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liddolwhynot2000 · 4 years ago

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Ruins

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Summary: You got your answer when he was visiting home on his off day, in the form of a love letter for a girl named Nanaba.

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Pairings: Mike/Reader, Levi/Reader

Genre: Angst, One Sided, why must I hurt reader, I'm mean I know

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Warnings: mention of child neglect, brothel, violence and prostitution

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You were just a lonely, sad child with parents who couldn't care less about her. Even at the tender age of 9, no one cared to feed you, to buy you anything or even acknowledge that you existed. You were just a burden, a nusiance they had never wanted. Even giving you the bare minimum care a child deserved was too much for them, so you were often left to fend for yourself.

Hence, no one even batted an eyelash at the fact that you were out in the dark, wearing a tattered dress and shoes that couldn't even classify as such. You didn't feel bothered, used to their shamelss mistreatment. You were all too familiar with no one giving a damn about you.

What you weren't familiar with was someone actually caring about you.

Mike.

He had felt like an angel to you, a blessing you hadn't thought you would ever recieve. Someone who cared about you, someone who wanted you to be safe.

You had met him when you were 11, as kids who lived in the same village in Wall Rose. Most of the other kids either avoided you or bullied you, because of your poor appearance. But he didn't.

He was nice to you. Giving you food, getting you clothes. Sometimes he took you to his house to have a meal. His mother and her kind smile made you warm. Within a few months of knowing each other, the two of you had gotten closer, to the point you spent more time in his house then your own.

One night, your parents hadn't opened the door to their house for you. You hadn't been surprised, for it wasn't the first time they had done so. You liked to think it was on purpose, a way of saying they wanted you to never come back.

You had ended up sleeping out in the rain and had gotten extremely sick. Mike had found you the next day and taken you back to his house. After that, you had never gone back to your parents.

Your parents didn't care. And frankly, for once in your life, you were glad about that.

Years would go by in this friendship, years of happy memories and softness. You had considered those to be the best years of your life. The two of you had grown up together, spending everyday with each other and having fun.

Until the two of you turned 15. By then you knew very well, that you were in love with Mike.

Too bad you had to learn the hard way that he didn't feel the same.

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When you were 15, Mike set off to join the military. He had told you and his family that he would get into the top 10 and join the military police. His parents had been overjoyed, and his mother had privately told you something that had made your heart flutter.

She thought that Mike would marry you and take you to Sina with him.

It made sense really, after all, you had known each other for years. His parents had treated you as their own, to the point their guest room was your room. Your biological parents had left at some point, selling their house. You had been so happy in your life that you hadn't even noticed them leave. There had been a slight pang of hurt, one that would always exist at the thought of them, but you had moved on well.

The thing that made you think Mike actually wanted you was the fact that he had kissed you. Several times.

They had been short, sweet kisses. The two of you had been blushing messes by the end of them. Neither of you ever had enough courage to talk about them. But it only served to reinforce what his mother was saying.

Shortly after Mike left, you had found a job as a barmaid in a bar nearby. You hadn't wanted to inconvenience his family any longer, you already lived under their roof for free. The least you could do was earn your keep. It also helped keep you busy now that Mike was gone.

Mike's mother had begun to encourage you to write to Mike. She had told you that already saw you as her daughter, and could tell Mike felt something for you. Like a fool, you went along with it, thinking she might be right.

Mike had never said anything romantic to you, but it was always a possibility. Those kisses had been anything but platonic. His mother knew him best and you figured it wouldn't hurt for you to take the oppurtunity to try to get your feelings across.

So you began to write to him, hoping he would respond back. And he did. Your long, neatly written letters were often responded to, but with brief, polite letters. It was as though your friendship had changed, that you weren't best friends like before. But you convinced yourself you were wrong to feel that. Maybe he was just too busy to write much?

You often pretended you hadn't seen the three page letters his parents got from him.

You still kept writing to him, the shortness in your letters growing. He had stopped even bothering to respond on time. Often, you were met with radio silence.

It frustrated you, how the two of you weren't even friends even more. Your hopes of being his future wife had been far fetched to begin with, but he had stopped even letting you be his friend. Had you done something wrong? You hadn't even pushed him, only writing him friendly letters.

You got your answer when he was visiting home on his off day, in the form of a love letter for a girl named Nanaba.

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The three years he would spend training in the military would fly by really. He only came home five times a year, and mostly spent it with his parents.

You clearly recalled the first time he came back to visit. You had helped his mother make a feast for him, it had consisted of all of his favorite foods. But he hadn't so much as thanked you, or even made eye contact with you. All your attempts at a conversation with met with pauses and a cordial tone.

It had made you feel unwelcome. As though you were just a guest in his house and not the best friend he had grown up with.

His parents had noticed of course, and once they thought you were asleep, had confronted him about his behaviour. It hadn't gotten anywhere, with Mike just insisting he was tired and not really feeling up to chit chat.

His strange behaviour towards you carried on everytime he visited in that year, to the point you began taking up late nigth shifts to avoid him. You would cook with his mother and make your excuses and leave.

Once his second year started, you had saved enough money to move out. Once his parents found out, however, they wouldn't let you go. They had never taken a cent from you and would continue to not. But they refused to let the girl they considered their daughter live by herself, finding it too dangerous for you to be on your own.

You had argued but accepted that they wouldn't let you go. A part of you wished they had let you go, because the next time Mike came home, he brought Nanaba with him.

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When Mike was in his final year of training, you moved out.

It hadn't been an easy decision, nor a very welcome one for his parents but you had made it nonetheless. He and Nanaba were an actual couple now, much to his parents despair.

Maybe they didn't actually like the girl or they just didn't like how their son had been treating you since he had met her. But you had understood that you needed to leave. They were too stiff with Nanaba, making her feel unwelcome. It had led to several fights after she left, with Mike feeling justly angered at their treatment of his girlfriend.

By then, you had learned to live with the heartbreak he had caused you. So, with promises to keep visiting, you left to live in your own apartment.

You thought that was the end of that really. You would live on your own, visit his family from time to time, slowly grow apart from them and live out the rest of your life on your own. You had made peace with this and thought that it would end the conflicts between him and his parents.

But somehow, despite not being there, you had still continued to be the reason he fought with his parents. The last time you would hear them argue, he would tell them to stop letting you visit. Because it made him uncomfortable. He and Nanaba would get married someday and if they kept letting you be around, they would live somewhere else rather then with them.

You had been standing outside the door, ready to knock when you heard that. And without a second thought, despite your heart wrenching painfully, you had turned back around and walked home.

You were determined to never come back, so you had packed your bags and then gone into work. After informing your boss that you were quitting, you finished your last shift. You were planning on heading out to Wall Maria the next day, hoping to just cut contact with Mike and his family and start over with your life.

It hurt you more then you were willing to let on, his family had been the only parents you had ever had. And now, you were the reason they were losing their son. It wasn't fair, but what could you do? He had made his decisions and now you had made yours.

Just as you set your apron aside, and prepared to leave, there was a sudden pain in the back of your head.

And then, everything went dark.

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The underground.

That's where you were.

You had been kidnapped and sold to a brothel in the underground, as if you were a piece of meat.

You had woken up, chained. Three middle aged men had leered at you with twisted grins, uncaring that you were sobbing in terror.

No matter how much you begged and pleaded, there was no turning around. You had been forced to shut up, after one decided you were too annoying and had slapped you. The other man had been in favour of beating you black and blue to teach you a lesson, but the third one had argued you wouldn't sell enough in that state.

After that, you had gone quiet as a mouse. You felt numb that this would be your end.

Your life had started out in ruins, with your parents shamelessly neglecting you. It had begun to build back up once you had met Mike and his loving parents, only for Mike himself to give you no choice but to walk away.

You thought you could walk away with your head held high a little, after all, at least you were capable of taking care of yourself now. But no, now your life was even worse then before.

When you had met Mike, you had been starving for food. He had offered you an apple and that was how you became friends. Now, as you sat locked in a room, dressed in rags, waiting for your first 'customer', you wished he had left you alone.

If only he had let you die back then, everyone's life would have been easier. Your parents would have gotten rid of their burden earlier, Mike and Nanaba wouldn't be struggling with his parents right now.

You snapped out of your misery as you heard a thump and sounds of someone screaming. You ignored it, having grown used to hearing weird sounds in the three days you had been here. Then you heard someone inserting a key into the door.

You gulped, as the knob turned and someone began to walk in.

It was a short man, with black hair and steel eyes. He looked at you neutrally, showing no emotions.

Once he shut the door, you began to back away on the bed, only to struggle against the handcuffs you were trapped with.

He began to walk forward and you began to cry.

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A/N: Heyooo. So I want to do a part 2 for this, one that explores reader and Levi. But I don't know if that's what y'all want. Do tell! I can see this having two more parts, one for Levi and reader and one with Mike POV. Do tell what y'all would like! Till next time ⭐

#Attack on titan #AOT #Levi x reader #Mike x reader #Warnings #Angst #Snk

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muwur · 4 years ago

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Since requests were open I was wondering if I could request father headcanons for iwai + ushi + atsumu 🥺 btw your writing is vv tasty n I can’t wait to see you write more !! Keep up the good work n stay safe !!

haikyuu daddee headcanons

✧ hc’s ✧ for iwaizumi, ushijima, and atsumu

❧ gn reader

✎ 1.4k words

a/n: omg u called my writing taSTY Dx i cri tySM 💞 that is a high compliment for me AHAHAHAH ILY and ty for the request!

also my lovelies i m back i m sry i was gone so long feojfe i miss yall <3 here u go enjoi, this was fun to write lmk if yall want more characetrs AHAHA

current listen: accidentally in love by sHREK AAHAH jkjk i mean counting crows, they cant take that away from me by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong, love the way you lie by eminem and rihanna

requests: open!

iwaizumi

✧ prePARED daddy

✧ picked up on this parenting thing p fast, also does a lot of research so he’s ready to face any situation

✧ teaches his kids how to behave n respect others

✧ also makes sure they know not to talk to strangers and teaches them some self defense

✧ be warned these kids are packing a surprise can of whOOP ASS,, dont fuck w them,, plus u wouldnt want buff daddee iwa on ur tail

✧ honestly his kids would be ANGELS ,,, n thats cuz he treats them all so w e l l

✧ mans is ATTENTIVE. he asks his kids about their days, their interests, and encourages discussion about their fEELINGS 🥺

✧ always offers them really valuable and light-hearted advice

✧ and gives them the love and transparency we all wanted but never had--

✧ however his kids are easily (n negatively) influenced esp when uncle oikawa comes to visit--

✧ but mostly bc iwa gets annoyed and slips out a lot of curse words and a “shittykawa” and then his kids started calling oikawa that and now it’s ingrained in them forever fjoefefgfvi (*distant phlattykawa crying noises*)

✧ gives them LOTS of head pats and ruffles as signs of affection

✧ PACKS THEIR SCHOOL LUNCHES and ensures they eat a balanced meal

✧ attends all their games/events,, will get a bit rowdy hype them up

✧ def lets his kids sleep with him when they’re having a bad night or woke up scared from a nightmare (and waits for them to fall asleep before going to sleep himself fojref)

✧ when they were babies he usually succeeded to get them to stop crying by pulling funny faces, showing them their favorite cartoons, or humming a lullaby

✧ when they get older,,, u bet iwa would be suPER protective esp when their kids start being iNtErEsTeD in other people

✧ you: “iwaizumi, they seem like a really nice kid, though”

✧ iwa: *sitting with you in the car, across the street from the ice cream parlor your child said they were at, and spying from the window* “you can’t trust everyone, of course they seem ‘nice,’ they just want our approval”

✧ definitely did not interrupt his child’s potential first kiss at their house’s doorstep by slamMINg the door open “sUDDENLY” cuz he “hEard TheIR vOicEs and THougHt TO lET them In”

✧ effectively traumatized both kids

✧ tho he felt bad after n u made him go apologize so he did (and he was forgiven, only if he agreed to never spy on them again--)

✧ doesn’t stop him from scrutinizing every person yalls kid introduces to you tho

✧ overall a super supportive dad, 11/10

ushijima

✧ ok dEF does not know much about parenting ,, at first

✧ stared at his child like ???nani when you both changed their first diaper

✧ also had plenty of staring contests with his babies ,,, called it bonding

✧ was curious and tasted baby food once,,, immediately regretted it

✧ once put a volleyball next to his child, who attempted to bite it, and took it as a sign that they liked it

✧ after sum time n practice, his mind becomes split between “how to volleyball” and “how to dad”

✧ catch him in the kitchen wearing an apron and whipping up his kids’ favorite smiley face pancakes 😤😤

✧ has an amazing ability to get his kids to stop crying, does really simple things like give them their favorite toy or place a gentle hand on their hand or attend to their needs (mans can tell if they want food or needa poop) and they calm down immediately

✧ carried them on his shoulders once and now they never stop asking him for shoulder rides (not that he minds anyway)

✧ if theres two kids he can probs carry one on each shoulder cuz cmon ,,, have u seen this man

✧ always goes to every performance/game/event his child takes part in

✧ man smiles so soft™ when he goes to the 1st grade play and sees his kid’s name in the program next to their role as “townsperson b” (next year, they upgraded to “singing carrot” in a play about the food pyramid)

✧ if his kid ends up enjoying volleyball, he will teach them e v e r y t h i n g they need to know

✧ but is overall super supportive of anything else his child pursues and doesn’t push anything onto them, would rather let them choose what they want to do

✧ had n o idea what to do when his kid asked him about the birds n the bees asfghkl

✧ couldnt sleep one night thinking about it and just randomly asks you while yall laying in bed in the dARk like “so our child asked me how babies are made and I told them they came from watermelon seeds” (you: 👁️👄👁️ “come again”)

✧ you: *at the grocery store with your child*

✧ child: *hands you watermelon* “I want a little brother!”

✧ you: “haha of course honey” 👁️👄👁️ what do i do (*later to ushijima* “duhfojhguf we needa get another baby i promised our child a younger brother fohurof” ; ushi: “wat” ; you: “itS YOUR FAULT”)

✧ yall eventually tell them not every watermelon can produce babies only really special ones that are really hard to get fhuoefkfotfi theyre not ready for the truth

✧ another great daddee, we stan

atsumu

✧ knew parenting was stressful esp with bABieS but was like eh it cant be that bad right

✧ think again

✧ g o o d b y e s l e e p

✧ develops phat bags under his eyes, responds with a weak “aha im fine just that parenting life and the kids ykNOW” whenever his teammates ask if he’s oKAY

✧ tried to tempt his kids to eat their mush baby food by trying it himself, nearly gagged but was able to say “eughh yuMM”

✧ loves to lift them high up in the air, even throws them up a little and nearly drops them (yall almost died from feAR but babie was having so much fun,,, yall agreed to be just a bit more careful)

✧ rlly bad at getting them to stop crying, gets very stressed when he’s exhausted every option he can think of then calls you over for some help/advice (you: *immediately calms them down* ; ratsumu: “how--”)

✧ calls up osamu a lot to ask him how to make food ,, then simps whenever his twin brother comes over and the kids are in love with this man and his cooking (”dad why cant you make stuff as yummy as this”)

✧ very affectionate with his kids, gives them lots of hugs and kisses on the forehead

✧ plays with them a lot! whether it’s sports, just dance, animal crossing, or UNO, yOU NAME IT WE PLAY IT

✧ also has no mercy when playing competitive video or board games,, has made them cry more than once LOL

✧ so sometimes he toned it down n let them win,, until his kids actually got better and DEMOLISH him every time

✧ is cool with his kids cursing, just as long as they don’t do it in front of their teachers LMAO

✧ plays innocent when he gets a call from school saying his kid was using ‘inappropriate language’ and is like “whaaat? my child? im not even sure where they learned that, maybe check if the other kids in class are saying those things, too--”

✧ reminisces how much nicer his kids were to him when they were younger and all the time they spent together,,, bc now that they reached their tEeNS they want alone time

✧ wants to be B) cool dad so he tries kinda hard, esp in front of their friends but his kid’s just like dad pls dofjrgjigtgro

✧ also very supportive of whatever his kids want to pursue and dedicates time to help them in whatever ways he can (whether that be to help them practice, make sure he can provide transportation, get them supplies, etc)

✧ always playfully competing with you to see who’s the “better” parent (you win by default)

✧ PROTECTIVE dad and will easily intimidate ANYONE who crosses his kids

✧ takes sum adjustment and mental resilience but daddee atsumu perseveres 😤 absolutely loves his kids and would do anything for them

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #ushijima x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x you #haikyuu daddies #LOL #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi haijime x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #atsumu miya #ratsumu #atsumu miya x reader #haikyuu reader insert #requests

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floralguccistyles · 4 years ago

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Remember when I said this fic was coming soon in March of 2020? Well...I promise I haven’t abandoned it. I want to finish Wildflower before I start on this, but I thought I might post a sneak peek because why not? Hope you guys enjoy!

mise en place, sneak peek

Michel’s soupe a l’oignon was burning.

Michel had also been through a terrible breakup the night before in which he had found his boyfriend of almost seven years in bed with their personal trainer. Then Michel’s boyfriend had announced that he and this personal trainer were actually married, per a terrible ceremony in Las Vegas when they were both drunk. Therefore, Michel was technically the other man. Michel had never been the other man before. He was obviously having a rough time.

But the fucking soup was burning.

“Michel! The soup!” Italia shouted before the scent could officially assault all of my senses. The second the words left her mouth, however, I could smell it. The onions were burning to a crisp. There would be no saving them, of this I knew.

“Shit!” Michel yelled, immediately turning off the heat of the stove. He went to go grab the saucepan and the hurried “no!” didn’t leave my mouth fast enough as he gripped the cast iron handle with his bare hand for approximately three seconds before he yelped and dropped it back down on the stove top with a slamming sound. “Shit, shit shit!” he repeated, clutching his wrist with his other hand.

“Let me see,” I demanded, moving away from my own meal (which would be fine and not on the verge of burning for at least another five minutes) and towards Michel. He held out his hand to me with tears in his eyes and I honestly felt bad for the guy.

I just also felt really, really bad for the customer who was waiting for their soup.

“Go run it under cool water. Cool, Michel, not cold. Ice-cold will damage the tissue even more. Then get a rag wet and hold it over. You can just go ahead and take your fifteen.”

“My soup—”

“Italia and I will handle it,” I interrupted. The more time we wasted standing here arguing was time that could have been spent trying to salvage the soup. It didn’t help that we were already down a chef, since Frederick’s wife was giving birth, but we would make do. Italia and I always did.

“Thanks, Dom. I’ll be in the lounge.”

Lounge was a loose term. It was a tiny little room in the back that looked dingy and unkempt. Still, it was enough to pass health inspections. Only about two people could fit back there at a time, which was why I usually just sat in my car for my breaks.

“Sounds good, Michel.” My eyes locked with Italia, who was already working on melting the butter and oil for Michel’s soup in a new saucepan. Isobel, one of our dishwashers, had already grabbed the pan Michel had ruined and was scrubbing it clean with her thick rubber gloves on her hands. At least I knew she wasn’t going to be burned.

When Michel turned to go into the lounge, I grabbed an onion and automatically began chopping it. “Sorry, Italia,” I muttered under my breath, knowing she could hear me just fine. We had gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

“It’s fine. Tell Louis to offer them a dessert on the house because this soup is going to take at least another fifteen.”

I wanted to slam my head against the counter. Or better yet, use the pan Isobel was now putting on the drying rack to hit over my head. “Fuck. Alright.”

Finding Louis was easy enough. He was making his rounds in the front of the restaurant, his pleasant attitude most likely earning him more than average tips. The kind of people who came to Lesauvage were wealthy enough to tip generously. Sometimes they didn’t, but for the most part, Louis wouldn’t be starving anytime soon. “Louis!” I hissed under my breath when he passed by the kitchen doors, cups in hands to refill. He jumped comically.

“Christ, Dom, you scared me,” he replied in a quiet voice, not wanting any of the customers to hear. “What?”

“Tell table eleven there was a complication with their soup and dessert is on the house.”

“What the fuck happened to their soup?”

I raised a brow. “Michel made it.”

Michel’s boyfriend drama had already made it around the restaurant. Twice. Chefs were a nosy bunch. Louis nodded in understanding and filled up a cup with iced tea as he looked towards where I assumed table eleven was. I actually hadn’t ever really paid attention to the front setup of Lesauvage because I had always entered through the back door.

“Fine. But I’m recommending the chocolate mousse because you’re here and you make it the best.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” I replied with a wink.

He grinned. “Got me into your bed, didn’t it?”

Louis and I had a fling when I had started working at Lesauvage. I was fresh out of culinary school, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and he was the experienced waiter who comforted me in the lounge my first day when my boss had completely ripped me a new one. He was the unattainable, three-years-older coworker who I was moon-eyed over for at least five months before we actually slept together. And once we had, it was like some switch had been flipped inside my body and he was suddenly nothing but a friend.

Thank the fucking lord he felt the same way.

“You’re damn right it did. Now go make me proud, Tomlinson.”

When I hastily returned to the kitchen, Italia was already ten times ahead where Michel had been with the soup. I sent her a thankful look and grabbed the beef stock, passing it her way as I grabbed a knife and began chopping the green onions for my own dish.

As much as I complained about the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, I secretly thrived in it. It was what I had missed when I had been in culinary school. So many of my classmates cooked their meals silently. When I cooked at home, I blasted music and sang loudly and off-key to myself. At work, I had the conversation of other people. I liked learning about Italia’s kids and Isobel’s ex-boyfriend who kept trying to call her. I even liked Michel, even though right now he wasn’t my favorite person in the world.

School had been lonely. At least here I felt like I belonged.

“They’re good for the chocolate mousse!” Louis shouted over the sound of Isobel doing the dishes and Italia chopping more vegetables.

“You’re a saint, Tomlinson!” I replied, dropping the spices needed onto Italia’s cutting board. She slid them into the soup with her knife and the skill of a seasoned Lesauvage veteran.

The chocolate mousse was luckily already in the fridge cooling from my prep this morning, so I didn’t have to worry about making it at that exact moment. I did finish the salad I was working on and passed it off to Sydney, who was another runner. She grabbed the plate and sped off to table seven.

