes sense, but that’s why I drive when I’m overwhelmed and need to escape. I guess it’s self care.”

He thinks about the words and how they can apply to Iwaizumi now, but Iwaizumi hasn’t told him about anything going wrong or overwhelming him right now. Eventually, he gives up and succumbs to sleep.

Around midnight, just as Oikawa is on the verge of sleep, he hears Iwaizumi talking in his room. Confused, Oikawa pushes his covers back and treads over to the wall that separates their walls, and, indeed, Iwaizumi is talking, whether to himself or someone else. The words are muffled.

“Foolish… he’s not… And what if he thinks… Makki, I can’t… He doesn’t know. You know how… Yeah, uh huh. He’s been like this… it hurts. Hate seeing that… I don’t know how long I can do this… Running himself into… No, I… He’s too busy… just another burden on him… bullshit feelings… Fucking nine years, Makki, he doesn’t know… I’m hopeless… hurts… Whatever. Goodnight.”

Oikawa is still standing by the wall nearly three minutes later, trying to decipher what he’d heard, but none of the words are making sense together. Someone is hurting Iwaizumi, someone that means a lot to him, by the way Iwaizumi was talking. Iwaizumi hasn’t told him about anyone new, which means that he’s lying to Oikawa, a thought that makes his chest clench.

Whoever’s hurting Iwaizumi is going to regret the day they were born.

-

Oikawa regrets the day he was born.

Okay, maybe not that far back. Maybe just when he accepted his job from hell. That’s a bit better.

The following weeks pass in a blur of paperwork, emails, and assignments. He stops going to volleyball practice, which greatly upsets Iwaizumi and his coach, but he’s falling behind on both his work and his school work, so volleyball just doesn’t have a place in his life. Work has been getting worse as his supervisor adds more and more to his plate.

It’s the third night Oikawa spends overnight at the office that Iwaizumi demands he stand up to his supervisor and have some of his responsibilities taken off. Of course, Oikawa doesn’t, because he’s a loyal, dedicated corporate employee.

Iwaizumi has been a saint, and Oikawa thinks he probably couldn’t survive without his best friend. He makes sure that Oikawa eats at least one meal per day - a struggle, to say the least - and checks up on him multiple times per day to make sure he’s okay. Most nights, he’s still waiting up for him on the couch in the living room to ask how Oikawa’s day at work went, even if he doesn’t get home until eleven (usually Oikawa’s answer is “shitty but it’s whatever”). On Sundays - now Oikawa’s only “day off”, but he’s still on call - they usually stay in the apartment and watch movies together. Or, Oikawa naps on Iwaizumi’s lap while he watches a movie Oikawa chose.

As the weeks pass, Oikawa notices Iwaizumi’s energy depleting but doesn’t think much of it. 

They obviously haven’t had much time to talk, but Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi’s been taking more hours at his own job. Iwaizumi isn’t going for his masters like Oikawa, so he’s at an entry level position at an architectural firm.  Iwaizumi hasn’t talked about his own job in nearly a month, but last Oikawa heard, he enjoys it well enough. 

He can’t think of any reason why Iwaizumi might be getting tired. 

At least, not until he gets more information he probably wasn’t meant to have (it was an honest mistake, promise).

Oikawa gets home early one night, but the apartment is quiet. There’s a note on the kitchen table in Iwaizumi’s handwriting.

“If you get home before I get back, I’m out for a drive. I don’t have my phone on me. I’ll be home in a few hours. There’s some leftovers in the fridge. -Hajime” 

The line that keeps repeating in his mind is “I don’t have my phone.” 

Something’s very, very wrong with Iwa-chan. 

The last time Iwaizumi went on a drive without his phone was during their first year of university, and it was probably the darkest time of his entire life. He only does that when he feels so out of control that he just wants to scare himself and disappear.

What’s happened that he’s not telling me? 

Oikawa’s heart races and his breathing quickens as he dials picks a contact in his phone and presses call. Pick up pick up pick up. 

“Yo.”

“Makki,” he all but croaks.

Hanamaki falters on the other end of the line, clearly picking up on Oikawa’s distress. “O-okay, uh, what’s up, Oikawa?”

“What’s wrong with Iwa-chan?”

“What do you mean?” there’s a certain tone to Makki’s voice that Oikawa picks up on. He knows something.

“He’s been driving again, Makki. He hasn’t done that in years. And I got home early, and he went out without his phone,” Oikawa says quickly. He feels like he’s overreacting, but, if he knows his best friend, Iwaizumi doesn’t get upset easily. This has been building for a long time. “He hasn’t done that in years. What happened?”

“I…” Makki pauses. “Fuck, Iwaizumi,” he swears to himself. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Oikawa screeches.

“First, ouch, mind your voice. Second, I made a promise not to tell you,” he says. The emphasis is clear. “I won’t betray Iwaizumi’s trust, but I’m worried about him. It’s been eating him up.”

“Why me specifically?”

“It’s about you, Oikawa.”

And his world comes crashing down.

“What… what do you mean?” he asks weakly. His voice is faint and his throat feels like it’s closing up as he backs up and falls onto the couch before his legs give way.

Makki sighs. “You don’t realize how much that man cares for you. It’s going to kill him. He might’ve reached his breaking point. He’s been watching you tear yourself apart and it’s hurting him.”

“What?” 

“Honestly, can you not say anything else?” Makki jokes. “I’m not going to say more, though. You need to talk to him about it.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Oikawa whispers, voice cracking.

“Shit,” he swears. “Don’t cry okay? He’ll be home soon enough, and you guys can talk about it.”

“Fuck, Makki,” he rasps. 

At that moment, he hears a key in the door lock, prompting him to hang up the phone without even saying goodbye. He doesn’t even wipe away the tear tracks on his cheeks. The door swings open carefully, revealing a very dejected-looking Iwaizumi.

Oikawa supposes that this is what all these weeks have been leading up to. Iwaizumi’s back is hunched, his eye bags are abysmal, his spiky hair is even messier than usual, and his facial expression is barely holding it together. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old practice t-shirt. Iwaizumi doesn’t acknowledge Oikawa as he drags his feet into the kitchen and drops his keys. He crumples up the note he’d left and sighs deeply before running a hand through his hair.

Something is very, very wrong with Iwa-chan. 

“Hajime?” he says quietly.

“Fuck!” Iwaizumi jumps violently and whips towards where Oikawa is sitting on the couch. “How long have you been there?”

“I’ve been home for like half an hour.”

Their eyes lock and realization dawns in Iwaizumi’s eyes. “I -”

“Hajime, we need to talk,” he says and nods towards the seat next to him.

“Uh - yeah,” Iwaizumi agrees, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “Have you been crying?”

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” Oikawa says, haphazardly wiping at his cheeks. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“I’ll be fi -”

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me. You haven’t gone driving without your phone since the last time you were suicidal. Cut the shit, Hajime, and talk,” he snaps, eyes fiery. “You’ve never kept anything from me,” he continues, voice softer. “So why now?”

Iwaizumi pointedly doesn’t look at Oikawa, but thankfully doesn’t dance around the topic. He sighs. “I care a lot about you, Tooru.”

“Mhmm.”

“Like, it might kill me, how much I care about you,” he says cautiously. “And recently, you’ve been working yourself so hard, it’s been hurting you. And seeing you in such bad shape and knowing there’s nothing I can do to help except try to make sure you don’t die of starvation… It’s been killing me. I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

“But I haven’t been hurting,” Oikawa argues.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Point taken, but I don’t understand why it’s so bad.”

“Fucking idiot, I’m in love with you,” Iwaizumi growls, but there’s no true bite. “Have been for like nine years or some bullshit. You own my heart, Tooru. You could throw it fucking whereever, and that’s where it would go, whether you’re aware of it or not. So, I mean, it’s bad enough to watch your best friend work himself into the ground and not be able to help it. But I’ve been trying my damndest to not let this goddamn crush get in the way of our friendship for so fucking long while still taking care of you because fuck knows you need it. You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that, right? But I can’t bear to lose you, Tooru, and you’ve never implied you want anything more, and we’ve always been friends, so… Uh secrets it is for me, I guess.”

Oikawa meets his eyes. “Fuck, Hajime. Fuck.” 

Conflicted doesn’t begin to describe Oikawa at this moment in time. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about Iwaizumi in a romantic context before - on the contrary, it actually came to the forefront of his mind mildly frequently. Like, for example, how much he likes waking up in Iwaizumi’s arms, or how much he likes cuddling while they watch movies or while he naps on Sundays. Or, how they go out on what could be considered dates already. Before Oikawa’s job got insane, they’d go to dinner just the two of them at least once a week and spent tons of time together. An outsider would probably think they were boyfriends, he supposes. But on the flip side, dating friends is a double-edged sword. The possibility of ruining the friendship is very, very real, and is very, very, very scary. However -

“Jesus, Tooru, please say or do something else before I combust,” Iwaizumi begs, balling his fists in the hem of his t-shirt.

“How about this?” Oikawa asks before leaning in and pressing their lips together gently. Oh, and it is wonderful. Iwaizumi inhales sharply and kisses back more firmly, reaching up to cup Oikawa’s face with one hand. He tugs lightly on soft brown curls and runs his tongue along Oikawa’s lower lip, a small noise escaping his throat when Oikawa’s lips open for his tongue to slip through. The movements aren’t rushed or feverish. Everything is slow and sweet, just an exploration, as they pull each other closer, Oikawa eventually ending up on Iwaizumi’s lap.

Iwaizumi pulls back wetly. “Uh -” he starts. “Y-yeah, that works.”

“Iwa-chan, will you be my boyfriend?” Oikawa asks, heart pounding.

“Of course.”

-

Delivered, 21:33: hey makki it kinda worked out

Received, 21:34: Good. Deal with your own shit.

Received, 21:34: Happy for you guys

-

15 March, 15:45

To: Social Division Management

From: Oikawa Tooru

Subject: Project Division

Hello,

In light of some changes in my personal life and reasonable workload, I’m putting in a formal request to lessen my workload. Over the past six or so months, I’ve been putting in a massive number of hours in order to compensate for the workload for which I have been assigned. This was possible for a short term, but is no longer a possibility for me. In addition, it is not in my job description to be working overnight, over 40 hours, or past eight PM for general duties. My request is to either lessen my personal load or to have 3+ more interns assigned to my department exclusively. 

Thank you, 

Oikawa Tooru

Marketing Supervisor, Social Division

16 March, 10:13

To: Oikawa Tooru

From: Social Division Management

Subject: Re: Project Division

Oikawa,

We will work with upper management on finding a solution.