The time went by quickly when I was in the kitchen. My thoughts could roam because the movements of cooking were muscle memory at this point. When I had first been hired, I had been terrified to mess anything up. The first time I had pulled a Michel, I had cried. My boss had yelled at me pretty badly, but had brought me into his office afterwards to apologize and assure me that I was doing a great job. Now, it felt like second nature to pour the green onions into the butter garlic sauce that was sautéing. And when Italia handed me the soup that she had completed, I sent her a grateful look and wasted no time in handing it off to Louis. We worked as a team here.

I thrived on that.

“Get those chocolate mousses out and ready,” I told Michel when he came back from his break. His hand didn’t look too worse for wear, but he looked decently embarrassed. I knew, at least for tonight, there would be no more mistakes.

“I’m really sorry, Dom,” he said softly, preparing for my anger.

“It’s fine, Michel. Just work on desserts for now, okay? But this is the comp dessert for table eleven, so try to pay attention, yeah?”

He hung his head, but nodded and went to go prep the mousse. It wasn’t that Michel wasn’t talented. He wouldn’t have been hired if he hadn’t been a great chef. But the boyfriend thing was really getting to him. I hoped he had at least the next two days off to recoup.

“Dom,” I heard Louis say about thirty minutes later as he walked through the kitchen door. He had the empty plates from table eleven in his hand and handed them off to Isobel. “They’re ready for the dessert.” He eyed me questionably when Michel handed them off to me, as if it was wrong that I had let Michel touch them after his little mishap but I had faith in the chefs. “These better be good,” Louis said in a warning tone.

“I made them, Tomlinson, of course they’re good,” I snapped, clicking my tongue in annoyance. It was a bad habit I had done when I was a kid and never seemed to shake it.

He shrugged, taking the completed desserts and walking back out to the restaurant. “They looked great, Michel!” I encouraged, turning to continue chopping the beef I had been working on before Louis had come in.

When I cooked, time passed by without my notice. What felt like two minutes later but was really thirty, Louis walked back into the kitchen with a solemn look on his face. “They want to see the chef.”

“Who?”

“Table eleven.”

Shit. “You said they were fine with the soup, yeah?” Louis nodded, which meant the problem was with the chocolate mousse. And since Michel had done nothing but added the whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top, if they had a real problem with the mousse, it was on me. “Fuck. Alright. Italia, can you finish this dish for me really quick?”

Italia nodded, looking up from the celery she was chopping to examine the chicken I was seasoning to see how much she would need to do to complete it. Nervously wiping my hands on my apron after I washed them quickly, I tried to make myself look a little more presentable. It was rare that chefs were invited to the front of the restaurant, so we were usually unkempt and had food on our clothes. It didn’t matter to me what I looked like as long as the food was good, but I knew it was a shock to the high-end patrons of the restaurant.

Louis led me over to table eleven, where three people were sitting. There were two men and one gorgeous woman that looked like she could model for a living. She was happily chatting and holding hands with one of the men, excitedly waving around her free hand. He looked engrossed in her story, nodding and smiling and staring at her like she was the best thing in the world. Their companion was simply taking sips of his wine (a wonderful red that went really well with the chocolate mousse and I thanked Louis for obviously recommending it to them) and pursing his lips in response to whatever the woman was saying.

She stopped talking when she noticed Louis and sent a blinding smile at us. “This is the chef, I presume?”

“Dominique Blanchard,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake. I was thankful I had run my hands under some soap and water. We weren’t allowed to have our nails painted in case some of the varnish fell off into the food, but her fingers were perfectly manicured and painted a vibrant blue. “I’m sorry again about the soup. We had an incident in the kitchen.”

She waved it off. “The soup was fine. That chocolate mousse, however? It was to die for!”

I felt my shoulders deflate. I had been so worried that they were upset with their experience or food that I hadn’t even thought they had wanted to chat because they enjoyed their meal. “Thank you. It’s a Lesauvage specialty.”

“Dominique makes it the best,” Louis supplied helpfully from behind me. I grinned nervously.

“We all loved it,” the man holding her hand spoke, and I was surprised to hear an Irish accent. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And I was glad it took the attention off the fact that their soup was late. The other man stayed quiet, simply ignoring the conversation as he sipped at his wine again.

“I have the weirdest proposition for you. Please feel free to say no if you don’t want to, but I would kick myself if I didn’t ask.”

My eyes strayed back to the woman, who was talking to me politely.

“I’m two months pregnant,” she said happily, her hand going to her stomach like most pregnant women did when their pregnancy was announced, “and I’m so incredibly exhausted nowadays. I can barely muster up enough energy to come out to dinner, let alone make myself toast in the morning. I was wondering if you’d ever consider being a personal chef?”

#mep #mep sneak peek #1dff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au

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let-love-run-red · 5 years ago

Text

The Adventures of a Single Father-3

Tag List: @sincereleygmg @0hour9am @siobhanlovesfilm @thefandomzoneisdangerous

As the weeks went on, you and Adam had grown closer. Usually his job hunting schedule aligned with your work schedule, and he found himself leaving the apartment with Cody at the same time you would walk out the door, dressed in a pair of sensible heels with a long coat obscuring the rest of your outfit as the seasons turned colder. He would wait for you to lock your door, before walking you down the steps of the building into the lobby. Then you would wait for him to unlock his bike and strap Cody into the small seat before saying your goodbyes and going your separate ways.

It was a routine Adam found endearing, and one you found you didn't mind either. After a few days, you offered to hold Cody while Adam unlocked his bike. You'd noticed he struggled with the key in one hand while holding Cody in the other. Adam hesitated at first, before handing Cody over to you. You cooed to the baby, smiling widely down at him before Adam turned to take him back with the bike leaned against his hip. You had only been holding Cody for a moment, but you could see how anxious Adam was at not having Cody with him.

But after that day, Adam had started asking you to hold Cody while he unlocked his bike or stowed his bag in the basket. It was nice knowing Adam was gaining trust in you, and you definitely didn't mind holding Cody. He was adorable, and getting bigger by the day. Adam seemed much more relaxed around you as well, enjoying your presence rather than seeming on edge.

"Where are you going today?" You asked him one morning. You'd exchanged your heels for a pair of winter boots as the temperature dropped. Rather than the sharp click of your heels on the floor you listened to the rhythm of your boots and Adam's shoes thunking on the hard stairs in the stairwell. Cody was bundled up in a small winter coat, with warm fuzzy socks and boots on his small feet. Adam was in a thicker ratty jacket, wearing his usual jeans and a T-shirt underneath.

"There's a club a few blocks over offering a job. They didn't specify which kind but, it's a job." Adam said as the two of you stepped out into the lobby. As you approached the interior bike rack, Adam handed Cody off to you. Cody babbled happily at you, softly touching the short faux rabbit fur that lined the hood of your winter coat. Adam worked on unlocking the bike, before leaning it against his body and turning to glance at you and Cody. You were softly humming to him as Cody reached for your finger. He felt warmth surge through his chest. You looked like Hayley had, the first time she held Cody.

Adam shook his head violently to clear the thought. You weren't Hayley. She had left Cody, she had left Adam, and she wasn't coming back. You didn't need to take over the role as Cody's mom, because Cody didn't need a mom. He had Adam, and that was good enough. He was good enough.

"That's good. Any idea what the hours are?" You asked, as Adam fussed with the fabric cover and sun shade he'd bought for Cody's bike seat, to keep the cold wind from getting to him.

"Here let me help, these can be tricky." You said, handing Cody back to Adam. Adam took his son, cradling him against his shoulder as he watched you. You laid the fabric cover over the plastic seat, pulling the straps through the pre-cut holes in the cover. You then reached for the sun shade, attaching it to the seat and popping it into place. Adam settled Cody in the seat on his bike. Adam buckled the small helmet over Cody's little hat and pulled out a small pair of mittens from his own jacket pocket.

"I'm not sure, about the hours. I'm hoping it'll be during the day, like setting up for the night rush. It's easier to find babysitters for the day." Adam slipped the mittens over Cody's hands, tightening the string at the bottom and tying them to the loop on Cody's coat sleeves so he couldn't pull them off or drop them during the ride. You nodded thoughtfully as you watched Adam buckle Cody into the seat. He stood straight, flipping his hair out of his eyes as he looked back at you. Cody burbled happily from his seat.

"That would be good. Well, I hope you get the job." You encouraged as you and Adam walked out the door. Adam paused before walking out, lowering the shade down to block Cody from the New York winter winds.

"I hope so too." Adam said. The two of you paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. You finally shuddered from the cold, flipping your hood up and shoving your hands in your pockets.

"Well, I'll see you later Adam." You said with a grin. Adam waved goodbye and you turned to wave at Cody through the tinted plastic window in the shade before walking the opposite direction to your job. Adam waited for a break in the traffic, before pushing off his bike and riding towards the club a few blocks away.

"Hey, I saw you guys posted a job opening?" Adam greeted the man at the empty bar top drying cups. The bartender glanced up, eyeing the baby carrier strapped to Adam's chest before looking back up to Adam's face and snorting.

"Yeah, we did. I'm not in charge of it though." The man said, stacking the cup he'd been drying only to pick up another and continue the process. He didn't say anything else, just continued drying his cups.

"Who would be in charge of it?" Adam asked. He could feel his patience wearing thin. It had been days since he'd found a lead this promising at a job. There was always the opening at Grumpy's, but that was way too close to Hannah for his comfort. He wanted nothing to do with her.

"That would by Viggo Hartvigsen." The bartender said, gesturing to a door at the back of the club. Adam glanced back to see the large black door with red designs on it. Adam sighed before approaching the door. There was a small paper taped to the door that said "Job inquiries, please knock." Adam raised his fist, knocking gently on the door. He heard a booming "come in" before he opened the door. The man sitting at the desk was massive. He had dark hair braided down his back, and a thick beard covering most of his features. When he lifted his head, Adam noticed the beard was braided as well.

"Are you Mr. Hartvigsen?" Adam asked. The man flashed him a smile before standing from his desk. He was a few inches taller than Adam, although the berth of his shoulders made him look much larger.

"Please call me Viggo. You are?" Viggo asked, offering his hand for Adam to shake. Adam gave a firm handshake before Viggo gestured for him to sit in the chair across the desk. Adam glanced around at the walls, seeing old Viking artifacts scattered throughout the room.

"I'm Adam Sackler. I heard you were offering a job?" He said. viggo's face fell as he pursed his lips.

"I'm sorry Mr. Sackler, we gave that position away earlier today. A little college boy came in lookin' for a job, said he needed the money for tuition." Viggo said. Adam sighed, resting his hands on the arms of the chair to stand. Cody let out a squeal and waved his arms around in an attempt to shake off the mittens from his hands. Viggo snapped his head up, finally spotting the baby carrier nestled under Adam's jacket.

"And who might this be?" Viggo asked with a grin. Adam gently took Cody's hands in one of his own, smoothing his other hand over Cody's dark hair.

"This is Cody, my son. I'm sorry I brought him I just couldn't find a sitter." Adam said. Viggo watched as Cody calmed down, resting his small head against Adam's chest.

"Do ya need this job for the wee one?" Viggo asked, his face falling grim. Adam nodded, looking down at Cody.

"Well I'll tell you what Mr. Sackler. I pride myself on being a good person. The Gods saw fit to give me enough to thrive with ownership of this club, and I choose to use it to help those who were handed a rotten fish." Viggo said. Adam blinked. He didn't know what that meant entirely, but he had hope.

"My night security man has has been asking me to hire another man for the evening shifts. He's in hot water with his wife for missing one too many dinners. What do you say to working, oh, every other night?" Viggo offered. Adam felt his heart jump into his throat. This was his first real offer.

"I, that would be amazing!" Adam said, a wide smile on his face. Viggo mirrored his grin and offered his hand.

"It's a deal then Mr. Sackler. How d'ya feel about starting tomorrow?" Viggo asked. Adam graciously accepted. Viggo offered a generous hourly wage for his first month, changing to a large salary after the one month mark. He even offered various benefits that Adam couldn't hope for anywhere else. Adam filled out the paperwork required, before nearly skipping out of the office. This was his chance at a better life for Cody, and he couldn't wait.

You walked through the rear entrance of the restaurant straight into the kitchen. You turned into the small coat closet, dropping your thick coat and hanging it on one of the pegs on the wall, pulling your small black heels from your bag and replacing your boots with the heels. You opened your locker, pulling out your fancy apron and dropping it over your neck, tying it behind your back before doing your hair the way it needed to be done to be considered acceptable for your dress code. Luckily, your manager was fairly relaxed when it came to hairstyles.

You walked through the kitchen, greeting the rest of the waitstaff and the cooks before clocking in and checking in with the hostess at the front to let her know you were there. Luckily your section hadn't needed to be opened yet, as the lunch rush hadn't arrived yet.

Finally, there was a group of four girls that were sat in your section. You rushed over to greet them with your usual cheery smile, asking for drink orders. The girls all gave their order. Some sort of alcoholic drink, except for one. The girl with short hair pulled back into a ponytail. You hated to be rude, but her teeth were also a little crooked. You took their order, giving them to the bartender. The only one you could bring out was the root beer the girl with crooked teeth had ordered.

As you walked back out, you heard the group chatting amongst themselves.

"So what's going on with that Adam fellow? After he dumped me I thought he went back to you." The British one said, addressing the toothy girl.

"No ew Jessa. As if I want anything to do with him." The toothy girl snapped.

"Hannah, you came to me crying after he hooked up with that one girl, I think her name was Hayley?" The blonde said. You couldn't help but listen in as you stood at the waiters station a few feet away after dropping off the root beer.

"Marnie, please. We don't say her name." Hannah said with a sigh as she took a sip of the root beer.

"Didn't he get her pregnant?" The quiet girl in the corner spoke up.

"Ah yes, that's right. He knocked her up didn't he, that's why you're upset. He wouldn't help you raise your baby then had one of his own. I can see why that would upset you." Jessa said. They paused their conversation to show ID's and pay for drinks as the bartender handed them their drinks.

"Well I heard she left him." Marnie said in an attempt to console toothy gi- Hannah. You meant Hannah.

"I heard. Honestly it serves him right, it's hard to raise a baby by yourself and he should have to see how it is." Hannah snapped. "His kid has a stupid name too, mines cuter. Honestly who names their kid Cody?"

Upon hearing that, you almost dropped the refill of root beer you had brought her. You recovered with a small huff, avoiding spilling the root beer in her lap, instead placing it in front of her with a pained smile. They were talking about Adam? Your Adam? It seemed hard to believe he was ever acquainted with that group, they were all varying degrees of messy.

You excused yourself quickly to the back, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. You wondered if Adam would be comfortable talking about this tonight?

On the way home Adam had stopped and bought himself a coffee. Not just a plain coffee, he could make those at home. No, one of the expensive ones from Starbucks. He hated the culture surrounding it, but if he had to be honest they had good coffee. He resisted the urge to buy himself a Christmas cookie as well, he couldn't be going wild just yet.

He couldn't wait to tell you about it. He considered you one of his closest friends, and you had only moved in a month ago. He skidded to a halt outside the apartment building, looking down the street and hoping to see you walking home. He knew in the back of his mind that it would be hours before you got home, he'd only been gone for two, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping.

"Hey Adam." He heard a voice. He looked next to him to see Laura pressing the buttons on the rooms until somebody buzzed her in. She stopped and held the door for Adam as he walked his bike into the building and started locking it on the rack.

"Hey Laura, how's Basil?" He asked. He was still curious about the snake.

"He's doing well, doesn't like the cold but who does." She said. Her voice seemed flatter than normal, Adam wondered if she was alright. He glanced up to see her bundled in a thick coat trimmed with long tan fur. Her black snow boots were laced tight and she was wearing a pair of thick leggings. She had a pair of furred earmuffs on and a cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck. She really didn't like the cold.

"Are you alright?" Adam asked her. Laura shivered and stomped the snow off her boots before walking with Adam up the stairs as Adam held Cody's hand.

"Fine. Chris's roommates are kicking him out so I've been helping him pack his shit- sorry, stuff, all day." She said. She flipped her hood down and pushed the earmuffs off her ears as she dug in her pocket for her apartment key as they reached their floor.

"Why are they kicking him out?" Adam asked. From what he'd seen of Chris, he was a calm quiet man. He couldn't imagine what he could have done to be kicked out.

"One of his roommates assho-jerk, sorry, girlfriend got into his Vyvanse and Chris flipped his shit." Laura said as she and Adam walked down the hall.

"Vyvanse?"

"It's ADHD medication, Chris is ADHD as shi- frick. Vyvanse is like an off brand Adderall, but it's expensive as all he-fuck-wait," Laura hissed to herself, glancing at Cody in Adam's arms. "Sorry I'm so used to swearing all the time." She said. Adam chuckled.

"It's alright, I swear a lot too. I'm working on it but nobody's perfect. Besides he doesn't say many coherent words yet. I'll start worrying more when he copies people." He said with a smile. Laura smiled back as they reached their apartment doors.

"Anyway, his roommates girlfriend took a ton of it. Almost overdosed, Chris flipped because now he's out nearly a week of doses, his roommate flipped out because he had to pay for an ambulance. It's a mess. So they're kicking him out and we're trying to find him a place to stay." She finished as she unlocked the apartment door.

"Damn, that sucks." Adam said as Laura opened the door.

"Yeah, so it's been a bit stressful lately. Sorry for bothering you you didn't need to hear all that." Laura said as she watched Adam unlock his own apartment.

"No worries, you gotta get shit out or you'll explode." Adam said as he opened his own door.

"I'll see you later Laura." Adam said, waving goodbye as he walked into his apartment. He thought about his job again, and did a little hop as he walked to his room. He couldn't stop a smile breaking out as he shucked his jacket off and dropped it on the couch as he walked. He pulled Cody from the carrier and sat on the bed with Cody in front of him as he pulled his son's winter clothing off. Cody babbled happily as Adam puffed his cheeks out and blew a raspberry at Cody. Adam leaned over the bed to unlace his shoes and listening to Cody continue his babbling.

"Dada!" Adam froze when he heard Cody speak. He turned to look at his son, seeing him with a wide smile on his face as he waved his arms towards Adam. Cody leaned forward and made "grabby hands" at Adam and squealing.

"Dada dada dada!" Cody said and leaned forward until he was flat on his stomach. He started scooting towards Adam. Adam felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached forward and picked up Cody. Cody leaned against Adam's chest and reached up to grab a handful of Adam's thick black hair.

"Dada." Cody said contentedly as he rested his head on Adam's shoulder and tugged gently at Adam's hair. Adam didn't even notice the sharp tugs as he rested one large hand on his son's back. His shoulders shook as he pressed his cheek against Cody's head. Cody continued quietly babbling to Adam, occasionally saying "dada" again before he drifted off to sleep.

Adam thought he'd never put Cody down again.

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orions-nebula · 5 years ago

Text

I’m Ready Now (1) Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: You don’t remember when you started falling in love with Steve. What you do know is that with each year that passed by you fell even more in love with him. Despite the years of friendship and special nights spent together, there were constant mixed signal tossed left and right which made you doubt. One day everything changes and you find yourself going through a major life altering moment.

Warnings: Curse words, mentions of panic attacks & anxiety nothing too bad, maybe a bit of fluff? Word count: 2,837

Here’s the Prologue, if you would like to read it. :)

IMPORTANT A/N: Hey you guys, I just wanted to let you that Tumblr is not posting my content under the tags. I learned that many people are having the same problem. I tagged you here if you like the prologue that I posted. I hope you guys do not mind me tagging you, but if you do have an issue with this please let me know and I will remove you from the tags.

I would also GREATLY appreciate it if you guys re-blogged my story since it will be the only way I can get it out there until Tumblr fixes the problem with the tags, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to you have to. :) Fingers crossed so that this all clears out soon!!! Regardless, I hope you enjoy Part 1.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You’ve been pinning over him for a while now. How could you not? You fell in love with the man who hid behind a mask of confidence in hopes of hiding the uncertainty, the loss of love, the anger, rancor, and bitterness of what the world had done to him.

Yet, it wasn’t always like that. Not in the beginning.

You had just been officially cleared by Fury to become an Avenger. You had passed all your educational, psychological, physical, and combat tests with flying colors. You worked hard for it, training every day and every night. In one way or another. Expanding your mind and body to become the best version of yourself. At the end it paid off, you were the only agent out of the hundreds that had signed up for the same position. A position in the Avengers team.

It had been your second month at the Tower as an Avenger when Steve Rogers came back from his three-month-long mission. It was the following day when you were introduced to him. He whispered a simple hello and kept to himself. Which you didn’t take personally. To be honest you didn’t care. Everyone was wrapped around his little finer, fawning over him like he was an ethereal being. Just seeing how everyone practically worshiped the floor he walked on made you feel mad. It was the same floor you walked on and so did everyone else! He got so much special treatment and attention it was ridiculous, which annoyed you to no end.

Why did he get special treatment? Was it because he was 'Captain America?' All the women practically threw themselves at him and for what? Just because he was deemed good looking and ‘hot’? What made him so special? Was it the fact that he’s a super solider and saved the world multiple times? Because Black Widow didn’t have any powers, neither did Hawkeye or the Falcon and they also saved the world many times. Or is it because people feel respect or maybe it was pity? Who knows, you certainly didn’t know. It wasn’t until the eight-month, after you met Steve, that something changed. It’s as if there was a switch that had been turned on which caused Steve to act friendlier towards you. And for some reason that had a minor effect on you.

It was your day off when you decided to visit the tower. Even though you had your own living space at the Compound you chose to live out in the city, in a nice upper Manhattan apartment. You just wanted some control over your own life, away from the superhero life.

It had been about a week since you last saw the gang, since you hadn’t been called in for any missions. On the eight day of your “mini-vacation” you decided to visit everyone.

As you drove to the Compound you smiled to yourself. You felt excited to see your friends, more like family. You were thankful that you got along with everyone. You had fit in perfectly and everyone loved you. How could they not? You were sweet, caring, silly, thoughtful, and always willing to help.

Steve for some reason was very reserved around you. He didn’t talk to you or joked around with you the way he did with the rest of the team. The most interaction you two shared were simple nods and quiet hellos.

Tony, however, adored you. You were one of the very few that was able to put up with. On the contrary, you sometimes encouraged him to be sillier and crazier, which he loved, because he knew that he could be his true self around you, and if he ever took it too far you would let him know. Most importantly you were there for him whenever he had a panic attack or when his anxiety spiked.

The closer you got to the compound the faster your fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

Your mind drifted to your favorite girl friend, Natasha, who you quickly saw as an older sister. You hoped to spend some quality time with her.

Natasha was happy to finally have another girl on the team. She and Wanda could only control the boys so much. Plus, having another girl made girls night more fun.

You smiled in excitement as you finally reached the compound. Once you parked your car in the garage you made your way inside, scanned yourself in and walked to the elevators. After scanning your handprint into the pad you asked Friday to take you to the common room and kitchen that was specifically for the Avengers.

“Of course, Miss (L/N).”

“Thanks Friday.” You said as you stepped out and walked towards the couch.

That’s where you saw Natasha perched on top of the couch sipping on a glass of red wine, watching The Umbrella Academy.

“Hey! I thought we were going to watch the show together! Nat!”

“Eew, what are you doing here?” She faked gagged.

“Wow I see I’m not welcomed, Romanoff.” You smirked.

“It’s nice to know you got my text.”

“I didn’t know you sent a text…”

“No wonder. I had already told everyone you probably wouldn’t make it tonight since you never replied, but I’m glad you were able to make it.” She smiled softly at you.

“I haven’t been on my phone. I’m sorry.” You replied sheepishly.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay, just figured you were busy with something or maybe someone?” She winked at you as she continued sipping on her wine.

You gasped, ready to explain yourself when Steve popped his head from the kitchen and to your surprise greeted you in a chipper tone.

“Y/N! Hey! What are you doing here? Nat said you weren’t coming tonight.”

“Oh, um yeah, I didn’t realize you guys had something going on. Didn’t check my phone. I was just stopping by to say hello.”

“Well come take a seat. Dinner is almost ready. Sam is cooking tonight.” He smiled at you.

You smiled back at Steve and followed him into the dining room that connected to the kitchen. When you walked in you saw Sam stirring something in a pot.

“Hey Sam.”

“Eeeey (Nickname)! Look who finally decided to show up!”

When he turned around you snorted. He was wearing the most ridiculous apron you had ever seen that read “Kiss the Chef.”

He saw you looking at his apron and wiggled his eyebrows, “Wanna give me a kiss me? Come on, I’ll even let you give me as many kisses as you want.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head, “you wish Samuel. You wish.” He stuck his tongue out at you and went back to stirring.

Steve turned to you and offered you a seat, pulling the chair out letting you sit and then pushing it back in.

“Thank you, Steve.” You smiled softly at him.

“Of course. Now, what can I get you to drink? Water, wine, some juice?”

“Water is just fine, thank you.”

“Awwwh, look at that! Aren’t you guys just cute?” Tony smirked as he stepped in the kitchen and sat down, looking between you and Steve.

His comment had taken you by surprise, but you just ignored it while Steve rolled his eyes and got you a glass of water.

Tony turned to you and raised an eyebrow. “So sweet cheeks, where you been all week?”

“I’ve been home, cleaning, reading, and um, doing a bit of volunteering.” You looked up to Steve and thanked him as he sat the glass of water in front of you.

“I’m going to round up everyone for dinner,” Steve said as he started walking out of the kitchen.

Tony waved him off and continued eyeing you. “Volunteering? No hot dates? Come on (Y/N), what are you? Eighty?”

“Well Mr. Starky some of us like to spend our free time in different ways. Not all of us need to have wild sex and get drunk to have a good time.”

Tony pursed his lips at your comment, “never call me that again sweet cheeks.” But then he smirked. “Maybe you can take old Rogers with you next time. God knows you both need a date.”

You tried not blushing at his comment, but you definitely couldn’t hold in after the follow-up comment Tony made.

“Now that I think about it, you guys would make a cute couple. Don’t you think so Wilson?”

You interrupted Sam before he could speak, “Okaaay, that’s enough of that.”

You stood up and started setting the table as a distraction, while Sam and Tony kept on making jokes. You didn’t want to admit it but what Tony said made you feel flustered for some unknown reason.

That night, as you drove back to your apartment, your thoughts drifted to what Tony said about Steve and you.

Me and Steve? Ha! I doubt it, I’m probably not even his type. You thought to yourself.

From that night you decided to ignore whatever that was. And you did, you didn’t think about it not, not again until a couple of months later.

Tony had invited you, and Steve to dinner. You were celebrating your first year as an Avenger. You had just placed your drink orders when Tony turned to you.

“I’m sorry sweet cheeks, but I promise you that once everyone gets back, we’ll throw you a big ass party! Something better than tonight.”

Everyone was either on a mission or away for some important event. You knew that Nat, Sam, Wanda, and Vision were away on a mission in Argentina. Clint flew back home to his family when he got an emergency call, apparently his son fell off a tree and broke his leg. Bruce was called to India, where he previously worked before joining the Avengers, to help train some of the doctors and nurses that were interning while giving their time as volunteers. And Thor was off-world.

That left you, Tony, and Steve by yourselves. Tony, not passing up an opportunity to celebrate or spend money, decided to take you out to dinner. He invited Steve along since he was at the Compound as well.

“Are you kidding me? This place is awesome! When I said I wanted sushi I mean from like Sushi Yasaka not freaking Masa!” You quietly, but gratefully, explained.

“Well you deserve the best. As a matter of fact, let’s start planning! What theme would you like it to be? You name it and I’ll pay it.” You laughed at the silly motto Tony came up with.

“It’s okay Tony, you don’t have to throw a big party. I wouldn’t mind if it was just us, the team celebrating. You know, something simple and private?”

“Awwh come on (Nickname)! That’s no fun, live a little.” Tony complained as you shook your head at him.

“Tony,” Steve warned.

“I appreciate it Tony. Like I said, I rather it be just the nine of us. Plus, I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else.

Steve looked at you and showed his gratitude, “I know I don’t say it often, but uh, you’re a valuable asset to the team. You brought a new dynamic to the team and you not only have our backs out in the field but in our everyday lives as well. We’re very lucky to have you (Y/N). Thank you for everything.”

“That’s, that’s sweet of you Steve. Thank you.”

“Yeah (Nickname), you know we love you and whatever you want or need, we got you,” Tony said as he gave you a side hug.

“Whatever you need (Y/N).” Steve reiterated as he reached for your hand, giving it a light squeeze.

You smiled at him, looking straight into his eyes, and that was the first time you noticed how clear and blue they were. Full of comfort and admiration. Or maybe it was respect? It made you feel calm, as if you could drown in depths of the calming waters.

After the drinks were brought out and the first appetizers were set down, you all began joking. Sharing all sorts of funny and embarrassing memories. The night progressed with a lot of drinking and pictures being sent to the team from Tony, in hopes of making the others feel jealous of your night out.

The check was brought out and paid for, but not without Steve insisting he and Tony should split. Only to have Tony fire back, “Come on Rogers, I invited so I’m paying. Plus, I’m a multi-billionaire, I like showing off.”

Steve shook his head as you all stood up to head over the valet area. Once you were all inside Tony’s R8, you couldn’t help but express your gratitude.

“Thank you, you guys. Don’t tell the rest of the team, especially Natasha, but I’m happy we got to spend time, just the three us.” It was at that moment Steve turned to look at you and for some reason you got that feeling, again! That queasy feeling.

Why did he keep looking at you like that? And why did it keep making you feel that way? Most importantly, why did he start acknowledging you all of a sudden when just three months ago he practically gave you the cold shoulder?

You probably should have turned away from him but you couldn’t help it, so you just kept staring at Steve. Mesmerized by how beautiful he looked, with the New York lights dancing off those beautiful azure eyes.

No. You thought to yourself, but that was easier said than done.

You guessed it was in that night when you started to see Steve in a different light. His smiles brought you warmth and his laughter made your day brighter, but you knew that he wasn’t showing his true self. His façade he put it to reserve his heart just made you yearn to get to know him.

In truth, you never saw him as Captain America, nor as the perfect image of Freedom that represents all of America. You always saw him as just a man who needed to be in control of everything, but you soon realized that there was more to him. More to him than what people painted him to be. You kept telling yourself that he never opened up to you in the first place, but you also never tried to reach out either.

The more you observed him and hanged out around him, the more you got to learn about him. He didn’t need to tell you anything, but you saw how hard he tried to hide his pain, his struggles, and the PTDS he suffered from.

That’s when you decided you would try to get to know him. The real him that no one knows about. You decided you would do your best to see him smile, just to see him feel the warmth he is so deserving of.

Which how you found yourself asking him if he was alright. “Steve, are you sure? You can trust me you know. I’ll always have your back, just like you said you would for me.”

“I- I don’t, ugh. Sam was supposed to be here, well should have been here, but he called away on a mission. We, uh more like he was helping me look for Bucky. I just got a new trail leading to Bucky and I can’t, I-” Steve exhaled frustratedly.

“Hey. Steve, take a deep breath, it’s okay. We’re talking about Sargent Barnes, right?” Steve simply nodded at your question. “Okay. I’ll help you. Just tell me what you need me to do.” Steve looked up at you with optimism in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I know you had plans today to see your friend, I don’t-”

“Steve, seriously it’s not a problem at all. Bucky is important to you, he’s your family. And we do whatever we can for our family. I’ll just call my friend and let her know I can’t make it today. Give me one second.”

You walked towards the back of the room dialing your friend, while Steve watched you intently. “Hey Karen, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it today. Something important came up.”

Steve felt a slight tug in his chest at hearing your words, something important came up. Important. You were so willing to help him, despite not knowing Bucky, despite him never talking to you about Bucky. You pushed aside your plans and your friend just to help him find his friend.

Had you always been this kind? This caring? How had he missed it?

“Ready?”

“I’m ready. T-thank you.” Steve said, trying not to let his emotions get to him. Finding Bucky meant a lot to him, he was his brother, and here you were doing something that meant a lot to Steve. Here you were ready to help him find his brother.

Steve smiled at you, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled in for a tight hug.

Yup. Easier said than done.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2

A/N: I’m sorry for any mistakes I tried my best to fix any typos and whatnot. I also wanted to let you guys know that I’m working from home, so I will try my very best to update at least every other day and if I can’t then every 2-3 days.

Again, thank you for actually reading my story!

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doing-all-write · 5 years ago

Text

three things

After moving in together, Reader and Ben host their first Friendsgiving together and have to come up with three things they’re grateful for.

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of sex and shenanigans so cute they’ll rot your teeth

This is a continuation of lighthouse !

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it today! Here’s a little something that @itsabenthing helped give me inspo to bring to life and I gotta say, I love these two idiots and their dumb relationship more than most things in my life. I hope you all love it!!

💖💖💖As always, likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome 💖💖💖

"Cranberries?"

"Regular and the nasty canned shit."

"Ignoring that hearsay...corn bread?"

Rustling was heard as her eyes scanned the list she held in her hand. Mentally ticking things off when suddenly the corner of a box of cornbread appeared in her peripheries as Ben painstakingly edged it closer into her line of sight.

"The lady wants cornbread and THEREFORE, cornbread she shall have."

Fighting a smile, she pursed her lips as Ben proudly withdrew it from her line of sight and placed it back into their grocery cart.

They had been living together for a few months now and had quickly settled into a routine. Most days she'd kick the door open, heels thumping against the closet floor as she toed them off. The smell of whatever Ben was cooking, wafted down the hall to meet her nose. Flipping through the mail she picked up on her way in, she'd pad down the hallway, humming whatever song she had been listening to in her car before coming inside.

Popping herself up on the counter she would word vomit about her day as Ben stirred, chopped and let her taste test what he was making. Making encouraging noises and occasionally interjecting at opportune times. ("No, Karen does need to calm down. I mean, it's an Instagram post, it's not the end of the world. I barely use mine and I'm doing just fine." "Yeah, but we're not all hot, blonde Hollywood stars." "You think I'm hot?" "Smoking, just like whatever is cooking in the oven." "SHIT.")

They'd end the day with whatever show they had been watching together on Netflix (Recently it was Riverdale. She loved it because she read the comics growing up. Ben loved it because it was so over the top. And he had a soft spot for Bughead.), then get ready for bed together and fall asleep in each others arms.

It was so disgustingly domestic and simple, half the time she found herself looking at Ben and asking him, "Is this it? Like, this is all we do? We hang out?"

Chuckling, he'd pull her closer, "It sure is, love."

She'd sigh contentedly, and nuzzle closer to him, happy with how quickly their lives had merged together.

Not every day was so peaceful. There was the one time she left their back window open and a bat had flown into the apartment. There was 30 minutes of chaos as Ben bellowed at her for leaving the window open and she locked herself in the bedroom threatening to divorce him if he didn't get rid of the bat NOW despite his protests that they weren't even married.

Or the day when they had sat down and hashed out which chores they hated (she: cooking, cleaning bathrooms and dusting. Ben: sweeping, doing dishes and taking out the trash. The payoff though was that whenever she took out the trash she'd gleefully tell Ben to step into the trash can as well. Only after he locked her out of their bedroom had she stopped) and would take over to prevent the other from having to do it.

Some nights she'd be out with friends, or at a late work event or need to run some errands only to come home to Ben air drumming along to a Queen album he had popped on the record player.

Other days she would be left to her own devices and would wake up in the tub, the bath bomb she had used a distant memory, with Ben standing over her, telling her how she can't fall asleep in the tub while he's gone because what if she drowns?

They were most thankful for each other when they had had long, difficult days. Trudging home from a work day full of bullshit meetings, last minute deadlines and unhelpful co-workers, with only one call to Ben to have a brief meltdown, she'd open the door to find him wearing nothing but an apron with her favorite dinner on the table.

(Frozen Chinese food from their local grocery store and "is that...White Claw...in our wine glasses?" "It sure is, love. We're real classy bitches now.")

When Ben was gone filming for long periods of time, she would FaceTime him as she cooked, or did laundry, or other normal things around the house just so he could feel like he was part of her day to day routine.

(The first time they had done that he'd remarked, "It's like a baby cam."

She scoffed, "Well, yeah. Kind of. I mean, I am baby."

"You're my baby."

"Shut the fuck up Hardy, you can't be that cute when you're that far away from me.")

When he finally would get home, disentangling himself from the Lyft, body screaming for rest after having been put through the wringer with training and long days and nights of filming, the only thing that'd keep him upright was her. She would barrel out of their apartment to meet him in the landing. He'd barely have time to drop his bags as she flung herself into his arms, peppering each others faces with kisses as he promised over and over again he would take her with him next time he left so they never had to be apart for so long.

They'd even had a couple of parties together. A low-key house-warming when Ben moved in and a Halloween party. She had dressed up as Sabrina from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina and had talked Ben into being her Harvey. Though he got to wear what he normally did, he complained the whole time. She was sympathetic but right before they opened the door to let their friends in, she had stuck devil horns on his head that he didn't have time to rip off.

(After everyone had left, he had made her wear those as he fucked her senseless. She hated to admit it but it was incredibly hot.)

The Halloween party was such a hit, their friends had talked them into hosting Friendsgving as well. Hence, the run to the grocery store where she had printed out the Excel spreadsheet clutched in her hand to help keep track of what was needed for each dish.

Ben had taken one look at the spreadsheet, took her hands in his, and in the most loving way possible, explained that this seemed like a bit much for a party and he was worried that, day of, she'd be so stressed, he'd have to talk her down from stuffing her head in the oven alongside the turkey.

Now, she felt something move across the nape of her neck, she flinched, looking around only to be met with Ben's wide eyes staring at her, feigning ignorance as he paused mid-inhale, getting ready to blow on her neck a second time.

The smile he shot her made her knees weak and she rolled her eyes, muttering about what a pain in the ass he was as she pushed the cart farther away from him.

His hands came down beside hers on the rail as his lips pressed into her hair, "Get in"

"What? Get in where?"

"Where do you think? Get in the cart, I'll push you around."

She scoffed, "Ben, we're adults. We're hosting a dinner party we bought the $5 bottles of red wine instead of the $3 ones. There is no way in hell I'm going to let you-"

"C'mon, love. The old you would have done it."

Before Ben had even said the last word, she was hauling herself up into the cart, pushing food out of the way and tucking her legs underneath herself, mumbling all the while about how unfair it was that that always worked on her.

Ben chuckled as he waited for her to get settled, once she nodded at him, he started walking down the aisles, leaning his forearms on the rail, giving her an up close view to the sinews and muscles flexing as he meandered down the aisles.

"You keep staring like that, people are gonna ask you to keep it in your pants."

"How can I? I mean, Christ Benny, your forearms are enough to make me cum right now."

He made a retching noise, "Please, for the love of god do not cum all over the potatoes. They're right in your lap, we have to feed those to people-"

A laugh came ringing out of her mouth like a bell, "These mashed potatoes seem extra creamy, whatever did you do to them?" she affected a high pitched voice and waggled her eyebrows.

"That's it, we're done. I'm leaving you in this cart." He threw up his hands, walking backwards as her eyes grew wide,

"Ben, please do not leave me here alone in this cart like a big dumb baby. Please. It was a joke."

Ben came back with a sigh, "You do look like a baby. Like when you wear your romper to work."

That comment was met with an accusing finger, "HEY. That romper is professional and stylish and also gives a whole new meaning to being naked and afraid in bathrooms."

"I understand wearing it to work but I just don't get why you would wear that out. Waiting for you to come out of the bathroom at the bar," he sighed, "felt like I was standing there for an hour."

"It was like 10 minutes tops. Grow up."

He rolled his eyes and shoved the cart away from him, quickly bringing it right back, causing her to screech and grasp the sides with white knuckles.

"Jones!"

He chuckled as he swung them around to the next aisle, "I've got you, love. Now, what do we need down this aisle?"

Her head swung side to side as she examined the goods. She pointed to a package of spices, that Ben grabbed and tried to shoot into the cart, missing by a mile. She eventually circled her arms so he could try and shoot every new food item they picked up into the makeshift basket. (She drew the line at the eggs.) As they roamed the aisles, she slowly became more and more buried until food reached up to her shoulders.

As Ben debated between getting regular sized versus mini marshmallows for the sweet potato casserole, she asked, "What are the three things you're grateful for today?"

They had started this soon after Ben had moved in. He'd wake up in the morning to find her writing in a notebook, after observing her doing this for a couple weeks, he got the courage to ask her what she was writing about. She explained that every day, she wrote down three things she was grateful for. Didn't matter how big or small it was. Just three things that she was grateful to have in her life.

He teased her mercilessly about how he had better be on that list every damn day but when they were laying in bed that night, she asked him and it became a habit. Crawling into bed together, they would exchange what three things they were most grateful for in that day.

Furrowing his brow as he shot the mini marshmallows, he threw his hands in the air when he made it in and announced, "I'm grateful I made that shot."

After checking out, in which Ben insisted that she stay in the cart while he did so, causing the cashier to give them strange looks but ultimately giving her a sticker that they usually only reserved for children, which Ben gleefully stuck to her forehead, he rolled her out to her car where she popped the trunk.

Loading the bags in, Ben clambered in to her front seat, pushing the chair all the way back.

"It's like living with a midget."

"You are BARELY 5' 10" my man, do not be speaking ill of my height right now."

Driving back it was quiet except for the soft sounds of Bruce Springsteen playing over the speakers. Reaching over, Ben grabbed the hand that had been resting on her thigh. She glanced over, smiling, as she looked at her boyfriend, felt his thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of her hand.