Social Division Management

-

[Time Request Off]

21 March

22 March

23 March

24 March

25 March

- APPROVED, SEE NOTE -

Note: Approved

-

“This is the first true vacation you’ve had since you started this job?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa replies, leaning into his boyfriend. The train rumbles underfoot. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi whispers, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss to the tip of Oikawa’s nose.

“Dork,” Oikawa laughs, burying his head in Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“A dork you love though, right?” Iwaizumi teases as he drops his head on top of Oikawa.

“Always.”

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 19 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic.  In this chapter:  Paul has a nightmare and finally starts to confess to Gene. (Yes, there’s finally some smut again.) (Author’s note 6/24/2020: Smut has been revised! Thighsex imminent.)

           In his dreams Paul was always himself. Sometimes he was eight years old, in the school playground, hearing his classmates singsong "Stanley the one-eared monster" to the tune of Rudolph, and sometimes the classmates would turn into a whole stadium full of people, thousands, cackling and pointing, while he stood onstage and couldn't say a word. Sometimes he was his own age, walking off a plane, or at a photoshoot, stripped down and bare-faced and afraid as soon as the cameras started.

           That night he was seventeen again. He knew because the T.V. was on in the living room, Neil Armstrong on the screen in all his astronaut garb, sticking the flag up on the Moon's rocky soil. Julia was there, for once, sitting beside him on the couch.

           "Do you think it's real?" she said, and he looked at her, disgusted.

           (of course it's real)

           "Do you think it's real?" she repeated, and he thought she must not have heard him. He put his hand to his face, touching the start of his sideburns—something new he was trying, something he'd need to shave before school started back up, but for now, it was cool. He'd seen them on rockstars, but rarely in person, and never on someone he knew, until that guy he'd met a month back. Gene. But Gene was too fat in the face to pull the look off. They would look better on him, once they grew out.

           (it's got to be real. why would they waste all that time and money on something that wasn't real? why would they be so stupid?)

           "You tell me," Julia said, and her face and build shifted, dark hair bleaching out to light brown, pockmarks and freckles sketching across her face, Carol's face, Carol's voice now, Carol's hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Why don't you tell me, Stan?"

         (i don't—)

        Another shift. Carol's face melted down, skull pushing outward, hair going shaggy and wild. Her nose forced out and flattened all at once, muzzle emerging. A lion's face on a man's body, a man's voice coming through its throat.

           "Are you going to tell me?"

         (please)

          (please, take it off, i'm sorry—i'm so sorry—)

           "Is it real?"

          (please)

        (what're you saying, i don't understand)

           "Is love real, Stan?" Marbas' voice was oddly soft as he curled his hand around Paul's suddenly much more narrow shoulder. Tapped it, then Marbas' still-human fingers moved to trace the sides of his smooth, bare face. "Or—let's put it differently. What she felt for you, was that love?"

           (i)

            (i don't think you can love someone you don't know)

           But you've made your fortune pretending." Marbas' lips pulled back, revealing teeth as long as his thumbs. "And so has he."

          (he?)

           "The man in your bed." The demon pushed Paul's hair behind his left ear. "I've cursed greater men than you. Byron. Shelley. More. Watching you was hardly entertaining in comparison, until he came along."

         (don't hurt him)

          (please don't—)

           "Do you really love him, Stan?" Marbas didn't give him time to answer, tugging at a curl, longer now than it had been minutes before. Paul couldn't feel a centimeter of what was happening to him, could barely do more than watch and breathe as his body warped before him. "Why? Because he was kind to you?"

          (i don't know)

           "Because he had the qualities you lacked? Or because you didn't believe he'd want you?"

          (i don't know!)

           The demon wasn't letting the point go. Neil Armstrong still in the background, the sound of the T.V. tinny. His shoes off to the side on the dirty carpet. The plugged-in fan on the coffee table. Everything, everything the same in that little apartment but him.

           "You won't tell me. You won't tell him. What I wrought on you really makes no difference." Marbas touched the center of chest, full and heavy before the demon even moved his finger towards it, and Paul realized, just from what he could see of his body, that he was still seventeen after all. The weight he'd had back then was there, the stomach flab, the too-thick thighs. Every bit of him dumpy and unattractive, no definition, nothing worth wanting. "Even if you'd always had this form, you'd have kept your silence. You'd never have given yourself up."

          (i can't, i just can't—)

           "Then you want to remain as you are?" The demon's mouth twitched again; he seemed almost to smile, fingers toying with Paul's shirt.

          (of course not!)

          (you don't understand!)

           "Paul? Paul, wake up."

           He opened his eyes. Gene was there, leaning over him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a book and a newspaper on the other side of the bed. Gene had stayed with him.

           "What time is it?"

           "Noon. Are you okay?"

           Paul nodded, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking down, he realized he was still in last night's dress. The nightie's straps beneath it, amazingly, had stayed in place, though the sleeves of the dress had slid a bit. He swallowed, the memories of the night prior trickling in like a drizzle before a thunderstorm, replacing the fragments of his dream, and tugged the sleeves back up to his shoulder.

           "Did I say anything strange?"

           "You were getting kind of twitchy."

           A glance at the kicked-askew bedsheets told Paul that was an understatement.

           "I'm sorry."

           "No, I'm sorry. I should have stopped you."

           "From kicking in my sleep?"

           "From leaving last night."

           Paul looked over at him.

           "What could you have done? Chased down my car?"

           "I could've grabbed you when you were going out the door." Gene grabbed the book—it was one of his old self-help numbers from high school—and set it on the nightstand, possibly the only attempt at putting something away that Paul had ever seen out of him. "Or I could've done what you wanted. It's my fault."

           "It's not your fault at all. You got me out of there." Paul shifted until he was on his side. "If it hadn't been for you, I…"

           "Mary-Anne was taking care of you."

           "She… she was, wasn't she? She must've thought I was so stupid." He shook his head. "I don't know how you knew where to look for me."

           "I didn't. It was just a guess."

           "I shouldn't have gone off. I guess I wanted to… I don't know what I wanted." Paul paused. "I'm okay. I promise."

           "Are you sure nothing—"

           "Nothing happened." Paul tried to smile, weakly. "I wouldn't still be in this shape if something had."

           "If anybody touched you, then—"

           "It's fine. I'm fine."

           "Paul, you're not fine." Gene swallowed. "Somebody spiked your drink."

           Paul didn't answer for a long moment.

           "Nobody spiked my drink."

           "What?"

           "I said nobody spiked my drink. I took the 'ludes myself."

           He didn't want to look Gene in the face. He didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust there, now that he knew that Paul had drugged himself when he was already in danger. That he hadn't been innocent. That had to have done it for Gene. Wrecked any chance of leftover fondness or want.

           "Why?"

           "Because I couldn't stand the thought of fucking some random guy sober." Paul exhaled. "I didn't realize I couldn't stand the thought of fucking him trashed, either."

           "Paul—"

           "It's okay, all right?"

           He was surprised when Gene gathered him up in his arms. His breaths hitched, all of him just tightening, tightening up at first. Gene almost let go then, but then Paul grabbed him, burying his face against Gene's neck.

           He didn't deserve that kind of comfort out of Gene after what he'd done. Worrying Gene. Risking his own safety. He knew it, but that didn't make him any less greedy for it. He remembered, in blurred-out fragments, Gene's hold on him in CBGB last night, Gene's arm around him in the limo. Gene wiping his face off with the towel. He remembered leaning into all that warmth, too 'luded out to even quite understand it, only recognize that it was there for him, despite everything.

           Hopeless. So hopeless. But he kept holding on anyway, grateful, pathetically grateful, holding on longer than he should have, breathing in the scent of Gene's skin. Closer than he'd ever let himself get before. Closer, maybe, than he'd ever get again. Gene hadn't even gotten dressed yet, was still in his boxers, and his bare arms around him felt so good, so reassuring, it almost hurt. Paul shut his eyes and peeled himself away, not wanting to wait for Gene to let go first.

           "It's really… it's okay."

           And then he got up. He felt more clearheaded than he'd expected. Peter had told him 'ludes kept him from waking up with a hangover after a night of partying, but he'd never really believed him until now. Except for the acrid taste of vomit and morning breath still in his mouth, he felt… bizarrely enough, he almost felt refreshed, physically. He crossed over to the master bathroom, brushing his teeth and gargling with mouthwash before returning to the bedroom. He walked over to the closet door, where the other blouse and dress that he'd bought still hung from coathangers. "I… I'm gonna get dressed. Which one do you want?"

           "Paul, they're your clothes."

           Paul chewed on his lip and took the dress off its hanger, lining it up level against him. The hem fell two or three inches above his knee. He turned around, dress in hand, and started to head back to the bathroom, but Gene spoke again before he got there.

           "Don't wear things just because you think I'll like them."

           "I'm not."

           "Paul." Gene got up from the bed. "I gave it a lot of thought last night. I haven't helped you out like I needed to."

           "Gene, all you've done is help me out."

           "I've hurt your self-respect. I told you what to do. I made you dependent on me."

           "I was depending on you way before this. You just didn't realize it."

           "Not that way." Gene walked up to him. Paul draped the dress over one arm like a waiter's napkin. "I made you feel like you had to—to wear things, to do things, to keep my attention. I never should've—"

           "That's not true."

           "Yeah, it is. Last night, before you left…" Gene's gaze lowered to the floor before lifting back to meet Paul's. "I didn't know why you were acting like that. I'd thought you wanted me."

           There it was. There it was, closer than Paul had ever dared to put it himself. There was his chance. He could shut it all down right now, seal off any hope of Gene ever getting close enough to hurt again, do what last night had, somehow, failed to manage. Drive Gene away with an assurance that what he'd done, he'd done out of practicality. Tell Gene he'd used him all the way around, that every flirt, every kiss, had just been a means to an end. Lie to him the way he couldn't lie to himself.

           He had to struggle to keep looking Gene in the eye. The nerves that the Quaaludes and drinks had destroyed were all back again; he was keenly, so keenly aware of what he stood to lose. Gene's expression was guilty, almost penitent, and that hurt, too, but—maybe there was something past that. Maybe there was still some desire left in him. Maybe, even, if it wasn't the same as what Paul felt, it would still be okay. Paul wanted to believe that. He took a breath, and said three words.

           "You weren't wrong."

           "What?"

           "I did want you."

           "C'mon, Paul. You know my ego could use a little knocking down."

           "I did want you. I do want you."

           "Paul—"

           It felt like he was walking through water, every movement artificially slowed down. Two steps to close in on Gene. The reach of his hand to touch Gene's face, the morning stubble he hadn't yet shaved, tugging his chin down to kiss him. Just once, quickly, softly. Gene didn't stiffen up, didn't draw back, but he didn't answer immediately, either. As he broke the kiss, looking at Gene, trying to gauge his expression, Paul realized, offhand, that he'd had to raise up on the balls of his feet just to reach him. He hadn't even noticed.

           "You're not gonna want me after. I know that."

           "I don't know that I'd say that."

           "I would." Paul's mouth crooked upward, only a little wobbly. The words seemed to spill out of him like the water from a burst dam. "That's why I acted like that. That's why I left, because I knew."

           "Paul, listen—" Gene started, but Paul cut him off.

           "It's okay. I… I haven't treated you right. You've been real good to me and I—" Paul shook his head. "Let's try, all right? If you still want to—I wanna try."

           "I—"

           "I don't think I could go all the way yet. But I wanna be with you."

           "Don't push yourself. Especially not after last night."

           "I'm not pushing myself."

           "Paul, I'm serious."

           "I'm serious, too."

           Gene didn't answer for awhile. Paul felt frozen in front of him, biting back a thousand more words, swallowing every impulse to spill his guts even further. He wouldn't hold eight years of want over Gene's head like a ransom that needed to be paid. He wouldn't beg Gene again. He wouldn't yell at him, or throw a fit. And he wouldn't—he wouldn't give himself up, any more than he had already. He couldn't.

           Gene's hand touched his cheek. He seemed to be thinking. Gene always seemed to be thinking. Paul took a few quick breaths, until Gene bent his head and met Paul's lips with his own. Warm lips he'd already half-given up on touching again. Paul kissed back hard, suddenly desperate, arms looping around the back of Gene's neck. Beyond eager, beyond grateful, wanting to erase the memory of last night on the bed. Touching him the way he'd wanted to before. Kissing him the way he'd wanted to before, the way he'd done when they were dancing. Gene's tongue was in his mouth, one hand tangling against in his hair while the other tugged him tight against him.

           Paul was getting wet, like before, trying to grind against Gene like he still had a dick, like any movement of his hips right now, standing up, was granting him half the friction it was giving Gene. Gene was tugging him backwards before long, back towards the bed. Paul let him. His whole body felt hot and just on the verge, already unraveled over so little. Gene eased him into sitting on the bed and he scooted backwards, swinging his legs across the bed.

           Gene didn't go for the zipper of his dress this time. He seemed almost cautious, only kissing him on the mouth and neck, not yet even groping his chest. Paul reached behind him, sliding the zipper down, down, sliding the dress off. More purposely exposed than Gene had seen him until now, nothing remaining but the thin, purple nightie and panties. He was trying not to squirm as he felt Gene's gaze on him, but he couldn't seem to help himself, fingers curling around the nightie's hem. When he'd put it on late yesterday afternoon, he'd realized how short it was, the hem only barely skirting the upper part of his thighs, and how the silky material strained against his breasts. It had sort of warmed him, then, made him feel a little hopeful, a little desirable. Now, he wasn't so sure.

           "Do you like it?"

           "Yeah. It looks good on you."

           "I got it for you."

           Gene hesitated.

           "That's what I mean, you don't need to wear things to—"

           "I'm not—"

           "What… what I mean is, you had my attention already."

           Paul felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He didn't know how to answer that. Gene didn't seem to be waiting on an answer, anyway, one hand sliding up his thigh, beneath the nightie, tracing the soft skin there and the spreading wetness on his panties. His other hand went for one breast, squeezing it, sending another surge of need through Paul's body. He'd tried groping his own breasts a few times, before Gene came, never getting anywhere with it. It had been about as pleasurable as rubbing a hand against his knee. But now that Gene was touching them, tweaking one already-hard nipple and then the other, Paul found himself groaning, back arching. On some level it was almost humiliating, to be crying out over so little. Gene's other hand had only barely started rubbing him through the damp fabric.

           Gene tugged Paul up on his lap before long, Paul's legs splayed on either side of him, the nightie bunched up above his hips. Gene's erection was rubbing up against him, too tantalizingly close to be avoidable now, and Paul held his breath, half-expecting Gene's slow strokes to stop entirely, but they didn't. Paul grunted a bit, tugging the elastic of Gene's boxers down just enough to free his dick.

           "Lemme suck you off," he urged, starting to scoot back, although the twitch of Gene's fingers, finally sliding beneath his panties, made it almost impossible to want to get off of him for that long. "You haven't gotten a damn thing out of this yet."

           "I don't know about that." Gene was smiling, running his fingers against his slick folds, Paul pushing his hips forward to meet them. "Just give me a hand here. I've got a great view."

           "C'mon, you… you can't just want a handjob." It had to be disappointing enough just keeping it to fooling around in the first place with him. Paul hadn't even been brave enough to take off the nightgown. Paul grasped Gene's dick anyway, almost unprompted, his own strokes firmer and more assured than he'd expected. He watched Gene take a deep breath, his cock already twitching a bit in his hand. "I've blown guys before, I'm not a virgin there—"

           "Maybe later." Gene grinned, pressed a kiss to his throat. "You know, I never actually got to see you relax the other night." His finger ran lightly across the edge of his clit, too lightly.

           "You felt it," Paul protested, distracted. It was already getting hard to concentrate. He didn't want to halfass it, especially when part of him could still barely believe it was happening at all. Especially when he knew, from rare, scattered conversations early on when they'd toured, that Gene tried to avoid masturbating much—which had always struck Paul as weird. Gene's selective orthodoxy and hang-ups were so baffling. He shifted, rolling his hips harder against Gene's fingers and hand.

           "Let me see it."

           Oh. Oh. Paul was crying out again, cursing as he tried to focus, keep a rhythm going despite his own arousal. The precome already dripping from the tip was gratifying, Gene's breaths getting ragged, but he didn't know if it was enough. Gene kept watching him, watching his face. Every high-pitched sound that came out of Paul's throat was hotly embarrassing, not in the least because Gene was quieter in comparison, while Paul's moaning was only ever covered up when his lips met Gene's. But Gene was getting less cautious now, groping his breasts beneath the nightie instead of just through it, the skin-on-skin sensation almost overwhelming. His other hand, caught between Paul's thighs, was certain, slipping along his folds, finger running small strokes against the hood and clit.

          Gene was already closer than he was. Paul could tell that by the feel of his dick in his hand, and the expressions crossing his face, making him redouble his efforts. Paul’s vision swam, his own concentration faltering far before Gene came, groaning lowly, spurting mostly in his hand and on his dick, a bit of come ending up on Paul’s bare thigh. Paul let go, bracing his damp hand on the bed, leaning forward. Gene’s own hand had gone almost still between his legs. The blissed-out look on Gene’s face almost made up for it.

          “Hey, Paul, you haven’t—” Gene started, fingers moving again, not quite as intently as before. Paul grabbed his wrist, tugging it back.

          “Wait. Let’s try something else.”

          Gene looked a little confused but moved his hand away, starting to rest it on his leg. Paul shook his head.

          “Not there. I need that.”

          “You need that?” Gene furrowing his brows post-coital would’ve been funny, if Paul wasn’t battling his own arousal. The heat was starting to rise in his cheeks as he took Gene by the wrist again, setting it on the sheets. He wasn’t quite able to look Gene in the eye again yet, so he ran his fingers against the warm, soft fabric of his boxers, rolling up the hem of one leg slightly, mouth pursed.

          “You’ll see.”

          Paul closed his eyes briefly, breaths heavy, and scooted in closer, shifting until he was straddling one of Gene’s thighs. He made only a token effort at wiping his right hand off on the sheet before clasping both hands around the back of Gene’s neck, as he started to rub himself against Gene’s leg.

          Gene’s lips parted in surprise. Unbelievably, he actually looked like he didn’t know what to do at first, hands taking awhile to find their way back to Paul, one resting on his shoulder while the other slipped back under the nightie to rove over his stomach and back up to his breasts. Pairing that with Paul’s own grinding made it all the more intense, stimulation almost overwhelming. His damp panties were barely a barrier, exactly the extra friction he needed as he rocked his hips in short, quick bursts. Every so often, his leg would brush up against Gene’s dick—still soft for now, but still its own sharp thrill. Warm. As long as he was this close, this wet, he wasn’t nearly so worried about how letting him, about how actually fucking, would end it. It was just something else spurring on his arousal, a promise of something to come.

          “You’re killing me, Paul.”

          “Yeah?” Paul’s mouth twitched into a small smile as Gene tugged him into a kiss.His legs were clamping tight around Gene’s thigh nearly of their own accord, amping up the pressure, concentrating it. Paul was panting and groaning again before long. His clit was throbbing, the wetness that had already soaked through his underwear going past it, making Gene’s bare skin and the edge of his boxers slightly slick.  Easy to push and rub up against, find the exact right rhythm to leave him breathless.

          But it wasn’t quite enough until Gene pulled him forward just a bit, just until Paul found himself panting against his neck. Paul sped up a little, hips rocking, moans and curses all he seemed able to manage as the pleasure built up, closer, closer. He realized, dimly, that he was starting to finally get used to this body, figure out what he liked now, how to get off. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not that it mattered right now. Gene was still watching, his gaze, the unfettered, needy want there making Paul feel heady. Looking him right in the eye was better than before, better than it had been in the dark. He cried out again, sharply, as he finally came, clutching Gene hard as he rode out his orgasm. It was a few seconds before he let go, Gene’s grip on his shoulder not loosening up until Paul relaxed his legs again.

          “Gene,” he said. “That… that was good.”

          “Yeah? Good.” Gene grinned. “You look cute when you come.”

          Paul glanced down reflexively at the comment, shaking his head. The spunk on his hand and on the sheets was long since clotted up. He started to get up from Gene’s thigh, a little shakily, straightening his underwear and pushing down the nightie with his clean hand. He felt a little like apologizing—it couldn’t have been that good for Gene, who probably hadn’t had a chick stop at a handjob with him in ten years, and Paul knew he couldn’t have been that fun to watch get off, either, if only because of what it wasn’t—but Gene didn’t look unhappy with the way things had gone at all. He looked pleased, maybe almost sated, running his hand almost possessively down the wet spot Paul had left behind on his thigh and boxers, rubbing the fluid between his fingertips. Paul’s face felt hot as Gene brought his fingers to his lips.

          “You taste pretty good, too.”

           “Aw, c’mon, Gene--”

          “You do.”

          Paul shook his head, but his heart was beating a hard, hopeful cadence at the words. He didn't quite feel sated. There was a weird leftover warmth in him, a deep-down feeling that he could probably go again without much trouble, but he felt like he'd asked too much of Gene already. It'd probably be another ten minutes at least before Gene could get hard again.

           "Uh. Lemme get you a towel or something, then we can… I don't know, I can fix some toast…" Paul trailed, awkward as all hell, starting to scoot off the bed. He'd forgotten how to handle anyone in the after. Gene, especially. Gene looked at him as if he were about to laugh.