She whispered, "I'm grateful for us."

~~~

Friendsgiving had been a massive success. Before, the apartment had been a madhouse. The kitchen looked like the end of a Great British Bake Off episode, complete with Ben doing his best Paul Hollywood impression ("You keep that shit up Jones and I will give you food poisoning on purpose.")

But the food had turned out well (Ben silently gave her a thumbs up when 15 minutes had passed after everyone was done eating and no one had thrown up), everyone left with a plate of leftovers and promises to get together soon and now the apartment felt strangely still. The only hint that it had been filled with people was the pile of dishes in the sink.

They fell into an easy rhythm, her washing, he drying. The jazz they had queued up for dinner still playing, adding an air of domesticity to the whole affair. The pine candle she had lit after they had eaten, signaling to everyone the holiday season had truly started, sputtered as it gave off its last few whiffs then burnt out.

As she placed the last plates back into the cabinet, Ben refilled their wine glasses, leaving them on the counter as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Turning around she was met with Ben in his favorite hoodie, the collar sinking down to reveal his collarbone, meaning he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath it and gray sweatpants, which she cocked an eyebrow at.

"You told me about the memes, I'm just trying to satisfy all your fantasies." he joked as he held out a second pair of sweatpants to her. She giggled as she shimmed out of her tights right there in the kitchen, pulling the sweatpants on underneath her dress. Ben swatted at her butt as she walked past him to grab a shirt from the bedroom. Once she ambled out, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she was greeted by Ben, laid out on their couch, wine glasses on the table in front of him and the largest rectangular box she had ever seen in her life.

Ben notoriously had weird taste in art and the skepticism must have shown on her face because Ben rolled his eyes, "It's not art. Don't worry. I learned my lesson when you ripped me a new one telling me that Andy Warhol isn't a real artist."

"Well you only have to make that mistake once with me." she conceded as she crept towards the box. "Is this, for me?"

Ben nodded, shifting, rubbing his hands down his thighs, then through his hair, a classic sign he was nervous.

Smiling, she knelt down in front of it, running her nails down the edges she ripped the tape off.

"Ya know, I have a pocket knife. It's easier."

"Yeah but these bad boys are like built in pocket knives."

"Okay Wolverine."

Flipping him off, she opened the top of the box. Ben watched bemusedly as she struggled to wrestle the object out. Letting her struggle for only a few seconds before he got up and grabbed on to the end of the box she pulled her gift out.

Almost dropping it she gasped, "Ben, what the hell is this? What did you do?" He laughed as he smugly took a sip of wine, "Take off that bubble wrap and find out, love."

Staring at him, she ripped open the bubble wrap. First exposing the dark mahogany frame, then the white border, then..."Oh my god. Ben. Sweetheart. Is this...?"

He just tipped his head, making a get on with it gesture as, hands trembling, she ripped off the rest of the bubble wrap.

Exposing the puzzle they had done together the day she had asked him to move in with her, matted and framed.

Bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, she felt how wet her cheeks were. She sank back on her heels, laying the frame down in front of her as she leaned over it. Ben was by her side in a second, arms around her, pressing kisses into her hair.

She couldn't believe it. Her heart felt like it was going to break from how much love she felt for Ben in that moment, "This is the best piece of art you've ever gotten."

"Nah, I'd say you were the best piece of art I've ever gotten."

"Oh god." She wailed as a fresh wave of tears came flooding out of her, making him laugh as his own eyes got watery, tightening his grip on her.

Once the tears had stopped, she lifted her head, sniffling to look at the puzzle again. She squinted her eyes, "Ben."

"Yes?"

"Is...is there a piece missing from this?"

He chuckled as he fished in his pocket for a second box, "There is. But for good reason."

Hands shaking like a leaf, she pried the box open only to reveal the piece of the puzzle she had stepped on the morning after she asked him to move in, winking up at her on a gold chain. She dropped it immediately as she threw herself into Ben's arms, tackling him to the ground.

For several moments it was just the sound of her crying, him telling her to stop crying because it was making him cry, them kissing each other and exchanging promises of love and exclamations about how amazing the other was.

After collecting herself and wiping her eyes, she held out her wrist, "Well? Put it on me you idiot."

He laughed, wiping his own eyes with his hoodie sleeve, fingers shaking as he clasped the bracelet onto her wrist.

They stared down at it until Ben kissed the palm of her hand and brought it up to his face.

Staring at each other, lost in the other's eyes, Ben said, "You know how at dinner you had everyone say three things they were grateful for?" She nodded, feeling a new batch of tears making their debut, "Obviously I said you but, love, you are always the top three things I'm most grateful for everyday. Every day I look at you and find something else about you that I'm grateful for. And I hope I get to keep doing that for however long you can stand to be around me." She giggled through her tears, nodding vigorously as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.

She felt him take a steadying breath in as he squeezed her tighter into his embrace, "You're always what I'm most grateful for. And I will never stop being grateful for having you in my life. I love you so much it makes my heart ache sometimes."

Nodding furiously, voice wavery and thick from her tears, she said, "Everyday when I write my list, you always make the number one spot. No matter if you had yelled at me about letting a bat into our apartment the night before," He squeezed her tighter, laughing through his own tears, "This is just about the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, so, yeah, Jones. You made me the happiest girl alive when you agreed to be my boyfriend and every day since then. I look at you every day and wonder how in the world I got so lucky but grateful that you're in my life. You're the love of my life."

Beaming, he pulled back only to place a deep kiss on her lips. Clutching his shoulders, they held each other there for a few long seconds, finally breaking apart to breath each other in.

Breaking the silence, she asked the age old question, "Where are we going to hang this?"

"I was thinking over our bed."

"Perfect. Just perfect."

That night, as they fell asleep, they had murmured what three things they were each grateful for. It came as no surprise to either of them that their three things they were most grateful for were each other.

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calligraphist-artemisia · 5 years ago

Text

Just Another Cinderella Story (Chapter 1)

Once upon a time, there was a boy who was left in the care of his uncaring stepmother. Raised in a life of servitude and seeing his stepbrother lavished with praise and given everything he desired, the boy knew there was only one way he would ever be free. If their dreams of marrying into a life of luxury came true, then he would be left with his childhood home and he would finally be able to turn his life around.

Of course, Fate often has other plans in mind.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

- - - - -

1. Saponaria officinalis

It began as all old tales did, with a child who was pure of heart and thrust into a situation beyond their control. In this case, the child was a boy whose kind father was taken from him far too early, leaving him in the clutches of his wicked stepmother.

He grew up in servitude and hoped that one day things would get better. Perhaps one day, when his stepmother's wish to marry her perfect son to a rich princess came true, they would leave his father's house and him behind. Until then, he would keep his head down and work as hard as he could.

It didn't always work. There was always something his stepmother found not to her liking and his stepbrother was even worse with his constant criticism.

His life wasn't all bad, however. Every now and then, under the guise of gathering wild berries in the woods, he could get away and visit a friend.

Keith met Takashi Shirogane purely by accident.

It happened on a hot summer day on one of the rare occasions he opened his big mouth and talked back to his stepbrother, earning himself a series of painful lashings that split the skin across his back badly enough to bleed. He was then sent out into the woods to gather wood for the stove. When he inevitably collapsed, Shiro was the one who found him.

The man was called a witch by the townsfolk and he lived in a cabin with his partner, Curtis. The two of them took Keith in, cleaned and bandaged his wounds, and fed him before allowing him to leave.

Keith couldn't go to them often, but whenever he felt his patience wearing thin he found an excuse to get away.

As always, Shiro and Curtis welcomed him to their cozy cabin with open arms. Shiro took his basket from him and gestured for Keith to take a seat, while he filled the basket with a variety of herbs and berries, giving credence to Keith's excuse.

“Thank you,” Keith said as he sat down, sinking into the soft furniture with a relieved sigh.

“How is your back?” Curtis asked from where he stood in the kitchen. There was a dusting of flour covering his hands and the front of his apron, and luckily there was none was sprinkled through his brown hair. (Keith had yet to see Curtis not looking like a mess while he was baking.)

“It feels tight sometimes, but it doesn't hurt anymore,” Keith said.

Shiro stopped filling the basket and went to a nearby cupboard, where he selected a green clay container. He uncorked it and looked inside, nodding in satisfaction at what he saw.

Knowing what was coming next, Keith stripped out of his shirt and folded it up in his lap, turning so Shiro had better access to his back. He pulled his hair forward so it was no longer in the way either.

Shiro sat down on the couch next to him and dipped his fingers into the jar, scooping out a generous amount of salve. He gently smoothed it over the scars and smiled at Keith's initial flinch, knowing it was due to the unusual coolness and mild tingle it produced on contact. “This should help with the tightness. You know if you allowed me to apply this more regularly, you wouldn't be able to tell that there are any scars.”

“You know I can't do that,” Keith murmured, relaxing under Shiro's light touch.

“They don't deserve you.”

Keith had nothing to say to that. It was a conversation they had every time he saw Shiro and it always ended with Keith returning to his personal hell.

He knew he could leave and his so-called family would presume him dead and continue on with their lives, glad to be rid of him. They weren't the reason he stayed. He stayed for the manor; it was his father's home and the place which held all of his fond memories of what little time they shared together. The thought of leaving made him feel as though he was abandoning all of that.

“How long are you staying today, Keith?” Curtis asked.

“Long enough that I no longer want to strange Lotor with his stupid hair,” Keith grumbled in response, earning a chuckle from the other two men.

“Ah, so you're moving in,” Curtis joked with a grin.

Keith tried not to smile, knowing it would only encourage them. “I might stay the night and leave before sunrise, if that's alright.”

“You won't get in trouble for being gone for so long?” Shiro replaced the cork on top of the jar and stood to put it away.

“They're entertaining for the evening and gave me specific instructions to stay out of sight. As long as I'm back to serve them breakfast, they won't care.”

Shiro stood up and headed back to the cupboard to put away the jar. “In that case, I'm going to prepare a proper bath for you. I know I just applied the salve, but there's one that will work even better after you've soaked for a while. No arguments.”

Keith made a frustrated sound, but Shiro was already heading for the back door. He watched as Shiro paused for a moment to whisper to Curtis before he walked through the door and disappeared into the sprawling garden.

He knew there was no point in arguing. Shiro would give him a sad look and Keith's resolve would crumble, unable to stand the idea of disappointing someone who genuinely cared about him.

Keith turned his attention to Curtis instead. “Who are you baking for today?”

“Well, I suppose it's for you since you'll be joining us for dinner,” Curtis said, giving him a fond smile. “Shiro suggested I make it. He does that sometimes, when he believes we'll have a visitor who could use a good meal. I hope you like blackberry cobbler.”

“That sounds incredible,” Keith said, unable to say for sure if he would like it. As long as Curtis was the one doing the cooking, he was sure it would all be delicious.

Keith struggled to properly relax while he waited for Shiro to return. He was so used to working all day that it felt unnatural to sit and do nothing. Maybe Curtis would let him clean the pots and pans?

He doubted it.

Shiro came and went, flitting about like a man on a mission. He didn't stop to talk to either of them. All of his focus was on the task he had set for himself. Just when Keith was about to beg Curtis to give him something to do, Shiro returned and herded him to a smaller room where a deep tub of steaming water was waiting for him. It smelled faintly of herbs, but Keith couldn't tell which ones.

Next to the tub was a bench that held several jars of soaps, a towel, and a fresh set of clothing.

“Shiro-”

“You deserve this,” Shiro firmly cut in, not allowing Keith to finish his sentence. “Wash up and relax. I'll knock when I think you've been in here long enough and then you can get out. I'd like to apply the new salve before you put a shirt on. After that, you're welcome to help me with a few things before dinner.”

“Don't do anything to my normal clothes,” Keith said.

Shiro sighed heavily as though he really wanted to disagree, but instead he promised he wouldn't do anything to them.

Keith waited for him to leave before removing his threadbare clothing, carefully folding each item, and setting them aside in an attempt to keep them reasonably neat. He then eased himself into the hot water, letting it soothe his aching body. The soft scents of whatever herbs Shiro put into the water lulled him into a relaxed state, clearing his mind and giving him a moment of peace that he hadn't realized he needed.

He felt incredible by the time Shiro knocked on the door and it was with some reluctance that he climbed out of the tub and began to dry himself off, leaving his hair for last. He then swiftly dressed in the undergarments and pants, marveling over how soft it was and feeling a little undeserving of such finery.

Keith carried the shirt and accompanying vest with him out to the main room, where Shiro swooped in to rub a new salve over his back, though he first ran his fingers through Keith's damp curls, tugging free any tangles he found.

“Don't bother. I'm going to chop it off soon,” Keith said, reaching back to pull his hair from Shiro's hands.

“You shouldn't,” Shiro said in a tone that implied he knew something but wasn't ready to reveal what he knew. He uncorked a new jar and spread its contents over the scars on Keith's back, one at a time.

Unlike the first salve, it felt surprisingly warm and remained that way once Shiro was done.

“You shouldn't have any more problems with your back,” Shiro said.

“Really?” Keith twisted around to look at him in surprise. “What's the difference between this one and the one you used earlier?”

“The other one relieves pain and softens the scar tissue so it doesn't pull as tightly. It's a quick fix for anyone who needs to stay active and is normally best suited for minor aches and pains. This one heals more deeply than that, but you can't strain yourself for at least six hours so it has time to work,” Shiro explained. “I've found that it also helps to take a warm bath beforehand.”

Keith didn't fully understand how any of it worked and he doubted he ever would, so he nodded along with what Shiro said and accepted it as the truth.

“So I have to sit still even longer? I thought you wanted my help with something,” he said, crinkling his nose.

“I do want your help,” Shiro said brightly. He stood up, taking the jar with him so he could put it back. “It's nothing strenuous and a little activity won't hurt anything.”

“I'll do it,” Keith agreed without waiting to hear what he would be doing. It didn't matter, so long as he didn't have to sit still.

Shiro returned to give his back one last look over and then directed Keith to put on the shirt and jacket. Keith almost left the vest off. He took a moment to trace his fingers over the white embroidery spiraling over one of the pockets and to marvel over how soft and warm the red fabric was. It was far nicer than anything he'd ever been allowed to wear and it was only the fact that it was clearly well-worn that had him shrugging it on.

Shiro nodded in approval. “Sit and turn your back to me. I'm doing something with your hair.”

“Any reason why you're determined to dress me up today?” Keith did as his friend asked without waiting for the answer. He soon felt gentle fingers return to his curls, once again working on getting rid of the tangles.

“Do I need a reason?” Shiro asked, and though his tone was lighthearted, Keith was sure he could detect an edge of frustration.

“Well, no... I guess not.”

Shiro continued to work on his hair until he could get his fingers through without catching on a single knot and then began to gather sections as he debated how he wanted to arrange Keith's hairstyle. He muttered to himself and Keith wasn't entirely sure it was fully in English because there was so much of it he couldn't understand.

Eventually, Shiro settled on a simple, single braid.

“Now you're ready to help me,” he said as he stood up. He held out a hand for Keith to take and helped him stand.

Keith expected an evening in the garden, gathering herbs and flowers of all varieties so that Shiro could dry them or do whatever he needed, but instead he was led to a room he'd never been allowed inside. He realized why immediately.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with a variety of pots and baskets. One was specifically for hanging dried plants. Another held books of all sizes. In the very center was the room was a cauldron on a pedestal, with a fire pit beneath it that lit itself the moment the door was shut.

If Keith ever needed confirmation that maybe the stories of Shiro being a witch were true, that was it. He wasn't worried though. Shiro had never given him a reason to distrust him.

“Should I really be in here?” Keith asked.

“I don't see why not. I normally get Curtis to help me with things like this,” Shiro told him. “Healing salves require quiet and I have to do those myself, but I also make soaps. That's what you'll be helping me with today. Could you get that basket of soapwort?”

Keith took a moment to look around, crossing off a number of plants before he came across one with a few white flowers still attached. “This one?”

“That's it,” Shiro said with a nod. “Take it over to the table and start chopping one of the bundles. Try and get the pieces as evenly as you can, but don't stress if they aren't. Once you have a full bundle cut, you can put it in the cauldron and add one jar of dried soapwort so it can all boil together.” He walked over to one of the shelves and plucked up a fist-sized jar, which he took over to the table where Keith would be working.

“Do you do this a lot?” Keith asked as he got to work.

“At least once a week I make a lemon soap for Curtis to take into town and sell with his pies,” Shiro said. “The one we're making is for a friend. Nettle and rose this time, I think.”

Keith focused on what he was doing as Shiro got lost in his own musings, as he was prone to do when he was working on something he found important. He found chopping the soapwort a relaxing activity and quickly finished the single bundle he was asked to do. He swept it all up into another jar – when did that get there? - and then carried the fresh and dry soapwort to the cauldron and dumped it all in. The ladle stirred it all together on its own.

The blatant display of magic had Keith gasping in surprise.

Shiro looked over at the sound. “Ah, sorry about that. It's charmed to automatically stir. I've had one too many recipes burn while I was trying to get everything in order. The wind chimes are the same.” He pointed to the ceiling, where a few copper tubes were hanging in close proximity.

“It's fine. I just wasn't expecting it,” Keith said, backing away from the cauldron with slight weariness. He breathed in, reminding himself that he trusted Shiro and that the magic was useful and not dangerous, and then walked over to see if his friend needed any other help. “So, uh, what now?”

“Now we add the rose and nettle so it can boil along with the soapwort,” Shiro said, handing Keith one jar. “Both are good for the skin, but I use rose petals specifically for the scent.”

Keith and Shiro spent most of the evening in the little room, working first on a liquid soap for Shiro's mystery friend, and then on a smaller jar of lemon soap that he insisted Keith take home for general household cleaning. By the time they emerged, laughing and joking around, Curtis was nearly finished with dinner.

“You're taking this better than I thought. Even Curtis avoided me for two days when I first showed him my magic,” Shiro complimented.

“Hey, in my defense, you didn't exactly ease me into it,” Curtis spoke up, an amused smile on his face. “And I spent those two days calling myself an idiot for running from you.”

“I suppose I could have broken in the news a bit more gently...”

Keith couldn't help but smile as he listened to them banter back and forth. It was yet another thing that generally went unsaid in regards to Shiro's life; the exact nature of his partnership with Curtis was central to much of the town gossip, always spoken about in whisper and yet somehow without judgment. It was treated as any other talk about who liked who.

All Keith cared about was how happy they were together.

Shiro stepped into the kitchen, mischief in his expression, but before he could do whatever he was planning on, a horse whinnied outside and he turned around to go out and greet their new visitor instead.

“Keith, come with me,” he instructed.

Keith glanced over at Curtis, who only shrugged and went back to cooking. With no help forthcoming he followed after Shiro. Outside they found a cloaked rider astride a dappled gray horse and as Shiro approached the rider pushed back their hood to reveal a young woman with light brown hair.

“It's good to see you, Pidge,” Shiro greeted as he grasped one end of the reigns. He held the horse steady as the woman swung her legs over and hopped down.

“Hi, Shiro. And Shiro's new friend.” She flashed a quick smile at Keith before turning her attention back to Shiro. “I hope I'm not interrupting. I know it isn't exactly one of my scheduled visits, but I had to get away for a while.”

“You're always welcome here,” Shiro said. “Keith, would you mind helping her inside while I take Jasmine to the barn?”

Keith nodded and held out his hand for her to take, which she did with a smile that seemed amused. Keith was sure that meant he was doing something wrong or not quite appropriate, but she didn't call him out on it and let him walk her into the cabin, where she also greeted Curtis and complimented him on how good the food smelled.

“Another guest for dinner,” Curtis said, sounding delighted. “Why don't you both wash up. We'll be ready to eat once Shiro comes back inside.”

There were two pumps that Keith knew of. One was in the kitchen and the other in the washroom, which was where he and Pidge headed to clean up as Curtis asked. He let Pidge go first.

“So, how long have you known Shiro and Curtis?” she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

Keith shrugged. “A few years, I guess. Shiro's helped me out of a few bad scrapes.”

“Me too.”

Keith glanced at her, wondering what trouble she could have possibly gotten in that would mean Shiro had to step in and help. Though she tried to hide it beneath a plain cloak, he could tell she was of noble blood and likely under heavy protection. He wouldn't be surprised if she had guards stationed out in the forest to watch for any danger.

“He saved my brother three years ago. Ever since then I try and visit with gifts to thank him for everything that he's done. Of course, it's hard to get him to accept anything so it's always something he'll find useful and not all that difficult to find...” Pidge sighed as she stepped aside to dry off her hands, letting Keith access the pump.

“He is stubborn like that,” Keith agreed. He quickly scrubbed his hands clean and then accepted the towel from Pidge so he could dry off before they went to eat.

Dinner was full of lively conversation and delicious food. Keith had to stop himself from taking second helpings of everything, knowing that the richness of it all would only disagree with his stomach. He had to slow down a few times and focus on listening to what everyone was saying instead.

Pidge was especially chatty, full of witty jokes and a tendency to ramble on when she was particularly interested in a topic. Shiro encouraged her in subtle ways; through a question or a quick statement, leading her through a wide range of subjects that were all equally fascinating to hear, even if Keith didn't understand all of what was being said.

It was by far one of the best meals Keith had ever had. He was almost sorry when it was over and Shiro and Curtis shooed him and Pidge outside while they cleaned up, ignoring all of their protests.

Keith stared at the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for some sign that Shiro would let them back in. Minutes passed without any movement and Pidge grew tired of waiting.

“You know, you get a pretty good view of the stars around here,” she mentioned. “Want to stargaze with me?”

The question was unexpected. Keith was stunned for several long seconds before he found his voice long enough to agree. He followed her down the path into the garden, where there was a stone bench surrounded by tall-growing flowers, all of which were beginning to close up without the sunlight shining down on them.

Pidge sat down first, laying her cloak across the bench to provide slight warmth to the cold stone. “Sometimes I get the feeling that Shiro knows more than he lets on. He's not going to let us back in until he thinks we've made friends,” she said, patting the space next to her.

“He does always seem to know when I'm coming to visit,” Keith admitted as he took a seat. “Why stargazing though?”

“You'd rather stare at the door until he lets us go inside?” she asked with a grin.

“No. No, this is better,” Keith agreed, tilting his head back. It had been so long since he last took the time to look at the stars, but as he sat there he was brought back to a time when his dad was still alive. How many nights had they laid out under the stars, telling stories based on the legendary figures dotting the skies? What kinds of stories did Pidge know?

He didn't have to wonder for long.

Some of her stories he had heard before. Others were new. And then he was able to share the ones he knew from his dad and had the pleasure of watching her face light up in joy at hearing new stories.

When Shiro opened the door to let them in, neither of them noticed.

#voltron #fanfiction #kidge #kidgemas #Cinderella AU #light Shiro/Curtis

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ft-dads-au · 5 years ago

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Serendipity

Rare Pairs Week 2020 Prompt: Longing Pairing: Human (Weisslogia x Female Skiadrum)

A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

AO3 | FF.Net

TW: Mentioned miscarriage

Summary: After almost losing Skiadrum to a miscarriage months earlier, Weisslogia had accepted the fact that they wouldn't be able to have what they'd wanted for so long: a child of their own.

July 18, 1993

“Just one more push should do it,” Weisslogia encouraged the woman who lay on the birthing table, her feet encased in stirrups that kept her legs spread. He smiled kindly at her, and although his eyes didn’t reflect the joy they usually would, he tried his best to keep himself in the moment.

The woman had been in labor for over ten hours, and he’d guided her through most of it. Weiss watched as her husband stood next to her, looking worried but also excited, holding her hand and offering encouragement as she did her best to work herself through the pain.

And Weiss felt the sadness overwhelm him once again.

He couldn’t help but feel that this should be him and Skiadrum, a million times over. God knows they’d both longed for it enough. They’d been trying to conceive for years, undergone many failed cycles of IVF treatments until finally, it had happened. That faint second line on the pregnancy test had been everything they almost didn’t dare to hope for anymore, a dream they’d shared together for so long.

They had never been so happy. It was like a dam had burst inside of them. They’d spent long hours looking at baby items, discussing the merits of every product. They had already picked out a crib and were excitedly waiting to find out their baby's gender so they could paint the nursery and start buying clothes, when it had all come crashing down.

Their dream shattered just 12 weeks in.

The only good thing to come out of it was that they had both been at work when it happened, and Skiadrum had been able to get help right away, going from maternity nurse to patient in the blink of an eye. Weiss would forever be thankful to Grandine for catching what was happening as soon as she did.

Given hospital ethics, he had not been allowed to treat her, so for the first time in his life, Weiss had sat on the other side of the maternity ward doors, waiting anxiously. All he could think about was how much blood there had been, and his medical knowledge wasn’t enough to shield him from the terror at the uncertainty that history could repeat itself, and he’d end up losing both his wife and his child.

His mother had suffered complications, and both she and the little sister Weiss had been looking forward to meeting had died before his young eyes. His father never recovered from the loss, leaving Weisslogia mostly to his own devices while he drank himself to an early grave, blaming their deaths on an uncaring health care system to anyone who would listen.

That experience had shaped Weisslogia into the man he was. Even as a young boy he’d wanted to keep that tragedy from happening to anyone else, so he’d studied hard to become an obstetrician. Once he’d accomplished that goal, he’d set about creating a clinic where everyone was treated equally, regardless of money or status.

The way it was in Fiore, where he’d attended medical school.

He’d achieved both of those goals, yet none of his knowledge and experience had prevented his wife from almost bleeding out, and it was then Weiss had decided enough was enough. As much as it pained him to think they would never have a child of their own, he couldn’t stand watching his wife suffer both physically and mentally.

And she had. At every attempt, Weisslogia had seen the spark of hope in her eyes, could almost hear her thinking this is it, it has to be. But that light died a little more every time the results came back negative, fading completely when they were told they’d lost the baby.

She’d wanted to continue trying, and Weiss knew that part of it stemmed from her fear that it was her fault that they couldn’t seem to get pregnant. Not that Weiss had ever thought that. It was just bad luck, he’d seen it happen to patients over the years, he’d just never expected it to happen to them.

They’d had a long and difficult conversation about it. It had taken Weiss breaking down and telling her he couldn’t bear to lose her on the off chance they could have a baby, like had happened to his mother, to get her to listen to him.

Skiadrum had finally backed down at his tears. They’d held each other and cried once they decided to stop the treatments. They still had each other, and that was what mattered the most.

Once they’d worked through their grief and anger about how unfair life could be, they could start looking into adoption. There were many children out there in need of a loving home, and Weiss and Skia had a lot of love left to give.

Still, that wasn’t exactly the same dream as the one they’d envisioned for so long, and as an OB/GYN, Weiss was confronted with that fact daily. He’d meet all the happy parents-to-be for their scheduled checkups, see the excitement on their faces as they found out their babies’ genders, and witness those precious first moments when they’d first hold their child. Together as a family at last, after nine long months of waiting.

That very scene was unfolding now, as his patient gave that last push that delivered her child. Weiss assisted the proud, awestruck father in cutting the umbilical cord. After massaging the baby to evoke that first cry, he handed the newborn over to the assisting nurse so that he could tend to the mother.

Knowing that he’d never be the one to hear his own child’s first cry, or wipe his wife’s hair from her sweaty face and tell her she’d done a fantastic job was still painful to think about. Delivering a healthy baby had always been the most rewarding aspect of his job, but even though six months had passed since the miscarriage, that empty feeling remained with him.

“Congratulations, it’s a beautiful, healthy girl,” Weiss smiled weakly as the nurse handed the baby over to her parents.

“Thanks, doc,” the father beamed back, utterly awestruck as he finally got to hold his daughter, shirt unbuttoned, so they were skin on skin, “This has got to be the best Father’s Day gift I’ll ever get.”

“You’re welcome,” Weiss replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, “Make sure Aceto gets some rest, I don’t really have any concerns at the moment, but I’ll be in to check on her later.”

He moved over to the bed, squeezing his patient’s arm briefly, “You did great!”

Weisslogia didn’t wait for an answer, knowing that Aceto was much more interested in her baby than anything he had to say.

Father’s Day...was that today? Weiss had no idea until the man had pointed it out.

His father had died a long time ago, and Skiadrum had never met her birth parents, so the day hadn’t meant anything for years. That had started to change once they had actively tried to get pregnant. Back when he was filled with visions of a little boy or girl who would look at him with awe and call him Daddy, and stare at him expectantly as he’d unwrap the present they’d made at school.

When they adopted, he could go back to that, but for now, it was best if he put those dreams away.

Skiadrum was off today, and he would be done in a few hours, barring any unscheduled births. He’d go home, cook her a nice dinner, maybe open a bottle of wine and go for a walk on the beach. She’d been looking a bit haggard lately, she could probably use a relaxing evening like that as well.

The thought of spending some quality time with his wife put a smile on his face and kept him going for the rest of his shift.

0-0

Weisslogia closed the front door behind him and walked into his study, putting his workbag on his desk and going in search of his wife.

To his surprise, he found her in the kitchen already cooking dinner. Her jet black hair was up in a ponytail, and a black apron decorated with white flowers and bumblebees covered the sundress she was wearing. He quickly moved behind her, nibbling on her neck, causing her to giggle and swat him away with a spatula.

“I’m cooking,” Skia scolded, “Did you just get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Mhmm, I missed you today,” Weiss pouted, puppy eyes already fixed on her.

“Fine, one kiss, but that’s all you get, for now. I don’t want these salmon steaks to burn.” She turned around and leaned into his open arms, giving him one kiss just like she’d promised, and resuming her cooking. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“It was alright,” he commented absently, the revelation that it was Father’s Day still on his mind. Skia paused and watched him over her shoulder, as if she knew, and not wanting her to catch his sullen mood, he quickly smiled and added, “but coming home to you made it so much better already.”

“Oh, you’re so cheesy,” Skia rolled her eyes but smiled back anyway.

“Mhmm, those look really good,” Weiss praised, “I’ll grab some wine from the fridge.” He gave her one last hug from behind, clasping both hands on her belly and squeezing gently, smiling when she brought one of her hands up to cover his.

Feeling more at peace now that he was with Skia, he kissed the back of her head and made his way over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of Chardonnay he thought would pair well with the fish.

He rummaged through the kitchen drawers in search of their bottle opener and decided to go ahead and set the table while he was at it. He got the plates and cutlery together, and on a whim, decided it was too nice of a day to eat inside. Opening the sliding door that let out to their deck with his elbow, he set the patio table for dinner.

Weiss turned on their bug zapper and returned inside to grab the items he hadn’t been able to carry on his first trip, the Chardonnay, and two goblets. He stuffed the opener in his pocket and went back outside.

It was then he noticed something he’d missed before. On the side table, next to the bench swing, was the book he’d been reading at breakfast that morning, an envelope sticking out from between its pages.

He was positive that it hadn’t been there earlier, but he wasn’t about to complain. Using the opener to pull the cork out of the bottle, he poured himself a glass and sat on the bench, eager to continue his book until Skia announced dinner was ready.

At first, he thought nothing of the envelope, figuring Skia had just grabbed some junk mail and used it to mark his place, but the second he removed it to continue reading, he saw his name written on it in his wife’s handwriting.

He peered at it with new interest, Skia would sometimes leave him little gifts hidden in plain sight. Tickets to a book reading from a favorite author, or gift certificates to a nearby tobacco shop, even though she hated the smell of his pipe. He was curious about what this could be, touched that she had intuited his feelings about today. His chest warmed at the thought.

Weiss drank his wine, trying to decide whether to wait for her to arrive before opening it. He poured himself another glass, he was off tomorrow and wasn’t on call that evening, so for once he could indulge.

Deciding to go ahead and open it, he pulled out a Father’s Day card. He stared at it in confusion, already feeling the familiar pain rising to the surface.

“Oh! You weren’t, uhm, you weren’t supposed to see that yet,” Skia entered the deck carrying a serving plate balanced atop a salad bowl, her expression clearly flustered.

Weisslogia put down the card and hurried to help her before she could drop their dinner onto the deck.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Skia’s eyes were glued to the card, her brows furrowed. But there was something else. Did she look nervous?

“I don’t understand,” Weisslogia puzzled, once the food was safely on the table, “Why would you get me something like that?”

“I was going to wait until after dinner,” Skia explained, her fingers playing with the hem of her sundress. “But the cat is kind of out of the bag now.”

“Go ahead, open it,” she urged him.

Weiss could almost touch her growing excitement, and despite his initial unease, he walked over to the swing and picked up the card. He couldn’t help but notice that Skia was acting very strangely.

He opened up the card, and something slipped out, landing face down onto the deck. When he picked it up, he could tell from the glossy texture of the paper that it was a photograph, and when he turned it around to look at it, he almost dropped it again.

It was a picture, one much like thousands he’d seen throughout his career, yet it was also unique. He gaped at it, convinced his brain was playing tricks on him or the wine had him seeing things, but even after he blinked his eyes, the ultrasound image was still there, listing Skia’s name and today’s date in the information text at the top. Text that also estimated the pregnancy at nine weeks.

Weiss looked at the card he was still holding in his other hand and tried to stop it from shaking so he could read what was written inside.

Happy Father’s Day, I can’t wait to meet you!

“We’re pregnant?” Weiss asked dumbly, and he couldn’t even fault Skia for laughing at him. He was an obstetrician for God’s sake, but at the moment, all his training felt very far away, pushed back by his overwhelming joy.

Quickly thinking back, he realized that if Skia was nine weeks pregnant, then that meant it had happened during their vacation. The very one they had taken to accept their situation and just enjoy being together again. And that’s when it hit him. Just how dumb was he? How many times had he suggested the same to his own patients?

Except, he reminded himself, their situation was different. They hadn’t just taken that vacation because they’d had trouble conceiving. They’d taken it because neither one of them had truly recovered from the scare of almost losing each other.

“Yeah,” Skia replied shyly, “I’ve wanted to tell you so many times but-”

She didn’t have to finish the thought, he knew what she meant. He’d been treating her as if she was fragile ever since the miscarriage. Even now, the fear of losing her muted some of the joy he felt. But one look at Skia, at the triumph he could sense underneath the uncharacteristic shyness, and he knew he couldn’t take that away from her. From them.

Today was a day for rejoicing. Against all the odds, they had been granted another chance to start a family. As he reached for his wife with an impossibly wide grin, she rushed into his arms, and he spun them around gently.

“You’re happy?” Skia asked, her head buried in his shoulder.

“I’m more than just happy,” he chuckled, kissing her head softly.

“Come here,” he urged, wanting to kiss her lips, to cement this moment forever in his mind, with Skia’s taste and warmth all around him. He could feel the wetness of her tears on his cheeks as they mingled with his, and he smiled, trying his hardest to forget a similar moment so many months ago.

He knew his concerns were valid, given what had happened, but he set them aside. He’d have plenty of time to worry in the coming months. They might never have a moment like this again, and he refused to ruin it by thinking about the past.

The longing that he’d worked so hard to silence returned full force, and he couldn’t help but let himself get carried away. Grabbing Skia by the hand, he led her to the bench swing, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around her and caress her belly. It was still nice and flat now, but soon it would swell. He imagined how beautiful it would look on her, how those first flutters of kicks would feel against his hands and so many other things he’d thought weren’t in the cards for them.

He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, loving the sound of her giggles at his words, of her voice when she playfully squealed at him to stop.

“I love you,” Skia murmured, nuzzling her head on his neck.

“I love you,” Weiss replied, catching her lips in his, and even though he knew better than to get ahead of himself, his words were meant for two.

They sat on that bench for hours, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. Each content to hold on to the other and share in this one perfect moment.

#fairy tail #ftdadsau #ftguildevents #weisskia #ftlgbtales #fics #Weisslogia X Skiadrum #prompt: longing #rare pairs week 2020

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years ago

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Fic: Sweet as Sugar

Rated: E

Sweet as Sugar

When the Golds had first divorced, the custody arrangement had granted both parents equal access to Bae. One week with his mother, one week with his father. Over time, though, this had changed to alternate weekends with his mother and most of his time with his father.

As Gold heard his son arguing with Milah all the way up the street towards the pawn shop, he wondered for the umpteenth time why Milah didn’t just sign over her parental rights entirely. It was supposed to be Bae’s weekend with his mother. It was also, however, the weekend of the school charity bake sale and since Milah had an extreme aversion to extra-curricular activities, Gold had already surmised that Milah would find some excuse to bring Bae back to his father for this weekend.

Not that Gold minded, far from it. He would give anything to have sole custody of Bae. No, he was angry on Bae’s behalf, because it meant yet another broken promise.

Almost on cue, the pawn shop door opened and Bae’s indignant protest of ‘but you promised!’ could be heard from the pavement outside.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll make it up to you next weekend.”

“But the bake sale is this weekend and you promised we’d bake cookies!” Bae had been looking forward to the bake sale for a while now, and his tone was extremely indignant.

“Oh, just buy some cookies at the store and stick them in a Tupperware, no one will know.”

“It’s not the same!”

Milah sighed and looked up at Gold. “Look, something’s just come up and I need to leave town for a couple of days, can you take him?”

Gold privately wondered if the thing that had come up was her lover’s cock down in Boston harbour, but he refrained from saying such.

“Of course. Come on through to the back room, Bae, and put your things there. We’ll go to the bake sale together tomorrow.”

Mollified by this, Bae rushed into the back room with his backpack.

“Thanks. I’ll take him next weekend instead. Bye Bae!”

Milah was out of the door before Bae had chance to reply, and Gold wondered what to do next. Bae wanted to take something to the bake sale and Gold didn’t want to disappoint his son with shop-bought cakes and cookies, but the fact remained that Gold himself could not bake. Cooking was one thing. Baking was quite another.

Gold’s usual response when he encountered something he couldn’t do was to call in a professional. Sadly, he did not know any professional bakers.

Well, that was a lie. He knew one. Lacey French had come onto his tenant books two years ago with her online bakery business. The only trouble was that Lacey did not make the sort of baked goods that he could take to an elementary school bake sale.

He grabbed his phone and quickly found her website. The Naked Baker – erotic cakes, cookies and confectionary for all your adult occasions. The first image on the page was of a large pink cake exquisitely decorated with crystallised sugar that could have been a geode but was far more likely to be a vulva. Below it were sugar cookies iced to look like breasts and penises. At least those made no pretensions as to what they were.

Gold sighed. Presumably, if Lacey knew how to bake naughty things, she also knew how to bake conventional things. Now all he had to do was to offer her something that she wanted in return. After all, a deal required two interested parties. Hopefully, they would be able to come to some sort of arrangement.

He closed the website and dialled Lacey’s number.

“Morning, Mr Gold.” She picked up on the first ring. “I must say, this is an unexpected call. The rent isn’t even due yet so I don’t see how I can be late with it.”

“I’m not calling about the rent. Well, not entirely. I have a business proposition for you.”

“For me? Well, well, well. I trust that you know what kind of business I’m in, Mr Gold.”

“Yes. I trust you remember from the posters plastered to every flat surface in the town that it’s the school bake sale tomorrow.”

“Mr Gold, I think we might both be put on a register somewhere if you were to take my wares to a school bake sale.”

“I wasn’t suggesting your usual talents. Just your basic skills in cake-making. In return, I’ll waive this month’s rent.”

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. “You really must be desperately bad at baking if that’s the offer that you’re making, Mr Gold. When would you like me to come over and get started?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m assuming that the baked goods are on Bae’s behalf, and I’m assuming that he’ll want to help make them. And I can assure you that my kitchen is absolutely not suitable for children. Shall I see you in an hour?”

Gold was dumbfounded for a moment before recovering his composure and his voice enough to reply.

“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you, Miss French.”

“Oh, please. If we’re going to be getting up close and personal in your kitchen, then you should at least call me Lacey.”

Gold was already beginning to regret his decision.

Thankfully the kitchen and the rest of the house were as immaculate as they always were after Mrs Potts had been round, although Gold had no doubts that they wouldn’t remain that way for long.

Bae was already incredibly excited at the prospect of baking, and when the doorbell rang, he leapt to answer it, ushering Lacey into the kitchen with her huge box of ingredients and equipment before Gold was even out of his chair.

To give Lacey her due, despite the fact she was wearing a see-through shirt and hot pants under her apron, she certainly knew what she was doing when it came to cookies, and Bae had a whale of a time making sugar cookie animals with her, to the point of completely forgetting that his father was in the room at all. Then Lacey asked if he’d like to ice an elephant and they all got stuck in to decorating. The difference in quality was painfully obvious, but Lacey was nothing if not genuinely encouraging of Bae’s efforts.

“He’s good,” Lacey said, once Bae had sampled a cookie and run off to play with the kids next door. “He’s got a lot of artistic talent. Maybe I ought to take him on as an apprentice when he’s old enough.”

“Thank you. I’m very proud of him.”

“You should be. He’s a great kid.”

They’d just finished washing up all Lacey’s equipment when Gold spotted the half-empty bowl of cookie dough on the side.

“Were you saving that for a special occasion?” he asked.

Lacey smirked. “Maybe. I did bring some of my more unorthodox cutters as well as the animal shapes. I wondered if you’d like to sample some of my usual work, Mr Gold.”

“I, erm…” Was she flirting with him? Gold had not been flirted with for a long time, and he had no idea how to do it back, despite the fact that he definitely, definitely wanted to.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Lacey licked her lips. “I’d like it too.”

Within seconds she was back at the kitchen table, rolling out the dough and cutting out the familiar shapes from her website. Gold felt his cock beginning to stir, and he wondered if Lacey’s thoughts were wending in a similar direction. Their eyes kept meeting as they finished the second batch of clean-up, and Gold thought that he was about to expire with lust when Lacey took one of the still warm cookies and blew on it softly to cool it. It was almost as if he could feel her breath ghosting over his own cock, and he had to sit down quickly to cover his reaction.

“I think they’re ready to ice now,” Lacey said, handing him a tube of pale pink icing. “Although, maybe a visual aid is in order. You want them to be as true to life as possible, after all.”

She gave him a sultry look as she unbuttoned her shirt, opening the front clasp of her bra and spreading the halves to show off her breasts, perfect creamy pink with dark nipples already pebbled into hard points.

“Or maybe you see something you want to taste more than the cookies,” she purred. “I know I do.” She was staring at his crotch, his erection undeniable now, and she licked her lips.

Gold let out a sound embarrassingly like a squeak and icing spurted out of the piping bag in his clenched fist. Lacey just laughed before pulling him in by the tie and kissing him. Gold accepted her wholeheartedly, their kisses hungry and full of a desire to taste and be sated. He worked his way down from her lips over her neck and chest to suck on her nipples; God, she tasted sweeter than her cookies and he had to know if the rest of her was as delectable. He was sure it would be, but perhaps he would have to wait until another time. Right now, Lacey was unfastening his belt and fly, her breath tickling over the tip of his aching cock for real and driving him insane as she grabbed a condom from her purse and rolled it on. Then, her shorts were on the floor, thong pushed to the side as she scrambled into his lap. Gold slipped a hand down between them to pet at her entrance; she was already hot and wet.

“Fuck, Gold,” she panted between their continued messy, heated kisses. “Fuck. I can’t stop thinking about this. Christ, since I first moved into town and started baking, I’ve been thinking about this. I think about it whenever I’m working.”

Well, that was new and unexpected information, and Gold did not have time to fully process it before Lacey had grabbed his cock, lining them up and sinking down onto him. He could only groan, rolling his hips up to meet her as she rubbed frantically at her clit. He squeezed her breast, pinching her nipple and making her squeal.

It did not take long for them to come, Lacey’s inner walls clenching around his cock bringing him over the edge with her, and as they sat together in the cooling, Gold finally had time to process what had just happened.

Lacey giggled. “You look so spaced. Don’t tell me that I actually fucked your brains out.”

“No, I think you did. That was…”

“Better than cookies?”

“Infinitely better than cookies. Is there…” He wanted to ask if there was any chance of this becoming more, of if it was strictly a one-time thing to relieve the tension that Lacey had – that both of them in truth, had – been feeling for so long. “Would you like to come and bake here again?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but most of my specialist equipment is at home. I’m happy to make some very special cookies for you there, though.” She winked.

“You know, Bae’s at his mother’s next weekend.” Gold hoped that he didn’t sound too desperate.

“Then it’s a date, Gold. Bring an apron. Things might get messy.”

Gold gulped. As much as he was wondering what he’d let himself in for, he was very much looking forward to it.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #golden lace #Mr Gold #Lacey French #SFSS 2020 #Fic: Sweet as Sugar

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kpopaeipathy · 5 years ago

Text

Sugar and Spice and Everything Excites (jimin Oneshot)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut / Fluff

Prompt: I’m supposed to do 100 gingerbreads for tonight’s party, but I’m pretty bad at cooking, so I need your help.

Summary: Jimin is willing to tell you he loves you, but he’s also quite nervous. Fortunately, the heat in the kitchen might help a little.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Penetrative sex, unprotected sex (stay safe everyone), Sex on a table, Oral sex (female receiving).

A/N: The smut part made it more than a drabble lol I hope you like it ^^

Requested by annon

----