           "You'll really leave it at that?"

           "I'm not leaving it at anything." Paul tried to rearrange his face into as bland an expression as he could, too keenly aware of how tightly he was still pressing his thighs together. Gene laughed, tugging him back up by the arm, back nearly into place on his lap. He wasn't facing him head-on this time, at first, but he turned his head, a vague sort of hope making his pulse flit. "C'mon, Gene, I know you can't—"

           "You have a hard time enjoying anything, don't you?"

           Oh, God. Just like last time, Gene was picking the worst point possible to start asking questions. Paul hesitated.

           "I enjoy plenty."

           "You're still soaking." Gene had gone for the hem of the nightie, tugging it up and pressing a finger against his panties, making Paul twitch anew. "I bet you could go again. Maybe more than once."

           "I don't know— "

           "You wanna try?" Gene leaned in, kissing the top of his head. Just as easy and thoughtless as if they really were together. As if this wasn't going to evaporate the second Paul gathered up enough nerve to give in entirely.  Why shouldn't he be thoughtless about it? I want you was all Paul had managed to own up to.

           Paul shoved those thoughts aside as hard as he could, and turned around entirely, tracing his hand down Gene's chest. Gene, to his credit, barely winced at the cold, not nearly inadvertent smear of come from Paul's hand.

           "Depends. Would you go down on me for it?"

           The glint in Gene's eye gave him away long before he even licked his lips.

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 46: I’ll Make It Up To You

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4; Chapter 37; Chapter 38; Chapter 39; Chapter 40; Interlude 5; Chapter 41; Chapter 42; Chapter 43; Chapter 44, Chapter 45

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

Taglist: @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Yay, finally a new chapter! ^^ I'm truly sorry that I couldn't finish this as announced in November. But my daughter decided to come a little earlier than expected, throwing off many of our plans... We're both doing fine though. :)

This chapter... Is, for the most part, self-indulgent fluff. I hope you won't mind. ;) But there's also another bit, one I know many of you have been waiting for since forever. ;) The title comes, again, from an Imagine Dragons song, 'I'll make it up to you' this time. It's a rather fitting song for Hiccup right now, don't you think?

. o O o .

After their long discussion about how County Ravenledge could be claimed and improved, Astrid and the others having left, Hiccup was left with a chaotic whirlwind of emotions.

On the one hand, he was excited and elated by this apparently simple and direct solution to their problems. They had a plan, and if everything worked out, there was nothing in the way of him and Astrid being together. It would be a difficult path to follow, for sure, with the overwhelming prospect of ruling an entire county of people whose culture and customs he hardly knew. It was more than a bit intimidating, the more he thought about it, especially given the conditions of the place. But if that was what the Gods demanded of him, then he would do it. 

But on the other hand... he was anxious, so much so that his hands wouldn’t stop clenching nervously, no matter what he did to distract himself. Eret, Dagur, and even Astrid seemed convinced that Grand Duke Oswald and the King would agree to give him the title without much resistance, but in the privacy of his own thoughts, he wasn’t so sure about that. Those powerful men knew about his life, knew enough to know how much of a failure he was, in pretty much every aspect. Why would they agree to support him so openly? 

It wasn’t as if they could win anything out of this, could they?

Later, as he helped Eret get out of the elaborate and dust-and-sweat-fouled day-clothes he was wearing, he couldn’t keep from asking the question which had buzzed in his mind like a bee. “Why are you doing all this for us?” 

With a pained groan, Eret laid back on his bed as Hiccup brought the bowl of warm water over from the hearth. It was essential to keep the wound on Eret’s chest as clean as possible, and since it was difficult for Eret to do so himself, it was Hiccup’s responsibility to help him. “What do you mean?” he replied, sounding puzzled and tired after a long exhausting day.

“Everything,” Hiccup said after a short pause, shrugging. “I understand that you care for Astrid and want to see her happy. But all this goes far beyond that. Supporting me in this… You know as well as I do how that could backfire and weaken you, politically I mean. So… why?”

The plan was that Astrid, Dagur, and Eret would speak with their fathers in the morning, during or possibly even before their common breakfast. It made sense, of course; it was better to wait until then instead of approaching them now in the middle of the night and dealing with them while they were grumpy. They’d talked for a long while and by now, half the castle had to be asleep already. But waiting until the morning to get the confirmation was hard. And even though Hiccup knew that Eret might have his own reasons for supporting him, reasons that wouldn’t necessarily convince the most powerful men and leaders of the Kingdom, he still hoped that his answer would ease his mind at least a little bit.

Eret chuckled, interrupted by the occasional wince as Hiccup cleaned the area around the cut on his chest. “Two reasons,” he eventually replied. “First: I know you. And I trust you. We trust you. You’re a good man, Hiccup, honest, reliable, and diligent. You’re going to be a good leader to those battered people. As Dagur said, it’ll take time. But I’m sure that, under your leadership, County Ravenledge and its people can thrive again. So supporting you is definitely not a waste of time or effort. It’s for the good of the people, and that’s what our main interest should be, right?”

Hiccup nodded, inwardly hoping that he could live up to this trust, these expectations. “And… the second reason?” he asked cautiously. 

Eret sighed, his eyes falling closed. “The second reason is that we know only too well how it is to love without hope. Dag and I… we knew right from the start that our love had no future. We were prepared. But even though we always knew our time would be limited… Actually having it come to an end with the wedding just… just hurt! And even though we’ve got a reprieve of some sort now, we know it’ll end someday. Just thinking about it is driving me insane.” He paused and took a deep breath before letting it out again. “For you, it’s different though… for you, there’s hope. It might be a slim hope and the road to reach it will be hard, but it’s possible. So we want to help you in whatever way we can, simply because that is something we can do.”

Hiccup nodded again, putting the water away and handing Eret a piece of cloth to dry himself up. “Thank you,” he murmured. It was far too little to convey the gratitude he felt, but it was all he could come up with. 

However, it seemed to be enough for Eret. “Anytime,” he replied in a light voice. “But now, you better leave. Tuff should be here any minute now. And I want to say ‘Have a good night’, but... but I’d rather it not get too good if you know what I mean, so…”

Hiccup was incredibly glad that he wasn’t facing Eret at the moment, that he wouldn’t notice the blush on his face. “Don’t worry,” he mumbled awkwardly. “I won’t risk losing her again.” 

He hadn’t meant to say those last words out loud; they’d slipped off his lips before he’d been able to think about it. And, as expected, there was a confused frown on his cousin’s face when he turned back to face him. But since he didn’t ask, Hiccup didn’t feel obliged to explain himself and quickly changed the topic. “Is there anything else you need? Before I leave, I mean?”

Still frowning, Eret shook his head, so Hiccup quickly bid him good night and left the elaborate bedchamber.

Once the door closed behind him, Hiccup exhaled deeply. Eret’s brief explanation had soothed him, but only a little. His reasons were understandable enough, and Hiccup wanted to believe that, if the situation was reversed, he and Astrid would also do whatever they could to make it possible for Eret and Dagur to stay together. And as for the other reason… He could only hope that Eret was right and that he would be able to provide a better life for the people of Ravenledge one day. 

If he even got the chance to try. 

He’d been right, Eret hadn’t been able to provide him with the answer he longed for, but at least his words had settled his anxiety to a bearable level. But that helped to ease his chaotic emotions only so much. Because the excitement and anxiety over their plan had only been part of his emotional turmoil. The question about what the months and years to come would bring them was certainly important, but right now, the more immediate future was a little more pressing to him. 

He’d promised Eret that there was no reason to be worried and he was dead set on keeping this promise, to Eret and to himself alike. But there were more facets to that promise than Eret thought. 

Sticking to what Eret was concerned about and not having sex with Astrid until they were truly married wouldn’t be a problem. They’d managed relatively well so far, and the prospect of not having to wait two more years but only a couple of weeks would make holding out even easier. Theoretically, at least.

Practically though, just thinking about tonight – and if it worked as planned the following nights as well – made his entire body tingle in anticipation. Hours of being alone with Astrid, of being free to kiss and to hold her... Gods, how he missed feeling her soft body against his own, his hands exploring her, tasting her lips and her skin, listening to– 

With a low groan, he shook his head, chasing those thoughts away. He couldn’t– no, mustn’t indulge in those fantasies! “Just a few weeks,” he reminded himself in a low whisper, biting his lip in the hope that the pain might help him focus. He had no confirmation of his fears on this matter, no certainty that their getting intimate before had somehow caused their separation. But he also couldn’t shake off the suspicion that that might have been the reason, that his overconfidence had angered the Gods and the temporary separation had been a warning. And he wouldn’t risk losing her again! Even if it meant going weeks or maybe even months without touching her like he wanted to – he would take that unresolved longing over possibly losing her forever at any time. He just hoped Astrid would understand his reticence. 

Because on top of everything else, there was one other aspect that might make keeping his promise to Eret a little more complicated. Knowing Astrid, Hiccup suspected that she was going to disagree with him on this point, but he just knew that it was his fault she’d been through so much pain during the past weeks. If he hadn’t been so stupid, hadn’t given up too soon, hadn’t given in to his longing for her in the first place… 

Sighing, he shook his head. No matter how much he wished it were otherwise, he couldn’t undo the past. But he was going to do everything to keep any more pain away from her from now on. And furthermore, it meant that he’d do everything she asked for, that he would follow her every wish. To make it up to her. 

He was aware of the possible contradiction of these two urges, and his thoughts were still running in circles when Tuff appeared behind one of the elaborate tapestries a little while later. Hiccup rose as he silently beckoned him to follow. Just as Ruff had said, the passage was narrow and clearly didn’t get used regularly, with dust and cobwebs everywhere. But Hiccup didn’t pay much attention to the condition of the space, nervousness and anticipation settling in his stomach. At the end of this walk, he would see her again, be alone with her. And while he was unquestionably looking forward to it, his breath coming fast and even his bad leg moving without complaint in the cramped passageway, there was the point that, as so often before, the night would be a tough balancing act between what he wanted to do and what he had to do.

. o O o .

Agitatedly chewing on her lower lip, Astrid sat at the edge of her bed, her eyes glued to the door. Any minute now, Ruff would lead Hiccup in here. It wouldn't be long anymore, she knew that. But still, every single second of waiting felt like an eternity. 

Gods, she was such a mess.

Ever since she’d overheard the Grand Dukes’ conversation earlier that day, all her thoughts had circled around County Ravenledge and how this could be the solution to their problem. But now that she’d presented this idea to Hiccup and their friends and they’d agreed on a plan, practical reality was catching up with her again. 