Jimin shouldn't be nervous. He had been alone with you many times, so that he let a little anxiety (okay, a lot of anxiety) disrupt the afternoon he had prepared for both of you.

The Christmas party programmed by his friends fit like a glove for the situation he was already planning. And the fact that everyone had to contribute with some Christmas dish was even more perfect. Jimin quickly took advantage of the situation and asked for your help, since you were much better at cooking than he was.

When you accepted it and suggested that you cook together the two dishes your were supposed to take to the party, Jimin was more than happy to arrange everything and prepare his own house to receive you. After you cooked, you could get ready right there and you would go to the party together.

Everything was planned, calculated and prepared. There was no reason for him to be nervous or anxious. But he was. Simply because he wanted to tell you something very important. Something that could change everything between you. Something that would change everything.

He was going over the grocery list, checking to see if he'd bought everything you told him to buy when the doorbell rang and Jimin jumped in the kitchen.

Drying his hands on his pants, he went to the door and opened it, finding you standing there, wringing your hands and taking a deep breath, as if you wanted your heartbeat to stabilize. He knew that for the simple fact that he was doing the same thing. Were you also nervous for being alone with him? But you had done that a thousand times. Could it be that you felt the same way he did?

With or without an answer to his own question, Jimin invited you in. And when you passed him, your characteristic scent invaded his senses and Jimin felt his body relax, as if only your scent were enough to make him feel comfortable.

You said nothing until you reached the kitchen, where you saw a mountain of ingredients above the sink.

"I thought it was just some gingerbreads," you commented, barely able to hold back the laughter at the hype. "Looks like we're going to cook for a battalion."

Your comment made Jimin relax for good. It was good that the interaction between you was always so light.

"I just didn't want to risk running out to buy something in the nick of time," he replied, pretending to be offended by what you said.

"I suppose so," you mocked.

"Shall we do this or are you gonna keep laughing at me?" He asked, throwing an apron at you.

“Alright, let’s go."

And suddenly, it seemed like you had cooked together a hundred times too. The timing was extraordinary, as in everything else you did together. You instructed, Jimin did. It was almost as if you had rehearsed.

Unfortunately, that wasn't exactly how Jimin had planned it to happen. He wanted you to touch him to show him how to do things, but your explanations were so accurate that if he pretended not to understand, he would look like an idiot.

Jimin was frustrated. So frustrated that he ignored the fact that he looked foolish and simply started doing everything wrong when stretching the gingerbread dough (regardless of it being the easy part).

Fortunately, that worked out the way he wanted it to. You approached him, stopping by his side and taking his hands to show him how he should do. Jimin took that moment to look at you closely and forget what you were doing.

Not even when you finished the explanation and looked at him, blushing after realizing your nearness, did Jimin stop admiring you.

"I think you can do it alone," you said, pulling away.

He simply smiled and did it right again. Until the next step, of course. Each time he pretended not to understand your instructions, you would come and show him how to do it, holding his hands and helping him just as he knew you would.

Only at the end of the process, when you were beginning to decorate gingerbreads, did you catch him looking at you as soon as you took his hands to help.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" You asked, squinting at him.

"Can you blame me?" He returned it.

When you started to walk away, he quickly released what was in his hands and turned to hold you in his arms. Your quick inspiration and the shiver that went up your arms was the answer he wanted for the contact.

"You know, you look beautiful when you're focused," he commented, touching your forehead with his. When you sighed and relaxed in his embrace, Jimin continued, “I had a plan, you know? I was going to seduce you while we were here.”

You smiled and blushed.

"What stopped you?"

"Actually, it was you who seduced me," he replied, coming so close to your lips that the words were like a caress. "Now I have no choice but to take you to the bedroom and forget about these gingerbreads."

You also had a plan when you arrived. Dating Jimin and being alone with him was torture when he was so gentlemanly that he tried nothing bolder. So you had planned some kind of seduction too, and you were very happy when he started pretending he didn't understand what you were explaining. But you would never say that to him. Instead, you said, “Won't it take long to get to the room?”

Jimin didn't seem to need any further encouragement. Pulling you around the waist, he lifted you and you wrapped your legs around him as he led you to the table - the only place in the kitchen that wasn't occupied with bowls, ingredients and cookies - and kissed you intensely.

You twined your fingers in his hair, gripping the blond strands tightly as he released your mouth and slid his lips across your cheek, reaching the very sensitive jaw and ear lobe. You gasped, turning your head to the caress as he licked and bit that place he'd never paid much attention to.

Jimin put his hand on your ass and pulled you to the end of the table, pressing you against him, and whispered in your ear:

"I was dying to do this. To give you all the pleasure you desire."

You tried to contain the flood of anxiety that those words caused in you, unable to stop yourself from moving sensually against him. You sighed as you felt him there, between your legs, where you wanted him, repeating the movement, loving the way he pressed you and loving how he moaned with pleasure at the sensations you teased him.

"You drive me crazy," he said, his voice hoarse.

You leaned forward and bit his lower lip, pulling him for another long, heady kiss. Jimin ran a hand down your thigh, exploring the muscles and bones of your leg, bending to find the soft spot inside. Following the seam of the pants you wore, Jimin touched the outside of your knee, the inside of your thigh, teasing you along your pants until he reached where your thighs met and made you wiggle.

A growl-like sound escaped Jimin's lips before he touched your sex and made you sigh with pleasure, even though you were desperate for more.

While touching you with one hand, Jimin used his other hand to open the buttons on the shirt you were wearing one by one until he could see the volume of your breasts. He swore under his breath as he finished unbuttoning your shirt, making you laugh as you sighed.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he confessed.

His hand slid over the skin of your belly, a sensual promise, before he leaned over you and took a long suck on your breast. You cried out with pleasure. Jimin continued, caressing your breast with his mouth and hand, then paid the same attention to the other breast.

He pulled away then, kissing your mouth again as his hands continued to caress your breasts.

"I want you so badly," he whispered against your lips.

“What're you waiting for?” You asked, unable to resist your handsome boyfriend anymore.

Without hurry, he slid his hands down your side, down your legs. Then he took off your shoes so slowly that you thought you could never do the same again without thinking about that moment. When he was done, he was back on you, pressing his body into yours, hard and hot.

Jimin groaned as he looked into your eyes and saw the desire he felt reflected there, then gave you a long, devastating kiss that ended with him clasping his hands in the fastenings of your trousers, the buttons of which he opened with skill and willingness, until the fabric loosened and he tugged it down your legs, removing your panties as well.

He drew back to watch you with intense concentration. You couldn't help but look down to see what he was seeing: you almost naked on the table, with only your shirt open, slung over your shoulders, and your bra.

"Look at me," that was not a request and you were more than happy to obey.

Jimin reached out to you and a warm hand bent over your knee, the touch erasing any trace of shame. Without his gaze leaving yours, he dropped to his knees in front of you, between your thighs. Jimin kissed the inside of your knee, then your thigh, and the top of your thigh where it met the part of your body that yearned for him. He leaned forward and kissed your sex.

"I was dying to taste you," he whispered, letting his breath tease your skin as he slowly opened you, loving the way you glowed hot and pink at him. "You're so sweet and sexy." He ran a gentle finger through your wet opening and you lifted your hips toward him. You were so wet, so ready for him. "You're wet and hot and perfect."

He ran a finger down your center, paying attention to your breath, the way you shivered as he explored you.

He stared at you again, letting his tongue touch you, a long, juicy touch. Jimin relished the way you moaned and closed your eyes in pleasure. He repeated the movement with his tongue, lingering at the apex of the caress, where you wanted him most. He twirled his tongue over the small, tense spot, and you sighed. Then he sucked you and your hands found his hair, your fingers pulling him to you.

Jimin was dedicated to making love to you with slow, wet caresses on his kitchen table. You moved against him, showing him what you liked, where you liked it, and he gave you everything without hesitation, until you fell apart in his tongue and his hands.

As he watched you lean over the table and try to regulate your breathing, Jimin stepped back and began to undress. Removing the shirt quickly and the pants right after.

As he approached again, you reached for him, and ran your fingers along his manly shoulder, down the crook of his arm, where his muscles were rigid with the effort he made not to delay the pleasure of possessing you.

You smiled then, demonstrating that you knew how much he was holding back and showing how much you wanted him to stop doing so. Jimin couldn't resist you. He took your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss, and your hand came down to touch him, moving to caress him intensely and long. Once. Twice. And until he couldn't take it anymore. Then he took your hand and reached out to you, sliding a finger inside you, where you were wet from his mouth and your own pleasure.

He kissed you then, touching his forehead to yours as he slowly placed himself where you both wanted him, at your entrance. He penetrated you and you held your breath and then moaned with pleasure.

He backed away, then reentered in short, gentle strokes, each deeper than the last, until he reached deep, completely inside of you.

"Yes," you whispered as he bent and placed a long kiss where your neck met your shoulder. "Yes."

That was all Jimin's self-control endured. He delivered deep, sensual thrusts, and you imitated him, lifting your legs, and his name turned into a mantra on your lips, first delicate and almost imperceptible, growing to a scream of pleasure, making him wish that moment would never end.

Jimin wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close as he pushed you with his hips, and your hands went to his shoulders, wrapping them tight as you cried out with pleasure.

At the last moment, as he struck hard and fast against you, you looked at him with desire and admiration. And it was at that moment that you exploded with pleasure, squeezing him so hard that Jimin thought he might not survive. He thrust once, twice, hard and fast and wonderful, until he felt his own pleasure coming.

Later, when he remember that moment, Jimin would be surprised to remember that he hadn't put on a condom and tried to get out of you before he came. But you held him with your legs around him.

"It's okay, I'm on the pill," you managed to speak eagernessly.

And Jimin couldn't resist another second, coming hard inside you. Filling you both with pleasure.

It took a few minutes for both of you to calm down, for your breaths to return to normal and for him to come out of you.

Trying to ignore the sound of protest that came from your lips as he left your insides, Jimin stepped aside to put on his own clothes and run for a towel to wipe you off.

You were amazed at the care he took with you. Before he could pull away to take the towel back to the bathroom, you grabbed his arm and brought him close again.

"I love you," you said, lightly kissing his lips.

Jimin smiled, but couldn't help but scowl before answering, "That's what I was so nervous to tell you today."

Those words made you intensify the kiss. And once again, you forgot about the gingerbreads on the kitchen counter as Jimin carried you, as if it weigh nothing, to his room. If everything went on differently from your planning, you probably wouldn't even go to the Christmas party.

#KpopAeipathyBTSWinter #networkbangtan #btsboulangerie #kwritersworldnet #kreativewritersnet #btsguild #95line.net #thebtstown #kwordsmiths #dlnexus #mknlinenet #jimin #park jimin #bts #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic

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cchellacat · 6 years ago

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Can You Handle This?

Love All The Marvel Ships

Day Twenty-Four

Prompt: Teaching Each Other

Darcy hated the idea of having to learn self-defence. It rated up there with exercise and diets. For some odd reason both Thor and Jane insisted that she had to do it though, so she had attended the gym reluctantly, protesting bitterly with each step.

The first trainer had kicked her out in the first twenty minutes and Darcy had heaved a sigh of relief. After all they couldn’t make her learn if there was no one to teach her.

Jane had put on her ‘Do As I Say or I’ll Portal You’ voice and found Darcy another trainer. Seething, Darcy went to see what this one made of her, but this time it was Darcy that had walked out ten minutes in. The woman had taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in telling Darcy everything that was wrong with her body shape and sneered at the double layer of sports bra’s she’s put on and basically made her feel fat and ugly and a bit of a tramp. She was not going back to train with someone like that.

The third guy had been better, for the first three sessions, and Darcy had grudgingly admitted that it wasn’t so bad. That was until the asshole had tried to stick his hands down her pants while showing her how to get out of a hold. Thor had not been happy and had made a personal visit to the idiot about the inappropriate touching. Luckily Tony had the whole thing on tape and the guy had been fired and a complain lodged with police, not that Darcy thinks much will come of it.

She’s enjoying the reprieve before they find yet another person to make her suffer. Right now though, she has a baking date.

Bucky Barnes had been doing cooking for therapy and she had been roped in by Wilson to help out. she didn't mind one bit. She had been itching to get a chance to talk to him a bit more. There was something about him that made her tummy flutter and her heart ache. He always looked so sad and unapproachable. At Jane's urging Darcy had made herself available to help three days a week between 2pm and 5pm. Jane insisted she didn't mind giving Darcy the time off and Darcy wasn't going to say no to nine hours a week of kitchen time with the guy she'd been crushing on since 10th grade.

It had been going well the last few weeks. He had relaxed around her and started talking a more. They had actually managed to reach some conversational milestones, like the music they liked, who they'd wanted to be when they were kids and speculated over what would happen next on Game of Thrones. It had also been really interesting getting to know him. Bucky Barnes might come across as all cold and dangerous but secretly she was absolutely certain he was actually just a giant marshmallow.

He listened to her while she explained what to do and why they did things a certain way and he was really getting better at it. He seemed to enjoy baking and had become much more enthusiastic about it as the weeks went on. Today she was going to teach him how to make muffins. She’d let him choose what kinds and all the ingredients had been ordered the day before.

He was already waiting for her when she arrived, he had trimmed his hair a little shorter since Monday and it was combed back carefully, tidily. She swooned internally and wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it and muss it up. She shook off the thought and hustled through and picked up an apron.

“Hey Bucky, ready to get started?”

“Sure doll, can’t wait.”

Bucky helped her get the bowls out and they passed ingredients to each other as they worked in companionable silence for a time.

The question he asked her was not what she’d been expecting.

“I heard about Harrison. Steve told me. You feeling alright after what happened?”

Darcy pauses for a moment then decides to be honest.

“I’m fine, I’m used to it, it’s not the first time some guy’s tried to get his hands in my pants or under my shirt Bucky.”

The cold deadly silence from her new friend makes her look up.

“What the hell is wrong with people? I don’t get how this is just,… brushed under the rug. The future sucks Darce.”

“It wasn’t exactly a bed of roses back in the 40’s either Bucky bear.” She retorts, in truth nothing much had changed deep down.

“I know, I just thought we’d get better at all this stuff, not worse. You’re never going to get anywhere with self-defence if you can’t trust the person teaching you”

Darcy shrugs and asks him to pass the muffin cases. There’s not much anyone can do at this point, it’s just they way the world is. She’s had put up with that sort of thing for years. Ever since she was old enough to wear a bra she’d had to learn how to get past the constant harassment of one form or another. She notices that he’s looking pensive and broody again, never a good combination. She hip checks him and shakes her head.

“It’s fine... well not fine, I hate it... But I know I can trust everyone here in the Tower not to try anything. Don’t worry about me Bucky, I’ll be alright, I still have my taser.”

Beside her the sigh of exasperation and the shoulder bump he gives her lets her know he’s not pleased by this response.

She can’t use it in New York and yet she still insists in carrying it around with her. He’s worried she’s going to fry someone and get in trouble. He really didn’t want that to happen. He thinks back to Steve’s hints that he could teach her and save them all a heap of trouble and time.

“You know it’s illegal in New York. Look I know you don’t like guns, but I thought maybe, if you wanted to learn I could teach you, that way you don’t have to worry about the self defence classes, although you know… if you wanted I could teach you that too?”

She knew her mouth was hanging open. The Winter Soldier was asking her if she wanted lessons?

“Are you offering to take me on and teach me? You know the first guy nearly had a heart attack just from my potty mouth.”

“I think I can handle it.”

He tells her with a teasing smile. She bites back the urge to grin back and wink at him, unfortunately her mouth doesn’t manage quite as much restraint.

“You think you can handle all of this?”

Ha, right where it hurts. He’s going cross-eyed trying not to look where she was pointing at her bust.

Oh god he is adorable when he blushes.

“I know I can.”

He’s regained his composure and now it’s her turn to blush at the thought of him handling her in any way.

“Fine, how about tomorrow morning, 7 am.”

She almost curses at her impulsive suggestion, but the thought of being able to get to see him in nothing more than a t-shirt and sweat pants has her salivating. He is just so good looking it’s hard not to enjoy the sight when it’s right in front of you.

“It’s a date”

He calls out as he leaves the kitchen. The muffins piled high on the plate.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She actually turns up a little early the next day, looking forward to it this time. It’s much easier to think about learning things without worrying she’s going to get groped again or fat shamed. On the other hand, she would not mind getting hit on by Bucky.

He is just so ridiculously attractive. But he is so far out of her league it’s not funny, so she’ll take any time she can get with him before some lucky skinny model type wanders along and gets all pissy about his friendship with “That Darcy, girl.” Oh the times she’s heard that, like she was a bad influence.

The first fifteen minutes, he coaches her through a warm up and then moves onto the correction of her stance and posture. She preens with each word of praise he gives her and does her damndest not to melt into his touch when he corrects her position with the brush of a hand for emphasis. By the time the hour is nearly up she’s a hot mess and not from the exercise, although there’s that too.

No, she feels like she’d just attended the longest, most tortuous, foreplay event ever. Trying to stick with the plan and keep focused on learning something useful, she asks about how to get away from a guy holding her down without considering how he’ll have to do it and that’s when all thought of keeping herself strictly professional throws itself out the window.

Ten minutes into teaching Darcy he thinks he’s made a mistake, because, no, it turns out, he can not “handle all that”, she’s too pretty, he can’t hardly think in her presence. Then every time he touches her she shivers or bites back a tiny little noise in the back of her throat and all of a sudden he remembers what that means, why she’d doing it. He knows what she had alluded to in the kitchen yesterday, about guys touching her without permission and she’s trying not to flinch every time he touches her.

She’s uncomfortable and he can’t blame her. He keeps going though, going through a half dozen moves to get out of a choke hold and then she asks him to show her how to get away if I guy manages to get her on the ground. That brings him up short. He knows how to teach her, he’s just not sure he should be the one doing it. To teach her properly how to do it, means getting far closer than he thinks he can manage without giving himself and how he feels about her away. And he knows if him just touching her arms or hips to correct a move or her posture makes her uncomfortable this will be ten times worse for her.

But he did promise and he can’t back out now, not after all the shit she’s went through with the others.

She’s on her back and he’s encouraging her to twist to bring her body onto its side while lifting a leg up to brace against his hip when she gives in. She can’t do this, it’s too much. He’s half over her, between her open legs and he’s asked her a dozen times if she’d comfortable or if it’s okay if he touches her here and there and if he asks her one more time if she’s alright she’s going to scream.

Why in the name of Thor had she thought this was a good idea? He’s being so patient and careful with her she thinks he must think she’s made of glass. And damn it she should be taking this seriously, not turning over the pro’s and cons in her mind of messing it up so he ends up closer to her.

Bucky grits his teeth as they go over the move again. He can’t take much more of this, she’s smiling at him and nodding and listening and… fuck. Every time they go back to the start position he’s convinced he’s going to shimmy her just a tad too close and she’ll run screaming because honestly his body has a mind of it’s own in her presence. She’s on her back, legs open, knees bent while he’s kneeling back on his heels between her legs. It’s exactly what it looks like and he can’t teach her how to get out from under him unless they actually are in the right position, a realistic position.

He’s still not sure how he managed to explain how they would be doing this without stuttering through it, but he’d done it.

Darcy had looked wide eyed and a little apprehensive and then she’d blushed all the way up from her collar bones to the tips of her ears when he’d pulled her in, her thighs resting over his, their hips near flush together, he felt like the worst sort of pervert.

“Okay, one more time and then we’ll call it day Doll.” He tells her as he brings her back to the start, her legs hooked up on his, him looming over her, only an inch or so between their bodies from crotch to rib-cage.

“Oh thank god.” She breathes out, then slaps her hand over her mouth because no she did not mean that the way he’s taking it. He freezes over her and she knows he’s going to run, what else would he do? He thinks she’s scared or uncomfortable and that is the furthest thing from the truth.

“Fuck, this was a mistake, I’m sorry…” He tries to sit up, walk away but Darcy suddenly clings to him, her legs hooked over his hips, stopping him from pulling away.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that… God Barnes you are so fucking blind. I’m sorry… I just…”

She loses her train of thought because damn it, her action has pulled them closer, nothing stopping her from feeling the hardness now nestled into her core through his sweatpants and her thin leggings.

It’s her turn to freeze, eyes widening in surprise and desire. This was not what she had been expecting at all. Her heart takes off in her chest and the instinct to squeeze her thighs together presses them tighter against each other. Fuck, that feels too good and this is not what she had meant to do. But he’s just as frozen as her at the way she had responded to him, she sees the truth dawning in his eyes as she stares, not daring to breath.

It’s like a game of chicken, both of them unwilling to blink first.

He brings his hands down on either side of her, this time, instead of keeping her arms straight, braced against his shoulders to keep him away, she locks them round his neck, pulling him down till her chest is flush against his and she can clearly see the tiny salt and pepper hairs in the stubble on his chin.

He can’t believe he missed this. Had he been out of the game so long he’d misinterpreted every little tell that would have told him she was just as interested in him as he was in her? He lowers himself carefully till he rests on his elbows. There’s not hair of space between their bodies now and he can feel every soft curve of her and the heat radiating from her core has him biting back a moan.

He begins to smile at her and his eyes crinkle just the tiniest bit. Darcy can’t help smiling back, her bottom lip caught in her teeth in delight.

“You know, if you wanted to get into my pants Doll, you could just have asked.”

She tugged lightly on his hair in retaliation for the sass and hummed.

“Well how was I meant to know you were interested? You’re always such a gentleman, I thought you didn’t notice me.”

The last is said with the sort of vulnerability that is breaks his heart a little. Who the hell had damaged her confidence like that?

“Doll, I’d have to blind not to have noticed you. You’re beautiful Darcy, your eyes, that shade of china blue, the way they sparkle when you’re being sneaky, your smile, your smile drives me crazy and the way those little curls that escape when you wear your hair up while we’re cooking. Fuck Doll, I want to reach out and touch them all the damn time.”

They’re almost nose to nose now. She blinks back tears that are threatening to make an appearance and ruin the whole thing because, Holy Mother of Thor, no one has ever said something so fucking nice to her before. If a guy noticed anything it was her tits or her ass. They certainly didn’t wax lyrical about the curl of her hair or the colour of her eyes. It’s official, James Buchanan Barnes is perfect.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in me Darce, I’m not exactly what girls dream about.”