She and Hiccup would spend the entire night together, and in contrast to that night after the ball where she’d fallen asleep in his arms, this time they wouldn’t be too exhausted to do… whatever they wanted to do. The thought made her heart beat faster and she balled her hands into fists to keep them from trembling, crumpling the blanket and her nightgown in the process. Gods, why was she so nervous? This wasn’t the first night she spent alone with him, after all. 

But no, she wasn’t nervous. She was excited. And it was because she’d been with Hiccup before that she was so looking forward to this, couldn’t wait for him to finally be here. 

What would the night bring? 

Would this night be a loving reunion after these painful weeks, with slow caresses and exploring each other anew? She could picture it, softly entangled between the sheets of her bed, celebrating their love until the sun rose again. 

Or would they jump right back to how it had been before, heated passionate kisses without preamble? She wouldn’t mind that either. Oh, how she longed for his touch and to feel again the exhilaration only he could bring her. 

But maybe… maybe they would continue where they’d stopped more directly. If Hiccup remembered to bring that pot of scented oil, then… She sucked in a quick breath and bit down on her already slightly swollen lip to keep herself from moaning. All too well she remembered how it had felt to have his fingers inside her. Would he insist on preparing her again for tomorrow night or could they… jump right in? Heat rose to her cheeks, and she wondered whether she could manage to stay a little quieter or what Ruff and Tuff would say in the morning. 

Although… there also was another option. Not that she expected this night to go that way, no certainly not. But maybe… it was a possibility, wasn’t it? Now that the solution for their problem was within reach, maybe they could even go a step further. They would be married in a few weeks – she vehemently refused to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise. The date for her wedding was set, irrevocably. Nothing would delay or prevent that, her father had made that clear. Was that also true if an inspection by one of Freya’s Gythias revealed that her maidenhead was broken already? That could have happened at any time, during that accident on the ride for example. Or when she vowed to Fyrir Gothi herself that she’d never been intimate with anyone but Hiccup, her husband-to-be? That could work, couldn’t it? Nobody would want to risk a scandal, after all. So even if she fell pregnant tonight… that wouldn’t really matter, would it? 

Astrid’s blood was boiling hotter and her throat went dry at that idea, her vision becoming a little blurry. Gods, why wasn’t Hiccup here already?

In the next moment, she nearly fell off her bed, her heart jumping into her throat and beating furiously, when a knock came from the door. Hastily, she scrambled to her feet, bare on the plush carpet, and called for Ruff to come in.

“Tuff brought something for you,” Ruff announced, smirking when she noticed Astrid’s state, and stepped aside to allow Hiccup behind her to enter. “I’d say I wish you a good night… but–”

“But I’d like to sleep for once,” came Tuff’s voice from somewhere behind her. It made Astrid blush even harder.

Snickering, Ruff shrugged. “There you go. See you two in the morning.” And with those words, she left, pulling the door closed behind her – and leaving Astrid and Hiccup alone in her bedroom. 

A heavy silence fell over them, only interrupted by their audible breathing. This was truly happening. Hiccup was here, in her bedroom! A place where – except for the occasional exception of a healer or her actual brother – nobody but Ruff was allowed. Not even Tuff would enter this room without a damn good reason. And now, she was alone here with Hiccup, with the man she loved, the man she was going to marry. The man whose touch and closeness she craved beyond anything else. 

And they had all night…

. o O o .

Hiccup barely noticed how the door closed behind Astrid’s maidservant. His head was entirely empty, wiped clean since the moment he’d entered. He’d expected that spending the night with Astrid would be intense, but just being here was so much more than he’d anticipated. This room, so personal with pictures and decorations that just screamed Astrid, the bed, so big and inviting, and Astrid herself, hair loosely bound in her usual nighttime braid and dressed in only a thin night shift – it all made for an incredibly heady atmosphere.

“Hey,” Astrid eventually breathed a little shyly after he’d done nothing but stare at her for... he couldn’t say how long. Long enough, probably.

“Hey.” Swallowing hard, Hiccup managed to reply in the same manner. If she’d hoped for more of a reaction though, he couldn’t help but disappoint her, unable to form coherent thoughts or even to move. His eyes lingered where they shouldn’t, on her parted lips, plush and inviting, begging him to kiss them, and on the curves of her breasts and hips barely hidden by the thin fabric around her.

Freya, how much he wanted her… 

His mouth went dry, even swallowing again and licking his lips to wet them not helping in the slightest. He still knew he couldn’t let anything happen, not for real. But it was nigh on impossible to remember that when she slowly came closer, bright eyes filled with warmth and longing holding him hostage. 

When she stretched to kiss him, her lips on his felt so soft, somehow softer even than only hours before or during the one night they'd spent together on Eret's couch. They drew a low groan from somewhere deep in his chest, and without his doing, his hands curled around her waist, pulling her closer. Her response robbed him of the last shred of coherence when her hands grabbed at his hair, fingernails scraping, and she tilted her head to deepen their kiss. 

Hiccup momentarily lost track of everything. All that mattered was the feeling of her lips, the taste of her skin as his mouth wandered down her neck, and the lovely sound of her gasping his name into his ear, silk and lace bunched up between his fingers as he hurled her closer still. Gods, he'd missed this so much, this closeness and heat, the intimacy of reconnecting with the missing part of his soul, with her, and it felt so completely right. 

How couldn’t it be right?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice was warning him, but it got lost in the flood of sensation she elicited when she gently but determinedly tugged him along. His thighs hit the edge of her bed and without really noticing he kicked off his shoes before they both tumbled onto the soft mattress. 

It was all just a blur. They rolled around on the bed until she lay beneath him, her lithe body tight against his and her hand tugging at him until he was where she wanted him. Her hands were everywhere, in his hair, running down his sides, clutching at his back while her lips stole every coherent thought from his mind. 

Hiccup shook with desire, her touches sending sparks like lightning strikes through his entire body. Heat pooled in his lower belly, so close to where he could feel her against him. Resisting her was impossible. 

Astrid uttered the softest moans when his hands roamed over her body in return, making his head spin and the thin fabric wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling her inviting warmth. He couldn't get enough, was addicted to every noise and every sensation, now after their separation even more so than before. Leaning down, his mouth wandered down her neck, kissing and tasting her, feeling her heartbeat pulsing against his tongue.

A shudder ran through his body when he felt her touch on his bare back beneath his tunic, not hesitant at all where fingers dug into scarred skin. It reminded him of how scared he’d once been of how she would react to his mangled body, to the signs of his failures, and of how much he trusted her now. 

But the reminder also brought a brief moment of clarity to his mind, making him realise what they were doing. He lay on top of Astrid on her bed, with her thin night shift making a poor job at covering her body – especially with the skirt bunched up somewhere around her hips and the neckline nearly dropping off her shoulders. With the way she gazed up at him through dazed eyes and that pink flush on her cheeks, she looked breathtakingly beautiful, almost agonizingly. All he wanted at that moment was to give in, to feel her eager touch on his skin, to let her take off his tunic like she was trying just now, and to not care about the consequences.

But he did care, and greatly so.

"No," Hiccup gasped, fighting to keep his clarity of mind and not give in to her oh so tempting touch. He shook his head as if to clear it and then rolled off her with a groan, hands moving to cover his face. "No, no, we can't… mustn't… no…" 

Gods, he was an idiot! Why had he let it come this far when he’d known to be wary of the temptation? With brutal force, he pulled up the memory of how she’d looked when he’d left her standing in the armoury, of all the pain he’d put her through. No matter how sweet her skin tasted on his tongue, it wasn’t worth risking her being in such pain again. 

Although, it might be too late already. He clearly remembered the pain and confusion on her face whenever he’d pulled away from her before, her insecurities and fear of rejection. Why, oh why, hadn’t he resisted right from the start? If he’d only kissed her without getting carried away and explained himself right away… But he hadn’t resisted, had given in to his desire so readily, and now, he’d done it again, had– 

“What is it?”

Her voice pulled him out of his whirling thoughts like nothing else could. 

He’d expected her to be disappointed and hurt, but there was none of that. Instead, she sounded mostly calm and even a little curious, throwing him off track completely. 

Gulping, he lowered his hands, his eyes finding hers in an instant. They were big, her pupils dilated, and there was a distinct flush on her cheeks, her breath coming a little faster than was normal. But aside from those obvious signs of arousal, she seemed surprisingly composed. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to… to hurt you or reject you.” 

“I know you didn’t,” she replied, her expression turning soft but also a little sad as her eyes dropped back to his lips for a heartbeat.

Hiccup swallowed again and sat up, turning around to better look at hero better talk to her. “You-you’re not… upset? That I wouldn’t...” Breaking off, he only nodded at her, her bare shoulders and neck so alluring that it was hard to even look at her. 

Unintentionally taunting him further, she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with it, before she sat up as well. It made her shift slip even further down her arm, but she caught it before it could slip off completely and pulled it back up over her shoulder when she noticed him staring at exposed skin. When he looked up at her face again, she was smiling softly, her eyes gleaming.

“Hiccup, I know that you would never hurt me,” she said, that soft smile becoming even more beautiful somehow. “And I… I trust you, you know? In you and in our feelings, in our bond and our fate. Nothing will ever separate us again.” She frowned as if looking for the right words. “It’s… it sounds silly, I guess. Cocky. But I know that you... want me. There were times where I worried, yes, but those are over. So, if you refuse to touch me now… well, then I know it’s not because you don’t want to. I trust that you have a reason, something I just don’t get yet. But I also know that… I know that I can ask you everything. That I don’t need to be afraid or embarrassed, not ever. So… what is it?”

Hiccup could only gaze at her in awe, lips parting but unable to come up with a response. By the Gods, she was perfect! Once again he wondered what he’d done to deserve having her in his life.

Instead of answering, he leaned in and kissed her again. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to do given how much his heart was still racing from their heated kiss only moments before. But he was more careful now, the kiss more controlled this time, fueled by gratitude and love instead of desire as he lifted his hand to cradle her face. She really was amazing. His thumb caressed her cheek as he ended the kiss and he instead leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Chuckling, Astrid retreated. “I love you too,” she replied, the warmth in her eyes almost enough to make him melt then and there. Then they lit up with a teasing spark. “But if that’s the reason why you retreated, then you’ll have to elaborate.”

Hiccup couldn't help but snort in amusement at her remark, even as he grimaced. He just hoped she would still be this understanding after he'd laid out his reasons. With a slight nod, he stood up, putting a little more space between them. He needed to explain himself and getting distracted by her closeness wouldn’t do him much good now.

"You're probably going to think I'm overreacting," he began, taking a few steps up and down her room. Casually, he looked around, taking in random details without really registering them. Doing anything just to not get distracted again. "But, this separation... Somehow, I feel like it was some kind of punishment. Or a warning maybe. I mean, sure, Cami said that what we did, getting intimate and all, wasn't against the rules. But even she can't know what the Gods really want." Hiccup paused, warily glancing over at her. But she didn't say anything, sitting at the edge of the high bed and watching him with her head cocked in confusion, so he quickly went on. "It's just… the timing, you know? Right before we were about to take that huge step and do anal sex, this… this major obstacle was thrown into our way.” Agitatedly, he threw his arms up, gesturing wildly. “And I'm having a tough time accepting that to only have been a coincidence. What if it was a sign instead? A sign that we're supposed to wait until we're truly married. Not just with actually having sex, but also with… well, with everything else.”

He could feel her disappointment now, even though she tried hard to not let it show. “Uh, okay?” she replied, a little insecurely. It was as if he could see the cogs in her head turning until she spoke again. “That’s… well, maybe you’re right, but…” She paused again, thinking, then shook her head. “I don’t think that makes much sense. I mean, it didn’t just happen because of what we did. Me getting married and all that, it had been planned for months, since just before the Midwinter ceremony.”

Hiccup nodded; she had a point, after all. But something about what she’d just said still poked at something in his mind. “Since before Midwinter?” How could she be sure about that?

“At least that’s what Eret mentioned,” she confirmed with a slight shrug. “Something about how Daniel had acted differently from one day to the other. Since that day you all went to meet Cami that first time, remember? He said that Daniel opted out of that visit at short notice and had a long talk with Father instead, and after that, his behaviour changed?”

Hiccup paled, his heart stuttering painfully. “That…” he muttered. “Gods, that’s even worse.” He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and tried to put order into his jumbling thoughts as it was clear that Astrid didn’t understand. “That night… Don’t you remember? That’s when we started. When Cami told me it would be all right to get intimate with you if we didn’t go too far and when you were waiting for me at the stables then, when we–”

“– when you made me come the first time,” she completed his sentence. There was understanding in her voice now, regret in her eyes. 

He nodded again, gulping. “Exactly. And if that’s the night when your father decided to pull your wedding forward and to thwart all my plans to gain a title… Yeah, no, I really don’t believe that’s a coincidence!”

Astrid still didn’t seem convinced though. Chewing her lower lip, she slowly shook her head, thinking. “I don’t know, Hiccup. That’s just–” 

“Exactly,” he interrupted her gently, stepping closer and reaching for her hand. “I don’t know either. But I’m not going to risk losing you again.”

At that, all her doubts and worries melted off her features and got replaced by something immeasurable softer. She pulled him closer and firmly intertwined her fingers with his. “You won’t lose me. Ever.”

Hiccup couldn’t help but return her soft smile, squeezing her hand but not replying directly. He wouldn’t take her or their future for granted again. 

“So,” Astrid went on after a short pause, “what exactly does this mean now? Will you stay here tonight?”

Sighing, Hiccup nodded. Of course, strictly thinking even him being here and alone with her went far beyond what he should do. He should apologise to Astrid, thank her servants for their help, and leave, should not risk getting overwhelmed by temptation again. It would be the prudent thing to do. But even with all logical reasoning and pondering, there were things he simply couldn’t do – and staying away from Astrid was one of them. 

“Yes, I will. I don’t know anymore which rules apply to us, so… Well, in that vision I had, the Goddess told me that I’d have to do what comes naturally to me. So I’ll just have to trust in my own judgement, I guess. And as long as we don’t get carried away, I don’t feel like being here is wrong.”

Astrid visibly relaxed. “That’s good. Because I don’t think so either,” she replied with a breathy little chuckle, but then became serious again. “But what else does it mean? Where would you draw the line? Just… just so I know?” 

She sounded so vulnerable… 

Hiccup gulped, reminding himself once more of how easily he could hurt her, of the power they both had over each other. He raised his hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face, caressing her soft skin as gently as he could. “I think this is all right,” he murmured, leaning closer. “And this, too.” 

His lips brushed over hers and she hummed, mouth twitching into a smile as his tongue poked out to taste her. Slowly, almost despite himself, his hand rose to cup the back of her head, pulling her closer again, deeper into their kiss. Astrid responded with a happy sigh, lips parting to welcome him. 

Quickly, the kiss grew firmer, more heated with breathless groans, tongues swirling, and teeth nipping at soft lips. Hiccup trembled with repressed desire; she was just so wonderful, perfect, everything. But he was careful this time, making sure that his hands stayed near her head, dropping only to her neck and shoulders and not lower. He could feel that Astrid wanted more, wanted to melt against him, to touch him, and he greatly appreciated that she held back nonetheless. His ability to resist temptation only reached so far. 

When he pulled back again, there was a warm glow in her eyes, something that hadn’t been there just a minute ago but which he felt, too. After the months of exploring each other before her birthday, sticking to only rather innocent kisses like this one felt like not enough. But at the same time… it was enough. The closeness and assurance were all they needed, for now at least. Everything else would come back to them over time.

“Yes, I think it’s okay for me to be here,” he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before. “It’s okay for us to kiss, to cuddle, and to hold each other through the night.” 

She nodded and he pulled her closer into his arms, just as she leaned against him too, not resisting when she guided them to lie down again. It wasn’t so they could continue to make out, so it was all right. And it felt so good to hold her like this again! His nose was in her hair, drowning him in that subtle scent of mayweed he’d missed so much, and his arm lightly rested around her waist, her warmth against his chest. He wouldn’t have minded spending the rest of the night like this. 

“I missed this,” she whispered after a while. “This closeness, feeling you, and…” 

She trailed off, squirming a little in his embrace. It made her rub against him in an incredibly enticing way, and with a small grunt, his hold around her waist tightened, keeping her still. Gods, he wanted…

He could feel how she actively restrained herself, almost trembling beneath his hands with the effort of keeping herself from moving further. “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, embarrassed. “I just… well, I’d hope we… that…” She broke off, biting her lip. Then she sighed. “But it’s... it’s okay. I understand. I think. And it’s only a few more weeks.” She turned her head to look up at him, smiling. “I can wait that long.”

Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat. Lying beneath him with that smile on her face, strands of her golden hair all around her on the pillow, illuminated only by the flickering light of the lantern, and with soft understanding glowing in her eyes… Gods, she was so beautiful, inside and out, irresistible. Almost. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he murmured. “For disappointing you and–”

“Hush!” Astrid placed her hand over his lips. “You didn’t. It’s fine.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes and kissed her fingers, softly. It made her giggle, and when she pulled them back again after a minute, he opened his eyes again to look at her. “I love you, Astrid. And… and I promise to make it up to you.” He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath, but then brought his mouth to her ear, his hand caressing her neck. “Every night, I’ll make it up to you, I swear…”

Astrid’s breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, Hiccup considered stretching his own rules a little, just once. Just letting his hand glide down her barely covered body, playing with her breasts and toying with her clit, just lazily getting her off while stealing the breath from her lungs with his kisses, just this one time. And he almost did it. When she turned her head and her lips found his again, there was a moment when his resolve crumbled and nearly failed him. She clearly wanted, how could he resist her? 

But then he remembered the armoury again, the pain in her eyes as he’d left her standing – and pulled away. 

“Mmh, I can’t wait,” Astrid hummed, her eyes dazed and dreamy as she looked up at him, panting. 

Hiccup resisted the urge to watch her chest rise and fall and instead lay down next to her again, eyes firmly on her face. She didn’t need to know how close he’d been to giving in, how much he wanted to give in. 

They made themselves more comfortable and for a long while just cuddled and enjoyed each other’s company before Astrid broke the silence again. “Can I ask you something?” 

Hiccup frowned. “Of course. Whatever you want.” Hadn’t she just said herself that she could ask him everything? What made her think she couldn’t ask now?

Nodding, she turned around and eyed him somewhat curiously. “It’s… well, you mentioned a few times now that you had another vision. And I was wondering what it was about. I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I had none, so this one clearly was only for you. I’m curious though and thought, maybe, you could tell me about it? Only if you think it’s okay and want to…”

Understanding sparked in his mind and his features softened. “Sure. I don’t feel like it was meant to be a secret.” He shifted into a sitting position that made it easier to talk which Astrid mimicked, leaning against his side. “I was back at that small house we both saw, in the middle of a forest,” he began, trying to remember as many details as possible. “At first, I thought it was just the same vision again, then I noticed the differences. The door wouldn’t open to reveal you, and…” 

. o O o .

Over the course of about half an hour, he told her of the dream-vision the Goddess had sent him, about how he’d needed Astrid's key to open the door, the Goddess wearing her face, and what she’d said to him. He told her everything he could remember and once he’d finished, Astrid was silent for a minute or two, processing what he'd told her. 

"How did you know it wasn't just an ordinary dream?" she eventually asked. 

Hiccup shrugged. "I didn't," he admitted. "Not right away. I spent the entire night and most of the following day pondering. I’d been so convinced that… that there was no hope left for us. But the night before, I’d talked to Cami and she’d said something that made me hope again, even as that wasn’t how she’d meant it. She’d said that, if we really were connected by a true soulbond, then not even the meddling of a King could separate us. She’d tried to convince me that our bond couldn’t be real because you would marry Eret, that I should let you go and move on... But I couldn’t shake off the thought that it also could mean something else, that nothing can ever separate us, not even your father. Because no matter what she said, I knew that our bond had been real. Is real.” He let his hand drop to her chest, and for once it was easy to ignore how close he was to touching her in a way he mustn’t do. Their bond was more meaningful than any physical aspects of their relationship. 

“When I had that dream then…,” he went on. “You’re right, I couldn’t be sure whether it had been only a dream or not, and I spent the rest of the night and most of the following day thinking about it. What it could mean, whether I really was supposed to kill someone or whether that’s just been some imaginary task born from my desperation. I just couldn’t be sure, not… not until your accident and Markor…”

Astrid froze at his words, and he winced when she inhaled sharply, understanding what he was talking about. 

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what exactly he was apologising for, ending Markor’s life or bringing up his death in the first place. Both in a way. She hadn’t brought that topic up so far, but he could imagine how much losing Markor must have hurt her. And Hiccup literally had his blood on his hands, the image of red sticking to his skin etched forever into his mind. 

She nodded, shifting closer and eagerly leaned against him when he hesitantly opened his arms and offered a comforting hug. “It’s okay,” she mumbled after a while. “Not that he’s… but I’m okay. You couldn’t have changed anything of what happened and… What I mean is… I don’t blame you, you know? On the contrary, I’ll never forget him and I have you to thank for that.” 