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself? You are exactly what girls dream about.”

She’s not sure if he’s teasing or not, but the tiny little flinch at her words makes her think not.

It’s a strange state of affairs, she thinks. A moment ago she’d been on the knife edge of desire, now she’s just full of gooey feelings and wants to hug him and kiss him till he knows how special and important and perfect he is to her.

“Can I kiss you doll?”

“I’d really like it of you did.”

He smiles and hauls her upright, till she’s straddling his thighs, she slips down a little and the tantalising feel of being pressed into him simmers down without the direct contact. She holds onto his shoulders and digs her toes into the mat, keeping her balance, not that she really needs to, he had one hand at her back and the other at her hip keeping her from falling off.

She can’t look away from him as he stares at her lips, still a little unsure if he should kiss her, so she makes the decision and moves first, fitting her lips to his, pressing softly into him in a chaste kiss. She feels the curl of his lips as he smiles into the kiss, her own curling in response as they exchange lazy gentle kisses. It’s not all fiery passion and need, it’s special she thinks dazedly, and a little magical, because she can’t believe he’s kissing her back. It’s the sort of perfect first kiss you read about in silly romance novels and if they’d been standing, she’s pretty sure her leg would have popped like in the movies.

The loud coughing coming from the door startles them both and she pulls away blushing as Steve strolls in.

“I thought you were teaching her how to get away from a guy?”

Darcy scowled at the vaguely guilty look that flits over Bucky’s face.

“I decided to teach him how to catch a girl instead Cap.” She pipes up, barely resisting the urge to stick her tongue out.

Steve just grins at them and shakes his head, turning to leave, laughing.

“It’s about damn time! We thought you two were never going to figure it out.”

Wait, what?

“What do you mean, we? We who?” Darcy shouts at his retreating back.

“Tell Jane she owes me fifty bucks, I told her it’d only take one lesson.”

Darcy and Bucky look at each other.

“You get the feeling we just got played Doll?”

“Yup.”

Then she sighs, because right now, she doesn’t give a fuck.

“You want to go get coffee with me Darcy?”

“Yes, I do. And then later we can plan how to get them back. I have a back order of glitter and glue just arrived from Hobbycraft and didn’t have anything to do with it. Think you can get me Cap’s shield?”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Let’s get that coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head then kisses her again and she melts into it, it’s a little less soft and romantic and little more heated and passionate. It takes her breath away in fact, and she tightens her arms round his neck. It’ll be fun she thinks, teaching Bucky how to bedazzle things and help her play pranks. All of it is going to be fun, and she’ll never miss another defence lesson again if he’s there to kiss her at the end of it.

This is a useful and important video. Darcy and Bucky were fooling around a bit, but this is still a serious and subject and something to keep informed of. Watch the Video, it’s good. It’s informative. It could save you.

youtube

#wintershock #bucky/darcy #darcy/bucky #cute

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kondo-hijikata · 6 years ago

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Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata, Established Okita/Saito Rating: M Summary: The best part of traveling for business is coming home. Modern AU. Ridiculous amounts of fluff. [AO3]

<< Chapter 1

.*Terms of Endearment*. Chapter 2

The shower took much more time than Kondo expected—not that he’d harbored any particular expectations to begin with, but Hijikata had certainly had some of his own. So, the water ran a little longer and the monthly bill would be a bit higher in consequence…however, far was Kondo to deny his better half anything within reason. The trouble there was that almost anything could be justified as such.

Okita liked to call it spoiling, while in one of his irascible moods and seeking to trade so-called therapeutic barbs with Hijikata, but how quickly he could forget the ways he, himself, was doted on. Or perhaps it was never a matter of amnesia as it was envy; for as long as Hijikata and Okita had been fixtures in Kondo’s life, a certain possessive tension both bound and repelled the two. Affection existed between them without doubt, but it was also tough and complicated, and often easily mistaken for contempt by anyone looking from the outside in.

And then there was Kondo: stranded as the nucleus with a husband on his right arm and adoptive son on his left, each berating and arguing across the way like he didn’t even exist…which was ironic, considering he was the ultimate reason for their bickering. In any case, it was the fate Kondo had resigned himself to, dawdling in the crossfire of loving two very emotional men in two very different ways. But it was also a fate he accepted in full. There was enough room for both and he needed both, just as they needed him in turn—and each other, even if they wouldn’t admit it.

Whether it was the result of his so-called coddling or not, Kondo left the shower quite clean and splendidly unwound, strutting at a leisure pace into the bedroom for comfortable attire. The closet doors were thrown open and he sorted through the garments, first deciding on a pair of dark trousers and donning them. As he began making his next selection, Kondo found himself treated to the sight of Hijikata joining his company, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped about his hips.

They exchanged a smile before Kondo pulled two tops from the closet and tossed one over. “Here.”

Hijikata caught it, his brow furrowing as he peered down. “This is yours.”

“It was, uh, what did you say before...?” Kondo tossed the form-fitting black t-shirt over his head and pushed his arms through with a quiet heave. Once settled, he finished his thought with a mischievous grin. “Oh, yeah. Convenient.”

“…Cht.”

Kondo laughed softly at the flash of Hijikata’s teeth with that wordless reply, and walked barefoot across the hardwood floor to press a kiss to his lips with a murmur. “I like you in my clothes, Toshi.” He stroked a blush-dusted cheek, pushed locks of damp hair behind the nearest ear, and bumped noses with his husband. “Besides…” A huff. “I think you like wearing them, too.”

The scoff and denial were as further amusing as Kondo had expected them to be, and with a smirk, he left Hijikata to his own devices in their bedroom. Toward the kitchen his steps carried him with intent to begin making good on his promise of cooking—and when Hijikata showed up a few minutes later wearing the very shirt that had been tossed his way, Kondo couldn’t help but allow himself another grin.

Dinner that night was salmon with a horseradish apricot sauce, just the way Hijikata liked it…because if Kondo had it his way, everything in the world would be suited to his husband's preferred fashion. A happy marriage meant a happy life, and the spouse Kondo had chosen for himself wasn’t at all difficult to please. From where he stood before the stove, he stole what he’d intended to be a quick glance over the shoulder and felt his eyes soften further.

Hijikata had situated himself at the table, haphazardly chopping vegetables for a salad in no elegant fashion; it was a seemingly simple task of no particular importance and yet, the sight caused warmth to bloom within Kondo's chest.

Isn’t that just how it always is…Toshi’s talented with any blade, unless that blade happens to be in a kitchen…

The smile pulling outward to his cheeks was just as unstoppable upon the thought, not that Kondo was trying particularly hard to hinder it in the first place. And then, fate was at play as it always seemed to be when it came to the two of them, as Hijikata looked up at that very moment to find he’d been the object of undivided attention.

He huffed and quickly diverted his eyes back to the task at hand, but apparently couldn’t prevent his own mouth from twitching at the corners. "...What?"

Kondo exhaled through his nose, knowing full well he was incapable of honestly answering that question in a graceful manner; however, his keen mind recognized the opportunity that had risen from it, and it was one he'd be sure not to miss. "Toshi, come here." He procured a spoon from a nearby drawer and dipped it into the pan to take some of the sauce he'd thrown together.

“Mm?”

"Try this and let me know if you like it."

"Hah?” Chop, chop—a tomato rolled away with a curse—chop. “Of course I will."

Kondo's lashes fell and he shook his head. "Are you going to make me say please?" The puppy eyes came out. "…Please."

A light scoff fell from Hijikata's lips, before the corners pulled a little further yet into his cheeks. He relented without additional protest, standing and wiping his hands off on a dish towel before making his way over. Their gazes remained locked as the space between them closed, and Kondo blew on the spoon to ensure it had cooled enough to not burn.

Hijikata leaned in, his mouth closing on the utensil and then withdrawing with the raise of a brow. He paused in consideration and then slightly canted his head. "It tastes like it always does. Did you try something new—?"

Kondo's mouth immediately found his, effectively cutting off the puzzled inquiry with his tongue pushing through to tease against Hijikata's a few times before taking a slow retreat. He touched Hijikata’s bicep and let his hand run down the length of his arm to entwine their fingers, while pulling back only far enough to purr, "Just wondered how it tasted on you."

"Kat-chan..."

And that was that.

The spoon slapped down on the counter and Kondo blindly reached to the lower the stove as their next kiss deepened. His white apron taken in rough fistfuls, he was tugged forward so his body pressed flush to Hijikata’s while their lips met over and over until both were breathless and erring on the brink of going lightheaded.

"Toshi..." Kondo panted, leaving a trail of kisses as he moved toward Hijikata's jaw. "Dinner—"

"—can wait."

Thusly, without an inkling of debate, the flame was extinguished. That meant one problem had been solved, and the next seemed as easy a fix… Walking Hijikata backward until he gently bumped against the counter, Kondo lifted him to sit on it. While slender legs wrapped about him, he leaned forth to nuzzle against Hijikata’s chest, his arms encircling his husband’s waist in a possessive hug.

“I missed you,” Kondo mumbled against him, reveling in the comforting sensation of nimble fingers threading through his hair. “So much.”

“Ngh.” Hijikata’s thighs spread wider and he offered an encouraging nudge, his voice airy and soft. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, mm…”

“Oh, I can’t agree with that.” Drawing away so he could lift his chin, Kondo looked up to find eyes with wide-blown pupils aimed directly at him. His own fell half-lidded. “Mine’s already too fond. Absence only makes it hurt.”

Dark lashes blinked several times before blotches of pink stained over Hijikata’s cheeks and he tossed his face aside. “Oh my God, Kat-chan, shut up.”

A chuckle. “Nope…” Kondo freed one hand from the embrace and let it wander along his husband’s waist, up his side and back down, then walking fingers along his thigh. “Not a chance,” he sang over a whisper and then at last relented to give Hijikata the touch he wanted.

“N—ne, we should—”

Pin-pon.

A doorbell had never sounded so damn intrusive until now and they each jolted back to reality with shock, staring at the other in polarized confusion as the perfect moment dissipated into a void. And then, just to add insult to further injury, that was when Okita’s voice rang out.

“Hi~jikata-san, open up!” The bell chimed again three times in a row and a fist started to beat against the door. “I know you’re home!”

Kondo blinked slowly as he felt Hijikata’s body go stiff in a way he hadn’t intended, the instant transformation of his expression serving as the final nail in the coffin. Unbridled lust turned to fury in the bat of an eyelash…and Kondo simply groaned, momentarily let his head fall over Okita’s incessant hounding, and then pulled Hijikata free from the counter.

The stove was turned back on. The apron was adjusted. At the front of their apartment, the door was thrown open with an enraged bark.

“What the fuck do you want?!”

An amused laugh. “That’s not your shirt.”

“Fuck off.”

“Come on now, Hijikata-san, I promised Ko—” Okita’s eyes apparently caught movement in the background then and went wide. “Kondo-san?!”

A palm pressed hard to Hijikata’s chest and with a hard shove, he was removed from standing in the way. Shoes went flying into the air while Okita flew over the threshold and thundered toward the kitchen. “Kondo-san, you’re back!”

“Souji!” His eyes falling closed, all Kondo could do was bellow a laugh. “So I am…” Over shoulder claps and a slew of questions of when and why and how and why didn’t you text me, he returned to sautéing and wondered if he’d need to add more fish to the pan now. Through the corner of his eye, Kondo caught the sight of Saito bowing to Hijikata and barely heard soft-spoken words begging for the pardon of his fiance’s rudeness.

“Hn?” Okita hummed after a few moments. “Look at you, setting the table all fancy…” He plucked an unlit candlestick from its crystal holder. “Kondo-san, you never put these out when you cook for me!”

Baring his teeth upon his approach with Saito in tow, Hijikata snatched it. “Because you always just God damn show up uninvited and shove your way in here.”

Over the sound of Okita’s boisterous laughing, Saito stepped up to Kondo with his shoulders lowering along with his head. “Kondo-sensei, please accept my humble apologies. Had I known you were back and making dinner, we certainly would not have intruded.” A firm hand pressed to his shoulder and stopped short his quest for atonement.

“Hey, there’s no need for that. You know you’re always welcome here.” Kondo could feel Hijikata’s glare piercing through his back at that reply. …Mental note. Make it up to him later. Also set some rules for Souji. “And uh, by the way. It won’t be long until you’re basically my son too, Hajime-kun. Let’s loosen up a little and drop the sensei bit when we’re not at the dojo, okay?”

At the mention of his imminent marriage, Saito flushed and swallowed hard, only nodding once in reply. “Thank you…Sir.”

Kondo’s lashes fell and he chuckled. “That’s a little better, I suppose. We’ll work on it.”

“Speaking of weddings, it’s getting close, huh?” Taking Saito’s shoulders, Hijikata silently guided him over to sit at the table. “Two months away now. I’m guessing you have all your shit sorted out and taken care of.”

“Aa…” Dropping his chin, a barely-there smile appeared and Saito’s cheeks took on an even rosier shade.

“Not everything. Some matters are still under debate.” Okita plucked one of the sliced tomatoes and studied it before popping it in his mouth. He then reached for the knife Hijikata was using and twirled it about his fingers. “I wonder if Hajime-kun will ever agree to change his last name to mine…”

“Souji—”

“And why in the hell would he do that?” Hijikata lashed out at Okita’s wrist, stopping the movements of his hand and retrieving the knife from his possession before any harm was done.

“Maybe I want us to share a familial name?”

“Souji, now is not the time,” Saito firmly declared and sat tall in his seat.

“You’re damn right it’s not!” Hijikata echoed. “And while I’m at it, let me also say it’ll never be the right time for Saito to go changing his name just to take yours for some idiotic social decoration. I certainly didn’t.” A thumb was thrust over his shoulder toward Kondo. “And he didn’t either. Why should it be any different for you?”

Okita gave a prolonged hum, his voice steadily climbing. “Interesting way of looking at it.”

“Please drop it for now, Souji.”

Green eyes rose to their fiance’s.

“Okay—” Kondo began, just for Okita to interrupt him.

“Are you saying you don’t like Kondo-san’s name, Hijikata-san?” Despite framing his question to make it about Hijikata, he kept his attention directly on Saito—who stared back with equal intensity. “And that’s why you wouldn’t take it?”

“All right.” Turning from the pan before another argument erupted, Kondo rubbed at his brow with the back of his hand. “Are you guys staying for dinner? If so, I need to make more than what I’ve got going here.”

The pair provided opposite one-word answers, a no and yes coming forth at exactly the same time while Hijikata groaned.

“Souji, we have dinner plans.”

“But Kondo-san is offering—”

“Souji, would you get the hell out of here?!” Hijikata snapped. “You’re making Saito uncomfortable, you apparently have other plans, we’ve been cooking for two and not four. What more needs to be said?”

“Toshi—”

“Wow, what’s all this about, Hijikata-san?” Okita narrowed his eyes. “After all the trouble I went through to look in on you every day while Kondo-san was gone…”

“No one fucking asked you to do that.”

“Toshi.” Before further chance to rebuke was taken, Kondo stepped between them, placed the spatula in Hijikata’s hand, and pivoted him to face the stove. “Please take care of this for me, okay? Don’t let it burn.” Over an irritated tch, he turned back to Okita still slouched in the chair and began untying his apron. “As for you guys. You’re always welcome here but if you have a plan already, why not go through with it? I’ll text you tomorrow and we can meet up.”

A pensive moment went by. “Hajime-kun?”

Saito nodded his consent.

“Fiiiine,” Okita sang and stood, stretching his arms up and then draping them at the elbows behind his head. “I’m just glad to see you’re back, Kondo-san. That’s enough for me.”

“Thanks, kid,” Kondo said as he led him to the front door. “I’m sorry for not telling you I’d arrive earlier but it was actually a spur of the moment thing. I only got here an hour or so ago.”

“Heh, you never have to apologize.” Peering back at Saito exchanging quiet words with Hijikata, Okita looked to Kondo again and his shoulders nudged into a shrug. “I’m sorry for just showing up and causing you a headache with that storm cloud over there.”

Breathing out through his nose, Kondo shook his head. “Come on, stop that. But really. Thank you for looking in on him while I was gone.” His expression turned serious then. “Souji, it looks like there’s something you need to get off your chest, though. Will you be all right waiting until tomorrow?”

“Mm! Of course!” Though Okita was now well into his twenties, the grin that accompanied his statement was a splitting image of the one he’d worn in his youth, and the sight of it helped Kondo feel more at ease to believe his answer. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“All right. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

Saito neared and wasted no time in taking the initiative to speak. “I apologize again for the interruption. It was a pleasure to see you’ve returned, Sir.”

Kondo gently clapped his shoulder twice. “No need, no need. And thanks.” He gave Saito a friendly push in Okita’s direction. “Now you two go and enjoy yourselves, all right?”

“Will do, Kondo-san.”

“Yes, Sir.”

In the future, he would really have to do something about Saito addressing him as sir…however, for the present, Kondo simply nodded and watched them step into the elevator. Before it closed, Okita finally called out, “Bye, Hijikata-san.” Unsurprisingly, it went ignored and when the pair were gone at last, Kondo shut the door with a heavy exhale. His hand remained on the lock, taking a moment before making his way back to the kitchen.

He returned to silence, with Hijikata still watching over the pan as he’d been requested. Kondo stepped up behind him, placed his hands on hips narrower than his own, and pursed his mouth against a shoulder. “I’m sorry, Toshi.”

“Welp.” Oh, no… The infamous clipped tone of disapproval had him wincing. “Dinner’s basically done, so I guess we should eat.”

“You’re mad at me…” Kondo couldn’t exactly blame him. “I’m really sorry. I’ll have a talk with him about just showing up here, okay?”

Hijikata huffed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t annoyed. But look…” He turned the stove off and placed the spatula down, then about-faced with eyes that were much kinder than Kondo had expected. “I definitely will be mad if we don’t pick up where we left off later.” A brow raised. “Got that?”

Relief washed over Kondo and his posture relaxed. “That’s quite a threat, Toshi-san…” Cocking his head, he stroked Hijikata’s cheek and chuckled beneath his breath. “And it just won’t do. We’ll have to eat quickly so I can start making it up to you as soon as possible.”

If Hijikata had wanted to fight the subsequent grin that graced his features, he hadn’t tried hard enough. “Kat-chan…” A snort fell along with his lashes. “It’s just good to have you home.”

“It’s even better coming back to you.”

For a second, Kondo thought Hijikata might deflect as he often had upon receiving such an open admission of feelings…but all he did this time was step forward to initiate an embrace which lasted much longer than either had expected.

Dinner had to be reheated as a consequence, but it still tasted great and Kondo was all too convinced that fact was attributable to the company he shared it with. He was no lefty, but his non-dominant hand guided the fork while his right fingers remained entwined with Hijikata’s beneath the table while they ate.

Yes, the challenge was certainly worth it. Kondo held Hijikata’s hand a little tighter, and smiled when the gesture was returned.

Thank you for reading! This was a WIP I had haunting my hard drive since July 2018 and I finally decided to do something with it. lol

#uss enterplaid #toshisami #okisai #hakuouki #fic #long post #writing on plaid paper

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scifrey · 8 years ago

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The Untold Tale - Chapter One

I am upstairs when I catch sight of the approaching cart and its cargo through the thick glass of my window. I assume the body in the back is a corpse, brought to me for study and then burial. But no one handles a corpse with such care; the driver is directing the horse to travel slowly, avoiding each hole in the dirt road. They also do not stop to pick up a healer for a corpse. Yet Mother Mouth is in the back, hunched as best she is able over the blanket-wrapped body.

They also do not stop to pick up a healer for a corpse; but there is Mother Mouth in the back, hunched as best she is able over the blanket-wrapped body. By the time I make it down the grand staircase to the foyer, three of my Men are lifting the body from the cart with careful concern. I gesture to the threshold, and they lower it onto my front step. As soon as they set the body down, I can see that my assumption that it still alive was correct.

It is a young woman. She is as wrapped in rough blankets as she can be with such extensive injuries to her back. The blankets are filthy and crusted with blood and other bodily fluids, which means it was probably the only protection against the chill spring morning that her rescuers could find.

Between the folds I can see what has been done to her. I contain my shudder of revulsion, but only barely. Possibly only because I’ve seen this before.

Bootknife has flayed her very prettily.

Artistic tendrils of bloody ivy are torn into the vellum of the young woman's flesh. Bootknife has written spells and agony into the muscle he's carved, into the wounds left by the strips he filleted from her. It's as detailed as any woodcarving for a stamp — some deep, some wide and shallow, some the merest scrape, only a layer or two of skin absent. Disgustingly beautiful. But it is not art.

It is torture.

She is unconscious. It is a blessing. I can't imagine how much the young woman must have been screaming before my Men had forced poppy milk down her throat. Well, yes, I suppose I can imagine it, I have seen quite enough of Bootknife's handiwork to envision her pain. What I mean is that I do not want to imagine it; can't bear the thought of the sounds that must have ripped her throat bloody.

I clench my hands into fists and jam them into the pockets of my house robe to keep from rushing forward and helping; a Chipping Master does not dirty his hands in labor. I hear the invective in my father's hateful voice in my head, and I take great pleasure in telling it to go drown itself.

All the same, I stay back. I would only be in the way.

Mother Mouth assesses the young woman's injuries, and when she is done together we ensure that there are no Words of Tracing carved into the victim's skin.

It would not do to give our enemies such advantageous leverage as to lead them straight to the Shadow Hand's home base. No matter that it appears to be no more than the manor of silly, crumpled Forsyth Turn, younger brother to the great hero Kintyre and a man quite stodgily attached to his library. Even the slightest slip would bring the Viceroy down on my Chipping, and I will not have the people under my care endangered.

I do not bother to ask why my Men were bringing the woman to me and not to the King; if the King had the security and ability to protect himself and those in his charge from the Viceroy, then he would never have secretly employed me as his Shadow Hand.

There is nowhere safer for the injured visitor to be spared from the renewed attentions of the Viceroy or Bootknife than Turn Hall. Not even Kingskeep.

Assessment done, they take the woman inside and up to a wing of my home that I have not entered in years. I catch the attention of my butler and order it opened specifically for this use.

It has been a long time since there has been a need for Lady's Chambers in Turn Hall. They have remained shut since my mother's death, even though it is the area of the house that is the most protected: by wards, architectural design and now, by the presence of my household guard. It has been even longer still since the need for a Lady's maid. My staff are nearly all men. This is not out of preference, but because there are no women in my household that required women servants, and it made sense to leave the town's supply of employable young misses for houses where they were more needed.

I am going to have to find a woman. Blast.

We linger in the hallway outside the room long enough for some servants to strip the dusty bed linens and replace them with fresh. Then I dismiss my Men to write up their debriefing reports, and I help Mother Mouth lay the young lady on the bed myself. The only way we figure she will be comfortable is belly-down, with her face propped to the side with a feather pillow.

With the young lady installed on the bed, I step back into a corner in order to remain out of the way. Mother Mouth takes a short breather – she is no longer young, her skin papery thin and scored with laughter lines, but still glowing with vitality - and all this rushing and lifting has winded her. Then she ties her silver-streaked hair back off her face and begins the careful work of spreading tinctures and ointments, mixing potions meant to neutralize spells and remove pain, and the gentle knife work of cutting away the meat that has rotted from neglect.

My staff moves around them both in an orchestrated dance, fetching in lamps and candles, water in an ewer; bringing in, using and then removing brooms and cleaning supplies; opening windows and laying a fire in the hearth. I do as I always do, what I am best at doing: I observe.

When Mother Mouth finally sits back, a smear of blood on her forehead where she had pushed a stray tendril of hair out of her face, I offer her a handkerchief. It is russet, the color that is associated with House Turn, my family. She takes it graciously, though she wrinkles her nose a little at the fineness of the fabric.