She nodded to the side of the bed and Hiccup spotted the wooden horse he’d given her as a Midwinter gift standing on her bedside table. He wasn’t sure how to react, whether to be sad or happy that this gift, that had only ended up in her belongings by chance, now served such an oddly fitting purpose. He’d wanted it to be a reminder of him, but now… It had been him who’d brought Markor into Astrid’s life on that first day at the stables and it had been him who’d taken him away again. Now, this figurine he’d given her was all that was left. Odd how some things fit together sometimes.

“So, until you… until you ended Markor’s suffering, you didn’t know whether what you saw had been real or not?” 

Astrid was clearly trying to change the topic and distract herself, so Hiccup complied. “No, I couldn’t be sure. I spent hours pondering whether it had been merely a dream, wishful thinking, or a true vision.” He paused, taking a deep breath, and reached for Astrid’s hand before he went on; though whether to draw strength or offer comfort, he did not know. “I thought about what the Goddess had said… and whether I was capable of killing someone if it meant I could be with you again.”

Her sharp intake of breath didn’t escape him. “And… did you arrive at a conclusion?” she asked, her tone sober, unreadable. 

Hiccup gulped, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I mean, I’d do everything for you. But this… I don’t know. Maybe? Depending on the circumstances? I don’t think I could… could simply murder a helpless innocent in cold blood. But…” he paused again, averting his face from her scrutinising eyes. “But now that I know how it feels to lose you… I’d be capable of a lot to keep that from happening again.” He knew that she despised unnecessary deaths, so he wasn’t sure whether that was the answer she’d wanted to hear. But it was the truth nonetheless. 

At first, she didn’t respond. After a few endless heartbeats though, she shifted on the bed, leaned closer, and lifted his head with her hand cradling his jaw. “You’ll do what’s right,” she whispered, a sincerity in her eyes that left him breathless. “The Goddess said you’d only have to do what comes naturally to you and I trust your judgement. Everything will be all right.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned more heavily into her touch, nuzzling against her fingers and softly kissing her palm. “I hope you’re right,” he murmured. 

She kept caressing his face, her touch soft as a feather. “I’d go with what the Goddess told you. There’s always hope,” she said lightly, and even though his eyes were still closed he could hear her smile easily enough. “I do wonder what you’re supposed to do for them, though. That bit about them having a purpose in their selection sounded pretty ominous.”

Hiccup nodded, having wondered about that several times already. “I know. But all we can do is wait and see. She didn’t tell me about anything specific I’m supposed to do – except for that ending a life part.” He shrugged, then grimaced. “I mean, maybe it’s just rebuilding Ravenledge and providing a better life for the people living there. That’s going to be enough of a challenge I’d say.”

“Well, you won’t be alone with that task,” Astrid reminded him, leaning forward until her forehead rested against his own. “We can do this, together. No matter how difficult it will be.”

Smiling, his mouth searched hers for a string of light kisses. “Yeah,” he mumbled in-between against her lips. “Together.” 

It was a heady thought. The last couple of days still hadn’t been enough to completely wipe away the hopelessness and pain of the two weeks before, and thinking about how they would spend their future and meet every obstacle together from now on – sometimes it still felt like too much to wrap his head around. 

“I’ve got to say though,” Astrid interrupted his thoughts, giggling as they lay side by side again. “I’m surprised nothing else happened in that dream-vision of yours.”

“Excuse me?” 

She giggled again, a little more teasingly. “Well, you met the Goddess of Love herself! And even though the situation warranted more, you did nothing but talk and cuddle for a bit? Most people would call that a wasted opportunity.”

Snorting, he rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to do? Should I have kissed her and made out with her? With a Goddess?”

“Why not?” She was still giggling. “She looked like me after all. Nobody could have blamed you, and you said it yourself, you didn’t even know that it wasn’t really me in the beginning. Or that it was more than just a dream to begin with. It would have been perfectly justified.”

Bemused, he shook his head. She couldn’t be serious, could she? Or was there a hint of jealousy behind her amusement, some underlying worries? But no, that wasn’t like her. When he looked at her though, he noticed the teasing gleam in her eyes, the twitching of her lips. Right…

Smiling, he rolled around until he was on his side, propped up on one arm and leaning over her. Astrid looked up at him, eyes so soft despite the mischievous spark and the deep blue almost enough to lose himself in them again. 

“You want to know why?” he whispered before he brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and then leaned down to kiss her again. “Because she wasn’t you.”

. o O o .

In many aspects, the night hadn’t been what Astrid had expected and yet she wasn’t disappointed, not really at least. Without a doubt, she missed Hiccup’s hands on her body, his touch on sensitive skin, the heat of intimacy. But somehow, she didn’t mind. The night had passed by in another kind of intimacy, with soft caresses and relatively innocent kisses and with a lightness that she found meant even more to her. They’d talked for hours and about so many things, important and trivial alike, and while it hadn’t been the reconnecting she’d craved, it was the one she’d needed. 

When she woke in the morning, she couldn’t keep a broad smile from spreading across her face. Even through her still-closed eyes, she knew that the sun was already rising, but in opposition to their usual routine, there was no need for them to hurriedly wake up and part. There was nothing keeping her from enjoying his arms loosely wrapped around her waist, his low and even breathing in her hair, and the incredibly comfortable heat purring from his body wrapped around her back. There was nothing keeping her from snuggling closer against him, sighing happily as he reflexively pulled her closer. 

Nothing except the loud knocking against her door and Ruff’s voice echoing toward them. 

“Milady? Are you decent?” There was a short pause, then, “I’m coming in now.”

Astrid rolled her eyes and nestled closer to Hiccup behind her as he stirred awake with a low grunt. She’d talked about this with Ruff the night before and they’d agreed on a few things in advance. Mainly that her maidservant wouldn’t just barge into her bedroom like she usually did to wake her. Sadly, there wouldn’t be anything indecent anytime soon anyway, so it was a little moot, really. Unless Ruff wasn’t alone, then she would say so before opening the door so Hiccup had the chance to hide. But as it was, Ruff was alone when she entered the bedroom, so Astrid couldn’t have cared less. She wasn’t ready yet to leave his warm embrace. 

Hiccup, however, jumped awake in an instant. He sat up straight, pulling the blanket up with him, and his face went frighteningly pale as he stared at Ruff before he seemed to remember and relaxed again. Lamenting the warmth, Astrid sat up too and snuggled back against his chest, smiling as he wrapped his arms and the blanket back around her. 

Ruff threw them a smirk, raising her eyebrows at the obvious state of them still being fully dressed, but then turned to pull the curtains open. “I’d say ‘Sorry for interrupting you’, but it doesn’t look like I interrupted anything anyway. I knew Tuff was exaggerating. Anyway, time to get up. Your breakfast is waiting for you at your tea table, Astrid. Hiccup, you get yours in the kitchen as usual. Sorry, but there was no way for me to sneak in your portion without raising suspicion.”

Intending to drown Ruff’s babbling out to enjoy her last minutes with Hiccup for the day, Astrid still perked up, frowning at her maidservant’s words.

“What?”

Ruff turned, an insinuating smirk on her face as she rolled her eyes. “I said your breakfast is–”

“No, no, I got that,” Astrid interrupted her, sitting up straighter now even as her mind was whirling in confusion. “But why? Why would I eat here? What about my usual breakfast with the King and the Grand Dukes?” 

On so many occasions lately, she’d wished she could simply skip the common meal and eat alone in her rooms, but not today. Today, she had something important to talk about with her father, and not just she. Duke Oswald had to agree to giving County Ravenledge to Hiccup, too, and they needed their and Eret II’s support to rebuild it. Who knew when else she, Eret, and Dagur would get the chance to talk to their fathers? She didn’t want to wait any longer.

She looked up at Hiccup, seeking… she didn’t even know what exactly. Reassurance somehow. But he looked just as confused as she felt. And worried.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Ruff said, shrugging apologetically. “All I know is that there was a change of plan somehow. Today’s hunt got cancelled and instead, your father summoned all of your suitors for an announcement.“

Beneath her hand on his chest, Hiccup trembled. “Oh, no,” he muttered. “That doesn’t sound good,”

Astrid could only agree, but she didn’t want him to fret again. He was already carrying more guilt than was necessary. She shifted until she kneeled in front of him, for once towering over him, and took his face in both her hands. “Don’t worry, okay?” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “Whatever it is, this doesn’t change anything. Do you hear me? We belong together and nothing will ever change that. Together to the end of the road. Promise.”

Hiccup looked up at her with conflicted eyes, clearly wanting to believe her but unable to fully do so. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered, swallowing, then leaned more heavily into her touch, his forehead resting against hers. “I really do.”

. o O o .

Yes, she didn’t want Hiccup to fret about whatever her father had to announce. However, not fretting about it herself was an entirely different matter. What could be so important that he cancelled all plans for the day?

Struggling to not let her nervousness show, she was standing in the audience room, next to and a little behind her father as they waited for everyone to arrive. As her future husband, Eret was allowed to stand behind her, and now, she understood how hard the previous day must have been for him. Even though the presence of the King certainly kept many from showing their envy and disdain too openly, the looks Eret got for being up here with her were anything but friendly. But even though she wished she could spare him all this, she also was grateful for his presence. It was all that kept her from falling apart. 

The last time her father had made an announcement, he’d torn apart all her dreams and plans. He wouldn’t reject her upcoming betrothal to Eret and hand her back to all these leering predators in front of her because of such a stupid rumour, would he? No, certainly not. But she couldn’t help but fear for what he had to say nonetheless. 

“Do you know what this is about?” she whispered, her head tilted to the side so only Eret could hear her. Surely his thoughts had gone in a similar direction than hers.

“No idea,” Eret grunted quietly. “Father wouldn’t say anything even though he clearly knows what’s going on. He was excited though, even grinning, so I guess it’s nothing too bad.”

Swallowing, Astrid nodded weakly. At least it wouldn’t be the cancellation of their betrothal. She just hoped that he was right, that it wouldn’t get too bad. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 

A few minutes later, everyone seemed to have arrived as two servants closed the doors, and Astrid reached behind her for Eret’s hand. She needed her brother’s support, feeling a little lighter as he squeezed her reassuringly. 

“I see everyone’s here now,” her father began, smiling broadly at the crowd. He seemed to be in a good mood. “Good. I have exciting news. Even though it’s still over a week until the betrothal ceremony, my daughter has made her decision already, and while I couldn’t be happier about her choice, I also see how it affects the mood and motivation for the remaining challenges.” There was consenting grumbling all over the room, many men throwing disappointed glances at her and Eret.

“I was already thinking about how to solve this problem,” her father went on, “when a note from Oramond reached me yesterday.”

Puzzled, Astrid cocked her head. Oramond was a city located north of Volantis, about a day’s ride away. She dimly remembered having been there as a child as it was famous for its market, the only one where merchants from the Northern Tribes sold their goods. Or used to sell their goods. Over the last ten years, fewer and fewer merchants had shown up until the city had lost its significance. What message from there could be so important that her father changed his plans?

She didn’t need to wait long for the answer. 

“As some of you know, the lands north of Volantis still occasionally suffer from dragon attacks. This year though, there were ten times as many sightings as usual already. Livestock was stolen, and last week, one of Oramond’s storehouses was burned to the ground. And while this development is truly unfortunate, it can also be seen as a blessing in disguise as it gives us an unexpected opportunity.”

The King made a short dramatic pause, looking around into the waiting faces before he continued, his voice a little louder now. “Three decades have passed since we last held a Dragon Hunt. But now, the Gods bless us with this impeccable chance. From today on, all upcoming hunts and tournaments until the betrothal ceremony are cancelled. Instead, everyone gets the chance to prepare themselves for in four days from today, we will all travel to Oramond. From there, the first Dragon Hunt since my father’s reign will be held. It will go on for three days before a winner is determined. My daughter’s hand, while a suitable and traditional prize, is not an option anymore, but I think I’ve found an acceptable alternative. I’m happy to announce that the winner of this Dragon Hunt, the man who brings me the head of a dragon, will not only earn himself a pouch of gold and glory beyond any other, but will also receive the right to call himself the Count of Ravenledge.” 

. o O o .

AN: Yeah, so… we all knew it wouldn't be that easy, didn't we?

And to all those people who (repeatedly) asked about when I'd FINALLY include the dragons… are you satisfied now? O:)

I can't say how regularly I'm going to update from now on. When a chapter is done, I'll post it.

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee ;) (Ko-Fi)

Next chapter

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 29

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28

Writer’s note: I didn’t expect to update “Home” so soon! Especially after the crazy busy week I had. Big things are coming! Thank you to everyone has kept up with this fic! <3 It’s a year this month that I started it. Didn’t think it would come this far! 

“Toothless, you gotta get us out of here, bud.” Hiccup tried to turn his dragon around, but Toothless shook him off.

As much as Astrid had worked with Toothless and the arena dragons in peace, forming bonds and alliances, this situation she was in now was surreal and downright terrifying. These dragons didn’t know her, and her and Hiccup could easily become apart of their kill if one got the wild hair to try. Toothless would defend them, she trusted for the most part, but with the strange way he was acting, she wasn’t completely sure of that right now.

They continued to fly in the hoard of dragons through the thick fog until they broke through the veil once again to see the chilling sight of the volcano island. The dragons clustered together as they flew through a hole in the side of the volcano. A brief bout of darkness shrouded them. The eerie red glow they’d seen spewing from the top of the mountain was straight ahead of them.

Astrid hadn’t taken note of the heat until it slapped them in the face like scalding steam. She winced as it burned her skin. They exited the tunnel into a massive chasm. Many upon many shelves were rived into the sides of the rock, twisted and crude as if the heat itself carved them. Through the smoky haze that made Astrid’s eyes sting, she spotted different species of dragons clustered together on the shelves. They didn’t look happy or at home at all, more like alert and anxious. They circled around the hole, red hot flickering up from its bottomless pit.

“What my dad wouldn’t give to find this,” Hiccup commented, seeming far more calm about the entire situation than she felt.

Astrid pressed the bottom of her face into his shoulder guard, eyes flicking all around. Meeting the band of dragons on the island’s shore was a pleasant picnic compared to the terrifying sight they were faced with now. Astrid had never seen so many dragons in her life. Not even during the most turbulent raids!

After making a wide swing above the pit, Toothless landed on a rocky shelf, hiding behind a formation whittled large enough to shield them. He peeked around the rock along with Hiccup. Astrid stretched over Hiccup’s back; her view lessened by her position. A steady flow of dragons continued to pour in, dropping their prizes into the red haze.

“It’s satisfying to know all our food as been dumped down a hole.”

“They’re not eating any of it.”

Astrid still didn’t understand everything about dragons, but this was the most baffling behavior yet. Why would they sacrifice their food to a volcano?

The stream of dragons had slowed, only a light green Gronckle lazily buzzing in. It hovered above the middle of the pit and coughed up a small fish from its mouth. It looked so innocent and oblivious as it hovered there scratching an itch. A roar echoed from deep in the pit.

Astrid didn’t think she could find anything more frightening than being in a volcano with a thousand dragons. She was wrong. A massive head, ten times bigger than the largest boulder on Berk, emerged from the pit. It’s mouth, full of teeth longer than the tallest trees, chomped at the Gronckle and the poor dragon was no more.

Her and Hiccup shared a gasp, shaken to the core, as they both pulled back father behind the rock shielding them. The monstrous dragon’s nostrils inhaled in a powerful sniff that echoed throughout the cavern. A new smell amid the Sulphur and dragon scales. Astrid’s heart stopped. It had detected their presence.

“Get us out of here, bud,” Hiccup commanded.

Astrid barely had time to grab hold of Hiccup before they shot off. From the corner of her stinging eyes, she caught a glimpse of a massive dark streak aiming straight at their former hiding spot. A sickening chomp followed.

They flew upwards into the blinding mass of dragons as they circled toward the opening of the volcano to escape. Astrid could feel herself slipping and let go of Hiccup’s waist for only a split second to regain her grip. She didn’t realize what was happening until she felt herself falling. She barely heard her screams in the cacophony of chaos all around her. Her mind blanked, feeling as if she would pass out, and then her body suddenly connected with a hard surface. Screwing her eyes shut, she tried to suck in a much-needed breath, but the surrounding gases burned her lungs.

Her body hurt, mainly her back and legs, but miraculously nothing felt broken. It’d felt like an eternity, but in perspective, she hadn’t fallen far at all. A ledge protruding from the volcano’s upper level had caught her. She quickly looked over the side to watch a poor Zippleback get snatched up by the massive dragon’s mouth. She’d begged for that sacrifice to appease the colossus, but its nostrils drew in a deep sniff – clearly gifted with an amazing sense of smell.

It rose up higher, sniffing the side of the volcano, closer and closer to where Astrid had landed. Astrid scurried back on her bottom, the ledge providing no place to hide. Her stomach flipped violently as she pressed her back into the hot rock wall, awaiting her doom as the dragon’s nose drew closer.

She could hardly believe her ears at the sound of a Night Fury blast. A blue plasma blast shot directly at the massive dragon’s many eyes. It reared back, screaming it’s protest. Another blast hit it again, drawing it further away from the ledge. One more blast to the face and it retreated downward.

Tears pricked at Astrid’s eyes when the familiar form of Toothless landed on the ledge. She ignored the protest of her aching body and jumped in the saddle, securing her arms around Hiccup’s waist. Toothless launched toward the volcano’s hole once more, the path now free of retreating dragons. A deafening roar shook through the cavern. The giant of a dragon made one more attempt at catching them, but Toothless was faster and long eluded the hundreds of teeth as it clamped down on air behind them.

Astrid didn’t open her eyes until they were high in the night sky away from the veil of fog. She pressed her face between Hiccup’ shoulder blades, arms wrapped nearly completely around his middle. Trembles traveled throughout her body, from her inner core to the tips of her fingers.

“Astrid?” Hiccup’s voice reached through the screaming in her head. She jumped involuntarily when his hand touched her arm. “Astrid, are you okay?”

For the first time since they’d entered the volcano, Astrid took a deep breath, the intake of oxygen somewhat soothing her shaken nerves and reviving her stifled lungs. She nodded against his back. “I’m okay.”

The response was enough for Hiccup, and they flew in heavy silence for a long time, the choppy sea sloshing down below them. Astrid clung to her husband, his warmth and presence a balm to her shaken state. Finally, the achy chill of the night air roused her from her stupor. She shoved away the fresh memories, determined to think like a warrior again. This massive, monstrous thing was out there, threatening dragons and Vikings’ lives. This was not okay.

“That island—” she began, close to Hiccup’s ear so he could hear her clearly, “it’s like a hive. The dragons are her workers and that’s their queen. It controls them.” She paused, letting Hiccup mull over the theory. She knew he’d come to the same conclusion, probably faster than she had. “Hiccup, what’re we going to do about this?”

His head dropped as a heavy sigh left him. “I don’t know.”

He wouldn’t like this. “We need to tell your dad when he comes back from the campaign.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He could be back at any day.” He sliced a hand through the air, resolved. “No, we need to think this through.”

“Hiccup, he deserves to know. We just discovered the dragon’s nest. The thing we’ve been after since Vikings first sailed here.”

“But we need to stick to the plan first. Show my dad that dragons aren’t what we thought they were. Do you think a fleet of Vikings could take down that thing?”

Astrid played the scenario in her head. A battle between a fleet of Vikings and the gigantic red dragon that could eat half the village’s warriors in one gulp.  Would the queen’s own army rally behind her? Or would they mutiny against her? If the dragons did choose the queen, no matter how courageous Berk’s fleet was, they’d be wiped out within seconds.

The warrior part of her hated to admit it but, “No. They probably wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Hiccup twisted around, causing Astrid to loosen her hold and lean back to see him better. In the light of the moon, she could see determination shining in his eyes, a resolve that couldn’t be shaken. He looked stronger than he ever had before. “Give me time. I’ll think of something that will free the dragons and end the war. For good.”

Astrid knew he would keep his word.

The rest of the journey home fell quiet as they traveled over the sea, the moon casting a long spotlight on the water. They were dead on their feet as they trekked back to the village from the cove, hand in hand. Daylight was most likely a few hours away.

Astrid sat on their bed, donning her nightgown. Her bones felt as if they’d collapse in a heap from exhaustion, but her mind was still reeling even after all the hours that had passed since their harrowing experience on Dragon Island. She absently brushed her hair, taken down from the braid. Her gaze stared blankly at the wall while her mind’s eyes were somewhere far away--

Glowing red, pulsating eerily off the cavern walls. The jarring hurt from the fall. The scrapes stinging and the bruises blooming. The powerful intake of the red dragon’s breath as it searched for her. The burning heat on her back pressed against the hot rock. The consuming fear of being found and eaten alive. Drawing closer and closer…

“Astrid?”

A shuttering breath escaped from her thickened throat. She barely realized she’d flung herself at Hiccup, sob after sob raking out as she clung to him. His slender arms enveloped her, pulling her against him. She wasn’t sure how long she cried into the curve of his neck, releasing all the fear and distress that she’d kept at bay for hours.

Hiccup did not carry much muscle, but as he held her in the wee hours of the morning, he was the strength that she needed.

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