"We've had this discussion before," she says. "Good silk should be saved for dressing wounds, and rough cotton for wiping faces and noses."

"I agree, Mother," I allow, a smile sitting in the corner of my mouth and trying so very hard to stretch into the rest of it. "However, there are expectations at court, and when one's work relies on creating a good impression, the silk must be used for snot."

"And that's why I've no use for court, I don't mind telling you, my boy."

Mother Mouth rises and goes to the bag of medicines she had left on the bedside table. She pulls out phials and jars, each neatly labeled in her spiky hand. She is leaving behind tinctures and syrups to add to my young visitor's wine when she wakes in pain, bandages and ointments enough to cover the whole of the vicious patterns on her back several times over. She then promises to return in the morning to assess her healing.

"And send for me at once should she turn feverish or her wounds begin to fester and reek," she finishes.

"No stitches?" My memories of hearing Mother Mouth's instructions for care many times before brings my thoughts around to them. Mother Mouth has sewn each of my Men up at one point or another, myself included. There are none among the Shadow's Men who do not bare the gratefully earned signature of her needle.

"No," Mother Mouth agrees. "The slices that remain open are shallow. Where they are also narrow, there is no need. Where they are wide..." She shrugs. "I could not make the skin meet over the exposed muscle without tearing it. The rest of the deep cuts have begun to scar already. Better to cover it over with the salve and with Words and leave it to nature."

I nod, well used to this particular healer woman's pointed and honest instructions — she is the best within an hour's ride from my keep, and thus my preferred go-to physic. My men and I call her Mother Mouth because of her bluntness, her willingness to bully us verbally into obeying her commands, and always do so with a smile and to her face. She has another name, but has long since gamely resigned herself to this one.

"I will reapply both salve and spells personally when it is t-t-time," I promise.

"Oh now," Mother Mouth scolds playfully. "None of that. No need to be nervous, my boy. It's just a woman and a bit of blood."

"I'm not ne-nervous of her," I say.

She pats my arm. "Of course not. You're a good boy, Master Turn."

I pretend to bristle at the juvenile endearment, but it secretly pleases me. Mother Mouth has literally known me my entire life. She pulled both my elder brother and I from our mother. She set my broken arm as a boy when Kintyre dared me to climb an orchard tree to the top. She has put her hands into my brother's guts after his first run in with a goblin brigade, and held them in place until the Words of Healing could take hold. She closed my mother's eyes after the fever took the Lady Turn away. She called my father's corpse a silly shit while she cleaned it the day he drank himself into a tumble down the foyer staircase and into his own grave. She has more than earned a right to call me her good boy, should she so choose. And I always do my best to live up to it.

Mother Mouth packs her small case and takes her leave. When my staff has finished ferrying ewers of both hot and cool water, wine, a modest bowl of broth, fresh candles, towels, my mother's newly cleaned dressing robe, my mother's slippers, and my portable writing desk into the room, I dismiss them to their suppers.

One last young lady lingers at the door, and she must be freshly arrived for she does not wear a russet livery. I do not know her, and she seems eager to be of help, which is extremely encouraging. She is slim, her hands rough and calloused, giving her the appearance of one who looks like she works hard, and her apron is very starched. She resembles Cook – same rigidly marshaled brown hair, same firm lines around her eyes, very competent and very discreet. She waits silently in the threshold, obviously waiting for me to speak first.

"Hello," I say. "Yes?"

"Sir," she says and bobs a courtesy. "My mother sent for me, when she heard you had a lady guest, sir. Figured you'd want a girl in, sir."

"Very good of her to take the initiative. Well come and well stayed." I take a moment to go to my portable desk and scribble upon a fresh piece of paper. When the ink is dry, I fold up the note. "Your name, miss?" I ask.

"Neris, sir."

"Neris, you can read?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Excellent. Here." I hold out my hand. In it are a letter and a small sack of gold coins. She takes both.

"I would like you to return to your usual household with this and give both to your mistress. The envelope contains an apology letter to your employer, and enough coin to replace the wages she's already paid you this week. I would have you here until you are no longer needed at Turn Hall. And I will pay double whatever your current employer offers. Is that acceptable?"

She smiles, and there must be her father, for Cook's face has no such fetching dimples. "Oh, yes sir!"

"And you will move your things into the Hall come morning, won't you Neris?" I ask. "Ask your mother for a Turn-russet livery when you return."

"Of course, Master Turn," she says, dropping a courtesy, and vanishing in that lovely discreet way of lady's maids the world over. It's a vastly under-prized skill.

And then my new guest and I are alone.

My skin prickles at the thought of being trapped in a room with a person I know so very little about—I am not used to being the one on poor footing—and I go to the window to try to relieve the pressing sense of claustrophobia. It is silly; she is unconscious, and thanks to the poppy milk, will remain so for a good long while. I have nothing to fear from her.

Still. She is an unknown factor and I do not like those in the least.

There is a reason I'm the King's Shadow Hand. Who better for a spy master than the man who becomes physically agitated when he feels ignorant?

The sky outside of the windows has turned an ashy blue. Rain is on the horizon and the breeze is picking up accordingly. I open the sash just enough to allow in the fresh wet air, but not enough for raindrops when they finally start to fall. The puff of breeze against my chest, fluttering my shirt and Turn-russet robe, gives me a false sense of safety — I have an exit if I need one.

The breeze also flutters the heavy velvet drapes. Dust puffs out of the folds and onto the wooden floor. My mother was of House Sheil, and so much of the décor in her chambers is a deep, dark purple – the throw rugs, the comfortable upholstered chairs by the hearth, the bedding, all of it is patterned with curling designs of lilac and lavender and deepest indigo. It has been years, perhaps a whole decade, since my father had mother's chambers shut up. I suddenly realize how much I have missed purple.

The cloud cover is blocking so much of the sun that the room has become gloomy, and the details of the woman hard to catch. I make a second circuit for candles, which I light with a twig from the small fire in the hearth. Then I set the kettle that Cook had left on the mantelpiece onto the hook attached to the flume and wait for it to boil. A hot drink on a grey day is always a comfort, and the air in my mother's chambers is dry from being shut up for so long, so the steam will do us both some good.

Now to take care of this silly fear; I will observe the woman and decipher what I can of her, so that the anxiousness can finally dissipate long enough for me to get some paperwork done. I pull one of the chairs that stand before the fireplace over to the bedside, and settle into lush padding.

Then I look.

The first thing that registers is that the woman is in pain, despite the sleep brought on by the poppy milk. It is obvious by the creases in her forehead and the set of her jaw. Her hair is matted with sweat and other fluids that I do not wish to consider too closely. Perhaps I had dismissed Neris too hastily — my guest could certainly do with a wash, if only for her own comfort. But I am uncertain that it would not have caused her more agony, so perhaps it is best to wait until the young woman is awake and aware and able to help the maid.

Beyond that, I have no concept of who she is or where she may be from. Any clues that might have come from her clothing were lost when Bootknife cut them off of her. Her ears are pierced but there are no jewels from which to read her origins or history, no rings, no signets, no torques. How galling!

Her features resemble those of no family I know, which is impressive, as I have a very good head for faces. Her mouth is a small moue of pain, neither generous of plumpness nor waspish or thin. She has lines around the corners that indicate that she laughs heartily and frequently. Her cheeks are higher than I am used to, and smooth, and sprinkled with sun spots. Her skin is dusky in tone; it is quite similar to the color outdoor laborers from the Flung Isles to the south after a season's work, but not so reddish. Her skin is closer to the hue of well-cared-for honey wood, made even more yellow in tone against the Sheil-purple of the blankets around her. Her nose is short, adorable in a way that many women curse for being too childish looking. Her lashes are dark, and her eyes sweep upwards at the outer edges.

I can tell by the curve of her exposed back, where it swells into her hips at the bottom and to the sides of her breasts that she's never starved before, never seen a rough harvest or overlong winter.

In summary, she must be a well-off merchant's daughter, and quite possibly yet another merchant's wife. I would say a nobleman's, but she cannot be the child of any nobleman I know from court, legitimate or not.

She could be from another, distant kingdom beyond the borders of Hain, but I have met much nobility from Urland and Gadot, thought fewer from Brystall, , and she does not bear the trademarks of other houses that I know; her skin is either too light or too dark, her eyes too round or not round enough, her nose too snubbed or too high, her chin too round.

In short, the collection of her features does not come together to spell out her parentage.

Infuriating.

And fantastic. I am intrigued, instantly. How long as it been since I have been gifted with such a mystery? And that she was imprisoned by the Viceroy for so long without my knowing that he had kidnapped anyone…was holding anyone at all. It was an accident of circumstance that she was rescued, that I even know she exists. The Viceroy had been raiding magical archives and libraries the world over, and when I had put together the picture that the sorts of tomes he was stealing painted, I had ordered my Men to raid and retrieve. That they had also found her was sheer coincidence.

At least, I believe it is an accident. I cannot imagine any person would allow such agony to befall them for the sake of gaining my pity and entrance to my Hall. Spies usually do not bleed.

I cannot recall the last time something like this happened accidentally in my work, and my heart flutters against my ribs.

The entire situation is completely astounding. Magnetic. Incredible. And so impotently frustrating that I cannot know more, cannot have my curiosity slaked immediately. I wish she were awake to answer my many questions.

It is especially exasperating to admit that the only thing I can know for sure is that the Viceroy wanted something from her, and she refused to give it to him. I cannot guess what it might have been, for he has the power to take anything he wants — even her, had he so chosen. Mother Mouth had not said anything about signs of a violation, but perhaps she wanted to be delicate while my staff was in the room and she means to discuss it with me in the morning. The woman in my mother's bed is pretty enough; the Viceroy likes the pretty ones. I recall he has a sickeningly obsessive fascination with Sir Bevel, who is plain but has eyes such a dark blue that they are an anomaly. The Viceroy often threatens to pluck them out and have them rosined for a cloak brooch.

To resist the Viceroy for as long as this woman did, to keep her secrets for so many days that the pattern on her back had the time to grow so complex, must have taken real strength of spirit. As much as she must have been screaming, she had never told him what it was that he sought to learn.

I admire her greatly all of a sudden. There are very few who can keep secrets behind their teeth when Bootknife's art is in their flesh.

That makes her beautiful to me.

It does not matter how her features are arranged; her will is strong. And as it was Bootknife she was resisting, then I can hope that her morals are also true. I allow myself to follow the soft curve of her pain-paled cheek with my eyes, the delicate protrusion of the tendons in her neck, the place where her breast presses into the blankets and is hidden under her body. I am struck with a sudden swelling of attraction and I stomp it back viciously.

No. A woman as remarkable as this, unexpectedly arriving at Turn Hall? There is only one explanation — she is for Kintyre. Women like this are always for Kintyre.

The kettle over-boils. Water foams into the fire with an indignant hiss, bringing me back to gloomy reality, and I make myself a pot of tea. Then I settle back into my chair, my portable desk on my lap and an afternoon's worth of tedious paperwork stacked on its surface.

The only sounds that break the silence are the sputtering of the candles arrayed around the room, the slow tap of the rain just beginning to fall against the roof of the manor, and the pained, almost inaudible whimpers that my guest exhales with each labored breath.

I dip my quill into my ink pot, and add the scratch of a nib on parchment to the quiet symphony of pain.

"Oh," the woman whispers, dry lips rasping against the silk pillow casing. "It's you."

I have fallen asleep in my chair, and the quiet murmur of her voice yanks me back to wakefulness so quickly that my portable desk clatters to the floor. Ink sprays across the wood and splashes over the Sheil-purple rug beside the bed, and I wince. Oh, mother's rug! It will take my staff a terrible amount of scrubbing to clean it.

There is nothing I can do about it at the moment, so I right the pot, step around the spreading puddle and toppled papers, and go to her side.

"Greetings," I say. "Water?" I'm not certain how I'll get the cup to her lips without spilling all over the pillow or forcing her to sit up, which will be a special new agony in and of itself.

She nods and presses upward on her hands, grimacing but holding herself there until I manage to tip the earthenware cup against her mouth. She sips slowly, grunting as her arms tremble. When the water is gone, she flops back down into the pillow and doesn't hold back the yelp that such an action causes. It makes the anger froth beneath the surface of my own skin, to realize that she has learnt how to move with such injuries in order to drink. That Bootknife must have made her learn.

And that I have been unable to spare her that pain in Turn Hall. I've failed my first task as her guardian already.

She shivers all over and my first instinct is to cover her snuggly with the blanket. But that would irritate her wounds, and allow fibers into the open ones, so instead I put the kettle back on the hook, stoke the fire back to life, and close the windows. Air that was fresh and crisp at sunset has become biting.

She watches it all with eyes that are a very normal, boring shade of muddy green, and yet which sparkle with keen observation. They are ever so slightly cat-like, turned up at the outside. I have never been on the receiving end of such an intent gaze before.

She watches the very same way that I watch.

I fidget until the kettle hisses, and then I pour the boiling water into the bowl my staff has left beside the ewer. I mix in the room temperature water until the heat is bearable and then sit on the side of the bed with the bowl and a cloth.

"May I?"

"Sure," she rasps. "This is so unreal."

"Your injuries are, in fact quite real, I'm a-afraid," I say.

She stares at me for a moment, and then turns her head back into the pillow, purposefully obscuring her expression. For a brief moment, it seems as if her eyes are wet.

"I know," she mutters into the muffling fabric. "It's insane, but I know."

I dip the cloth into the bowl and begin to bathe her back, careful to not over saturate it. It would not do for excess water to slip down her sides and soak into the bedding beneath her. It would make her very uncomfortable. The ointment has dried into a yellowish crust and must be wiped away carefully and reapplied. The warm water soothes her goose-pimpled skin, and she alternates between soft moans of gratitude and small hisses of pain caused by the wounds suddenly being exposed to the air or jarred.

"I've never seen you like this before," she grunts as I lean close to concentrate on cleaning around a fanciful curlicue carved into the sweet dimples right above where her back swells into her buttocks. The latter are covered with a blanket, to preserve her modesty, and I am careful not to jostle it.

"You've never met me before," I counter, without looking up, soaking in every syllable of her speech. Her words are queerly broad. "How can you say that you have never seen me like... Whatever it is that you mean by 'this'."

"That's also the longest sentence I've ever heard from you."

What a deliciously strange accent! So flat and lacking the jumps and dips that fill the speech of Hain Kingdom's people. I've never heard anything like it before, which both thrills and shocks me. Knowledge is my currency; so how can she hail from a place that I do not know? How can such a place exist, as every clue she gives up suggests?

I am careful to school my expression, to not appear too thrilled or eager.

"Of course," I agree. "As you've only heard six. Eight, if you count the last one, and this one."

She turns her face into the pillow and groans. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Again, 'this'," I say, because it's easier to look at her back and work on her wounds than look her in the face. I'm ashamed to be causing her pain. It feels like a stab in my own gut.

Useless old Forsyth, as usual. But Mother Mouth asked me to have her fetched in the morning, not in the middle of the night. So I will muddle through and try my best and hope that she does not chide me too much for the attempt at playing healer myself.

"Master Forsyth Turn, the King's Shadow Hand... boiling his own water and closing his own windows. Elgar Reed would be horrified."

I feel nauseous immediately.

Oh, no, no, how does she know? No one, save my Men and Mother Mouth are meant to know. The whole village thinks I am no more than the younger son left behind, the Master of Turnshire and the surroundings, and Lordling of the whole of the small but fertile Lysse Chipping; a man soft and slightly useless. That she knows, and speaks of it so casually...

A Shadow Hand must be secret above all else. The King will have me turned out — might even have me killed — for failing to maintain this secrecy. How can I function as Hain's spy-master if I am known?

"Oh," she says softly when my ministrations stop. "Oh, sorry. Shit. Sorry. I know, I know, it's not supposed to be talked about. I won't say anything else. I just meant, you know, you're the Master of Turn Hall. Shouldn't a maid be the one with the cloth? Shouldn't someone be here to open the windows and boil the kettle for you?"

"I am n-no lay-layabout. I am c-capable of do-do-doing it myself," I say, and I curse all the harder in my own head when hers cranes around on her neck, wincing as it stretches her wounds. She blinks at me like a stunned owl.

"Did you just stutter?"

"Of c-course n-n-n-not," I deny, but my words prove themselves liars. I bite my lower lip and scowl, fingers going so tight around the cloth that it creaks and water splashes down my arms, pooling uncomfortably into the bunches of fabric against the insides of my elbows. I hate that feeling.

"Oh my god, you stutter," she says, and her expression is a mixture of horror and amusement. "Reed never said anything about you stuttering."

"I do-do-do not stutter," I snap.

"Hey, no, it's cool," she says, rising up as if to turn to face me, but the motion makes everything in her back pull and she yelps again and flops back down to relieve the pain. "Fuck!" she screams into her pillow. She slams her fist against the mattress, clearly infuriated beyond coherence.

"S-stop," I say softly, setting aside the bowl and placing gentle hands on her right shoulder, the least cut up one.

She flinches away from my touch so dramatically that it looks more like a full body spasm.

"Don't touch me!" she screams.

I flinch myself, springing off the bed to give her the space she so clearly needs.

She goes still, save for her ragged breathing. One of the thin, deep cuts below her left shoulder blade seeps blood. A low coughing sound, muffled by the pillows, fills the air. I realize that she is sobbing.

Oh, Forsyth, you stupid man. You are useless at women.

"P-please s-stop crying." It sounds as stupid out loud as it did in my head, but I have no other way to convey my concern. Clearly my proximity is unwelcome.

I clench my fists and shove them into the pockets of my house robe, impotent in the face of her misery. Why is it that among spies and the dance of court politics I am assured and suave, but the moment I remove the mask of the Shadow Hand and become simple Forsyth Turn, I am such a useless, stuttering sack of skin? I hate it.

Eventually the tears wind down and she turns her face to me. Her muddy green eyes have become bright, even though the skin around them is red and swollen.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Why are you ap-ap-apologizing?"

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable about the stutter. I was just surprised. You never stutter when you've got the mask on."

I only stutter when I am upset or caught off guard. As a child I stuttered all the time, worse when my older brother teased. But I learnt, through sheer force of will, to suppress it. To think about each phrase as I want to say them, to hear it in my head, clear and whole, before letting my tongue taste the words. The Shadow Hand does not stutter because he is a personality I wear, a costume I conceived and I did not conceive him as a stutterer.

I lean down and pick up the bowl. The water has mixed with the ink on the rug, spreading the stain further. My paperwork is also a sodden mess. I will have to begin that report anew. Resentment flares at the thought of having to waste another evening in correspondence, but I cannot blame my guest. It was my own clumsiness that caused them to be on the floor. I should have picked them up right away. Stupid.

"I'm sorry about scaring you, too," she said. "I just... Don't like to be touched. Anymore. Don't surprise me."

"I understand. No woman enjoys my touch. I will fetch Neris, your maid," I say, and turn toward the door to do just that.

"Whoa, no, wait," she says, and I pause. I take a hesitant step back toward her and her hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around mine. I look down at our twined grip with dumb surprise. I can see her frustration at her inability to move. Warmth blooms against my sternum at the thought that she appears to want to touch me, to physically prevent me from departing. "I didn't say that. Why would you think that? I just meant that it freaks me out when people touch me and I don't know it's going to happen. I never said you have cooties. Stay. Please." I do not know how to answer. She looks up at me and adds: "You're the only one I know. I trust you. Please."

This is enough. I do not know how she seems to know me well enough to trust me, but she does. And I cannot betray her that trust. Even though I fear that it might be misplaced. I must do my best not to disappoint her.

"I will stay. I'll put the kettle on again, and finish your back," I say. She lets go, fingers brushing against the insides of my knuckles, and I clench my tongue between my teeth and memorize the ghosting sensation, trying not to let it get too far under my skin.

I can hear her shifting, trying to find a comfortable position. "God, do you have any painkillers?"

"I can send for poppy milk, but it will make you sleep again."

"That's fine," she says. "Sounds perfect, actually. Fuck, this hurts."

"That word again." I turn to face her, leaning back against the mantle as we both wait for the water in the kettle to reheat.

It is a good thing it is such a large kettle, or I would have had to send someone to refill it by now, and I believe that the young lady's pain is something she would like as few people to witness as possible. She said she trusts only me. Knows only me, though how she can know me at all is a mystery. Clearly she knows enough to know my deepest secret, and now my deepest shame, but how?

"Fuck?" she says.

"Yes. What does it mean? 'Fuck'?"

She giggles suddenly. "Oh my god, I can't believe I just heard you swear."

"It's an expletive?"

She giggles harder and I take it for an affirmative.

"And what about the rest of it?" I ask. "The things that you say you know and simply should not. Cannot."

She sobers immediately. She turns her head away and goes silent, her shoulders becoming rigid. She looks like she is preparing for a blow.

"Ah," I say. "This was what the Viceroy wanted. And what you would not share." She stiffens further at his name, but otherwise does not move. I walk across the floor to her side, purposefully clicking the wooden heels of my embroidered house slippers against the boards so as to prevent startling her. "I am going to lay a hand on your shoulder."

She nods once, and I do it, carefully, palm cupped on her whole right shoulder blade, fingers curved along her neck. She sighs into the touch and her tension eases.

"He doesn't know," she mumbles. "I didn't tell him."

"That I am the Shadow Hand?"

She nods.

"Is that the only thing he wanted to know?"

"No." Her voice is scratchy and low, so quiet and ashamed that I can barely make out her words. "But I didn't say anything. Not a thing, after the first day. He never even knew my name."

"That is something of which to be proud," I say softly, and I mean it. "Bootknife is not an easy man to defy. I've never seen such an elaborate carving as yours. You must have made him very angry."

"I did."

"Good girl."

She snorts. "Loosey."

Another strange word. "What's a loosey?"

"I am. It's my name. Ell-you-see-why Lucy Piper."

"You gift me with your name when all of Bootknife's attention could not wring it from you?" I ask, and the weight of what she has just done nearly sends me to the floor with shock. My knees shake and I have to put my other hand on the bed stand to remain upright.

"You'll protect it."

"I will," I vow. "I will, Lucy Piper." I take a moment to clear my throat and try to keep the tears that have sprung into my eyes from falling. What a great thing she has done. This conversation, her bravery, has left me flayed. Then I find the promised poppy milk that Madam Mouth left for her and help drip some onto her tongue. Lucy Pipers drowses.

When the kettle has boiled again, I resume cleaning her back.

Her eyes slip closed just as I have finished. I rinse out the cloth and spread it across what is left of her skin to keep her warm until I can move on to the ointment, and stand.

"Try to rest," I say, when the feel of the cloth startles her back to wakefulness.

"Thanks. Hey," she mutters sleepily, worn out by the pain, both the physical and emotional excursions. "You're not stuttering anymore."

"No," I agree. "I am not."

You can read the rest of the sneak preview over at Wattpad by clicking here, or check out the entire series here, and the rest of my books here.

Thanks for reading.

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